STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---IC is up!

As the title suggests, feel free to RP it up.

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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Ro Wong » Mon Feb 06, 2012 12:32 pm

Oi. Gonna put this right here for a sec. Tired of carrying it everywhere.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Bishomonten » Mon Feb 06, 2012 12:43 pm

Whats this???? a lady Scoundrel???
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Draken30000 » Mon Feb 06, 2012 3:33 pm

Argh sorry about taking so long with my CS. This is still WIP, clearly, but I hope to have it done within the week. Got a bit swamped. Also, a star wars fanatic I am not. Most of my interest originates in the "cool" factor. As a result, my knowledge of the universe is not extensive at all. I am, however, looking forward to learning. Anyway....

Name: Zane Armada
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Appearance: Body: Zane is a male human bounty hunter. He stands at roughly six feet. He has short brunette hair, and, due to a combination of luck and skill, his handsome face remains completely unblemished, a somewhat rare feature among bounty hunters. Because of this, some refer to him as the Handsome Hunter, a nickname he despises. He has green eyes. His body is toned, but he is not bulky.
Armor: http://media.photobucket.com/image/rece ... y_th-1.jpg - this minus the red cape.
Creed: Bounty Hunter. Works for whoever pays the most.
Affiliation: Whoever is paying him.
Personality: A short summary of one of Zane's major personality features is he simply does not give a damn. He does not care about the Jedi, nor the Sith, the Republic, or the Empire. As long as he gets paid, he is satisfied. To add to that, he will work for whoever pays the most. However, Zane is not a heartless killing machine. He is not one to needlessly kill civilians or those not involved in the hunt. The rule of "get in my way and I will shoot you." still applies though. He has a sense of honor when it comes to combat (not so much when it comes to honoring his agreements) and will not fight an injured or sick opponent (excluding his bounty of course.) Outside of combat his sense of honor is diminished. Despite all this, Zane is a people person. Of the few people he is genuinely loyal to, his friends make up the majority of them. A good listener, Zane can be down for heart to heart talks with a close friend, on the off chance that he has a spare moment. Zane will occasionally crack a joke, but the business of killing people has dried his once prominent humor. Overall Zane is in it for the money, but he does not want to lead a singular existence. He yearns for something more, but he is not sure what that more is. So until he finds out, he hunts.
Motivation: All he wants is to make a living by doing what he loves/does best - Killing people.
History: (How was your life before the Treaty of Coruscant. Where were you when Coruscant was invaded? How well did you recieve the news? Did you even care? How much does the treaty effect you? And what about the Great War? How much did that effect you? Were you still a padawan? Or maybe you are a war veteran...waiting for your medal of honor. The more details you put in here, the more I can work with. Every detail is important)
Theme: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zdJwxGJ5GEg

Will let you know as I update it.
Last edited by Draken30000 on Wed Feb 15, 2012 5:40 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby NeoWarrior7 » Mon Feb 06, 2012 4:02 pm

Working on a Sith. A REAL Sith. Power, anger, something something darkside.

Although, someone should make a master of Force Kick.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Dee Arris » Mon Feb 06, 2012 8:51 pm

Name: Gaelae Ubun Tracen (born, “Gaelaeu’buntra’cen”)

Nickname(s): “Getaway” Tracen, “Runaway” Tracen (derogative)

Age: 25

Gender: Female

Species: Tyrian Twi’lek

Appearance: Gaelae stands at 5’5” in height, and possesses the slender, lightweight build associated with her kind, although her muscles have been toned thanks to a life full of labour, exertion and, in more recent years, fighting and fleeing. Her skin is light purple, except around the bases of her lekku and down her forearms, where she has darker speckling. There is a faint, pinkish scar travelling down the left side of her face and going under her jaw towards her neck, left by a severe punishment she received during her years as a slave. Her face has a round shape, giving her a degree of extra charm when smiling, wide, brown eyes under thin, tattooed brows, and smallish ears, which allow attention to be diverted to her generously proportioned lekku. Gaelae has tattoos on her back, each one a trophy to commemorate a time she has outwitted the authorities, at least according to her anyway. Her right palm bears the personal brand of Giradda the Hutt. Her lips and sharp, claw-like nails are much darker in colour than the rest of her, bordering almost on black.

Such is often the case with Twi’leks, Gaelae is inclined to dress herself in tight-fitting or revealing outfits to enhance her form, usually favouring black or dark brown over a white under-layer, and some hidden extra padding to add another level of protection whenever and wherever doable. Her ensemble varies depending on purpose, but her distinguishing articles include elbow-length, fingerless gloves, knee-high boots and a belt, all made from thick materials and fashioned to carry small, concealable objects or lessen physical trauma that might be sustained in her line of work. Finally, Gaelae dons a black collar in a sort of parody of her prior existence, a joke only she may fully appreciate, and a thick, tan-coloured coat or a black scaled jacket with exposed caps over the shoulders and elbows.

Gaelae is not adverse to jewellery, and decorates herself if she believes an occasion warrants it. Amidst her collection are rings, necklaces and navel ornaments.

Creed: Smuggler and information broker

Affiliation: Neutral

Personality: To any outside observer, Gaelae is self-indulgent, quite to the point of hedonism, but to her, she’s just reaping the fun and enjoyment anybody who breaks her chains is owed. She enjoys the finer things each world has to offer, taking in the artistic, entertainment and commercial districts, but prefers to keep these visits short to prevent them becoming stale to her. She is also an avid game-player, particularly card games, and eagerly tracks the best in whatever area she is currently residing in, to see if they’re really as good as said; those that turn out to be sore losers or quick grifters immediately earn her distaste. In fact it is not unknown for Gaelae to distance herself from an entire community of players over one poor round, though this is only ever a temporary reaction. She understands some might see her as hypocritical, for cheating herself, but to Gaelae it comes down to a matter of stakes, and perspective, plus the fact that if someone found out and actually made an issue of it, then she has clearly not done a good enough job of covering it up. A game that’s part of a job and a game for personal enjoyment or fulfilment are completely separate things.

This ability to split work and life to avoid a moral dilemma relieves her of the stresses of trading in information and the harmful repercussions this might have, especially as most of the time both ends are connected to the scum of the underworld. She has no qualms about using her natural powers of seduction to weasel what she wants out of a target, but her sense of self-respect keeps her from lowering herself to carnal acts. Gaelae is guilty, to a degree, of vanity. While aware of her defects, such as the scars and markings she has been marred with, and the multitude of intertwining tattoos that are emblazoned on her back by her own decision, she strives to preserve the beauty she still has. She wants to do what she does better than anyone else, and look great when she does it. She is not immune to self-pity and descents in her self-esteem due to her physical flaws, but she tries not to let these bouts of negativity control her life.

In the heat of battle, Gaelae strikes to incapacitate instead of kill, but if it ever came down to her and the man trying to burn a laser through her head, the latter would never be granted the luxury of her sympathy.

As a smuggler, Gaelae will transport mostly anything, her only hang-up being slaves, because of obvious reasons. She would prefer to avoid situations where there would be plenty of slaves around her, but considering the booming trade, it is an evil she is forced to put up with. Then again, some of them are very easy on the eyes, not that she’d ever admit it out loud. Finally, while paying her treacherous father back is high on her to-do list, she does not actively hunt him or his men, believing that letting them wait for her in anxiety will be infinitely more satisfying. There are days when she quite forgets she hates her father, or that she even has one.

Motivation: On the surface, Gaelae looks out for number one. Number one wants to have a good time. Deep inside, though, there’s a list of names that need checking off.

History: Gaelae’s father was a rather stupid man. Despite their relative neutrality and apathy towards the war, some Twi’leks were not adverse to offering various forms of aid to either side. The elder Tracen, who made his living as a star-ship trader, chose to ally himself with the losers as a supplier, and through a mix of underhanded deals, bullying and sheer military and political incompetence, was left out of pocket and out of friends. In a bid to avoid his impending downward spiral into poverty, Tracen went mad and sold his daughters and wife into slavery, but did so behind the shield of an alias and a gang of hired thugs in order to maintain his integrity. The official story was that the family were taken by pirates in transit to Coruscant. In all his life, the one act the old fraud committed right was a selfish and unforgivable betrayal.

While a child, Gaelae passed from master to master until she ended up on the planet Nar Shaddaa, under the ownership of a loathsome, puss-filled harpy of a Hutt named Giradda, who put her to work with several others her age as the cleaning crew in one of the cantinas the Hutt controlled. This cantina was frequented by a certain group of customers who would play card games for hours in a corner booth, for which Gaelae soon developed a fondness of watching. She learned their rules, their tricks and their ploys, all the while remaining unheard by them, until the night when she unmasked a cheater. The resultant shoot-out left the cantina in great need of repair, and Giradda punished Gaelae harshly, but once the Hutt’s temper finally subsided, she decided to have the girl’s observational skills nurtured. When Gaelae reached the proper age to learn how to dance, as many female slaves are eventually required to, Giradda paid one of her best dealers to take her under his wing. She proved to be a good student, in part because of her already self-taught knowledge and her natural attraction to the gambling world. Spotting the more clever cheats called for her to learn many of their methods, and she grew proficient in stacking the decks.

Her tutelage complete, Gaelae’s duties at the cantina slowly gave way to the casino, until, and almost without warning, she was spending all her waking hours there, both entertaining the gamblers as a dancer, and working the tables as a croupier. It was a common practise for such establishments to be outfitted with fully stocked mini-bars, so drunken patrons were not an overall rare occurrence, and one night Gaelae found an especially inebriated face she recognised. One she would never be rid of, for this was the face of one of the villains responsible for kidnapping and selling her and her family. Fortunately, she had done some growing since those days, and the man was completely unaware of who the vision of loveliness dancing in front of him was. He was so enamoured with her in fact, that he requested the casino supervisor to allow him a night with her. Since Gaelae was not exactly known for being a troublemaker, and the on-duty supervisor was somewhat lethargic, the encounter was permitted.

It would be an expensive, and very disappointing night for the pirate. Initially, Gaelae intended to get revenge and damn the consequences, but then, as people are wont to do when full of drink, the pirate began to talk. Steering their conversation, Gaelae learned what her father had done to her. Fuelled by anger, and with his pilfered stun baton in her hand, Gaelae knocked him out. The adrenaline pushed her to go further, so she stole his weapons and cloak, and ran off. Roaming the streets for days doing odd-jobs or just plain stealing, she made enough to buy her way off-world.

Gaelae’s escape took her to planet Tattooine, and there she found both employment and a place to stay at the Mos Eisley Inn. This kept her in funds, not extravagant, but certainly better than what she earned as an urchin and a cosmic improvement over a literal slave’s wage (hint: nothing). She had tasted independence and sought to make that the core of her new life, so she took to going out whenever she had the time, and put most of her earnings to use. In this commerce-heavy sector, she found people to train her in self-defence, to properly demonstrate how to use weapons, to give her all the names she would need to know to climb the ladder. Through these connections, she skimmed the underworld to increase her treasury, and started to sample delights that were strictly off-limits before. Music, cuisine, clothes, opportunities to have things she could call hers, Gaelae was overwhelmed. It was not long until she realised that the more she wanted, the greater her horizons would need to be. Knowing the wages afforded to star-ship pilots, she trained with a commercial cargo company, honing her skills until she could quit the inn and sign up full-time. Several of the cargo pilots also made a decent profit on the other side of the law, which was the true reason for the financial rewards she’d heard about, and Gaelae befriended them, and wormed her way into their network, a loose circle that exchanged in information as much as they did illicit goods. Not being an organisation per se, she was never bound to them as any kind of agent, but she was not hesitant to repay the kindnesses and lessons she learned from the oddly likeable cadre of vagabonds with whom she associated. After co-piloting the vessel of a more experienced smuggler, during which time she saw conflict with pirates (and showing extreme prejudice due to a burning hatred of them as a creed on principle) and slipped under the radars of both warring factions, she was commended and given a tip as to how to get a ship of her own. In all likelihood, it would be sorely battered and in need of repair, but it would be hers to do with as she pleased. Gaelae of course relished the thought, and followed that path to an auction, where she used her feminine wiles to clear the way to obtaining a YT-2000 vessel at the lowest possible price, not to mention the BD ‘droid she found stowed in one of the secret cargo sections. Christening her new ship, “The Wind-Up Merchant,” in honour of a playful nickname given to her by a member of the circle, she was all set to begin a new career of her own in the open galaxy.

Out of sheer bold cheek, one of the earliest jobs Gaelae accepted as an independent smuggler was the transportation of illegal weapons for one of Giradda’s operations in the ongoing conflict between the crime families. When the Hutt discovered who she’d hired, she was both outraged and uproariously amused. Many of her surviving slaves were less than impressed. After taking the cheque for the work, which Gaelae saw as a small, but deeply satisfying act of retribution (she could never bring herself to harm somebody who in a twisted sort of way, was important to her path to liberation), she returned to the Hutt’s palace under cover of darkness, and indirectly lent a hand in the breakout of her fellows, the elders of whom had become agitated by her reappearance and felt brave enough at last to try their luck. Giradda, who was many things but not an idiot, had a hunch that Gaelae was involved, but without any damning evidence, her advisors recommended she bide her time. The smuggler would slip up, eventually, but harming somebody who, for all intents and purposes, had carried out their business arrangement without failure, would only have a negative impact on future endeavours and make it appear to other, rival Hutts that she was desperately using a scapegoat to cover for a mistake she was more believably at fault for, giving them the impression she was losing control. Vulnerable. In short, her greasy paws were tied. Gaelae left her a fondly insulting message and fled Nar Shaddaa, hopefully once and for all.

She chose not to change her name for one reason; she hopes that one day, she will be known to her father and whether or not she does come to claim his life herself, he will be forced to spend the rest of it looking over his shoulder in fear of revenge such shall be of a kind unlike anything he or any other Twi’lek could ever imagine.

Theme(s): “Killer Queen,” by Queen (1974), “Black Magic Woman,” by Fleetwood Mac (1968), “The Jack,” by AC/DC (1975).

I had a lot of difficulty selecting one out of the many tunes clamouring for attention in my head, and on my play-list, so if nobody minds, I chose my three favourites out of the lot, as I believe each could be applied in accordance with differing circumstances.

Equipment: Gaelae’s weapons-of-choice, which she stole on the night she attained her freedom, are a stun baton and a heavy blaster pistol, both of which she has paid to have extensively, if illegally, customised in the most important fields. Whilst not in use, the baton is hung from a loop on the back of her belt and obscured by her coat, and her blaster is close at hand in the holster strapped to her right thigh. For reasons of extra insurance, she also carries a number of flash-bang grenades and one or two thermal charges inside her coat, and a traditional Twi’lek dagger tucked into a sheath on the underside of her left glove. Like most smugglers, or indeed even most denizens of the galaxy with a busy line of work, she carries a palm-sized datapad either in a pouch hooked to her belt or in the inside pocket of her coat.

Abilities:

Combat: A capable sharpshooter, able to wield larger rifles but preferring her smaller blaster pistol, as it allows her to wield two weapons simultaneously. Gaelae is versed in hand-to-hand self defence as well, using her flexibility and agility to weave around opponents and target their weak points so as to render them harmless as quickly as possible. She favours these methods and, in an ideal fight, keeps her adversaries at a distance because despite her other skills, she lacks raw strength and dexterity.

Piloting: While she does not boast of being the best pilot in the systems, Gaelae has the sufficient skill any smuggler worth her salt requires to stay one step ahead of the authorities. She is able to understand most cockpit layouts with a little observation or experimentation, and focuses more on a vessel’s manoeuvrability than squeezing for speed. “Being fast’s not worth much if you can’t keep from flying up somebody else’s afterburners.” It also helps to be able to discern where to find the nearest best cover, or a way to force your pursuers up somebody else’s afterburners instead.

Slight of hand: Gaelae cheats at games. She is fully capable of playing fair, and nine times out of ten she does, but every so often, there are instances when she will fix a game to thwart somebody else who will do it first. In her own words, she, “cheats the cheaters out of cheating.” If Gaelae’s situation is particularly desperate, however, she will use this skill to tip the scales in her (or, if it applies, her employer’s) favour, subtly enough to keep things flowing without her subterfuge being too brazen or blatant.

Espionage: To attain her freedom in the first place, Gaelae had to be good at getting into the hearts and pockets of others. Being a Twi’lek, a race that was already known throughout the galaxy for the desirability of its females, is an advantage she willingly puts to use as a means of getting ahead. In her early career she used her beauty for thievery, but has since learned that, if somebody’s willing to pay her the right price, a coy smile and a well-timed swish of her hips can bring her closer to some important, and on occasion rather juicy, data.

Physical: Her past as an exotic dancer has given Gaelae increased flexibility, which serves her well when hiding or infiltration are required. If she’s ever had to remain on a planet for an extended period of time, dancing is also not an altogether bad avenue of employment until she can make an escape, either straightforwardly or as a tool for certain aforementioned criminal intel-gathering activities. “Flaunt what you’ve got, no matter how you got it.”

Mechanical: Gaelae has some knowledge of mechanics, enough to determine certain onboard problems, but leaves anything beyond hitting it with a spanner to Chi-H1R0, or to planet-based repair specialists when available.

Linguistic: One does not travel through a galaxy filled with dialects without at least a passing knowledge of exotic tongues. Gaelae commonly speaks Galactic Basic or her own native Twi'leki, and has enough of a grasp on others to get by, but lesser known or harder to grasp languages are accomodated by Chi-H1R0.

Ship: Gaelae pilots, “The Wind-Up Merchant,” a Corellian Engineering Corporation YT-2000 light freighter. The model came, as standard, with shield generators more potent than the average civilian freighter, and two dual laser turrets, and has been augmented with high-grade sensor suites and jammers. Its hyper-drive properties have been tweaked, though not so extraneously as the vessels of those smugglers who prefer a quick, risky escape to a technical one. In her own words, “I want to be caught about as much as the next smuggler, but there exists a point where fixing a ship turns into making a flying death-trap.”

Maintenance and co-piloting of the ship are left to Chi-H1R0 (pronounced, “Chihiro”), a luxury ‘droid built by LeisureMech Enterprises and then seemingly abandoned in a storage compartment under the floor. Chi was not found in the best of shapes, and while her make and model are still recognisable, the repairs to her outer shell have given her substantial differences from her sisters, including a loss of the universally pristine, perky visages they are known for. She still has the malleability of functions and expansion slots for upgrades and customisation that leisure ‘droids are valued for. Gaelae describes Chi thusly, “Why someone dumped a top-shelf piece of tech like her is anyone’s guess, but if they hadn’t, I would never have gotten my slightly malfunctioning, usually annoying, always reliable partner-in-crime. Their loss.”
Last edited by Dee Arris on Wed Feb 08, 2012 6:06 am, edited 5 times in total.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Timer » Mon Feb 06, 2012 9:24 pm

Is it bad i took 6 trys to get the jedi code, but only 1 to get the sith...

Kotor 1 rocks :D
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Villain » Mon Feb 06, 2012 10:45 pm

Umm, the CS is good and all, the character of Gaelea is fine bu there's one problem that stuck out to me in her history. When liberating the fellow slaves from Giradaa, Giradaa didn't act because she didn't have any proof. Why does that matter? She's a crime lord and a Hutt at that. They execute people just for being annoying or winning too many bets. If someone is stealing there merchandise and they are well aware of it you can bet that they'll hire Bounty Hunters to blast Gaelea's ass all the way to Hoth, evidence be damned.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby NeoWarrior7 » Tue Feb 07, 2012 3:19 am

WIP. Stuck on a name. As usual....

Name:
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Species: Pureblood Sith
Appearance:

Creed: Sith
Affiliation: Empire
Personality:

Motivation: To prove his worth and rise in the Empire; to achieve power by any means, as is the way of the Sith

History:
Theme:

Rank: Sith Acolyte
Class: Sith Warrior
Color of Lightsaber: Red
Type of lightsaber: A pair of Guard shoto, and a Sith Sword, a family relic, he keeps on his back.
Combat style: A specialized personal form of Ataru and Jar'kai. It focuses mainly around his rather unique sabers, combining odd angles of attack with fast, furious blows as he leaps around his enemies, seeking any opening to strike. While he rarely uses the Sith Sword in actual combat, he typically uses a less practiced Ataru/Djem So style, using the blade to focus the dark side as he tries to outpace and overwhelm an opponent.

Force powers: He mainly focuses the force inward, enhancing his speed, strength and reflexes. As a warrior, he has focused on force speed, force jump and the like, to the point where he can rapidly achieve extraordinary short range speeds, becoming a blur to his enemies, which also forms much of his fighting style. His reflexes accelerate to match, allowing him to quickly perform moves or blocks with pinpoint precision.

He is also trained in all the basic force arts, and has some talent for more destructive forms of telekinesis, such as powerful blasts of force push, or force choke. His force lightning, on the other hand, is fairly weak, and is mostly only good for painful shocks.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Princess » Tue Feb 07, 2012 6:23 am

Tuor: Stuff is our resident, hot mess, alcoholic.
Senel: Stuff is the patron saint of getting shitfaced. You replaced your organs with an engine that runs solely on alcohol.
Tuor: You foolish fools, no one can tame the stuffaluffagus!
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Archrival » Tue Feb 07, 2012 10:23 am

Zarak Mal, there a name off the top of my head.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Dee Arris » Tue Feb 07, 2012 3:03 pm

Maybe I was subconsciously trying to avoid playing to a stereotype, even if it is a fictional one. Either way, it's fixed, and I think it makes more sense, taking into account the opportunistic nature of the criminal element, and how easily a nasty reputation is damaged. Barbarians or not, a crime lord is still a businessman...woman...monster, whichever inclination you'd prefer.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Asmodai » Wed Feb 08, 2012 8:28 am

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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Ro Wong » Wed Feb 08, 2012 11:56 am

Name: Manir’aetc’erunoudu “Iraetce” (ear-ah-chi)

Age: 29

Gender: Male

Species: Chiss

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

Affiliation: Empire

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.]

Theme:

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.
Last edited by Ro Wong on Wed Feb 22, 2012 3:16 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Archrival » Wed Feb 08, 2012 12:11 pm

What the hell is with his name? Just because he's alien doesn't mean his name has to be gobbledegook.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Ro Wong » Wed Feb 08, 2012 12:33 pm

The Chiss use a system for their names that consists of three parts. I tried making it as pronounceable as possible while still retaining the center portion that most are called by when in the presence of other races.

Though I thought the full names of other Chiss, like Thrawn's, all seemed just as odd to speak as this one. But then, they love to claim pride in their language and it's not unheard of for others to be unable to properly say just their names. So in all, I thought the name fit a Chiss well.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby sam4books » Wed Feb 08, 2012 2:59 pm

Ha! I see what you did there.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby MQuinny1234 » Thu Feb 09, 2012 2:21 pm

*Throws hands up in the air* I see nothing special about his name. Spill.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby sam4books » Thu Feb 09, 2012 4:07 pm

If you read it in a certain way it sounds Italian.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby MQuinny1234 » Thu Feb 09, 2012 4:29 pm

...I would never have guess that.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Asmodai » Thu Feb 09, 2012 5:03 pm

That's it? It "sounds Italian"? I was honestly expecting something grander :(
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby Dee Arris » Thu Feb 09, 2012 5:56 pm

Sometimes, the simplest answers can be the most obscure...and for that the easiest to appreciate.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby MQuinny1234 » Thu Feb 09, 2012 6:13 pm

...Yeeeaaahh, but it's bloody annoying the rest of the time.

It's like someone pointing up and saying "Look at that" Then I say "What" and they say "the sky" and then I glare at them and push them down a manhole.

Also, random inane picture.

Speaking of stupidly simple things, is a heating pad for exactly what it sounds like? Or is some...female thing?
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby sam4books » Thu Feb 09, 2012 7:24 pm

I never really heard of that sort of thing before.

Unless it's a version of the usual pads. Seems kinda weird, although I wouldn't be surprised if it's meant to control cramps or some shit like that.

EDIT:

Looked it up. Seems like I was right. It's used to manage pain (aka cramps).

I need to get me some of those.
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby MQuinny1234 » Thu Feb 09, 2012 7:48 pm

It does sound nice but I'm kinda put off on it a little now :(
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Re: STAR WARS: The Old Republic RP---OOC---OPEN FOR BUSINESS!

Postby sam4books » Thu Feb 09, 2012 7:49 pm

Heyheyhey, how about you try getting cramps in your abdomen for a week.

See how you like it.
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