I am the last effort in a long struggle for continued existence.
Last of the Talataashi, and last Sentry of the Meraadan Order... The inevitable end of a hopeless battle. I hope I can at least make it memorable.
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Full Name: Rokh Rokh Rukhaajj.
Last of the Talataashi, and last Sentry of the Meraadan Order... The inevitable end of a hopeless battle. I hope I can at least make it memorable.
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Faction: Independent.
Species: Talataashi; wingless avian from the Unknown Regions.
Age: Unknown.
Gender: Male.
Height: 2.24 meters (7.3 feet).
Weight: 118 kilograms (260 pounds).
Colours: Solid black feathers, blue eyes.
Credits: 0.
Distinguishing Marks: Bald areas on his legs from old burns.
Force Sensitive: Minimally, as all Talataashi are.
Strength: Comparable to a Wookiee.
Dexterity: Average.
Constitution: Poor; overtired and underfed.
Intelligence: Above average.
Wisdom: He is very patient, and is guided by his Order's code of honour.
Charisma: He is blunt and somewhat cold, with a grim sense of humour.
Skills: Piloting, Close Combat, Heavy Weaponry
Martial Art: Kasaanda, a Talataashi martial art named for a monstrous predator plant on their homeworld. It is a style of rigid defense and brief spurts of aggressive attack.
Force Powers
-Telekinesis (amateur)
-Force Jump (amateur)
Gear
-Kruj-ku, seen in the character picture. A traditional Meraadan Sentry's polearm, made of an unknown alloy that can resist lightsabers.
-Vanaashuk, a more modern Talataashi weapon firing concentrated bursts of superheated plasma.
-Meraadan armour, seen in the character picture. Made from the same alloy as his kruj-ku, making it lightsaber resistant.
Ship
The Astaarit, a gunship transport equipped with two forward plasma cannons, a rotating plasma turret on the underside, and plasma torpedo launchers. Its weapons are on about the same level of advancement as those of the Chiss Ascendancy. Its shields are somewhat less advanced, but it has excellent speed and maneuverability.
Pet
Djiza, simply a harmless domesticated pet from his homeworld. The two of them together make up all the remaining children of their planet.
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My story is a sad one, but not atypical. Every civilization falls sooner or later, and I imagine every one had its last few stragglers.
By now you've surmised that there are no others remaining like me. I will not speak of the fate of my world and my species. This is to be an information packet on myself. I was not a part of the end. I am the useless gesture of defiance in the face of the end. I exist merely to drag the end out for as long as possible, all for nothing but a few more years of drifting aimlessly through the cold and dark, and I will pray that when I finally break, I can feel like it was worth it.
In the meantime I survive however I can, guided by the code. I meditate on those ponderous scripts and cryptic poems ten times more faithfully than I ever did before... I like to believe that as long as I live by it, a piece of our culture is preserved. Thankfully the code does not forbid mercenary work, or I would have had to righteously and honourably starve to death a long time ago. I don't work for just anyone, but I have to be realistic... short of criminals and terrorists, I can't be picky. Even a Meraadan Sentry has to eat, and the Galaxy looks coldly on beggars from strange dead worlds. Food must be earned, here as anywhere, and I can only pray that private contractors are in demand.
My story is a sad one, but not atypical. Every civilization falls sooner or later, and I imagine every one had its last few stragglers.
By now you've surmised that there are no others remaining like me. I will not speak of the fate of my world and my species. This is to be an information packet on myself. I was not a part of the end. I am the useless gesture of defiance in the face of the end. I exist merely to drag the end out for as long as possible, all for nothing but a few more years of drifting aimlessly through the cold and dark, and I will pray that when I finally break, I can feel like it was worth it.
In the meantime I survive however I can, guided by the code. I meditate on those ponderous scripts and cryptic poems ten times more faithfully than I ever did before... I like to believe that as long as I live by it, a piece of our culture is preserved. Thankfully the code does not forbid mercenary work, or I would have had to righteously and honourably starve to death a long time ago. I don't work for just anyone, but I have to be realistic... short of criminals and terrorists, I can't be picky. Even a Meraadan Sentry has to eat, and the Galaxy looks coldly on beggars from strange dead worlds. Food must be earned, here as anywhere, and I can only pray that private contractors are in demand.
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