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vamp

he/they
SWRP Writer
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Biographical information

Homeworld
Age

Dathomir
18


Physical description

Species
Gender
Height
Mass
Hair color
Eye color
Skin color
Cybernetics

Human
Male
1.9 meters
70 kilograms
Black
Blue
Pale white
None


Chronological & political information

Affiliation(s)

Master

The Sith Eternal
__Legionnaire
None


.
Cinere Autem

Cinere Autem was a male human who fought as a Sith Eternal during the Force Eternal era.



Biographytextext
______________________________________________________________________texttexttext

Raised in the swamplands of Dathomir in a shack far from any other intelligent life forms, Cinere Autem was born into a line of dark siders that stretched back generations, all the way to the failed project known as the First Order. Fallen out of grace and forever branded as traitors, a small group of individuals that had once fought among the ranks of the former faction fled to Dathomir. They settled down there, slowly raising families of their own. But none stayed for long, eventually heading back out into the Galaxy, wanderlust getting the better of them. Eventually, only Cinere's parents remained, and he was raised in solitude.

As was custom by now, he was raised to be a warrior, despite the fact that they had no cause to fight for. It was a simple life, free from drama but with an overbearing boredom. It was no wonder that everyone always left, and Cinere soon began to understand and plan his own departure. Not keeping it a secret from his parents, he continued to learn all knowledge they had to hand down to him, eventually boarding a shuttle and heading out into the Core worlds, searching for something to do, a reason to exist.

It was not easy to find at first, but his time was certainly not wasted. Formerly a stranger to large groups or socializing, he became fascinated with the underground scene on Coruscant, spending his time partying in the lower levels and prowling the scaffolding late at night with groups of people he considered his friends. Mind clouded, he slowly stopped finding a reason to exist and just existed, spending his time focusing on the now and seeking temporary happiness.

As things began slowing down and Cinere found that life wasn't as exciting before, he began exploring new things, seeking new entourages. It was then that he fell in with a group of dark siders among the lower levels—all novices seeking to be a part of something big. Eventually, word spread of machinations in the Unknown Regions, and it didn't take long before they were readying up for the journey to Exegol.

Not all of them made it. The dark siders each left separately, believing that this journey must be completed alone to weed out the weak from the strong. Many perished, dying of hunger or finding themselves robbed and killed by pirates. Cinere hopped from shuttle to shuttle, sometimes as a stow away, making his way further and further away from the Core. He flew a stolen starfighter into Exegol, where he became a part of the Sith Eternal.​


Personality & Traits
______________________________________________________________________________________________

A bit arrogant and occasionally loud mouthed, Cinere has been starved of attention and now seeks to make it up by being the cool guy. Like most Sith, he loathes compromise, even leaning toward not accepting it, but he practices a healthy does of pragmatism—fully aware that, sometimes, the best thing to say is nothing at all. But only sometimes.

Powers & Abilitiestexttext

__________________________________________________________________________texttexttext


Hand to Hand Combat — There aren't many things you can use to fight with on Dathomir. One of the first things Cinere was taught and has been refining for a long time is hand to hand combat, having studied several martial arts. Even without the Force, he can stand his ground in a street fight.​

Force powers — Like most Force users, he has been tapping into the Force for as long as he's been breathing, his parents having pushed lessons onto him the moment Cinere's sensitivity was obvious. Using it is second nature by now.​

Cunning — While other Sith would prefer to break through an enemy with sheer force, Cinere knows when to hang back and use other means, not afraid to throw some sand in someone's eyes.
______________________________________________________________________________________________

Equipment
• Red dual phase lightsaber

Assets
Ship



Roleplay Threadstexttext

__________________________________________________________________________


Chapter I: Initiate

1. Thread link — Thread description here, though there are no threads so this is the only text available.
 
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vamp

he/they
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CINERE AUTEM'S ARMOR

Made out of scraps from other sets of armor, Cinere has managed to craft himself a qualitative outfit that protects the vitals while leaving room for him to move around unhindered. Lacking attachments, nothing about it is too different from the millions others worn around the Galaxy.

LEGALITY

Nothing about the set is illegal.

INTENT

To have a write up for Cinere's armor.

RESTRICTIONS
None.

TYPE & COVERAGE

Type: Medium

Coverage:
  • Head: Duraplast mask covering mouth and back of head
  • Torso: Duraplast that wraps around the body from shoulders to hips, covering the entire torso.
  • Back: Back part of the torso armor.
  • Upper Arms: Duraplast covering arms.
  • Lower Arms: Phrik gauntlets covering hands and forearms.


FUNCTIONS


None

 

vamp

he/they
SWRP Writer
Joined
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Messages
2,291
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robert-pattinson-gq-cover-june-july-2020-03.jpg


Biographical information

Homeworld
Age
Aliases

Nar Shaddaa
21
Jpho, the Typhoon


Physical description

Species
Gender
Height
Mass
Hair color
Eye color
Skin color
Cybernetics
Scars


Human
Male
1.85 meters
70 kilograms
Brown
Brown
White
None
Various blaster scars


Chronological & political information

Affiliation(s)

Master

Independent
__Criminal
None


.
| Jon Typho |

Jon Typho was a male human smuggler, pilot, hitman, and slicer living during the Force Eternal era. The son of two criminals and born on the Smuggler's Moon, it was no surprise to any that he chose this career, being equipped with the skills needed from an early age. He went solo when his parents died when they tried to ambush a deal between two gangs but found themselves in over their heads.



Biography

"Do you hear that?"

A light pattering of rain had been sprinkling over the metal sheets that served of a roof for them for the past half hour but that was not what he was referring to. A man—red-faced and tense, beads of sweat falling from his green hair down onto his cheeks—stared out the window, then turned around abruptly toward a pink-haired woman next to him. "Do you hear it, Amira?" His eyes scanned her to see if she was as excited as she was.

"No, Xavier." Amira smiled nevertheless because she could never not smile when she saw her husband beaming like a child. It was only a few things that got him this worked up and none of them legal. Tonight was no exception.

He swatted at the air with one hand, eyes outside the window again. "Calm, Amira. It's the calm before the storm."

"A storm that won't fuck us over in the end, hopefully."

"What's the worst that can happen? We do stuff like this every few months." Nothing could bring him down, which was a bit worrying for Amira. He always did this, getting excited about jobs, and it made him get careless. So far it hadn't backfired, but it had the potential too.

"Whatever you say, honey." She turned around and reached for the blaster on the table next to her. She checked its battery and then holstered it, also grabbing her jacket off the chair and slinging it over her shoulders. "Almost time to go. Max is waiting in the car."

Xavier pulled his hood up and stuffed a cloth into his pocket, making his way to the door. He exited first, then Amira, who stopped for a moment to look back at their home before she switched the light off. It was shabby, but it was clean (she'd made sure of it) and it had served them well all these years. She hoped to come back to sleep in her own bed tonight.

The two stepped outside in the rain and walked a few meters to the corner of the street, their wet footsteps echoing behind them. Opening the doors of a speeder waiting for them, the two got in the backseat silently.

"I thought you weren't gonna come." Jon turned toward them, big grin on his face. "Was about to go take the speeder back."

***

Violent gunfire rocked the steel wall behind him, the sparks falling onto the bare skin of the back of his neck. Xavier's eyes were frantic, going back and forth through the warehouse, trying to spot her frame somewhere. Risking it a little, he poked his head out from behind cover. He spotted Amira on the other side of the building, making a run for it. Nodding to himself, he ducked back down just as a bolt whizzed past the top of his head. Stick to the plan.

Xavier bolted up and ran as fast as his legs could carry him toward the exit, taking cover whenever he could. He was just about there when suddenly he found himself on the ground. A metal crate had flown in right from the edge of his vision, slamming into him with enough force to break several ribs. Gasping for air, he tried to lift his head to look around, but was stopped by pressure on his windpipe. His confusion increased when he heard a strange noise—a hiss, then a sort of whir, like the sound speeders make when they whizz past you at high speeds. Could it be—

"Sith," he gasped out. Like most other residents of the Smuggler's Moon, he had spent his life more concerned over the criminals around him rather than on some religious zealots on the other side of the Galaxy, even considering them a sort of overblown myth, so the realization was a shock.

"I wouldn't waste any of my breaths if I were you." The last thing Xavier registered was a sharp pain in his chest. "They are among your last."

***

Elsewhere, his wife was fighting back three mercenaries from behind an overturned speeder. Managing to take one out, she rolled out from behind cover and dodged a bolt in a mad charge to a more advantageous position. Just like her husband, the only thing on her mind was escape to the rendezvous point. And just like her husband, she found herself flying through the air like a bird with broken wings. Amira crashed into the stone floor face-first, scraping against it for a few meters. Blood in her eyes and a sharp, screaming pain erupting from her chin, she struggled dazedly to get up, but couldn't. A sudden kick to the head silenced her forever.

***

Their son was still waiting in the speeder. Music played softly out of the speakers, muting the rain outside and the various blaster shots that had been ringing out for the past 4 minutes unbeknownst to him. Jon was wondering why they were taking so long and staring at the watch. In a few minutes, he was supposed to leave according to the rules they'd set beforehand, but that was not happening.

Or so he thought. He saw the hooded figure leaving the warehouse his parents had come into, followed by a few troops carrying two body bags.

A loud thud echoed through the car as he slammed his fists down on the dashboard. And then he screamed.
Personality & Traits

Jon likes to pretend he has no flaws whatsoever, maintaining a wall up to prevent anyone from seeing the fact that he is, indeed, very flawed. He tries to be funny but sometimes comes off as immature. When he puts his mind to it, Jon can be surprisingly intelligent, but he's found that exhibiting intelligence never gets you anywhere good so he feigns ignorance to prevent others from taking advantage of him.

Used to running from authorities, he's become a nomad. Jon can never stay in one place for long and he gets extremely bored if he doesn't have anything to do. He has a good deal of different hobbies, only about 2 of them completely legal.

Jon lives in the present, unbothered by the consequences of his actions up until they smack him in the face. Still, he wouldn't have it any other way because, after all, he's here for a good time, not a long time.​


________________________________________________

Equipment

He's got no reason to carry a gun, but when walking home late at night, Jon remains strapped with a hold-out blaster, just in case the scum of the lower levels decide to have a go at the pretty boy in the suit. Usually close by—either in his speeder or in his office—he's got a VBP-11 at the ready. Other than that, he carries the usual: commlink, datapad, wallet, keys, and always—and I mean always—a bag of spice and a deathstick, tucked away in a small box in the inside of his suit.​

Roleplay Threads

1. Thread name — Thread description.
 
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vamp

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_N A M E
CINERE AUTEM

F A C T I O N
SITH ORDER

_R A N K
MARAUDER

_S P E C I E S
HUMAN

_A G E
19

_H E I G H T
1.9 M

_W E I G H T
70 KG

_G E N D E R
NONBINARY

_F O R C E_ S E N S I T I V I T Y
YES



B I O G R A P H Y

CoO7lNiXgAAnr4j.jpg
Note: Cinere uses he/him and occasionally they/them pronouns

Raised in the swamplands of Dathomir in a shack far from any other intelligent life forms, Cinere Autem was born into a line of dark siders that stretched back generations, all the way to the failed project known as the First Order. Fallen out of grace and forever branded as traitors, a small group of individuals that had once fought among the ranks of the former faction fled to Dathomir. They settled down there, slowly raising families of their own. But none stayed for long, eventually heading back out into the Galaxy, wanderlust getting the better of them. Eventually, only Cinere's parents remained, and he was raised in solitude.


As was custom by now, he was raised to be a warrior, despite the fact that they had no cause to fight for. It was a simple life, free from drama but with an overbearing boredom. It was no wonder that everyone always left, and Cinere soon began to understand and plan his own departure. Not keeping it a secret from his parents, he continued to learn all knowledge they had to hand down to him, eventually boarding a shuttle and heading out into the Core worlds, searching for something to do, a reason to exist.


It was not easy to find at first, but his time was certainly not wasted. Formerly a stranger to large groups or socializing, he became fascinated with the underground scene on Coruscant, spending his time partying in the lower levels and prowling the scaffolding late at night with groups of people he considered his friends. Mind clouded, he slowly stopped finding a reason to exist and just existed, spending his time focusing on the now and seeking temporary happiness.


As things began slowing down and Cinere found that life wasn't as exciting before, he began exploring new things, seeking new entourages. It was then that he fell in with a group of dark siders among the lower levels—all novices seeking to be a part of something big. Through them, he was introduced to the bands of Force users slowly coming together into what has now become the Sith Eternal.

P E R S O N A L I T Y _ & _ T R A I T S

A bit arrogant and occasionally loud mouthed, Cinere has never really been taught how to act around people. He’s pragmatic and quick to learn new things, skills which have ensured he doesn’t perish in the slums of Coruscant despite having spent his life on Dathomir. Like most Sith, he loathes compromise, but unlike most Sith, he isn't a bumbling idiot. He dislikes overconfidence, both in his peers and in his enemies, viewing hubris as one of the worst flaws one could have.

Generally charismatic without meaning to, he’s learned how to interact with others but tends to keep people at a distance, preferring to only look out for himself. His adaptability is his greatest strength, a result of living day to day for years; he knows to keep an open mind and always find a way.

Neutral evil.

S T A N D A R D _ E Q U I P M E N T


⇀ Red dual phase lightsaber[/SIZE][/SIZE][/INDENT]
Cinere's armor

Other Tools
⇀ N/A

Personal Assets
⇀ N/A
 
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vamp

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The life of a smuggler was not an easy one. There were a lot of occupational hazards that would deter any half-sane organic lifeforms from becoming a part of the criminal world; there was the issue of dying in gunfights, of course, but there were also smaller, more trivial matters that made it seem unappealing. Rude, trigger-happy clients. Extreme weather, from braving sandstorms with a 3 ton load in the back to leading caravans of goods through frozen wastelands. Other smugglers, greedy and drooling at the idea of snatching your payload just before it reaches its destination, robbing you of the profits. Your own compatriots, should they prove to be unreasonable. It was an ugly world, and the only thing that made it worth the while was the profit.

It requires a thick skin and your wits to be about you at all times. It was physically and mentally demanding. Some days, you’d get back to your ship and lay down in bed, staring up at the ceiling and cursing the day you made the choice to forsake your chance at a legal, peaceful life. Many, perhaps most, people had the opportunity to make a choice. Others didn’t. Others were forced into it by unfortunate circumstances, stripped of their innocence on a day that was as normal as any other.

Beats slavery. But did it really? Is it not like being a slave in a way, chained down to this lifestyle despite its vile side effects?

He sighed, grinding his teeth, gaze set hard on the durasteel above him. Yes. Yes it is. But acknowledging his plight was the first step to letting it get the best of him. And Rash could not afford that. He could not afford to be weak.

***

It started, as most unfortunate turns of events do, with his parents. Marissa and Jacko, two of the noblest people in the galaxy, their lives tinged by a sense of pure-humbleness. Two hard workers, with an ethic above all others. Two wandering travelers, so deeply in love that they could not help from bringing another into the world, a testament of their togetherness. A manifestation of their passion.

They were not bad parents. As far as anyone could be concerned, they were great parents. They were not strict like so many others were, battered down by lives of hardship, drained of energy and given no other choice than to hold some resent for their child. They were not negligent. They loved their child as much as they loved each other, and it was felt. The boy that they brought into the world knew he was their shining jewel. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe his perfect childhood ruined him, because it made life so harsh once it was taken away.

His parents were nomads, living in the Outer Rim, scavenging and buying things cheap to sell to travelers from the rest of the Galaxy. Unlike many others, they made an honest living. They avoided trouble and dealt with things morally. They were friendly with strangers, something that is not applauded in the Outer Rim. Kindness makes you into a laughingstock.

But not in their case. Marissa and Jacko were loved by those around them, the regular customers and the merchants they tended to brush elbows with from time to time. No one tried to stiff them, because everyone knew how reputable they were. Of course, there were outliers. But anyone that was a thorn in their side was run out of town by the others. It was a peaceful life. Too peaceful for the Outer Rim.

It was on a calm day on Tatooine that a traveler sought shelter in their improvised home, a small network of tents that they had set up for the few weeks they’d be there, selling this and that. The two never refused a traveler who asked for something as small as a place to rest their head for a few nights, and the traveler was welcomed with open arms and good food. Fen could remember peering at the man from behind his mother’s apron, his childish curiosity peaked by the brown cloak and shiny, curved knife on that bantha-hide belt. He should have known.

Night time rolled quickly as his parents socialized with their guest, drinking and chatting in between customers. Business was slow in that part of the planet, which made settling down there for a bit peaceful but lucrative. The lack of civilization made people desperate, and they’d spend good money on things they need. His parents were smart.

In the dead of the night, long after the last candle had gone out and the last glass had run empty, that a gurgle broke the silence of the desert, followed by a crash. The child awoke with a start, his gut screaming at him that something was deeply, horribly wrong. He was about to go back to sleep, though, until he heard his father’s voice.

”Marissa? M--“ His voice was cut short, followed by another gurgle, like the sound of someone trying to clean the back of their throat with water. Fen broke out of his sheets and out of the room, adrenaline coursing through his veins, thoughts running through his childish brain. Were his parents in trouble? But that was impossible. His parents were invincible.

The common area was a mess when he got there. Blood had stained their fur carpets, a deep puddle slowly soaking through into the sand beneath. At its center, his mother, her hands to her neck, covered in a slick liquid that looked black in the darkness. A few meters away, his father, face-down and unconscious, more liquid underneath him. Above his father, the stranger, hood drawn, knife in hand and covered in that same strange substance. Fen did not connect the dots immediately, but he did not even get the chance to either way. There was now sand in his eyes and mouth, his extremities burning and uncomfortable. The stranger had kicked sand at him.

He choked and stumbled around, hands desperately rubbing at his eyes, mouth struggling to spit the grimy substance out. A voice broke the silence now, from somewhere to his right. ”Hey! We got here first you piece of shit!”

A pew pew rang out through the tent, the sound deafening in the dead of the desert night. A thud, and then silence. Rash opened his eyes, but someone pulled a bag over his head. They picked him up, and he could feel himself being carried despite his kicking. He opened his mouth and screamed until his throat was sore and only a rasping exhale of air came out. He clawed and shoved, but nothing happened. Then, he felt himself being thrown up.

He hit something hard, his head banging on durasteel. And then it all went black.

***

”No. You can’t refuse! We saved your life, you ungrateful sack of bantha shit!”

”That’s no way to talk to a child, Rek!”

”See if I give a sh-!”

The door slammed shut, a hand pulling the man outside by the scruff of his neck. Fen studied his surroundings resignedly, his eyes burning from crying for hours. He was in a small room, walls and floor covered in steel. He felt like he was in a metal coffin. Apparently this is how spacefaring lifeforms lived. He hated it, even though he’d only been on a ship for a few days. He’d vomited the contents of his stomach several times during the few hours, but his body slowly got used to it. His mind did not.

His parents had never taken him with them on their space travels, instead leaving them with a family friend on Tattooine. He was supposed to step on a ship for the first time with them, in a year or two when he was ready to begin helping with the family business. But he’d been robbed of that too.

The door slid open again. A blond woman stepped inside, dressed like the typical Outer Rim traveler. Fen had seen many people like her buying things from her parents. The man that killed them had looked the same.

”Sorry about him. He’s been living like a savage for a long time, so he’s forgotten how to act around people. You know how it is.” She spoke with the casualty that not many used when speaking with children. She only realized that when Fen did not respond, staring her blankly.

”Oh! Yeah, sorry.” The woman stepped closer, toward the seat in front of Fen. He recoiled and dug deeper into the wall he was resting his back on. A strange look flashed across the woman’s face. Pity?

”No, no. It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you. My name is Renna. What’s your name?”

”Y-you killed them.” He replied, his voice hoarse, face hard.

***

He grew to understand, eventually. It was not this crew that killed his parents, it was the stranger. They had just happened by and heard the commotion. Perfectly reasonable. Fen grew to become a member of the team because he had no choice. He would starve to death in the desert if he left them, and either way--they saved his life. Or so they said. He began learning all sorts of things, from how to shoot a blaster to what parts of a speeder could be taken off to stash things into. He learned how to make a fake ID. How to lie to someone without your body language giving you away. Fen dived deeper and deeper into this world, living in the underbelly of the galaxy, no more than a useful insect like a spider. Annoying, but useful to those who needed his services. He split profits with the team, of course, because they all worked together.

It took him a few years to ask questions.

***

”We saved your life you useless piece of sh-“ Metal on flesh and bone. A crack came out of the impact, then nothing more. Rek was still awake and alive, except now his nose was broken and bleeding just like the few others cuts on his face from the scuffle of tying him up. The veteran smuggler stared Fen dead in the eyes, the hatred on his face displayed openly, his teeth bared.

”Why were you there the night they died? What were you doing in the middle of the desert? Just wandering around?” He already knew the answer. Fen was nothing if not perceptive, and he was bound to overhear things if the people on this crew didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut when they got drunk. It had taken a few years, but the inevitable had happened.

”I know about the artifact,” he spoke again, breaking the long silence that had begun settling in. ”And you would have killed them too, if he hadn’t.”

No response. Rek was looking down at Fen’s boots. He was about to kick him the face, but he finally spoke.

”Yes.”

And it was all he needed to hear. Rek died instantly as the bolt hit him in the forehead. And then another. And another. He kept pressing the trigger, unable to stop, turning the man’s face into nothing more than a charred, bubbling mess of flesh and bone. The smell of burning meat filled the room. He tossed the blaster aside, dashing outside. He vomited on the hallway.
 
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vamp

he/they
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DYxLNseX0AAR7Da

_N A M E
FENARIS MALECO

F A C T I O N
FIVE SYNDICATES

_R A N K
SCOUNDREL

_S P E C I E S
HUMAN

_A G E
21

_H E I G H T
1.85 M

_W E I G H T
70 KG

_G E N D E R
MALE

_F O R C E_ S E N S I T I V I T Y
NO

_A L I A S
JACKO



B I O G R A P H Y

The life of a smuggler was not an easy one. There were a lot of occupational hazards that would deter any half-sane organic lifeforms from becoming a part of the criminal world; there was the issue of dying in gunfights, of course, but there were also smaller, more trivial matters that made it seem unappealing. Rude, trigger-happy clients. Extreme weather, from braving sandstorms with a 3 ton load in the back to leading caravans of goods through frozen wastelands. Other smugglers, greedy and drooling at the idea of snatching your payload just before it reaches its destination, robbing you of the profits. Your own compatriots, should they prove to be unreasonable. It was an ugly world, and the only thing that made it worth the while was the profit.

It requires a thick skin and your wits to be about you at all times. It was physically and mentally demanding. Some days, you’d get back to your ship and lay down in bed, staring up at the ceiling and cursing the day you made the choice to forsake your chance at a legal, peaceful life. Many, perhaps most, people had the opportunity to make a choice. Others didn’t. Others were forced into it by unfortunate circumstances, stripped of their innocence on a day that was as normal as any other.

Beats slavery. But did it really? Is it not like being a slave in a way, chained down to this lifestyle despite its vile side effects?

He sighed, grinding his teeth, gaze set hard on the durasteel above him. Yes. Yes it is. But acknowledging his plight was the first step to letting it get the best of him. And Rash could not afford that. He could not afford to be weak.

***

It started, as most unfortunate turns of events do, with his parents. Marissa and Jacko, two of the noblest people in the galaxy, their lives tinged by a sense of pure-humbleness. Two hard workers, with an ethic above all others. Two wandering travelers, so deeply in love that they could not help from bringing another into the world, a testament of their togetherness. A manifestation of their passion.

They were not bad parents. As far as anyone could be concerned, they were great parents. They were not strict like so many others were, battered down by lives of hardship, drained of energy and given no other choice than to hold some resent for their child. They were not negligent. They loved their child as much as they loved each other, and it was felt. The boy that they brought into the world knew he was their shining jewel. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe his perfect childhood ruined him, because it made life so harsh once it was taken away.

His parents were nomads, living in the Outer Rim, scavenging and buying things cheap to sell to travelers from the rest of the Galaxy. Unlike many others, they made an honest living. They avoided trouble and dealt with things morally. They were friendly with strangers, something that is not applauded in the Outer Rim. Kindness makes you into a laughingstock.

But not in their case. Marissa and Jacko were loved by those around them, the regular customers and the merchants they tended to brush elbows with from time to time. No one tried to stiff them, because everyone knew how reputable they were. Of course, there were outliers. But anyone that was a thorn in their side was run out of town by the others. It was a peaceful life. Too peaceful for the Outer Rim.

It was on a calm day on Tatooine that a traveler sought shelter in their improvised home, a small network of tents that they had set up for the few weeks they’d be there, selling this and that. The two never refused a traveler who asked for something as small as a place to rest their head for a few nights, and the traveler was welcomed with open arms and good food. Fen could remember peering at the man from behind his mother’s apron, his childish curiosity peaked by the brown cloak and shiny, curved knife on that bantha-hide belt. He should have known.

Night time rolled quickly as his parents socialized with their guest, drinking and chatting in between customers. Business was slow in that part of the planet, which made settling down there for a bit peaceful but lucrative. The lack of civilization made people desperate, and they’d spend good money on things they need. His parents were smart.

In the dead of the night, long after the last candle had gone out and the last glass had run empty, that a gurgle broke the silence of the desert, followed by a crash. The child awoke with a start, his gut screaming at him that something was deeply, horribly wrong. He was about to go back to sleep, though, until he heard his father’s voice.

”Marissa? M--“ His voice was cut short, followed by another gurgle, like the sound of someone trying to clean the back of their throat with water. Fen broke out of his sheets and out of the room, adrenaline coursing through his veins, thoughts running through his childish brain. Were his parents in trouble? But that was impossible. His parents were invincible.

The common area was a mess when he got there. Blood had stained their fur carpets, a deep puddle slowly soaking through into the sand beneath. At its center, his mother, her hands to her neck, covered in a slick liquid that looked black in the darkness. A few meters away, his father, face-down and unconscious, more liquid underneath him. Above his father, the stranger, hood drawn, knife in hand and covered in that same strange substance. Fen did not connect the dots immediately, but he did not even get the chance to either way. There was now sand in his eyes and mouth, his extremities burning and uncomfortable. The stranger had kicked sand at him.

He choked and stumbled around, hands desperately rubbing at his eyes, mouth struggling to spit the grimy substance out. A voice broke the silence now, from somewhere to his right. ”Hey! We got here first you piece of shit!”

A pew pew rang out through the tent, the sound deafening in the dead of the desert night. A thud, and then silence. Rash opened his eyes, but someone pulled a bag over his head. They picked him up, and he could feel himself being carried despite his kicking. He opened his mouth and screamed until his throat was sore and only a rasping exhale of air came out. He clawed and shoved, but nothing happened. Then, he felt himself being thrown up.

He hit something hard, his head banging on durasteel. And then it all went black.

***

”No. You can’t refuse! We saved your life, you ungrateful sack of bantha shit!”

”That’s no way to talk to a child, Rek!”

”See if I give a sh-!”

The door slammed shut, a hand pulling the man outside by the scruff of his neck. Fen studied his surroundings resignedly, his eyes burning from crying for hours. He was in a small room, walls and floor covered in steel. He felt like he was in a metal coffin. Apparently this is how spacefaring lifeforms lived. He hated it, even though he’d only been on a ship for a few days. He’d vomited the contents of his stomach several times during the few hours, but his body slowly got used to it. His mind did not.

His parents had never taken him with them on their space travels, instead leaving them with a family friend on Tattooine. He was supposed to step on a ship for the first time with them, in a year or two when he was ready to begin helping with the family business. But he’d been robbed of that too.

The door slid open again. A blond woman stepped inside, dressed like the typical Outer Rim traveler. Fen had seen many people like her buying things from her parents. The man that killed them had looked the same.

”Sorry about him. He’s been living like a savage for a long time, so he’s forgotten how to act around people. You know how it is.” She spoke with the casualty that not many used when speaking with children. She only realized that when Fen did not respond, staring her blankly.

”Oh! Yeah, sorry.” The woman stepped closer, toward the seat in front of Fen. He recoiled and dug deeper into the wall he was resting his back on. A strange look flashed across the woman’s face. Pity?

”No, no. It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you. My name is Renna. What’s your name?”

”Y-you killed them.” He replied, his voice hoarse, face hard.

***

He grew to understand, eventually. It was not this crew that killed his parents, it was the stranger. They had just happened by and heard the commotion. Perfectly reasonable. Fen grew to become a member of the team because he had no choice. He would starve to death in the desert if he left them, and either way--they saved his life. Or so they said. He began learning all sorts of things, from how to shoot a blaster to what parts of a speeder could be taken off to stash things into. He learned how to make a fake ID. How to lie to someone without your body language giving you away. Fen dived deeper and deeper into this world, living in the underbelly of the galaxy, no more than a useful insect like a spider. Annoying, but useful to those who needed his services. He split profits with the team, of course, because they all worked together.

It took him a few years to ask questions.

***

”We saved your life you useless piece of sh-“ Metal on flesh and bone. A crack came out of the impact, then nothing more. Rek was still awake and alive, except now his nose was broken and bleeding just like the few others cuts on his face from the scuffle of tying him up. The veteran smuggler stared Fen dead in the eyes, the hatred on his face displayed openly, his teeth bared.

”Why were you there the night they died? What were you doing in the middle of the desert? Just wandering around?” He already knew the answer. Fen was nothing if not perceptive, and he was bound to overhear things if the people on this crew didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut when they got drunk. It had taken a few years, but the inevitable had happened.

”I know about the artifact,” he spoke again, breaking the long silence that had begun settling in. ”And you would have killed them too, if he hadn’t.”

No response. Rek was looking down at Fen’s boots. He was about to kick him the face, but he finally spoke.

”Yes.”

And it was all he needed to hear. Rek died instantly as the bolt hit him in the forehead. And then another. And another. He kept pressing the trigger, unable to stop, turning the man’s face into nothing more than a charred, bubbling mess of flesh and bone. The smell of burning meat filled the room. He tossed the blaster aside, dashing outside. He vomited on the hallway.

S T A N D A R D _ E Q U I P M E N T

DG-34 Peacemaker Blaster Pistol
Fen's armor

Other Tools
⇀ N/A

Personal Assets
⇀ The 'Belly of the Beast’
 
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BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

---Homeworld
---Age

--- Tattooine
--- 21

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

--- Species
--- Gender
--- Height
--- Mass
--- Eye Color
--- Hair Color
--- Skin Color
--- Force Sensitivity

--- Human
--- Male
--- 185 cm
--- 80 kg
--- Black
--- Brown
--- Fair
--- Negative

KNOWN AFFILIATIONS

--- Faction
--- Organizations


--- Five Syndicates
--- Black Sun

--
Fenaris Maleco (pronounced /phen-ah-ris mah-lehcoh) was a human male smuggler and bounty hunter from the planet Tattooine. He was raised on the desert planet by Marissa and Jacko Maleco, two wandering merchants and scavengers. Although his family was respected in their circles and by clients, the acquisition by his father of an expensive artifact put them in the crosshair of several gangs of raiders from the Outer Rim, which ultimately resulted in a brief gunfight in their home and the murder of both of his parents. Fenaris was “taken in” by the victorious gang but not told of the circumstances that lead to his orphaning. He was subsequently trained to be a top smuggler, learning and honing skills in hiding products, ship mechanics, flying, gunfighting, hand to hand fighting, negotiation, hacking, and other useful things for those living on the other side of the law to know.

He lived with the gang for a period of time, eventually learning that, though they weren’t the ones to kill his parents, they likely would have done so for the artifact, and their killing of his parents’ assassin was only done for their own convenience, ensuring it fell into their hands. In the following nervous breakdown, he killed the crew he had been working alongside, slaughtering them while they were under the influence of alcohol and spice. He later sold the ship and bought a light freighter of his own, dubbed the Belly of the Beast and started taking on smuggling jobs for miscellaneous clients, as well as a few low-importance contracts for the Black Sun.

His knowledge in fields related to smuggling have helped Fen in ensuring a reliable service for his clients, though he struggles with the lifestyle that has been thrust upon him.

B A C K S T O R Y
The life of a smuggler was not an easy one. There were a lot of occupational hazards that would deter any half-sane organic lifeforms from becoming a part of the criminal world; there was the issue of dying in gunfights, of course, but there were also smaller, more trivial matters that made it seem unappealing. Rude, trigger-happy clients. Extreme weather, from braving sandstorms with a 3 ton load in the back to leading caravans of goods through frozen wastelands. Other smugglers, greedy and drooling at the idea of snatching your payload just before it reaches its destination, robbing you of the profits. Your own compatriots, should they prove to be unreasonable. It was an ugly world, and the only thing that made it worth the while was the profit.

It requires a thick skin and your wits to be about you at all times. It was physically and mentally demanding. Some days, you’d get back to your ship and lay down in bed, staring up at the ceiling and cursing the day you made the choice to forsake your chance at a legal, peaceful life. Many, perhaps most, people had the opportunity to make a choice. Others didn’t. Others were forced into it by unfortunate circumstances, stripped of their innocence on a day that was as normal as any other.

Beats slavery. But did it really? Is it not like being a slave in a way, chained down to this lifestyle despite its vile side effects?

He sighed, grinding his teeth, gaze set hard on the durasteel above him. Yes. Yes it is. But acknowledging his plight was the first step to letting it get the best of him. And Rash could not afford that. He could not afford to be weak.

***

It started, as most unfortunate turns of events do, with his parents. Marissa and Jacko, two of the noblest people in the galaxy, their lives tinged by a sense of pure-humbleness. Two hard workers, with an ethic above all others. Two wandering travelers, so deeply in love that they could not help from bringing another into the world, a testament of their togetherness. A manifestation of their passion.

They were not bad parents. As far as anyone could be concerned, they were great parents. They were not strict like so many others were, battered down by lives of hardship, drained of energy and given no other choice than to hold some resent for their child. They were not negligent. They loved their child as much as they loved each other, and it was felt. The boy that they brought into the world knew he was their shining jewel. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe his perfect childhood ruined him, because it made life so harsh once it was taken away.

His parents were nomads, living in the Outer Rim, scavenging and buying things cheap to sell to travelers from the rest of the Galaxy. Unlike many others, they made an honest living. They avoided trouble and dealt with things morally. They were friendly with strangers, something that is not applauded in the Outer Rim. Kindness makes you into a laughingstock.

But not in their case. Marissa and Jacko were loved by those around them, the regular customers and the merchants they tended to brush elbows with from time to time. No one tried to stiff them, because everyone knew how reputable they were. Of course, there were outliers. But anyone that was a thorn in their side was run out of town by the others. It was a peaceful life. Too peaceful for the Outer Rim.

It was on a calm day on Tatooine that a traveler sought shelter in their improvised home, a small network of tents that they had set up for the few weeks they’d be there, selling this and that. The two never refused a traveler who asked for something as small as a place to rest their head for a few nights, and the traveler was welcomed with open arms and good food. Fen could remember peering at the man from behind his mother’s apron, his childish curiosity peaked by the brown cloak and shiny, curved knife on that bantha-hide belt. He should have known.

Night time rolled quickly as his parents socialized with their guest, drinking and chatting in between customers. Business was slow in that part of the planet, which made settling down there for a bit peaceful but lucrative. The lack of civilization made people desperate, and they’d spend good money on things they need. His parents were smart.

In the dead of the night, long after the last candle had gone out and the last glass had run empty, that a gurgle broke the silence of the desert, followed by a crash. The child awoke with a start, his gut screaming at him that something was deeply, horribly wrong. He was about to go back to sleep, though, until he heard his father’s voice.

”Marissa? M--“ His voice was cut short, followed by another gurgle, like the sound of someone trying to clean the back of their throat with water. Fen broke out of his sheets and out of the room, adrenaline coursing through his veins, thoughts running through his childish brain. Were his parents in trouble? But that was impossible. His parents were invincible.

The common area was a mess when he got there. Blood had stained their fur carpets, a deep puddle slowly soaking through into the sand beneath. At its center, his mother, her hands to her neck, covered in a slick liquid that looked black in the darkness. A few meters away, his father, face-down and unconscious, more liquid underneath him. Above his father, the stranger, hood drawn, knife in hand and covered in that same strange substance. Fen did not connect the dots immediately, but he did not even get the chance to either way. There was now sand in his eyes and mouth, his extremities burning and uncomfortable. The stranger had kicked sand at him.

He choked and stumbled around, hands desperately rubbing at his eyes, mouth struggling to spit the grimy substance out. A voice broke the silence now, from somewhere to his right. ”Hey! We got here first you piece of shit!”

A pew pew rang out through the tent, the sound deafening in the dead of the desert night. A thud, and then silence. Rash opened his eyes, but someone pulled a bag over his head. They picked him up, and he could feel himself being carried despite his kicking. He opened his mouth and screamed until his throat was sore and only a rasping exhale of air came out. He clawed and shoved, but nothing happened. Then, he felt himself being thrown up.

He hit something hard, his head banging on durasteel. And then it all went black.

***

”No. You can’t refuse! We saved your life, you ungrateful sack of bantha shit!”

”That’s no way to talk to a child, Rek!”

”See if I give a sh-!”

The door slammed shut, a hand pulling the man outside by the scruff of his neck. Fen studied his surroundings resignedly, his eyes burning from crying for hours. He was in a small room, walls and floor covered in steel. He felt like he was in a metal coffin. Apparently this is how spacefaring lifeforms lived. He hated it, even though he’d only been on a ship for a few days. He’d vomited the contents of his stomach several times during the few hours, but his body slowly got used to it. His mind did not.

His parents had never taken him with them on their space travels, instead leaving them with a family friend on Tattooine. He was supposed to step on a ship for the first time with them, in a year or two when he was ready to begin helping with the family business. But he’d been robbed of that too.

The door slid open again. A blond woman stepped inside, dressed like the typical Outer Rim traveler. Fen had seen many people like her buying things from her parents. The man that killed them had looked the same.

”Sorry about him. He’s been living like a savage for a long time, so he’s forgotten how to act around people. You know how it is.” She spoke with the casualty that not many used when speaking with children. She only realized that when Fen did not respond, staring her blankly.

”Oh! Yeah, sorry.” The woman stepped closer, toward the seat in front of Fen. He recoiled and dug deeper into the wall he was resting his back on. A strange look flashed across the woman’s face. Pity?

”No, no. It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you. My name is Renna. What’s your name?”

”Y-you killed them.” He replied, his voice hoarse, face hard.

***

He grew to understand, eventually. It was not this crew that killed his parents, it was the stranger. They had just happened by and heard the commotion. Perfectly reasonable. Fen grew to become a member of the team because he had no choice. He would starve to death in the desert if he left them, and either way--they saved his life. Or so they said. He began learning all sorts of things, from how to shoot a blaster to what parts of a speeder could be taken off to stash things into. He learned how to make a fake ID. How to lie to someone without your body language giving you away. Fen dived deeper and deeper into this world, living in the underbelly of the galaxy, no more than a useful insect like a spider. Annoying, but useful to those who needed his services. He split profits with the team, of course, because they all worked together.

It took him a few years to ask questions.

***

”We saved your life you useless piece of sh-“ Metal on flesh and bone. A crack came out of the impact, then nothing more. Rek was still awake and alive, except now his nose was broken and bleeding just like the few others cuts on his face from the scuffle of tying him up. The veteran smuggler stared Fen dead in the eyes, the hatred on his face displayed openly, his teeth bared.

”Why were you there the night they died? What were you doing in the middle of the desert? Just wandering around?” He already knew the answer. Fen was nothing if not perceptive, and he was bound to overhear things if the people on this crew didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut when they got drunk. It had taken a few years, but the inevitable had happened.

”I know about the artifact,” he spoke again, breaking the long silence that had begun settling in. ”And you would have killed them too, if he hadn’t.”

No response. Rek was looking down at Fen’s boots. He was about to kick him the face, but he finally spoke.

”Yes.”

And it was all he needed to hear. Rek died instantly as the bolt hit him in the forehead. And then another. And another. He kept pressing the trigger, unable to stop, turning the man’s face into nothing more than a charred, bubbling mess of flesh and bone. The smell of burning meat filled the room. He tossed the blaster aside, dashing outside. He vomited on the hallway.
A P P E A R A N C E & S K I L L S
Chiseled and disheveled, Fen may be considered attractive by conventional standards, although some may turn their nose up at his appearance--and for understandable reasons. A persistent 5-o’clock shadow covers his strong jawline, a byproduct of his lack of motivation for even the most basic of things, such as shaving. His long hair appears a bit unkempt, as he does not even have a single comb on his ship. He’s relatively buff as a result of the heavy lifting he does for jobs, but an unhealthy lifestyle and drinking have ensured he is not going to be reaching bodybuilder levels anytime soon.

He’s skilled in things from hacking and informatics to flying and gunfighting, having a few years of experience in the criminal world. He is a good liar, having perfected the craft being forced to keep a straight face when feeding authorities false information. He’s determined when he takes a job, despite his distaste for the stress of criminal living, and he longs for a sense of belonging and satisfaction with his life.
B E L O N G I N G S
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TRANSPORTATION

--The XS-800 Light Freighter, 'The Belly of the Beast'

DROID(S)

--TBD, 'TBD'

WEAPONS

--DG-34 Peacemaker Blaster Pistol
----- ⇁ Two Power Packs
--BM-792 ZOK-10 Hunting Rifle
----- ⇁ Two Power Packs
--Nacht-5 Smoke Grenade
----- ⇁ Three

ARMOR

--Fen's armor

MISC

--Datapad
--Personav
--StarX Emergency Repair Kit

 
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