Title: Davish Valton (A)
Description: or Vyn Melvar/Tinian Flautis/Hayde Omas
Description: or Vyn Melvar/Tinian Flautis/Hayde Omas
Northman - April 3, 2008 11:53 PM (GMT)
Full Name: Davish Valton
Nicknames: (Aliases/False identities) Vyn Melvar, Tinian Flautis, Hayde Omas
Age: 37
Gender: Male
Homeworld: Corellia
Race: Human
Occupation: Trader/Smuggler (ex-Soldier)
Eyes: Green
Hair: Dark brown
General Description: Davish Valton is a man of fairly strong physique, and stands a few centimeters short of 180cm tall. His look is usually stern and serious, but often with a meek undertone – especially if thinking about his family. He has short-cut hair and watchful eyes, and his mannerisms are always calm and controlled, even when doing something he knows nothing about.
Clothing: Davish usually dons rather casual and comfortable clothing, usually t-shirts and loose-fitting pants, but also various fatigues. He’s also acquired himself some business clothes and other slightly more stylish clothes – for presentation. He sometimes wears a hat. Davish also has a silver necklace given to him from his sister before he went fighting in the war. It’s a memento he’s always aware of, but rarely offers too much thought these days.
Weapons: KYD-21 Blaster Pistol
Other Equipment: False ID papers, various licenses for weapons, trade, ship etc. (both false and real). Utility belt with tools, survival gear.
Transportation: A Corellian Engineering YB-350c light freighter, named the Crimson Angel (see below for details).
Inventory: 180 credits
Family: None. That is, he has a mother and younger sister living on Corellia, but circumstances have kept him from visiting them – despite hiding out on his homeplanet for a decade.
History:
The ground shook as the base-camp was hit by another volley. Trenches crumbled and walls shattered as the SPHA-T artilleries continued to bombard the camp and its surrounding forest. The super-heated plasma shots lit up the rainy night sky, making the raindrops look like lightning needles when they reflected the artillery beams’ blue light.
The few left in the camp were gathering in the main bunker, where lights flickered and duracrete bits came falling off the walls and ceilings. The small group of Antarian Rangers now tried to figure out what was going on. The commander, an elderly veteran named Joah Stock, watched the computer screens as his men tried to get communications up.
”Sir, we’ve lost contact with Jedi Master Solani, and it almost looks like we’re being jammed!” a young Ranger could report from what the screen told him.
”Well, that artillery barrages sure aren’t coming from the tin-heads. It’s our own already. Hack us onto that network, asap!” snarled the commander as another barrage hit near the bunker.
The mission on Thyferra had gone from a simple flank-and-support mission, to become a nightmare in a matter of minutes. The droid army was closing in on the clones’ position on the fields outside the forest, but for some reason the Rangers were the target of the clones’ bombardment. Moreover, the communication was down and they couldn’t get a hold of their commanding Jedi General.
A figure appeared in the bunker entrance. It was one of the scouts. He was injured and exhausted from running, and his characteristic bomber jacket was soaking wet, but he had survived to deliver his report. ”Commander, a company of clones is advancing on our position. They’ll be here in less than ten,” the man reported, gasping for air in between the words. ”Sir, that is…”
”One hundred and forty four, top-trained, heavily equipped Republic soldiers. I know, Pressin. Rangers, gather your gear and get ready to move out. And get me onto that HoloNet!” Commander Stock shouted.
”We got a backdoor. Repeat, we got a backdoor through to Coruscant,” it was Sergeant who spoke. He and the others had, after much struggle, hacked their way through to Corusant HQ.
”Excellent,” said the commander. ”What have you got?”
”Nothing. There’s nothing on the Galactic channels,” something was clearly wrong.
”I got something on the Jedi frequency. It’s calling all Jedi to the Temple,” said another Ranger, also stationed at a computer.
”That’s not right,” said a third hacker. He had found a connection to The Obliterator – the flagship of the fleet above. ”The bridge on the Obliterator wants to know if the traitors have been dealt with,” there was one loud explosion – a barrage hitting a depot – then there were silence. It only meant the clone troopers were getting close.
”In my life, I’ve never…” the Commander fell silent as if spellbound. But seconds later he had cleared his mind and was shouting orders like before. ”Men! Get ready. Set the charges and leave. Sergeant, give me your chair. Are we on the mainframe?”
”Yes, Sir, we are – but for how long I can’t tell.”
The Commander typed a few commands, and somewhere inside the Rangers’ HQ on Coruscant, a computer came to life. ”Cover our tracks. Delete the files,” he ordered the sergeant who soon got to work.
Outside, about half a dozen Rangers placed charges around the camp, while others were ordered away by the Commander. The remaining Rangers were no more than seventeen, plus the Commander. That meant they would fit into just about any ship – if they could find one off this planet and through the blockade.
”Here they come!” could be heard from the far side of the camp. White armor could be seen through the rain, moving through the hilly forest.
”Sergeant! Get your men out, now!” shouted the Commander. He could just as well said “get out now” since there were none left of Valton’s unit.
”Aye, Chief! Just a moment,” he shouted back, his eyes seeing what they wanted to see on the screen:
DELETED
PROCESSING . . . [Davish Valton, born…] DELETING . . .
DELTETED
PROCESSING . . .
Grabbing his gear, he moved out of the building. Taking a note of how much the timer on the main bunker explosives showed, his swift movement became a dash before the bunker and the rest of the base blew up.
The explosion diverted the Clone Troopers, giving the, now, eight remaining Rangers a swifter escape. The Commander led what few troops he had left deep into the forests, where they would hide and plan their escape from the planet for months to come.
When the Rangers finally did escape, the first thing they did was visiting one of their safe houses and rob it for supplies. The money and equipment was equally shared between the survivors, before they left one by one.
But the memory of the Clone Wars and the time before it is all but a distant one. A forgotten memory. It was a time following it that Davish travelled the Galaxy and tried to learn exactly what had transpired, but he had failed to get the whole picture. If anything, what he learned between and during his odd jobs as bodyguard or mercenary was that these matters were dangerous to discuss.
Figuring his questions eventually would become a trail for someone to follow, Davish Valton disappeared completely. He had already bought himself a few false identities with the money from the safe house, and his bomber jacket, a trademark of the Rangers, was long since buried, but these measures only held to a certain point if he continued digging. He moved where he was certain no one would likely search for him: Corellia. But in case someone was, he did not allow himself to see his family. The only time he did so was disguised as a stranger in his father’s funeral.
Instead he kept himself hidden and out of the larger cities for well over a decade. His home was a small house outside a small village in a hillside. He lived by hunting wildlife and chopping wood. He sold and traded pelts, meat, claws, teeth, other trophies, crude wooden carvings and firewood at the local market. A few times a year he would also attend to bigger markets. Little did the peaceful townspeople or market visitors know that the nice and helpful hunter Hayde Omas had huge amounts of Republic military equipment and hard credits hidden in his basement. In truth, he paid that fact no attention himself.
Until one day.
Davish was on his way home from a larger market, and suddenly a feeling came over him. He had to leave. He didn’t know where or why, but he decided that he had been stuck on Corellia in hiding for too long. There didn’t seem to be any imminent danger, and it wasn’t a lust for adventure that urged him. Neither was it the need to fight the oppression he had found evidences of the last time he travelled the Galaxy after the Clone Wars. But Davish reasoned, rational as he was, that it might be safe to move about for a while. Someone could after all have gotten a clue somehow.
He had tried his luck as a mercenary before, but despite his skill he wanted to avoid that. He might get too attached to a client or get involved with something he wouldn’t want to be involved with. Instead he thought he could evolve his trading business a bit. He had seen much of the Galaxy during his earlier travels, and knew his way around the black-market as a result of his outlaw status. He had also served as a guard on merchant ships, where he also had taken the chance of learning a few tricks about the game. He could do this, absolutely. His only concern would be his family, but he never risked seeing them anyway. He just assured himself every now and then that they were ok.
Then it was that he traded or sold off all of his equipment, sold his home, and bought an older YB-model starship. It was a small ship, easily piloted by one man, but the drawback was quite obviously its cargo hold. Even though the Corellian freighters were known for making effective cargo holds, this wasn’t the greatest of them all. But it would do – the credits only lasted this far, after all.
Placing the ship in the spaceport, Davish set out to find his first assignment. It would have to be a transport assignement.
RP Sample:
The elderly man looked up as the door to his shop opened. A younger, athletic looking, fellow entered. He carried with him a lot bags. The elderly one held his hand against his chin and stroked his beard a few times as he measured out the man who had entered. He then asked the one question most shopkeepers ask. ”What can I do for you sir?”
”A ship. I need a ship. I must be able to pilot it myself, and it must be able to hold some cargo,” Davish said. ”I’d prefer if it was agile, had some protective armament and had a separate crew and passengers’ quarter. Oh, and it shouldn’t cost too much either,” he further added.
”Son,” said the shopkeeper. ”As you might know, Corellian Engineering only produce agile ships.” Even though Davish had a neutral accent, he had characterized his Corellian accent as much as possible. The shopkeeper seemed a little ashamed that a fellow Corellian would think such lowly of their greatest corporation. It was all a part of the haggle. ”If it weren’t for your money, I’d urge you to try the classic YT-1300 series, or the new YT-2400, but one of the smaller YB-series might be for you. I have a used YB-350c at the back,” the shopkeeper explained.
”Alright, let’s see it.” In fact, Davish didn’t knew much about the YB-series, other than that they hadn’t been updated for a while. As he would soon discover, they had a circular main hold – a common feature for a lot of Corellian Engineering freighters.
The elderly shopkeeper led the way to a large hangar and eventually to the YB-350c. It was used, alright, but it didn’t look worn on the outside. Davish noted a few places where small asteroids seemed to have breached the deflector shields and made scratches and bumps in the hull. He also noted that the turret emplacement was empty. It did have two forward light cannons, though.
”This ship mixes classic design with new ways,” the seller started and opened the cargo ramp. He continued on for a few minutes telling a long story about the ship. Davish paid attention with the occasional “I see” and “aha”, but was more interested in how the ship looked. The seller took him on a tour as he explained things like ”The ship’s wings can be folded up for, as you can see,” and ”The most interesting feature is the placement of the cockpit. It’s not up front. In fact, you have the crew quarters in this section of the ship - in front of the cockpit itself. You also have your own entry ramp,” the man went on. ”The passengers have their quarters behind the cockpit, above the cargo hold.” The ship could support a crew of up to three, and up to nine passengers, though Davish thought that would be overtly cramped. The recommended five seemed best.
”In fact, it seems the common room is also part cargo room,” Davish pointed. Given that the cargo hold itself wasn’t overtly big, it was reasonable.
”Yes, if you want to. But the engine room is easily accessible through here,” It was straight through the common room from the cockpit, next to the ladder to the cargo hold (which was also accessible from the crew quarter).
”Does this thing really transport anything at all?” Davish asked himself. It would seem the hopeful designers had stuffed a lot of features into way too little space.
”Fine. I’ll take it.”
”Excellent,” the seller retrieved a datapad from his person. ”Documents?” Davish handed him some false ones. ”Seems fine. That’s 25,000”
”25?! For a transport ship that can’t even transport a single nerf?” It could, in fact transport several herds, but the statement remained. ”I could get a YT-1300 for that price. Missing a turret it does, too,” both were facts which set the seller off.
”Fine, I’ll hit off 8,000. Can you manage it?”
”I’ll give you 16 in hard cash.”
”Deal.”
Davish handed the man the cash.
”You’re kidding? Are you going to pay me with these?” The elderly salesman looked down at the Republic credits.
”Come on. I inherited them recently from my grandfather, don’t be a heartbreaker, they’re still worth their weight, aren’t they?” Davish pleaded.
”Alright. She’s all yours. I know collectors if everything else fails.”
”Thank you very much.”
Nicknames: (Aliases/False identities) Vyn Melvar, Tinian Flautis, Hayde Omas
Age: 37
Gender: Male
Homeworld: Corellia
Race: Human
Occupation: Trader/Smuggler (ex-Soldier)
Eyes: Green
Hair: Dark brown
General Description: Davish Valton is a man of fairly strong physique, and stands a few centimeters short of 180cm tall. His look is usually stern and serious, but often with a meek undertone – especially if thinking about his family. He has short-cut hair and watchful eyes, and his mannerisms are always calm and controlled, even when doing something he knows nothing about.
Clothing: Davish usually dons rather casual and comfortable clothing, usually t-shirts and loose-fitting pants, but also various fatigues. He’s also acquired himself some business clothes and other slightly more stylish clothes – for presentation. He sometimes wears a hat. Davish also has a silver necklace given to him from his sister before he went fighting in the war. It’s a memento he’s always aware of, but rarely offers too much thought these days.
Weapons: KYD-21 Blaster Pistol
Other Equipment: False ID papers, various licenses for weapons, trade, ship etc. (both false and real). Utility belt with tools, survival gear.
Transportation: A Corellian Engineering YB-350c light freighter, named the Crimson Angel (see below for details).
Inventory: 180 credits
Family: None. That is, he has a mother and younger sister living on Corellia, but circumstances have kept him from visiting them – despite hiding out on his homeplanet for a decade.
History:
The ground shook as the base-camp was hit by another volley. Trenches crumbled and walls shattered as the SPHA-T artilleries continued to bombard the camp and its surrounding forest. The super-heated plasma shots lit up the rainy night sky, making the raindrops look like lightning needles when they reflected the artillery beams’ blue light.
The few left in the camp were gathering in the main bunker, where lights flickered and duracrete bits came falling off the walls and ceilings. The small group of Antarian Rangers now tried to figure out what was going on. The commander, an elderly veteran named Joah Stock, watched the computer screens as his men tried to get communications up.
”Sir, we’ve lost contact with Jedi Master Solani, and it almost looks like we’re being jammed!” a young Ranger could report from what the screen told him.
”Well, that artillery barrages sure aren’t coming from the tin-heads. It’s our own already. Hack us onto that network, asap!” snarled the commander as another barrage hit near the bunker.
The mission on Thyferra had gone from a simple flank-and-support mission, to become a nightmare in a matter of minutes. The droid army was closing in on the clones’ position on the fields outside the forest, but for some reason the Rangers were the target of the clones’ bombardment. Moreover, the communication was down and they couldn’t get a hold of their commanding Jedi General.
A figure appeared in the bunker entrance. It was one of the scouts. He was injured and exhausted from running, and his characteristic bomber jacket was soaking wet, but he had survived to deliver his report. ”Commander, a company of clones is advancing on our position. They’ll be here in less than ten,” the man reported, gasping for air in between the words. ”Sir, that is…”
”One hundred and forty four, top-trained, heavily equipped Republic soldiers. I know, Pressin. Rangers, gather your gear and get ready to move out. And get me onto that HoloNet!” Commander Stock shouted.
”We got a backdoor. Repeat, we got a backdoor through to Coruscant,” it was Sergeant who spoke. He and the others had, after much struggle, hacked their way through to Corusant HQ.
”Excellent,” said the commander. ”What have you got?”
”Nothing. There’s nothing on the Galactic channels,” something was clearly wrong.
”I got something on the Jedi frequency. It’s calling all Jedi to the Temple,” said another Ranger, also stationed at a computer.
”That’s not right,” said a third hacker. He had found a connection to The Obliterator – the flagship of the fleet above. ”The bridge on the Obliterator wants to know if the traitors have been dealt with,” there was one loud explosion – a barrage hitting a depot – then there were silence. It only meant the clone troopers were getting close.
”In my life, I’ve never…” the Commander fell silent as if spellbound. But seconds later he had cleared his mind and was shouting orders like before. ”Men! Get ready. Set the charges and leave. Sergeant, give me your chair. Are we on the mainframe?”
”Yes, Sir, we are – but for how long I can’t tell.”
The Commander typed a few commands, and somewhere inside the Rangers’ HQ on Coruscant, a computer came to life. ”Cover our tracks. Delete the files,” he ordered the sergeant who soon got to work.
Outside, about half a dozen Rangers placed charges around the camp, while others were ordered away by the Commander. The remaining Rangers were no more than seventeen, plus the Commander. That meant they would fit into just about any ship – if they could find one off this planet and through the blockade.
”Here they come!” could be heard from the far side of the camp. White armor could be seen through the rain, moving through the hilly forest.
”Sergeant! Get your men out, now!” shouted the Commander. He could just as well said “get out now” since there were none left of Valton’s unit.
”Aye, Chief! Just a moment,” he shouted back, his eyes seeing what they wanted to see on the screen:
DELETED
PROCESSING . . . [Davish Valton, born…] DELETING . . .
DELTETED
PROCESSING . . .
Grabbing his gear, he moved out of the building. Taking a note of how much the timer on the main bunker explosives showed, his swift movement became a dash before the bunker and the rest of the base blew up.
The explosion diverted the Clone Troopers, giving the, now, eight remaining Rangers a swifter escape. The Commander led what few troops he had left deep into the forests, where they would hide and plan their escape from the planet for months to come.
When the Rangers finally did escape, the first thing they did was visiting one of their safe houses and rob it for supplies. The money and equipment was equally shared between the survivors, before they left one by one.
But the memory of the Clone Wars and the time before it is all but a distant one. A forgotten memory. It was a time following it that Davish travelled the Galaxy and tried to learn exactly what had transpired, but he had failed to get the whole picture. If anything, what he learned between and during his odd jobs as bodyguard or mercenary was that these matters were dangerous to discuss.
Figuring his questions eventually would become a trail for someone to follow, Davish Valton disappeared completely. He had already bought himself a few false identities with the money from the safe house, and his bomber jacket, a trademark of the Rangers, was long since buried, but these measures only held to a certain point if he continued digging. He moved where he was certain no one would likely search for him: Corellia. But in case someone was, he did not allow himself to see his family. The only time he did so was disguised as a stranger in his father’s funeral.
Instead he kept himself hidden and out of the larger cities for well over a decade. His home was a small house outside a small village in a hillside. He lived by hunting wildlife and chopping wood. He sold and traded pelts, meat, claws, teeth, other trophies, crude wooden carvings and firewood at the local market. A few times a year he would also attend to bigger markets. Little did the peaceful townspeople or market visitors know that the nice and helpful hunter Hayde Omas had huge amounts of Republic military equipment and hard credits hidden in his basement. In truth, he paid that fact no attention himself.
Until one day.
Davish was on his way home from a larger market, and suddenly a feeling came over him. He had to leave. He didn’t know where or why, but he decided that he had been stuck on Corellia in hiding for too long. There didn’t seem to be any imminent danger, and it wasn’t a lust for adventure that urged him. Neither was it the need to fight the oppression he had found evidences of the last time he travelled the Galaxy after the Clone Wars. But Davish reasoned, rational as he was, that it might be safe to move about for a while. Someone could after all have gotten a clue somehow.
He had tried his luck as a mercenary before, but despite his skill he wanted to avoid that. He might get too attached to a client or get involved with something he wouldn’t want to be involved with. Instead he thought he could evolve his trading business a bit. He had seen much of the Galaxy during his earlier travels, and knew his way around the black-market as a result of his outlaw status. He had also served as a guard on merchant ships, where he also had taken the chance of learning a few tricks about the game. He could do this, absolutely. His only concern would be his family, but he never risked seeing them anyway. He just assured himself every now and then that they were ok.
Then it was that he traded or sold off all of his equipment, sold his home, and bought an older YB-model starship. It was a small ship, easily piloted by one man, but the drawback was quite obviously its cargo hold. Even though the Corellian freighters were known for making effective cargo holds, this wasn’t the greatest of them all. But it would do – the credits only lasted this far, after all.
Placing the ship in the spaceport, Davish set out to find his first assignment. It would have to be a transport assignement.
RP Sample:
The elderly man looked up as the door to his shop opened. A younger, athletic looking, fellow entered. He carried with him a lot bags. The elderly one held his hand against his chin and stroked his beard a few times as he measured out the man who had entered. He then asked the one question most shopkeepers ask. ”What can I do for you sir?”
”A ship. I need a ship. I must be able to pilot it myself, and it must be able to hold some cargo,” Davish said. ”I’d prefer if it was agile, had some protective armament and had a separate crew and passengers’ quarter. Oh, and it shouldn’t cost too much either,” he further added.
”Son,” said the shopkeeper. ”As you might know, Corellian Engineering only produce agile ships.” Even though Davish had a neutral accent, he had characterized his Corellian accent as much as possible. The shopkeeper seemed a little ashamed that a fellow Corellian would think such lowly of their greatest corporation. It was all a part of the haggle. ”If it weren’t for your money, I’d urge you to try the classic YT-1300 series, or the new YT-2400, but one of the smaller YB-series might be for you. I have a used YB-350c at the back,” the shopkeeper explained.
”Alright, let’s see it.” In fact, Davish didn’t knew much about the YB-series, other than that they hadn’t been updated for a while. As he would soon discover, they had a circular main hold – a common feature for a lot of Corellian Engineering freighters.
The elderly shopkeeper led the way to a large hangar and eventually to the YB-350c. It was used, alright, but it didn’t look worn on the outside. Davish noted a few places where small asteroids seemed to have breached the deflector shields and made scratches and bumps in the hull. He also noted that the turret emplacement was empty. It did have two forward light cannons, though.
”This ship mixes classic design with new ways,” the seller started and opened the cargo ramp. He continued on for a few minutes telling a long story about the ship. Davish paid attention with the occasional “I see” and “aha”, but was more interested in how the ship looked. The seller took him on a tour as he explained things like ”The ship’s wings can be folded up for, as you can see,” and ”The most interesting feature is the placement of the cockpit. It’s not up front. In fact, you have the crew quarters in this section of the ship - in front of the cockpit itself. You also have your own entry ramp,” the man went on. ”The passengers have their quarters behind the cockpit, above the cargo hold.” The ship could support a crew of up to three, and up to nine passengers, though Davish thought that would be overtly cramped. The recommended five seemed best.
”In fact, it seems the common room is also part cargo room,” Davish pointed. Given that the cargo hold itself wasn’t overtly big, it was reasonable.
”Yes, if you want to. But the engine room is easily accessible through here,” It was straight through the common room from the cockpit, next to the ladder to the cargo hold (which was also accessible from the crew quarter).
”Does this thing really transport anything at all?” Davish asked himself. It would seem the hopeful designers had stuffed a lot of features into way too little space.
”Fine. I’ll take it.”
”Excellent,” the seller retrieved a datapad from his person. ”Documents?” Davish handed him some false ones. ”Seems fine. That’s 25,000”
”25?! For a transport ship that can’t even transport a single nerf?” It could, in fact transport several herds, but the statement remained. ”I could get a YT-1300 for that price. Missing a turret it does, too,” both were facts which set the seller off.
”Fine, I’ll hit off 8,000. Can you manage it?”
”I’ll give you 16 in hard cash.”
”Deal.”
Davish handed the man the cash.
”You’re kidding? Are you going to pay me with these?” The elderly salesman looked down at the Republic credits.
”Come on. I inherited them recently from my grandfather, don’t be a heartbreaker, they’re still worth their weight, aren’t they?” Davish pleaded.
”Alright. She’s all yours. I know collectors if everything else fails.”
”Thank you very much.”
Ayanna Nyx - April 4, 2008 03:46 AM (GMT)
Looks good to me! But what's this about the Jedi? What kind of 'connection' is it?
Kalin Thalis - April 4, 2008 03:52 AM (GMT)
I'll approve it once I know what the connection is with the Jedi and what you plan to do with it, cause you haven't replied to my question on the other thread. Sorry it just that we have to be very careful when it comes to business concerning Jedi or Sith.
Northman - April 4, 2008 10:18 AM (GMT)
Ah, sure thing. Sorry about that. Thought I put a link into that other thread. Guess I forgot.
In short: The Antarian Rangers were a paramilitary force established around 620 BBY to assist the Jedi Order.
So, yeah, in theory he's pretty knowledgable about the old Jedi Order, but I actually don't intend to do alot with that connection, as to him it's buried - stored away deep, deep and in the back of his mind. At a certain point in life he asked around a lot about what had happened, but it only made him realize that certain subjects where strictly forbidden in the Empire. That fact eventually grew into a fear for agents, as he knew he was an 'outlaw' (though not the reason), which again made him hide.
Nowadays he's not concerned with that at all. He's just concerned with getting by, keeping his cover up and see what the future brings. He's not going to do an "Obi-Wan" and pop up again with the intention of saving the Galaxy, and he certainly aren't going to dig around for surviving Jedi. He's no Imperial sympathizer, but at the same time he's not fully aware of the growing rebellion either. He understands there's something fishy going on somewhere (henche him and his comrades being marked as traitors - which they were not), but his concerns remains mainly in the past.
That said, if he someday meets (or is recruited) by a Rebel or Jedi (or both), he's obviously a subject to be swayed to their side. He'd probably be pretty unsure about the situation (knowing its great safety risks - which is something he's been avoiding up until now), so some convincing, revelation or persuasion would be in order. Also, his reaction to any Jedi wouldn't be "Oh, nice! You're the keepers of peace in the Old Republic. I knew you would return and save the Galaxy from oppression. You know what? I used to serve the Jedi Order of old times, what are the odds?" But it would be more like "Hmm... Jedi, you say? Sounds almost... familiar." You know, kinda like when you meet up with your childhood friend after a couple of decades. You don't really know what to say or think or believe.
In short: The Antarian Rangers were a paramilitary force established around 620 BBY to assist the Jedi Order.
So, yeah, in theory he's pretty knowledgable about the old Jedi Order, but I actually don't intend to do alot with that connection, as to him it's buried - stored away deep, deep and in the back of his mind. At a certain point in life he asked around a lot about what had happened, but it only made him realize that certain subjects where strictly forbidden in the Empire. That fact eventually grew into a fear for agents, as he knew he was an 'outlaw' (though not the reason), which again made him hide.
Nowadays he's not concerned with that at all. He's just concerned with getting by, keeping his cover up and see what the future brings. He's not going to do an "Obi-Wan" and pop up again with the intention of saving the Galaxy, and he certainly aren't going to dig around for surviving Jedi. He's no Imperial sympathizer, but at the same time he's not fully aware of the growing rebellion either. He understands there's something fishy going on somewhere (henche him and his comrades being marked as traitors - which they were not), but his concerns remains mainly in the past.
That said, if he someday meets (or is recruited) by a Rebel or Jedi (or both), he's obviously a subject to be swayed to their side. He'd probably be pretty unsure about the situation (knowing its great safety risks - which is something he's been avoiding up until now), so some convincing, revelation or persuasion would be in order. Also, his reaction to any Jedi wouldn't be "Oh, nice! You're the keepers of peace in the Old Republic. I knew you would return and save the Galaxy from oppression. You know what? I used to serve the Jedi Order of old times, what are the odds?" But it would be more like "Hmm... Jedi, you say? Sounds almost... familiar." You know, kinda like when you meet up with your childhood friend after a couple of decades. You don't really know what to say or think or believe.
Ayanna Nyx - April 4, 2008 03:20 PM (GMT)
Well sounds fine to me :) Welcome to the forum, remember to go to My Controls then Edit Profile to add your character details as well as your 500 credits :)
Northman - April 4, 2008 04:30 PM (GMT)
| QUOTE (Ayanna Nyx @ Apr 4 2008, 03:20 PM) |
| Well sounds fine to me :) Welcome to the forum, remember to go to My Controls then Edit Profile to add your character details as well as your 500 credits :) |
Sure. Oh, and could I perhaps keep one of my blasters, for personal protection? :) (Else I'll just buy one, though. No biggie) Didn't feel I should be so bold as to state any weapons - you also say we can't (but will be granted one according to the profession), so I at least kept a way for the firearm to be obtained, if such is the case. If not, just strike this ramble.
Kalin Thalis - April 4, 2008 10:40 PM (GMT)
Sorry but no weapons or vehicles can be in possession unless you buy it. In your case you're a smuggler so you are entitled to a ship.
Northman - April 17, 2008 11:00 AM (GMT)
For roleplaying convenience, I'd like to "keep" some old blaster, though I'd obviously remove the correct ammount from my cash. (Provided I can afford it).
Oh, and the reason for my prolonged absence, and thus late reply, (in case anyone noticed :P ) was a computer crash.
Oh, and the reason for my prolonged absence, and thus late reply, (in case anyone noticed :P ) was a computer crash.
Kalin Thalis - April 18, 2008 12:42 AM (GMT)
Ok that's a good idea, so yeah remove the price what you think it's worth. We hope you'll respect the fact the price has to be realistic.
Northman - April 18, 2008 01:18 PM (GMT)
I handled it this way
edit: just testing to see if my avatar updates on editing (or if I really have to post before it does)
edit: just testing to see if my avatar updates on editing (or if I really have to post before it does)
Northman - April 21, 2008 02:07 AM (GMT)
Updating my avatar by posting? Test, test... Why won't my pimped new picture show?
Edit: Sorry about that. Didn't work, it seems. Strange. Can't delete posts either. Bummer. So, uhm. Sorry again.
Edit: I don't get this... But it eventually worked by hotlinking the image. But uploading? No. Again. Sorry. Thank you for your time, there's nothing to see in this post. Move along (or read the bio in the first post).
Edit: Sorry about that. Didn't work, it seems. Strange. Can't delete posts either. Bummer. So, uhm. Sorry again.
Edit: I don't get this... But it eventually worked by hotlinking the image. But uploading? No. Again. Sorry. Thank you for your time, there's nothing to see in this post. Move along (or read the bio in the first post).