Fandom Echoes of the Fallen Character Sheets

[Gus Gungus]

Character sheets go here, example as follows. People who know what this is only pls.



Name: Unus Greer

Age: 31

Occupation: Captain of the Silicon Condor (officially); many things (unofficially)

Species: Human

Powers/Abilities: Fast draw. Ace pilot. The emotional support of her best friend and business partner, Borkh.

Equipment: WESTAR-35 blaster, retrofitted YT-2000 light freighter, her friend Borkh

Alignment (D&D style): True Neutral

Bio (make sure to at least include their affiliation with Vader/the Empire): One of few known smugglers brazen enough to operate in Imperial space, Greer encountered the imposing Darth Vader by chance while detained at an Imperial labor camp struggling to process an influx of rebel prisoners. Not quite grasping who he was beyond the most important looking person in the room, she nevertheless figured out where his quarters were and attempted to seduce him into receiving a full pardon. As the Sith Lord was choking her to death with his mind, the combination of adrenaline, her will to survive, and the need to choose her words very carefully with what limited breath she had remaining apparently culminated in a very compelling argument. This somehow resulted in Vader accepting her into his service as a freelancer, the dark warrior having some use for informants throughout the criminal underworld. In the years since her duties toward the Empire have expanded in accordance with her talent around a ship, in addition to her enlistment of a fearsome Barabel reaper as her personal muscle. To this day, she has no idea what exactly she said to Vader to make him spare her; Every now and then she kind of wishes he hadn't. Kind of wishes she had just died.

 

[MyrtenRose]

Name: Elara Harper

Age: 35

Occupation: Bounty hunter by trade and assassin by inclination

Species: Human

Powers/Abilities: A gifted sniper and a quick draw with sidearms, as well as handy with blades.

Equipment: Valken-38x sniper rifle, Twin DC-17 heavy blaster pistols, concealed vibroblade and tehk'la blade, a holographic disguise matrix, a cranial implant that allows her to transmit thoughts to the severed head of a protocol droid attached to her chest harness to communicate on her behalf, rocket boots and an old modified X-70B Phantom starship.

Alignment (D&D style): Lawful Evil

Bio (make sure to at least include their affiliation with Vader/the Empire): Once a proud member of the splinter faction of Mandalorians known as Death Watch during the years of the Clone Wars, agreeing from a young age with their cause of returning the people of Mandalore to their past greatness. She joined up even before she had officially reached the galactic standard of adulthood. Subsequently, when the Sith Lord known as Maul rallied together several groups(Death Watch, Black Sun, the Pyke Syndicate, the Hutt Clan and the Nightbrothers) to his side, she served as part of his Shadow Collective. And she served well, personally destroying many droids in numerous conflicts, among them Battle of Zanbar, the battle on Ord Mantell, and the second battle of Dathomir. Ultimately however, her service, like so many others, came to an end at the Siege of Mandalore. Entire regions of the planet erupted into violence as the 501st descended with their Jedi commanders and the Mandalorian resistance, fighting against what remained of Maul's loyal forces. The injuries she suffered there robbed her of her ability to speak, and not long after it was clear that Maul and his Shadow Collective had lost, another wave of violence followed. Clone troopers turned on the Jedi, seemingly at random, and in the ensuing chaos that followed, Harper turned her back on all of it and fled the planet. Maul had lost, and by Mandalorian custom, he was no longer a leader to follow and there was no one else left in Death Watch who could be a worthy successor. Not to her eyes.

She took up trade as a solo hunter, working for the highest bidder and looking out only for herself. In the wake of the end of the Clone Wars and the demise of some of the galaxy's most renowned bounty hunters during and after it(Jango Fett, Cad Bane, Aurra Sing), her name was one of many to rise up to replace them. She was particularly infamous among the criminal underworld for rarely if ever bringing anyone in alive.

It was this choice of profession that brought her into contact with another dark lord of the Sith, Darth Vader. When there was someone the Empire needed taken care of, unofficially, her name was on the list of those that could be hired for the job. Often many names on that list were hired at once for the same job, not caring who got it done so long as it was done. Say what you will about the Sith, they at least had a strong appreciation of competition.

Not to mention, their kind tended to be involved with the best fights. And they paid well, of course.

 

[Schnee Corp Lawyer]

Name: Seike Alvors

Age: 22

Occupation: Imperial inquisitor; 12th sister

Species: Human

Powers/Abilities: Force sensitive and combat trained in it. inborn ability to use psychometry, and had a natural aptitude for the force drain technique

Equipment: Curved hilt lightsaber, inquisitor combat armor. SE-14r light repeating blaster

Alignment (D&D style): Lawful Neutral

Bio (make sure to at least include their affiliation with Vader/the Empire):

IMPERIAL DOSSIER, SUBJECT: SEIKE ALVORS, A.K.A 12TH SISTER

Confidential material. Reading this document without proper clearance is an act of treason against the emperor himself, and shall be punished accordingly.

xx/xx/-10

A woman later identified as VARNHEL ALVORS was confronted by a local patrol on Coruscant's 23rd level on the grounds of disturbing the peace. Her hysterics were eventually determined to be related to an incident at her residence after a short interrogation at Patrol Barrack C-23-82 (Transcripts attached.) Initial investigation yielded one casualty of the patrol unit and the escape of the subject in question into Level 23's drainage system. Clear manifestation of force abilities both in the initial contact and by the state of the deceased in the home mandated contact of Coruscant's inquisitorial post. Subject was captured approx. 2 days later with little resistance, and was scheduled for transfer to [REDACTED] for reconditioning

xx/xx/-10

Initial attempts at reconditioning subject were met poorly. Subject was initially thought to be immune to pain, but brain scans later showed those sections acting normally under duress. Inquisitor agent3rd Sister called in to assist in the examination. A few minutes into their last attempt, 3rd Sister slew the imperial surgeons on duty (See attached document: Official Reprimand and Fine for Damage of Imperial Assets X4-23F) and transferred subject to her wing of [REDACTED] instead of subject's assigned cell. After an unofficial reprimand from Lord Vader and a week of bacta treatment, reconditioning of subject was reassigned to 3rd sister

xx/xx/-5

Reconditioning of subject progressed rapidly. 3rd sister's alternative method proved to be highly efficient for subject, though occasionally reprimanded by fellow inquisitors and staff as coddling, which often caused subject to lash out (See attached document: Death Certificate; Inquisitorial trainee Shin Stonee; training accident.)

xx/xx/-1

Subject, along with two others, successfully pass this cycle's initiation exam to become full inquisitors (Pass rate: 3.4%)

CURRENT PROFILE:

STATUS: ACTIVE. Subject has completed the final trials for advancement to full inquisitor status, and is cleared to accept her first assignment.

ANALYSIS: Loyal member of the order Inquisitorious. Specifically, it is to be noted that this loyalty is focused on 3rd sister and Lord Vader, and that loyalty to the empire itself and the emperor is a concern (See attached Document; Final Trial Probe of Seike Alvors). Lord Vader has been made aware of this issue, and will presumably take steps to correct it. Irregardless, those with clearance level 21-HL3 and above have full permission to execute subject on any suspicion of treasonous thoughts, leanings, and\or potential.

 

[MidwayLives]

Various descriptions done up of him by different folks from different planets:

His go-to morph:

An Ozarkian's true form:

Name: Elijar Attell. 'The Phantom' 'The Ozarkian Butcher'

Age: ?

Occupation: Mercenary/Bounty Hunter(when he feels like it); murderer (his passion)

Species: Ozarkian. When thinking up this race, I liked the idea of it being a race of genuine pranksters. The idea of warfare and killing, maiming, are all taboo subjects to the species as a whole. To the point that the commanders of their planet's military have been at odds with the Ozarkian Prime Ministers over the centuries to try and keep themselves relevant whenever the prime minister would broach the subject of possibly abolishing the military altogether. An Ozarkian in their natural state generally don't look like much to write home about. They certainly don't inspire the same kind of fear that a Transdoshan or Wookie might bring. They're a diminutive people, some of their tallest only clocking in at around 5'5 in Imperial measures. The few Ozarkians that manage to grow beyond that are usually considered mutations/outliers. So if you see a 'tall' Ozarkian, chances are they're not well received amongst their own people and mostly can only score jobs as bodyguards or security. They have a reptilian-like appearance but also seem to have mole-like traits in that although they possess five 'fingers' on each hand like a human, the fingers end in claws that mainly used to dig out burrows for an Ozarkian male, his mate, and potential family to live in. It used to be such a prevalent way of charming a potential suitor that there would be cases of Ozarkian authorities needing to break up males fighting eachother bloody over claims of soft enough ground to dig through. Having no real issues with the Galactic Republic beyond absolutely zero desire to have any clone troopers stationed anywhere on Ozark, lest they gather the ire of the Separatists and their formidable droid army, the tech support helped Ozarkian society gradually push aside old 'traditions' in favor of trying to play 'catch up' with the rest of the galaxy and living in actual buildings. Shed any kind of preconceived notions of coming across as uncivilized.

That isn't to say that the race grew to be a bunch of sticks in the mud after seeing which way the wind was blowing. As the war started to favor the Republic more and more, the Ozarkians who ventured to other planets aligned or apart of the Republic garner something of a unfavorable reputation as nuisances. They'd leave messes in their wake, they'd never pay their bills despite having the credits for it, petty theft was abounded, and in some extreme cases Clone Troopers even had to save Ozarkian civilians who'd gotten themselves mixed up in military conflicts through plainly just sticking their tails where they weren't wanted or needed. Many an Ozarkian ambassador had to be ordered by the prime minister to go give an apology to the Senate and had to try and explain that on Ozark, actions that may have aggravated or enraged others, were just how Ozarkians showed affection and enjoyed themselves. All in good fun at the end of the day.

They were certainly not a defenseless race, however. Ozarkians belong to the classification of 'changelings', species that can alter their form, body, shapeshift to put it more plainly. But whereas other races like Clawdits were bound by certain limitations: Being able to replicate the appearance of another person but could not change their body size or mass. Ozarkians were naturally small, and most weren't physically capable though their claws could leave nasty cuts as could the fangs in their mouth with microscopic barbs to help hook into meat to rip it straight off the bone, their ability to transform was in a way superior while also possessing it's own downsides. Ozarkians could shift their mass, size, and so on. If an Ozarkian wanted to shapeshift into a wookie, then they surely could. Only thing was however that they couldn't just see a picture of a wookie or a holovid of a particular one. They needed to be able to touch that individual wookie they're eyeing in person and 'acquire' them as a form. The work still wasn't done as the Ozarkian in 'becoming' that wookie was in a way essentially making a second of that individual. Which meant needing to browbeat that second consciousness into submission lest your own psyche end up overwhelmed and buried in the back of your own mind. It generally works best if the consciousness of the person you're impersonating is one that you may have found agreeable to begin with, leaving little to no room for any hostility or conflict while you go about your business. Most of the native life on Ozark beyond the Ozarkians themselves are relatively feral or non-sentient meaning that dominating their consciousness is relatively easy enough.

The Ozarkians have had one unspoken rule however, one that was only recently passed into actual law.

No impersonating sentient life.

The potential for issues, ranging from legality (slander cases, ruining somebody's reputation,) and health (impersonate the wrong person and possibly get them seriously injured or possibly killed? The Ozarkian doing the transforming being overwhelmed by their form's memories/trauma?), not to mention the world of politics (impersonate an ambassador or minister, president, and so on. Get a skirmish started, it spirals out into a war, countless lives lost with it all trailing back to an Ozarkian) was deemed too high and after a debilitation with his council, the current prime minister of Ozark put the law into action. Beasts of burden, wild animals, and pets were perfectly acceptable.

Those who could speak, be reasoned with, with whom diplomacy could be had?

They were strictly off limits.

In Elijar's case, his twi'lek victims have seen him as a looming shadowy figure masked completely in darkness with two glowing white eyes while another race saw him as a monster with a wicked smirk who sneered upon those he'd soon drain of life. Not for monetary gain, mind you, just his own sadistic pleasure. With the group of our PCs, he figures a rough looking scoundrel would fit in perfectly! However, while this trait might seem highly dangerous and useful for espionage, an Ozarkian's disguise/appearance is only as good as the front they put up. Elijar could look like a menacing beast but if he can't sell it, then it's just a look and nothing more. Diminutive humanoid lizard-type extraterrestrials with claw like fingers with a penchant for being very annoying. However, Elijar is an outlier in that most Ozarkians typically just play practical jokes/are little more than nuisances, Elijar is a murderer.

Powers/Abilities: Aside from the aforementioned traits that come from being an Ozarkian, he can also regrow extremities due to his race's lizard like nature. But it's gradual and isn't really what one might expect from a natural 'healing factor'. In his natural state, he can also crawl along walls and enjoys eating bugs. He's also quite adapt with melee weapons and loves himself some knives.

Equipment: WESTAR-35 blaster, laser knife, vibroblade(his favorite possession!)

Alignment (D&D style): Chaotic Neutral

Bio (make sure to at least include their affiliation with Vader/the Empire):



"I....I take it you've heard?"

"How could I not? He's become the 'talk of the town' hasn't he?"

The door shut and an Ozarkian male-one could tell by the head-crest across the top of his head-dressed up in grey military fatigues with metallic gloves covering his hands up to the edges of his claws. A scar ran over his left eye while the other peered at the other man in the room. Lavish as it was with a water fountain sitting smack dab in the center and beautifully put together with red chairs and couches, all of which had gems (likely fake) gaudily sewn into the fabric of the armrests and the tops. Red banners hung overhead and likely brought the whole room together in nicer times but sadly, there wasn't much they could do to cool down the chilling atmosphere working its way through the room like a noxious gas.

Sitting in a luxurious looking chair, the armrests were metallic with a slick silver sheen to them and in contrast from his fellow's many medals and military attire, this Ozarkian had a white jacket on with diamonds embedded in either side of his headcrest. "With all due respect, Prime Minister Twaac, I believe that if you'd just given my men the authorization, I asked of you back when the local authorities reported it's first murd-"

"Stop! General Odod, please. Just the mention of that word makes me ill. It's a revolting blemish on our people's status. For an Ozarkian's hands to be stained with blood is an outrage."

Odod nodded but didn't seem as openly distressed as his people's elected leader. Or at the very least he was better at keeping it better contained. "I understand and agree 100%, sir. But if we'd just arrested it then and there, none of this would be happening. No more blood would have had to be shed. We have it in custody now but the damage has already been done, I'm afraid."

It'd been through his leadership that Ozark had been able to stay on relatively good terms with the Galactic Republic. Grath Twacc had been able to even convince the Senate that Ozark did NOT need a battalion of clone troopers stationed anywhere on the planet. To do so would only invite a Separatists attack, of that Twacc had no doubt in his mind. Although it took a great deal of convincing due to how intolerable some of his people's antics had been seen in the eyes of some of the Republic's many senators, and many more hours of hand wringing, he'd been able to accomplish it. Ozark would stay free of war.

For now.

Ever since the Republic had collapsed and the Empire had taken it's place, the relationship had taken a downward shift. One that Twacc had been doing his utmost to salvage but at times it felt like an ant trying to negotiate with a man. He came from a position of no power and little authority in the face of the Empire's overwhelming power. Barely any Ozarkians had known battle beyond childhood scraps at best, the few of those who did had already left and gone off world for mercenary work or to enlist in the army to begin with. They'd be crushed within days if not hours. Millions could die, thousands or hundreds could end up injured, homeless, or worse. The stress from it all had left Twacc's scales peeling off and cracking, an early sign of stress-induced molting.

His only 'defense' to try and keep the Empire from outright forcing it's way onto Ozark had been to try and crackdown on his people's normally jovial attitudes and shenanigans. Such things may have been acceptable with the lighthearted Jedi but Twacc feared they'd be seen as childish, perhaps even barbaric, by the Empire's standards. It'd be all the justification they'd need to move in and raze the planet's cities to the ground. Build a new, take what they wanted, station troopers all across the planet. Twacc's hope was that if he showed that Ozark was genuinely making an attempt to stand amongst the more 'civilized' societies among the Empire, it'd allow him a better position to bargain from.

Then came the news of one Elijar Attell.

Most Ozarkians typically tend to keep their shenanigans on a playful if steadily annoying level. Usually, they were frightened off by someone unwilling to put up with their antics and that'd be the end of it. Fun only went so far after all and if someone was hurt, was it still having fun or just partaking in someone else's misery? Such was not the case for Elijar. He used his race's traits to cause more trouble than mere pranks. Starting off small at robberies, he slowly escalated until finally culminating in murder. His kin were horrified at what Elijar had proved himself capable of. While others saw him as different kinds of monsters, his fellow Ozarkians saw him for what he truly was: a lizard stained in the blood of his fellows. When news first spread of the murders, the current leader of the Ozarkian Army, Odod Zhoks, had requested that an example be made of Elijar. That this was a new era for Ozark society and outliers like him would not be tolerated. He'd have a trial, be sentenced to death, and that'd be it. Show the Empire that Ozark was willing to do what needed to be done in the face of rebellion or those who defied the ruling class.

Twacc refused to grant the order. He believed that using overwhelming military force against one person, let alone one of their own people, would only send a terrible message to whatever allies that Ozark may have still had out in the galaxy. What Elijar had done was utterly repugnant and deserved some kind of response but the fear in his mind outweighed whatever benefits there may have been. Gripping onto his armrests to the point that his claws left scratch marks, he flicked out his pointed tongue and shook his head. "You keep calling him an 'it'. What he's done is awful, of that I'm aware but-"

"Again, with all due respect, sir. I don't think you fully understand the weight of the situation we're in. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how this'll look to the Empire if the leader of Ozark can't keep his own people in check. Let alone stop them from murdering each other." Twacc visibly winced at the mention of 'murdering' and gagged. "We'll look like downright savages, still crawling in the dirt, walking around on all fours. Maybe they decide that enough is enough and they decide it's time to finally be more hands on. Maybe they'll even decide a change in leadership is needed."

"Hold your tongue, Odod! Neither of us can see the future but as of right now? I am STILL Ozark's ruler and I'll have you thrown in a cell next to Elijar if you cannot hold back such treasonous words!"

Odod scoffed.

"Is it treason if it's the truth? If you're so committed to treating this, this killer fairly then fine. It can have a trial. But if the sentence you give Elijar is anything less than being put up against a wall, there will be trouble. Locking it up will only hide them away but the stain will still be there. It'll still be able to spread it's vitrol like a sickness. Maybe their actions will inspire another one of our people and what then? Will you just keep throwing more and more of them into a prison cell?" Odod folded his arms across his chest and hissed. "A line has to be drawn somewhere. Elijar murdered his own brood mother! That alone should 'qualify' it for death!"

It was true. When the news first broke of Elijar's murders, two young Ozarkians smelled a foul odor coming from his home. Thinking that perhaps his mother had forgotten to throw away some old rotting meat, they checked in. Only there was no knock at the door and no answer when they poked their heads in. The smell only grew stronger and out of a sense of both curiosity and concern, they continued. Only to find his mother's rotting and mutilated corpse spread out across her bedroom. The two youths were admitted to an Ozarkian Medical Ward for trauma therapy and the body was quickly disposed of before the media could snap any gruesome shots. In Ozarkian society, a female Ozarkian's children are expected to live with her until her dying days, taking care of her as she needs, paying for her medical bills, and keeping up her quality of life. To harm or abandon your brood mother was enough to be ostracized by your community if not the planet at large. To murder them was unthinkable.

"....Maybe he has an ailment."

"....Excuse me, sir?? I'm not a medical expert, that's not my department, but what ailment inspires one to use their own creator given claws and rip the one who birthed them to shreds?"

"I don't know! I just don't know! But I DO know that it's just not in an Ozarkian's nature to KILL! Have any of the medical staff checked him for any sign of abnormalities? Dissonance in his brain patterns? Anything at all? If I were to ki...ugh, destroy a mentally ill man, what kind of message would that send to my people?"

Odod paused and looked at his counterpart before taking his head in his hand and sighing.

"Yes. We did actually, brainwave tests along with mental acuity tests were performed upon apprehending him. Which, I find it prudent to mention that he managed to severely injure three of my soldiers before he was detained and subdued until he willingly morphed back."

"And? What were the results?"

"..." Odod rolled up his left sleeve and tapped on a few buttons on his wristpad. A holovid began playing and the projection was of the man that both of them had been talking back and forth about. Twacc had tried to see him as a conflicted soul, a man who simply didn't know or comprehend the weight of what he'd done. Odod saw through the excuses-because in his mind that's all they were-and un-personed Elijar. Believing that a murderer like him didn't deserve the right to be treated as a living being if he was so willing to disregard other's own lives so casually. Elijar sat on a bench with a visible crack spreading across the right side of his head-crest and swelling around the underside of his right eye.

"Elijar Attell. Is that your name?" A voice offscreen asked, likely medical personal that'd been tasked with interviewing Elijar.

"..."

"Please answer the question as it's been directed towards you."

"Yes. That is my name."

"Are you aware of where you are right now, Elijar?"

"No."

"You're currently in a holding cell at the Ozarkian Authority Ward in Ozark City. Do you know why you're here?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I murdered people."

"Yes. Your broodmother, four twi'lek women, five rodians both male and female, and a dozen of fellow Ozarkians. That's not getting into whatever you may have done while offworld."

Elijar didn't comment.

"Witnesses claim to have seen humanoid-type figures at the location of each of these murders. Are you aware that morphing sentient life has been outlawed by our prime minister?"

"Yes."

"How did you come to acquire these morphs?"

"Off-world."

"Any specific locations you'd be willing to elaborate further on?"

"No."

Papers could be heard shuffled in the background and another voice briskly telling the medical agent to 'hurry up!'.

"Elijar, we've gotten the results back from the medical tests and you seem like a perfectly healthy male in your age-range. So, I and many others among the staff here are at a loss. Why did you do this?"

Elijar didn't respond yet again. The gruffer voice shouted. 'Answer the question or it'll be beaten out of you!'

Elijar looked up from the floor and towards, presumably, the one interviewing him.

"Because I could do it."

"....E-Excuse me?"

"Because I was able to just do it. Why not do something if it's possible?"

"Elijar..." The medical agent's voice was softer, perhaps in an attempt to try and push aside just how casual Elijar was being at the prospect of murdering his own kin. "...You're the first Ozarkian arrested on charges of murder in over a decade. Are you saying that you have no regret at all for what you've done? Murdering your broodmother, your fellow Ozarkians?"



"No."

The officer had enough. 'Turn off the projection! Let it sit in here and rot! Monster!'

The holovid ended and Twacc had slumped back into his chair. Odod pulled his sleeve back up and clasped his hands together, the claws on his index fingers gently scratching against the back of his hands. "If you still want to go for some kind of insanity plea, you're more than welcome to. But I think I speak for a good number of Ozarkians when I say that they may just find the Empire more preferable to a leader who'd rather spare a man who'd butcher his own people. Just think on it. Sir."

With that, the general bowed his head and turned to leave. Once the doors had shut behind him, Twacc pressed both of his palms on either side of his head. If he went through with his initial plan, there was no doubt in his mind that Odod and maybe the rest of the military high command would contact the Empire and seek to get him overthrown, likely even killed, if he didn't punish Elijar in the 'proper' way.

Most Ozarkians would be terrified to be in his shoes. Afterall, the race was made up of little more than pranksters. They never mean to hurt anyone with their actions, at the very least they'd rather make people laugh than anything else. Elijar wasn't scared. Even after all he'd done and the judgment, he'd been given by his brethren did little to impede his mood. They spit upon him, screamed at him, threatened him. The trial itself was little more than a circus with Twacc having been throughly browbeaten into submission by Odod's not so subtle threat to get the Empire involved if Twacc didn't play ball. But while he couldn't outright absolve Elijar of punishment altogether, Twacc had come up with something that'd take the troubled youth away. Away from Ozark and away from being his problem ever again.

Narrowly avoiding the death penalty in exchange for becoming a bounty hunter rather than a murderer, his rewards for his captures would be split between himself (for necessities) and his planet's communities. Twacc looked at it as something a restitution for the victim's families who suffered from the losses that Elijar had so cruelly left them with. The conditions were thus:

-He would send the money back through a third party.
-He would never return back to Ozark ever again
-If he refused to send the money, stopped working/refused to pick up new bounties, or tried to step foot on Ozarkian soil, he would be marked for death and shot on sight.

Elijar didn't mind one bit. He never wanted to go home anyhow. His new 'job' let him meet interesting people! Like the Imperials who he felt looked down their nose at a 'brute' like him. But among them was the one man who'd ever made Elijar feel the same thing his victims had.

Fear.

Vader could see past Elijar's shapeshifting and as the lizard struggled to keep up his ragged appearance, it faded to reveal his true form and he had a choice. Work for the Empire or die. He chose the former.



~~~





What she looked like before her incident:

Name: Carasi Whedrock

Age: 31

Occupation: Bounty hunter.

Species: Human(Hails from Jabiim)

Powers/Abilities: Likely due to an innate fascination with droids from a young age, Carasi has honed her skills as a mechanic over her developmental years. Even the loss of her right arm (and her stubborn refusal to get a prosthetic over the stump) and the severe damage to her legs & eyes hasn't deterred her at all from continuing to try and earn some kind of living out there as a bounty hunter. Her right arm was her dominant one and so she's been working to adjust with the loss of it. Her blaster's holster has been moved over to her left side to be drawn on the fly easier but her vibroblade still rests on her right but if you were to ask anyone familiar with her, even with an arm down she hasn't lost too much of her touch. She's also got immense upper body strength due to having to over-compensate due to the lack of an important limb(climbing takes longer as do repairs that may have only taken hours-half an hour at most can now take a whole day and into the next) and does her best to try and keep herself in a healthy physical condition despite the gruesome number of injuries spread across her body.

Equipment: The mask she wears was 'gifted' to her by the medical staff at the town of Bestine, a darling locale for Imperials. It has a built-in filter which needs to be changed regularly to help Carasi's weakened lungs breathe. Although Carasi can go without it(usually during meals and before rest), she's prone to terrible coughing fits and can find the otherwise 'simple' task of breathing in and out to be quite arduous on her body leaving her winded. The filter also serves to block out toxins such as poisonous gases and allow Carasi to submerge herself underwater and breathe comfortably. Though as mentioned before, due to the filter having to be changed at regular intervals, Carasi can't stay in inhospitable environments for too long. The mask itself is made out of a durasteel shell with thick leather straps that stretch across the top of Carasi's(shaved) head and down the back of it to help firmly affix it to her head. As her eyes were permanently ruined due to extreme blunt force trauma, she was able to use the credits she'd managed to garner over her time collecting bounties to afford artificial eyes. They were affixed in place over her organic eyes and although she'd heard through the grapevine that they resembled droid optics far too much for others to be comfortable with, she preferred them. She'd loved droids as a child and this was just making light of a terrible situation. Her artificial eyes allow for higher quality degrees of vision/perception than what typical human eyesight can allow. Carasi can also 'turn them off' when she simply doesn't wish to see anything, mostly when it's time for bed, and then resume normal functions whenever it suits her.

She also wears armor plating behind the poncho which masks her stump/left arm. She's also rocking a DL-44 Heavy Blaster Pistol. A vibroblade is her typical choice of close ranged weaponry. Due to missing her dominant arm, Carasi has had to work extra hard to improve herself and in doing so she'd modified the gauntlet on her right arm, including adding both a wrist laser and shield function to it, both of which can be activated through synced up voice commands. Expensive but well worth the reward. She also has a grappling hook built into it to secure herself if she were to lose her footing during a heated chase. Her most prized possession however is her BD-droid, RT-2. RT-2 doesn't have any weaponry built into it beyond a meager shocker that's meant more to stun or irritate than do any actual lasting harm. RT-2 is also synced up to the same software that Carasi's gauntlet runs on meaning that if RT feels as though her owner is in danger, she can activate the shields. If Carasi's gauntlet is running low on power, RT-2 can tap into her own energy supply and give the gauntlet a boost though obviously this comes at the cost of RT-2 shutting down for the time being. RT-2 typically rides atop Carasi's right shoulder.

Before the Incident on Tatootine, she ran with a group of human mercenaries. At first they detested the idea of taking orders from a woman, let alone parading around as a bounty hunter but over time Carasi gradually became something of a leader of the motley crew. They went on many jobs together, often splitting up the bounty money amongst the lot of them. However, as of late, Carasi believes that the remainder of her group either died in the Incident or fled upon seeing how much of a disaster the job had become.

For their sake, she hoped they never met again.

Her ship is a XS Stock light freighter!

Alignment (D&D style): Neutral Evil

Bio (make sure to at least include their affiliation with Vader/the Empire) For most of her life, Carasi Whedrock was just a young girl, around seventeen-eighteen, living on Jabiim with her loving family. But all of that changed when the Clone Wars spread to her world. Her planet's leaders had felt abandoned by the Republic and thus signed up with the Separatists leading to the Republic's army of clones to make a bold move. Occupy Jabiim through force and prevent the Separatists from getting a foothold and using the planet's immense resources to their advantage. The battling was horrendous and the loss of life even more so. To experience such carnage at a young age had marked her for a life of continual ups and downs, whether she knew it at the time or not.

Uncaring for the occupation of her planet given that the droids never bothered her anyway, Carasi set about re-learning how to go about life. Her father had gone off to fight in the war on the side of the Jabim natives who'd sided with the Separatists. Carasi herself, although she obviously wished for her family to go through as few hardships as possible given the circumstances, knew that it was easier said than done. As the battle raged on, it became clear that the Separatists and their Jabiimi allies were willing to turn the planet into a meatgrinder that the Republic could ill afford to trench themselves into, lest it become a quagmire draining the energy of their war efforts. Just as though it seemed that what appeared to be the hostile outside forces had conceded and left, the urge to spill blood hadn't completely dissipated. At Hyber Canyon, a skirmish had occurred between Jabiiimi loyalists and nationalists. Orliss Gillmunn, the then current leader of the loyalist forces was killed in action.

But so was Carasi's father.

With his death went the breadwinner for the household. With a civil war raging across the planet as Orliss's death had only inflamed tensions rather than settle them, there wasn't even time to give a proper funeral. His bloodied corpse was retrieved and given a hasty burial before Carasi and the remainder of her family were escorted away back to safety, back to their home. Though without their father's military service to provide for them, Carasi took it upon herself to set out and make a living.

Through any means necessary.

Years went by and soon enough, Carasi established something of a decent reputation as a bounty hunter. Taking lives hadn't been as tough as she'd initially thought they'd be. Being exposed to open warfare and having your parent become a casualty of said suffering likely had something to do with that. For the longest time, she'd gotten by just fine enough by herself and RT-2. Only as the jobs coming in became harder and needed more eyes and feet on the ground that Carasi had to spare, she opened the doors up to partnership. Some passed her up, still believing her to be smalltime. Others didn't last long and were left in critical condition or corpses during jobs that ended up with Carasi having to carry the weight all by herself.

It took a couple of tries, a lot of sweat, blood, and tears but she'd done it.

She'd gotten a team of her own. Six humans from different walks of life who'd all had their reasons for going into the bounty hunting business. Some did it for pleasure, enjoying the thrill of it all and the excitement that came with bagging a difficult bounty. Others were similar to Carasi's own in that they fought and sometimes even killed to provide for loved ones. One of her boys and lasses just had a debt they needed paid off. Carasi didn't mind or judge their motives so long as they all agreed on one thing.

"Any profits? We're going to have to be split evenly down the road. No hoarding for yourself. Anyone who does? It'll be a problem."

Seemed like a simple enough rule to abide by and for sometime, it really felt as though it would be.

It was too bad then that it all came to a head once The Gang had gotten a hint about a particularly large bounty on Tatooine. 'That big ball of sand? Who the hell would wanna hang out there but Tuskens and Jawas? At least anyone worth a damn I mean!' 'This all sounds kinda sketchy to me. A big bounty hiding away in a place like that?' All responses worth being listened to and Carasi was prepared to do that until what could have been a civil conversation among men and women who'd risked their lives for each other time and time again spiraled out into a shouting match. 'You see how many credits they're offering for this guy's head?! 100,000 credits split up among all of us?? We'll be able to take it easy for a bit!' 'Yeah? Who's to say you won't just try to take the rancor's share for yourself??"

RT-2 bleeped and hopped around the table, hoping to try and diffuse the tensions. She sadly went ignored until someone, knocked her off the table and onto the floor where she beeped out. Carasi had been watching the proceedings hoping that eventually the others would get it through their heads that no matter the reward, this WAS just at the end of the day another job for them. Nothing special about it.

Until her droid, no, possibly her best friend got caught up in the dramatics.

"Enough."

The others turned to face her.

'What do you mean 'enough', Carasi?? Are you seriously saying that we should waste our time following what's probably a false lead?' 'How do you know it's an empty lead??? If we bring this back to an Imperial base, who KNOWS the kind of reward we might get??'

Carasi adjusted her poncho and drew her blaster.

The others quit their rabblerousing and went silent.



"A job is a job. I'd have imagined that throughout the, what, five or so years we've all spent together we'd have figured that one out. If this lead turns out to be false or the target was built up bigger than we thought? Simple. We go back to where we first heard of the bounty from and get our payment. One way or another. I don't work for free. The second I'm on a job, time is credits, and I don't like having credits spun down the drain. So don't worry about that and don't get yourself all worked up over where we're heading. That planet's been there longer than any of us have been alive. Complaining about it isn't gonna change the landscape, the heat, anything. Just secure your shit and deal with it."

"...And what if we don't want to?" One dissenting voice asked.

"Last I checked this was my ship. I say we're doing this job. You don't like it? Once we land then you can either come with us or find yourself a new ship to loiter on. You're here, you work. End of subject."

"Alright, yeah, okay...." Murmurs were had among the crew but Carasi's intervention seemed to have helped stem the overflowing tide of negativity threatening to flood her ship. All before they'd even actually laid eyes on their target. Tapping on the side of her wristpad, Carasi brought up the picture of the man they were supposed to find here on Tatooine. Pale skin, messy hair, stitches all over. If Carasi was being frank, it looked as though the man had walked out of the morgue and back into society. He was apparently a Zabrak but had his horns filed down to nubs. Carasi could have only guessed so as to better blend in?

Whatever the case was, Carasi couldn't afford to pass the mission up.

Her mother and family had never really approved of her career choice. Constant hours were spent fretting about her oldest daughter's safety and whether she was safe out there going after scourges of the galaxy. Carasi had used to argue that it was safer wasting her life away on Jabiim when she felt she had more to offer the world at large by leaving her home planet for the time being. Regardless of her mother's wishes, Carasi still sent a steady flow of credits to her family after each succesful job to help keep their home afloat. If this job went well? She could put away a good chunk of the credits, return to Jabiim, and live the good life with her mother and siblings and RT-2.

'We're here, Carasi. You, uh, ready to go or you need a minute?'

"I'm fine." Carasi snapped as RT-2 climbed up to perch atop her right shoulder.

'Whoa, sorry. Didn't mean to offend. Just looked like you were daydreamin for a second there.'

"No. I wasn't." Carasi reholstered her blaster and moved for the ship's exit. The one who'd called out to her and had been on the side of believing that the haul tied to bringing in this guy-dead or alive-would have been the key to all their problems. Sure, the Empire could be rough but they weren't as much of a pain in the ass as the Republic. Her name was Hyre Zol and if you excluded RT-2, she was probably the closest thing that the Withered Hull had to a co-captain. With one hand holding to the brim of her hat to keep it pulled down and give herself some modicum of shade on the sufferingly hot desert planet, the other reached back and tightened the strap holding her rifle to her back.



"Hey, for whatever it's worth? I was totally onboard with this job from the get-go."

Carasi rolled her eyes as the two continued to walk in lockstep.

"Yeah? Well, I'm glad you agree but I'm not running a popularity contest. This is how it's always been. We're all grown adults. We know the kinda ups and downs that a life like this has. It's a waste of time and credits to sit around and bellyache. If nobody likes it? Well, the galaxy's a large place. Plenty of other opportunities."

"Wow." Hyre said, her eyes wider than a saucer you'd eat your soup from.

"...What are you lookin at?"

"....So you're not scared at all of the other guys trying to cut you out? If there IS truth to this lead and that bounty poster? You never know, Carasi...?"

"They don't have the balls. Now, quit talking so much. You're slowing us both down."

The Withered Hull had landed down at Mos Eisesly and from just minutes of being on the planet? Carasi could tell why it had the reputation it did. Drunkards stumbling through the town, pickpocketers looking for easy marks, and scum that'd either assault you or gut you just for staring at them wrong. "Feels like the kinda place for who it is we're chasing." Carasi quipped as she reached up to pat RT-2. "Stay close to me. Don't want some Jawa trying to snatch you up and sell you back to me." RT-2 beeped back worryingly. "There's a cantina around here. Let's grab a table and plan out how we're gonna handle this." There were various grumbles but the group and Hyre complied without any actual verbal complaints or disagreements. Once the six of them were all seated, Carasi tapped at her wristpad and the image of their target popped up again.

"So, here's what we know so far. The guy we're looking for is a Zabrak named Gukom."

'Gukom? Kinda sounds like 'gut-em' don't it?' 'We sure it's his name and not some kind of nickname?' 'No, stupid. Zabraks, they, uh, have a unique way of naming. It's his name.' 'How would you know??? You ever met a Zabrak before?" 'Have you??'

*ap*

'Ow!' The two men cried out as RT-2 jumped down from Carasi's shoulder and onto the table. She strode over to where the two humans were arguing about another species's naming conventions and gave them a good jolt. Not enough to physically debilitate but enough to get them to knock it off and hopefully focus.

"Thank you, RT."

*agreeable bleep*

"Gukom is a vicious killer who's claimed at least half a dozen victims. There's even been rumors that he's gone so far as to have killed members of the Clone Army during the war." Having asked a passing waiter for appetizers, one of the men that RT-2 had shocked nodded as he scarfed down a handful of food. "Yeesh, and those guys were what, some of the best of the best. Course, it could just be all smoke and mirrors.'

"Could be, sure, but he's apparently built up enough of a reputation that enough people want him dead. Enough to hire us to do it." Carasi flicked a switch on her wristpad and the image shifted to show a planetwide map of Tatooine. "The reports we got claimed that he was somewhere out on the northern side of the planet, likely hiding out amongst the rocky plains. Anybody who doesn't know what they're doing in this terrain would end up dead before they'd ever reached him. We buy supplies while we're in town, head out there, and we'll do a wide sweep of the area to try and pick him out."

'Okay, okay. All that sounds reasonable enough but what if and hear me out here. What if the guy's dead already? Surviving on this rock while you're a serial killer? Who's gonna wanna sell you water, gear, etc? You just gonna kill them and take it? You'd stick out like a sore thumb.'



"Why don't you take a look around where we are and ask that question again? Aloud."

'Sorry....'

'Any other questions? Be they stupid or otherwise?'

Nobody, not even Hyre, had a question.

"Good. Then let's head out."

As the group got themselves drinks, minus Carasi who abstained to better keep her senses altogether for the fight they were likely going to have on their hands, they all shuffled out the door. With the exception of Hyre who was stopped by an older looking Ranat man. Carasi couldn't hear what'd been said but watched with a raised eyebrow.

Spoiler: The Ranat's words

"Whooooa, what's the problem old-timer?? If you're looking for a good time then I'm not it. Now, if you'll excuse me." 'Wait a minute, young lady. I couldn't help but overhear you and your friends. You said you're looking for a man named Gukom?' "...Yeah, why? You know where he is?" 'Well, that's just it. The last I heard he'd been locked away in a prison on M'Bardi years ago. I haven't the faintest idea how he'd get out or what he'd have to gain from coming all the way here.' 'So, what are you saying, pal? People break out of prisons all the time.' 'Just that whom you're chasing may not be the one you believe it is...'

"What did the geezer what?"

"....Eh, nothin. Just wanted to talk my ear off."

"Old folks's favorite thing to do. Let's get moving, okay?"

"Okay."

Whatever transpired from exiting the bar to hunting down Gukom was a traumatic blur for Carasi. It hadn't been the case, that much she was sure of, but in her mind it'd felt like it'd gone straight from alright to a complete disaster. One that'd left her partially crushed under chunks of rock. Her legs had been shattered, her vision had gone dark after a hefty chunk of debris had smashed her in the head, spilling blood all over her face, and a boulder-sized rock had wedged itself on top of her right arm. No matter how much she pulled or screamed, the rock wouldn't budge. "Guys! Hyre! Anyone!" All she could recall was finding Gukom, chasing him down, and eventually having him at blaster point.

Then it'd gone all so wrong in a day she'd just refer to as 'The Incident.'

"You can either come with us quietly or we'll take back a corpse. Alive or dead, it's your choice."

The zabrak didn't seemed frightened or even disturbed at the weight of the situation and how heavily it'd been stacked against him. With multiple blasters aimed his way, he held up his hands and leaned his head back, the hood of his jacket falling back and revealing the nubs that he'd carved his horns down to and his scraggly dirty blonde hair.



"I have to wonder...."

He didn't make any sudden moves and kept his hands raised and by his head.

"If you'll still get the reward when you take me back. Alive or dead, I mean."

The query earned Gukom a raised eyebrow of confusion from one of Carasi's men. 'Wha-Why wouldn't we?'

"Well, it's just that how can you get a reward for someone who's already in custody, I mean."

Carasi narrowed her eyes and RT-2 beeped angrily.

"What are you getting at?"

Hyre shifted uncomfortably and slowly turned her rifle.

"I'm saying that unless things have changed since I last met him, Gukom should still be locked up down at M'Bardi. It'd be pretty dishonest for you guys to kill me and then claim a reward for a man who's neither here nor there."

It might have been easy enough to write off the man's words as just utter nonsense. A childish attempt at mindgames to try and throw his soon to be captors off their game and get them to re-consider their efforts. 'He's just trying to buy himself time! Let's shoot the bastard!'

Carasi believed him.

"You're a changeling...?"

"Bingo."

*BANG*

Carasi collapsed to the ground, RT-2 flying from her shoulder as smoke hissed from the end of Hyre's barrel. The shot had thankfully been stopped from being lethal due to the armor that Carasi wore under her poncho but it still felt as though she'd been cracked right in the back by a furious Wookie. Her ears were ringing and everyone's voices sounded so muffled. Bits and pieces were all that she was able to pick up.

'Why are you doing this, Hyre??' 'What's going on!?' 'DID YOU JUST KILL CARASI???'

Carasi couldn't hear Hyre but as her partner walked past her downed form and stood near Gukom, she kept her rifle aimed at the others.

"This guy was never our target. Somehow, he got Gukom's form and the bounty got renewed at some point because people thought that he'd somehow gotten out of prison and was stirring up trouble again. Pieced it together after someone at the cantina reached out to me. So just killing him would leave us with a corpse of some total stranger. Can't cash in on that. So, here's the new deal. I let you walk and we cash in on 'your' bounty and we split it 50/50."



"Sure, why not. I'd just been doing this to test out the morph but earning credits doesn't sound so bad." 'The imposter agreed but not without nodding his head towards the remainder of Carasi's gang. "You plan on killing them or you mind if I do it?"

"No. I've been with them this long. It's the least I can do."

"Whatever."

'Traitor!' 'You'll pay for this!' 'We'll hunt you down to the edges of the galaxy!' All the voices around here, all the shouting, it sounded as though Carasi had her head submerged underwater. But the atmosphere was clear enough. Hyre had betrayed them and was going to leave them all for dead. Watching as Hyre reached into her knapsack, the others prepared to fire their blasters. 'What's stopping us from taking the both of you down right here, right now??'

"This I'd imagine."

One of the men nearly dropped their blasters as Hyre pulled out a thermal detonator. Something with that much explosive power could cause a rockslide that'd risk burying all of them or crushing them if they were lucky. "It's been fun, really, but like we talked about on the ship. I can't pass up a job this rich."

She pressed the button on the side of the detonator and flung it at one of her ex-comrade's feet. Turning back and slinging her rifle over her shoulder, she began to sprint away. "We should go, now. Unless your body parts can remain looking like Gukom even if they're blown apart."

'Gukom' followed with nary but a small, sadistic, smile on his face.

Carasi's breathing hitched and as she tried to pick herself off, the sharp pain in her back spiked up, knocking her back down. If she didn't move in the next few seconds, they'd be scraping whatever was left off her off the rocks. Glancing over to where RT-2 had fallen, she raised her left arm and tapped in a series of inputs on her wristpad. The front of her gauntlet opened up and a hook shot out. Embedding itself into the side of the cliffside hanging overhead, Carasi pulled herself away as the detonator rattled and shook. Her men screamed and tried to run for cover.

*BOOOOOOOOOOM*

Carasi was flung through the air like a ragdoll, her back smashed against the rocks with the velocity of a cardboard box getting mulched up by a compactor. If one were to lift up her poncho, they'd see a hairline fracture running all the way down the back of her armor plating. If it hadn't been there, chances are that her spine would have snapped messily in two upon impact. This was no time to celebrate for as soon as Carasi gazed upwards, she saw the rocks that'd been dislodged as a result of the chaotic explosion....

Then it all went black.

When Carasi came to, her vision was still dark but her breathing had steadied. It felt easier but there was something on her face. She'd assumed it was some kind of breathing mask but it felt heavier than one should have. More to the point how had she gotten here? Where WAS here exactly? The last thing she remembered was Hyre, an explosion, and nothing. When a doctor, a rodian female, walked in, she explained that it'd been RT-2 who'd gone and raced all the way to the nearest settlement to try and get help for Carasi and the others. It took time and avoiding those who simply saw the droid as easy pickings, but eventually RT-2 was able to fetch a good Samaritan who was curious about what had this droid so agitated.

Carasi was safely rescued from the site and brought to Bestine where she received emergency medical care. Her legs required durasteel implants to reinforce the fractured bones which had been damaged in such a way that if she'd just gotten them casted up and tried to heal the 'natural' way, they would have never recovered. Even nowadays, Carasi still has something of a limp due to her legs not taking 100% well to the implants. Her eyes had been damaged beyond repair and it was doubtful she'd ever see with them again. The only options were to replace them completely or to get artificial eyes placed over them but still hooked up to her brain.

The most devastating news came in the form of Carasi's right arm being gone, all the way up to the elbow.

By the time RT-2 had managed to get someone out there to help her, the arm was too far gone to be preserved and had to be surgically amputated. When the offer of getting a prosthetic was approached, Carasi immediately waved it off.

"Leave it. I'll keep the stump. Keep it as a reminder." She reached up to her face with her only hand and ran her fingers over the mask they'd attached her breathing filter to. They'd had to shave her hair off to get the straps to fit over her head but she didn't mind. Wasn't like she was going to ever look in a mirror again anyhow.

"On how I failed my men."

When she'd asked about her crew, the results were grim. Either they'd been crushed to death by the fallout or blown to pieces by the explosion. Carasi still offered up credits to cover the cost of getting all the mess together so that at least her men could be buried. Likely hadn't been their intention or desire to have their earthly remains buried in the desert but it was the best Carasi could do for them in this state. Her crew was gone, Hyre had turned on them for reasons that Carasi still didn't fully understand, and her body had been left a broken shadow of it's former self.

....But at least she still had her droid.

"Come on, RT. Let's....Let's get off this planet."

*sad bleep*

Just with one less arm-a prosthetic was offered and highly advised but Carasi turned it down. Believing that the empty tied off sleeve billowing in the wind would serve as a good reminder of who she was and where she came from. And whom she swore revenge against. But just as a bright future despite her tragedy seemed visible, fate knocked her down once more. The Clone Wars were over and the droids were shut down and either dismantled or locked away.

Jabiim had a new master and it was the Empire. Having tracked down the location of the leaker who had spilled the Death Star plans to the Rebels, Darth Vader himself lead a mission down to the planet. In the process, Carasi's hometown was ravaged, and she was left with nothing. In the time since, she had managed to make quite the name for herself. People would speak of the one-armed bounty hunter and the droid that'd rode atop her shoulder. and this infamy eventually got her into contact with Darth Vader.

She'd get revenge. On Hyre and the one who'd got away and cost her everything.

*energetic bleep*

Well, almost everything. ​

 

[Schnee Corp Lawyer]

Name: Zafirnaskvantel Ek'resval

Age: 52

Occupation: Bounty Hunter

Species: Trandoshan

Powers/Abilities: Lizard-esque regeneration, competent ship engineer and droid mechanic, extremely proficient with his vibroblade, very good at pointing firearms in the vague direction of the enemy

Equipment: Two handed, heavily modded vibrosword, field repair kit, Z-6 Rotary blaster cannon, R2-ES (Astromech droid, can make her own sheet if needed)

Alignment (D&D style): Lawful Neutral

Bio (make sure to at least include their affiliation with Vader/the Empire):

A bounty hunter of some renown, Zafirnaskvantel (Zafir for short) is a man deeply steeped in the religion of his people; The Scorekeeper. The trandoshans are born hunters and competitors, so it is no surprise that their beliefs reflect such. They believe that when they die, they will be judged by the prey they have brought down, both in strength and number. As their society has evolved, this has advanced past a simple hunter-prey definition. A scientist may get great marks for 'hunting' a disease, an explorer marks for discovering a planet, and so forth.

Zafir, however, is a purist.

He took his first bounty in at 18 from a republic jail escapee, and has thrived on that thrill of the hunt ever since. Taking a dim view of those of his kind who import prey to hunting preserves as weak cheaters, and forgoing the bread and butter of many hunters that pay their bills in the form of bond jumpers and political activists, Zafir's life has been ups and downs of fantastic purses from incredibly dangerous bounties or even straight up criminal work against what he deemed a suitably dangerous foe or task to literal years of no work, scraping by as a ship and droid mechanic with his astromech partner to survive between jobs.

(Said skills were picked up to make him more attractive as a crewmember on starships or to make it easier to charter pilots, as the few occasions that he has attempted to fly any ship himself have all ended in fireballs and weeks of regeneration)

To say Zafir is a loyal empire citizen is a stretch at best and an outright lie if one is being honest. Most of the time they pay the best, but it was the last contract he had that put him in contact with Vader, a bounty placed on unofficial channels that few others were stupid or brave enough to touch; The head of the current 6th brother, imperial inquisitor. Four hunters took the job, under the work of a captain who partway through revealed themselves as a rebel lieutenant. The money? Exorbitant, impossible to trace but almost certainly funded by Aldeeran pockets. The plan? Dangerous and impromptu, the only way to take on a force user and not send enough ripples to warn them.

The result?

Three dead hunters, one dead rebel, one mortally wounded inquisitor, and a triumphant Zafir standing over him, ready to strike the killing blow right up to the moment a lightsaber removed his arm from behind. Sixth Brother's fellow inquisitor had arrived to save him, and Zafir was captured and interrogated over the course of a few weeks. It was clear that the rebel was the only one who knew enough about the plan to gain anything, and initially Zafir was slated to be executed; but for whatever reason, be it some sort of respect for almost taking out one of his inquisitors, Zafir's past reputation for getting a job done regardless of the prey if it was dangerous enough, or something else entirely, Vader stepped in to give the trandoshan an ultimatum; Join this next hunt, or perish.

 

[MyrtenRose]

Name: Tel V'kuul

Age: 25

Occupation: Reluctant bounty hunter, not reluctant mechanic

Species: Jawa

Powers/Abilities: Highly evolved survival traits such as exceptional night vision, a superior immune system, a high metabolism and efficient digestive system. Decently trained shot. Almost supernaturally gifted with mechanics and engineering. Small stature makes most other individuals underestimate him. Basic force sensitivity that is mostly untapped. Can speak Galactic Basic with only a very light accent.

Equipment: E-22 blaster rifle, various tools, a shock collar forced around his neck.

Alignment (D&D style): Chaotic good

Bio: One of the very very few Jawas recruited into the Jedi Order in the year 19 BBY. Unfortunately, his Padawan training started only a standard month before the Jedi Purge began. When the 501st descended upon the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, it was a combination of luck and his small size that allowed him to evade notice and flee from the massacre. However, his luck only went so far. His escape brought him deep into the slum-ridden lower levels of Coruscant and led him to almost literally running into a particularly rugged street gang. Recognizing the rarity of Jawas on the planet and knowing how gifted they could be with machines, the gang lent a hand to ostensibly help Tel escape. In truth, when they had the Jawa located safely behind closed doors, a shock collar was forcibly shoved onto him.

Conscripted into their service, he has spent years as one way to providing them with a steady stream of credits, in this case through local bounty hunting on Coruscant and menial mechanic work. He abhorred the violence that came with the former, but despite the indentured servitude, he greatly enjoyed the latter. It was his work that allowed the gang(which had grown smaller and smaller over the years) to eventually leave Coruscant behind on an Allanar N3 light freighter.

A combination of being generally underestimated, untapped force sensitivity and learned skill over the years allowed him, and by extension the gang, to rise from unknown dregs on Coruscant to a known quantity among the Empire. Wookies, Kaleesh, Mandalorians, Trandoshans, Nikto...all clear and obvious threats. A bounty-hunting Jawa? They never see it coming. Though many in said Empire thumbed their noses and looked down on Tel with thinly veiled contempt, not even the ones that most despised the Jawa could deny the record of success he had as a hunter.

And though he hated the violence and forced servitude, he admitted only to himself that on some level he enjoyed the work, as it allowed him to meet new faces and see so much more of the galaxy then he ever imagined he would.

This was how Tel found himself not only enslaved to this former street gang, but also forced to serve the very Empire that had stolen his future as a Jedi from him.

 

[CYBER 09]

Character Name: Judge and Juri(IG-100 Battle Droid and Juri Sandra. Human Mechanic and liberator of goods.

Age: One’s old enough to remember the Clone Wars, the other is 17 standard years old.

Pressure Point:

In the seedy underbelly of Coruscant(now Imperial Center), the very sun itself was thought to be myth. Families, from every race imaginable lived and died for generations amidst the soot and neon lights, disbelieving in the concept of a sky. It was a place where those lost could remain for years, standing in place and yet be utterly ignored and not found. It was the kind of place where no one would expect anyone to hide for long.

Which made it perfect for a Jedi, within spitting reach of the old Temple and under the nose of the Inquisitorus Master. Two shadows flickered from the dark, rushing like hunting wolves on the scent of blooded prey. An apt description for the hunters of the Dark Side. Former Jedi, Force Sensitive children raised in shadow, monstrous and hungry-they were eager for the hunt and the opportunity to whet their blades on an actual Jedi.

Rumor abounded of one such figure down here. Dispensing justice with a lightsaber-an incredibly stupid thing to do, but these Jedi really couldn’t help themselves. In the end, they never could and they paused in sudden consternation. Perhaps it was some instinct, or the Dark Side or even the acidic smell that warned them. Whatever the reason, they jumped like their life depended on it, just as the land mine exploded. Shrapnel-glass bits, metal, odds and ends gathered and compressed exploded and shredded their legs though they managed to dodge the rest of it. Hatred rose, but with it came a singular note of fear. That was a proximity mine, one geared to Force Users.

Definitely not the weapon of a conventional Jedi. Around that moment, a metallic voice echoed harshly aloud.

”Force Sensitivity. But too aggressive. Not the Jedi I had hoped for.”

There was a crackle from an ancient weapon and a droid that seemed more dark idol than relic appeared from the shadows. With glowing red eyes, covered in a cloak and hood of ragged wear it clanked and stepped into view as it added.

”But you will do for now.”

It was the last thing either would ever see, as the titular Judge launched himself at them.

[Old, cranky IG-100 and his pet mechanic seek Jedi for one last hurrah. Must have inner peace, high ground bullshit not required.]

World Origin: Unknown. Juri Sandra has Ryloth origins, but was born in the underground levels of Coruscant.

Powers and skills: Electrostaff Mastery(main weapon), Big Boi Brawler type(turns out, a heavy droid punching people tends to keep em down), Xeno-Anatomy and Incapacitation files, comprehensive knowledge of Laws and Languages(basically making him the protocol droid of the party), blaster proficiency, vibroblade proficiency, Bounty Hunter Guild Laws and Protocols knowledge, explosives, piloting

Juri Sandra: Mechanic, Tinkerer, Thief-being cute.


Equipment: Electrostaff, Armored plating, magnetic boots, wrist grapnel(100 feet cable), shrapnel proximity mines x3(per mission), blaster, force field(tanks blaster bolts, not so good with physical projectiles).

Background: Ancient, crotchy Magna Droid and his mechanic sidekick seek Jedi and worthy targets.

Weaknesses: EMP pulse/Ion weaponry and one is a non-combatant mechanic kid.

 

[Corvette]

View attachment 664306
Name: Wulfgar Rom

Age: 31

Occupation: Bounty hunter, ex-Imperial

Species: Unknown, presumably human or similar

Powers/Abilities: Wears the Garou armor, a beskar-cortosis weave marvel of technology that enhances the individual combat capabilities of the wearer. Can withstand with some consistence lightsaber strikes. Can withstand a few shots from a large-caliber blaster, and more from smaller calibers. Elsewise, has considerable hand-to-hand combat prowess.

Equipment: Garou armor (including cortosis vibroblades affixed to forearm and grapnel wire beneath wrist, helmet includes infrared and ultraviolet spectrums, a gas filtration system, and a rebreather), beskar blastsword, thermal detonators of varying payload

D&D Alignment: Chaotic Evil

Backstory: It was a couple years past. Wulfgar had been a Stormtrooper, recruited as a kid, a child of thirteen. He'd been around the block, was from a rough town on a rough planet. That's why he grew up rough. That's why he wasn't a good guy. He enjoyed the benefits of the Empire, so he stayed until he wasn't enjoying those benefits. Promotions were exceedingly slow in the ranks of Imperial Stormtroopers, and Wulfgar grew to despise the hierarchy of the Imperial forces. That's why one day when Wulfgar's squad, widely acclaimed in their sphere, went missing, they were easily replaced, just as he knew they would be.

Only Wulfgar knows what happened to them that day in the lab on Haber V, can hear the screams of friend and foe alike as he made off with the experimental exosuit in pursuit of greener pastures.

He wasn't called Wulfgar at that time, but that's the name he used to gain an audience with Vader and offer his services as a bounty hunter for the Empire. Wulfgar still remembers the grim silence that stood between the two of them as Rom knelt for the first time before the Dark Lord, the only sound that of Lord Vader's respirator as the Sith contemplated accepting. Long moments passed this way, but Wulfgar knew better than to transgress against the soundless void.

Finally, Vader spoke.

"I accept your offer; you shall serve the Empire."

 

[Indolent]

Name: Bligharr

Age: 114

Occupation: Madclaw/Bounty Hunter for Hire

Species: Wookie

Powers/Abilities: Physically gifted specimen with inborn survival instinct outstripping the average wookie; innate force sensitivity that has been tapped into over the course of his century long life; basic competency with starship maintenance and as helmsman; a talented hunter in all walks of life, particularly skilled with the use of his fangs and claws on every limb.

Equipment: Stolen bowcaster, stolen Agr fighter

Alignment (D&D style): Neutral Evil

Backstory: A single word succinctly encapsulated all aspects of life on Kashyyyk: harsh. Never a matter of whether it was fair or not, a life endured on Kashyyyk was a harsh one. Its weight was both tempered and softened by the presence of a community, a constant present in the daily lives of the Wookies. From their early history of slavery to war brought home by the Separatists to Imperial repression under the Empire, the Wookie was a species that knew only relentless perseverance and resistance against all odds. It was in each other they found comfort and peace, taking to the canopies of the wroshyr trees spanning the continents of their homeworld, away from the threats of their home below and above. The typical wookie was blessed with this community, a family and friends.

Most save for one.

Bligharr found himself ill-fated to be without family, mother and father lost to predators within the Shadowlands, in a bid towards a nebulous end his clan refuses to speak of. Their failure stigmatized his presence among his own, a burgeoning belief of incompetence and inability running within his blood taking a hold. Something of an outcast, he was barely tolerated and often scorned by his peers. The clan would still perform its dues, doing the barest minimum in instilling within him their culture, history, and way of life but not without the caveat of working all the harder for it. This fostered an indelible resentment within the Wookie, nutured furthermore by his treatment that grew harsher as time went by. Hunting expeditions forcing him past the fourth level of Kashyyyk, constant ridicule for gaps in his knowledge, and scrutiny for poor performance in their eyes despite his best efforts.

The straw that broke the Bantha's back was when a contemporary, the child of the clan's elder, dared to speak ill of his parents. A furor awoke within, his resentment becoming manifest, and in an instant, Bligharr was branded a madclaw. Before the clan could pass judgement upon him, he fled to the Shadowlands knowing well that none would follow. And so it was unanimously assumed the blight on the clan's history was annulled with his death.

Decades would pass, time plentiful for the Wookie as he wallowed within the shadows, learning more about himself hunting the predators of the lands. Eventually, he found his progress unsatisfactory and came to a realization: it was time to take to the stars. A swift traversing of the forest's levels led him back to his clan, his abrupt appearance horrifying the elders in remembrance, as he carved his way through their warriors, and stole an archaic starfighter. From there, one thing led to another, from encounters with trandoshan slavers to seedy dealings with the underworld, Bligharr eventually found himself in the employ of one unlike any other, who recognized the darkness within the wookie.

Darth Vader.

 

[Schnee Corp Lawyer]

Name: R2-ES

Age: 16

Occupation: Astromech droid

Species: Astromech Droid

Powers/Abilities: Astromech Droid

Equipment: Astromech droid... along with a few modifications both legal and otherwise, including a sophisticated computer slicing array, modified jumpjets that can also function as twin flamethrowers, trip mines, and the components of a DC-17LE blaster haphazardly scattered through her chassis that somehow functions.

Alignment (D&D style): Chaotic good

Bio (make sure to at least include their affiliation with Vader/the Empire): Droid life in the empire can suck. You're created to work until you die, and no one really cares that you're mostly sentient. Such was R2-E3's lot in life, stuck working the somehow both dangerous and boring job of asteroid mining in an imperial slave operation, going along with the aliens in their scrappy, barely space worthy rock blasters to try to keep that junk afloat and the life support functional long enough to get to the sweet, sweet metal within. For two years from the moment she was activated she did that job, watching again and again as the dangerous work claimed the lives of her assigned partners despite her best efforts. Imperial mining droids were programmed with a cheery, encouraging disposition to try and distract their charges from the depressing reality of their life, but even an artificial personality could only take so much when it was housed by an AI as advanced as hers. So it was that when she was assigned Dex Vansell, Rodian criminal, she decided that enough was enough; this one would not die. And for a while he didn't! The pair worked together for three years, their teamwork helping to impress the overseers enough that Dex was able to get some of his sentence commuted, and he promised her that when he was free, he'd take her with him.

Unfortunately for her, three days before their time was up, A ship crashed into the mining facility in a ball of flame. Out stumbled a trandoshan, who roared for Dex's name as he held up the bounty puck in his claws. R2-E3 turned to Dex to tell him to run, just in time for him to throw her at the trandoshan like a ballistic trash can. She bounced off his head, causing him to stumble, and despite the burning rage of betrayal coursing through her oil, she beeped and whirred a battle cry as she used her thrusters to scorch the trandoshan's face, blinding him in one eye and making him screech in surprise before he repeatedly smashed her against the floor, knocking something loose and powering her down.

When she was repowered as something jostled her innards back in place, the first thing her sensors noted was Dex's corpse staring blankly at her in the cargo hold of an imperial shuttle. Five minutes later, she was bashing her head against the leg of a trandoshan who was staring calmly down at her as she spewed profanities. He asked her why she was so angry about someone that was so quick to betray her. She continued to tell him to eat shit.

a few days later she'd calmed down enough to think back on her life, short as it was, and why this trandoshan had bothered to save her. When she asked him, he told her it was because he needed someone to land the ship, as he didn't know how. And also because he reminded him of someone he once knew. She told him she didn't know how to land a ship.

a few days after that, they crashlanded on hutta, and the bounty hunting duo of Zafir and R2-Eat Shit was born in the flames of the wreckage.

 

[Gus Gungus]

Name: Third Sister (original name [REDACTED])

Age: 27

Occupation: Inquisitor

Species: Dathomiran

Powers/Abilities: From IMPERIAL DOSSIER, SUBJECT: THIRD SISTER - Subject displays force sensitivity to a noteworthy degree. Discovered by [REDACTED] (See IMPERIAL DOSSIER: THE GRAND INQUISITOR) during a routine mission (See IMPERIAL DOSSIER: EXTERMINATION OF THE SPIDERCLAN ON DATHOMIR). [REDACTED] determined subject to be suitable for Inquisitorius program candidacy, despite advanced age. [REDACTED] noted the first of the Inquisitors were Jedi knights willing to give themselves to the dark side, which this adolescent already had. [REDACTED] pointed to previous observations of inherent dark side potential among Dathomirans as justification for integration into the program (See IMPERIAL DOSSIER: ASAJJ VENTRESS, IMPERIAL DOSSIER: MAUL).

Updated xx/xx/xxxx - [REDACTED] notes subject displays aptitude in Nightsister shadow magic (See IMPERIAL DOSSIER: MOTHER TALZIN). REGULAR PROGRESS UPDATE SCHEDULED BY LORD SIDIOUS

Updated xx/xx/xxxx - Subject shortlisted for termination by [REDACTED] (Subject's Force potential may exceed limitations of Inquisitor program) (ERROR - UPDATE PURGED)

(NOTE: [REDACTED] believed to have died xx/xx/xxxx, two weeks following this update (See IMPERIAL DOSSIER: KANAN JARRUS)

Updated xx/xx/xxxx - Subject selected along with (See IMPERIAL DOSSIER: TWELFTH SISTER) for further training with Lord Vader.

Equipment: Lightwhip

Alignment (D&D style): Neutral Evil