- Joined
- May 7, 2023
- Messages
- 6
- Reaction score
- 9
SumMook
AGE
► ADULT
SPECIES
► UGOR
CLASSIFICATION
► UNICELLAR
DISTINCTION
► AMORPHOUS
VOLUME
► ~138GAL
IDENTIFICATION
► MASCULINE
HOMEWORLD
► TROITHE
FACTION
► INDEPENDENT
(IMPERIAL CONTRACT)
FORCE SENSITIVITY
► NONE DETECTED
BIOGRAPHY
Many might recall looking to the sky in their youth. The day brought the clouds and warmth of sun. Night brought the glittering moon and stars, hinting at that wider galaxy teeming with life—conjuring up the dream and inspiration to explore it. Few realize just what a privilege that is…
In lower levels of Troithe, there was no sky, only metal. No clouds, only smog. No stars, only the distant light of ever-working machinery. That is how it was, and how SumMook had always thought it would be.
The assembly line is where it began, at least—that’s the first memory SumMook can recall. Stationed with other creatures that shared no resemblance to himself, he cobbled together contraptions as they’d instructed; to not do so was to be inflicted pain—beaten. The other creatures—at least, the ones in charge—were larger, so he complied.
As SumMook grew, so did his productivity. Enough so that they took notice. Upwards in the chain he rose. Now it was he who stood tall, instructing those lesser to their tasks, dishing out punishment as he saw fit; more importantly, however, was that he’d come to a greater understanding—he had learned that there was more to it all.
Ambition festered.
That was a dangerous thing to have, those on the top weren’t keen on free-thinkers; they were quelled often, and brutally. To survive in this echelon of the pits, you needed to be cut-throat, and ruthless. Everyone was out for themselves, and SumMook was no different. It began small, with subtle lies to test if they could be fooled. Then, swiping the odd piece of equipment, to see if they’d notice. Then came honeyed words, appeasing those who held more, currying their favor, and earning their trust. It was working. SumMook had learned to play the game, and he was advancing the ladder.
Those ambitions were cut short when the outsiders came; lawmen, as SumMook now understands. They rounded up those at the top and took them away. Came before SumMook and his peers and explained they had been ‘exploited and abused by imperial hold-outs hiding in these shuddered factories and manufactory pits’. SumMook was confused, he didn’t understand—this was his world, all he knew. Herded in cramped shuttles alongside the others, SumMook was carted off for ‘rehabilitation’.
The following years were a nauseating blur. SumMook’s understanding of the world was shattered. The rehabilitation program offered ‘new opportunities and careers for a better life’, but SumMook desperately clung to what he understood: technology. Most did. At the very least, he walked away from the program armed with an education. It wasn’t worth much, but it was a beginning.
Years spent toiling away in the corporate sector brought some semblance of that old life—it was familiar, and that was comfortable. The corporate environment was like a lower-stakes version of the game he had played in the pits. SumMook felt well-equipped to squeeze out what he could, so… he did.
This was a new playground, however, and SumMook overestimated the others—assumed they had the same do-or-die grit. This was a lesson hard learned; SumMook was fortunate to flee at the right time, allowing blame to fall elsewhere. Off-world he ventured, towards imperial territory.
Imperial. That word felt familiar; it was what the lawmen referred to those on top as. SumMook wanted to be on top, and thought to find solace amongst a territory of people with the same attitude. Luck was it, that during his first stint there as a foreman, he met with a particularly pale imperial politician; a like-minded individual, who shared the same will to squeeze. Together, they began an less than lawly operation that lined their pockets. It wouldn’t last, but it was the first of many.
From that point onward, SumMook’s connections in the imperial sphere grew. He became the estranged member of a group called ‘the Clique’—individuals who all shared the will to reach for something greater, by any means. They worked together, and became well-acquainted; SumMook had found, at least for a time, a place in the galaxy.
Skills
Survival through cunning is SumMook's specialty, a prudent roach always on the scour to chip away more than it deserves. Life in the manufactory pits equipped him with such, alongside a willingness to disregard others for personal gain, and the do-or-die will to make things happen. That is not to say SumMook lacks any sort of charm, but Ugor aren't exactly reputed for their pleasantness.
Beyond that, there's only one thing SumMook knows better than most: technology. Those hands weren't idle in the pits and years following, and SumMook has garnered an intricate and almost innate understanding of the technology around him. From its use, maintenance, construction, and on... though, its operation is a different story. SumMook could—at best—be described as a passable pilot... if you were feeling particularly kind that day. Despite that, he does hold a hover lift certification.
Cons, schemes, and business are additional skills this Ugor holds—a combination hardly surprising if you know his past, and laughably stereotypical for his species. SumMook tries to keep these activities under wrap, putting forward a more refined caricature, but only falls further into the stereotype by being overly pompous.
SumMook has no experience with fighting a few early and desperate brawls in his youth. Put a blaster in his hand, and maybe—just maybe—he could shoot it in the right direction.
Cooking is a hobby; Ugor love to eat, and SumMook has learned how to put together a plethora of specific delicacies he enjoys. You'd be hard-pressed to get him to share any, however.
Equipment
+Environment Suit
+Datapad
Relationships
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