Name: Manir’aetc’erunoudu “Iraetce” (ear-ah-chi)
Appearance: Six feet, two inches, dark royal blue skin, cherry red eyes, and jet black hair. Iraetce keeps his hair short, trimmed to be only a couple of inches long and always combed back. His high, broad cheeks and low jaw line are common among the Chiss, allowing him no chance to stand out among his brethren -- while still being attractive and masculine enough to perform an array of duties that may require a subtle touch. His fingers are thin and give the impression they’re longer than they really are. His favored attire is formal, whether it be his uniform attire or just tight suits and ties meant for dinner parties and gala events. This stems from his upbringing as all Chiss have an inclination towards formality and practicality, so wearing loose and casual irritates him at times. This does not keep him from wearing such things however, when a job calls for it.
Creed: Imperial Agent
Personality: Proud and respectful. Formal, but willing to bend in the name of functionality when approaching a role for work, or to better fit into his setting. Stoic and quite discreet, as his profession requires. Iraetce exhibits all the qualities he feels are expected of him as a Chiss and an Agent of the Empire. When not in the field or taking on a role, he keeps things very structured, preferring to denote others by their ranks and titles as opposed to informally using their names. (Lord Vader, Smuggler Solo, Jackass Skywalker, etc.) Though, he will at times use a term from his native language when regarding certain individuals that he has yet to see act worthy of a respectful name or title.
As a Chiss, it’s very rare or even impossible for him to act through emotion or impulse, as the race centers upon thinking through all obstacles and perceive such rash actions as detrimental toward achieving the favored results of any situation. But that does not mean that certain things can’t get on his nerves from time to time. Just that he’ll be more likely to think of some plot for ending this pest as opposed to assaulting it directly. In fact, one such thing makes regular attempts at bothering him. That one thing being something he travels with frequently.
Motivation: To bring glory to his people, his Empire, and himself.
History: Iraetce, like all Chiss, was raised from an early age to learn all the things that he would need as an adult. The process uses the impressionability of childhood to imprint great qualities early on to better ensure success. Iraetce, like many others, led a common life into his maturity. Like many others, as well, he joined the CEDF when old enough to serve his people and aid their allies in the Empire. For the next several years, he fought alongside his brethren and comrades in the Great War, displaying a knack for leadership and tactical command that many have come to expect from all Chiss. He never once lost a soldier under his command, and all his battles ended with success with minimal use of assault weaponry, garnering quick ascension through the ranks. His days as an officer granted him leave of the political holdings of the Ruling Families, and a noticeably shorter name during this time. Likewise, he went by a different name when among non-Chiss.
When the Treaty of Coruscant was signed, many of his allies celebrated, knowing the Empire had acquired a sizable victory against the Jedi and their Republic. But Aetcher, like his Chiss brethren, chose to delay such things until it was assured that a conflict would not immediately arise. It wasn’t until he was serving in the Empire’s ranks at the age of 20 that he chose to be proud and finally acknowledge the advantage they had gained against the Republic. But, as with all things regarding Imperial Agents, little is known as to when certain events occurred, or even his age upon becoming an agent. But an established truth is that he came upon his ally and partner in his discreet duties during his early years as an Agent. One lucky individual managed to stumble upon documentation in the form of a journal kept by Iraetce. Though, for clear reasons, the person was not so lucky when his knowledge was discovered, and likewise Iraetce never kept a material log of his activities afterwards.
“It was a cold day. I can scarcely imprint the severity of this notation; I was distinctly reminded of Csilla by the sharp change in temperature during the ‘winter season,’ as the locals called it. My most recent mission had taken longer than my superiors had informed. This came as little surprise, though, as they are only superior in rank and title. I could tell within the first few days that observing and learning every pattern of my target would take…considerably longer than they had estimated. This, of course, is before I even lay out a proper plan to complete my primary objective. The number of rash and impatient individuals my superiors must deal with regularly to warrant such estimations must be astounding, indeed…
“I was in need of transport. Not unexpected, as I had counted on my extended time being labeled as my failure to survive in the eyes of my superiors. They always act upon such assumptions. I had accumulated quite the financial reservoir through other such similar missions. I have to stress how pleased I am in knowing that they grossly overcompensate their incompetence with an abundance of wealth and hardware. Though the locals had little in way of a proper transport in comparison to the Empire or Ascendancy. Though, comparing any -- the Imperials included -- to the Ascendancy is an act in futility. My forbearers far excel in such regards. Most of their available vessels would barely even register as capable of mobility. The rest just seemed to be an utter mess. I was surprised any could work with how much crazed work had been done to them by their previous owners -- likely only did any of said work when the ship began to breakdown in mid-flight.
“Some hour or two -- uncertain as the way the proprietor rambled on and on, again towards the grand features of each vessel began to blur time -- after investigating another dealer, I caught the glimpse of something. It was most peculiar. At first, the vessel seemed quite common. But a second glance afforded to me by curiosity -- I thought I had seen an Ascendancy moniker on the hull -- revealed that the ship was well cared for, most especially for something second-hand. The symbol had been a crude attempt at art painted with a cheap material. The salesman, in an attempt to garner responsibility for bringing it to my attention, then proceeded to list the various accommodations of the ship. It wasn’t large enough to serve a smuggler or anyone transporting merchandise on a regular basis, but could easily hold an array of tools, accessories and other commodities of my trade. And if I was paying for any vessel by my own funds, I would certainly make sure to use it regularly, so the extra weapon features, and not-so-legal hyper drive and engine enhancements made the ship quite appealing.
“The selling point was his mentioning of the onboard AI. It came with a station that could create small AI platforms with which the ship could follow its owner and alert them in case of emergencies. It seemed rather suspiciously wonderful for a ship located in such a remote location. Needless to say, this required further inspection. The inside of the ship was in much better condition than the hull. This in itself was a new sight among the salesman’s roster thus far. But I actually became surprised for a moment when he led me to the replication station and discovered that he’d been entirely truthful. If anything, he made it sound quite underwhelming. The station worked by collecting debris and discarded materials from the environment, then returning these resources to the station by means of spare platforms the AI controlled remotely whenever the ship was on standby, whether in space or planet-side. This, then, afforded the ship quite the abundance of spares at the time, as it had been located with the salesman and his ‘dealership’ for quite some time. The mobile platforms were, of course, made from weak materials and certainly weren’t suitable for any combative purposes. This one drawback was irrelevant, however, in regards to the fact that the system worked remarkably well for using purely random items that people were discarding as trash. I would still wish to locate the creator and congratulate him for his successive product.
“I was then introduced personally to the ship’s cockpit and the AI. I immediately noticed the base and neutral tone, admiring that no one had attempted to program it with some ridiculous accent or odd dialect. In fact, I found myself soon conversing with the ship upon various philosophical teachings we had both encountered during our individual travels. Amusingly, it quickly picked up on my personality quirks and properly deduced exactly how I felt about the matter; The salesman was, of course, left behind in the trail of our conversation -- the AI had been programmed with an understanding of Cheunh, something that buffoon could never begin to comprehend. By the end, I had actually come to desire the company of this faux intelligence over most of the Imperials I typically did business with. I did a bit of haggling and got the price dropped, with much amusement for the AI which was listening the entire time as we discussed buying and selling the very thing we were now inside. I still find the idea worth a chuckle under my breath even to this day.
“And so I set out, aboard my new vessel, and quite pleased with myself for having acquired such an amazing deal on this wonderful ship. It wasn’t until I had gotten well out of transmission range that I discovered the AI was under the influence of a programmed feed the proprietor had set-up to sweeten the deal in his favor. As soon as it regained its full awareness, the AI presented to me the most annoying accent I had ever heard. There was this slow nature to its speech, and the tone was so obnoxiously arrogant and conceited. It called the accent ‘British,’ whatever that is. It then went on about how his previous owner was a doctor of sorts. I asked who and it replied, simply, “That’s the one.” … I still have no idea what it was referring to with that statement. And now, I wish I could locate the being who gave up this TarDes, as it calls itself, and slowly drain the oxygen from their breathing cavities. The nerve of this AI, saying that I’m even mispronouncing its name… [YOU DO IT ON PURPOSE, YOU BLUE BASTARD.]
“… Reading over my last entry, I am beginning to fear that this abomination is observing my personal records when I am away. I will need to [INSERT] my [LOG] upon my person whenever away from the ship.” [HA. HA. HA. HA. HA.]
Undercover Names: Cherry-- Dealer, negotiator, big man of words and plans. Businessman with connections and all the best merchandise for all the best prices. One-stop shop for any criminal organization looking for the right product, whether it weaponry, drugs, or…a little something extra. Bit into red suits that match the color of his eyes for which he’s named. Cosmetics used to give Iraetce a long, slender face and thin chin. Clothes used to give illusion that he’s quite skinny with little actual muscle. Wears a pair of black shades, his crimson eyes often bright enough to leave small orbs of red shining through the dark lenses. The shades are really designed to emit a sonic frequency that is capable of troubling the nervous systems of most races with prominent auditory senses. Has small dampeners worn within his ears, colored to hide among his skin tone.
Hamir-- Pacifist and holy man. Kind and a real beacon of the people. Travels through the galaxy to spread hopes for peace and prosperity. Secretly a radical terrorist bent on destroying military institutions to ‘aid the cause.’ Quite friendly and fond of mercy, preferring to never kill and only resort to damage of buildings and structures. But is still okay with it if ‘accidents’ happen. Balding with azure hair tied into a long ponytail. Thin mustache with thick stubble along the cheeks and jaw line. Very prominent sideburns. Likes to wear dark robes. Makes heavy use of explosives.
Scratch-- Ladies’ man, musician, and overly zealous hero wannabe. Never one to hold onto one relationship and noticeably misogynistic. Man of action and quick to the gun. Loner type, with enough arrogant to think he’ll never need help. Secret romantic and easily prone to dramatics. Hardly thinks before acting. Dyed white hair with streaks of red. Cosmetics used to add upon brow line to extend it forward. Clean and short goatee, no mustache. Keeps to tight leather and fond of high-powered pistol weaponry.
Itcher-- Coward and druggie. Informant for any price, or any amount of the right chemicals. Long, brown, curly hair that falls all around his face. Has no family left as he sold them all out to pay for his addictions. Demented and twisted through years of street life and drug abuse. Avid sadist, lending himself toward use of blades or other various melee weaponry. Prefers material tools over lasers and other more advanced means as he feels it is “More personal. More private.” Has a long scar over the right side of his face. Right eye is blind, now white with a small hint of pink coloring. Left eye is bright, coral pink.
Gear: Helmet and upper body. With close-up of front and back views of helmet.
(Color description and suit details yet to be completed.)
Equipment: Cherry’s Shades-- Thin, but stylish. These shades are designed to emit small frequencies that resonate a very specific signal. Once reaching a creature’s auditory appendages, this signal is transferred into the nervous system. Within the body, it begins to over stimulate various nervous responses, resulting in rapid degradation of muscular strength. Once the body reaches a certain limit, it begins to grow nauseous. Breathing becomes shallow, the heart rate drops, and the victim is left barely alive after extended exposure. Takes nearly an hour for the signal to cause the worst symptoms. Most never reach such point as Cherry tends to leave just as their muscles begin growing numb near the fifteen minute marker.