Erledutch Sampson V

Name: Erledutch Sampson V
Race: Human
Age: 31
Birthplace: Dantooine, Kylah Plains

Allegiance: The Dantooine Liberation Army
Status: Chief Commissioner
Rank: General

Height/Weight: 5’8”/ 145 lbs
Appearance:

A handsome and sturdy man, Dutch’s body is in great shape from a lifetime of working on his father’s farmlands and more recently, waging a shadow war against the invading Sith Empire. His eyes are a bluish gray color, but the very rims around his pupil’s almost look copper in color. His hair is a medium brown that’s usually bedraggled and unkempt. From his left shoulder down and across his back he has a large tattoo of a voritor lizard, the tip of its tail stops just on his right hip. *On his left hip, he has the DLA tattoo signifying his rank. Those aren’t the only marks on his body, as years of fighting have left their share of scars on his skin. To help hide his identity further, Dutch has recently grown a beard which he’s constantly resisting the urge to scratch at.

Since the DLA has been driven into hiding within Smog City, Dutch has had to change his usual wardrobe. He still favors his durasteel toed boots and casual clothing, but with his treasured rancor leather jacket destroyed recently he’s had to replace it. Lately Dutch dons a black nerf-wool overcoat, perfect for keeping warm in the damp and chill tunnels beneath Smog City. Underneath the overcoat he always has a leather shoulder holster where his recently acquired blaster pistol and grenade pouch rests. His brass knuckles sit in the right pocket of Dutch’s overcoat, dinged and scratched from years of use now.

* Tattoo Link.

Personality:

Dutch first and foremost is loyal. Loyal to his family, loyal to his friends, loyal to his planet,and loyal to his cause. He would give everything to rid his planet of the blight currently enveloping it. And nearly has several times. No stranger to near-death experiences and life threatening situations, Dutch is often the man to sacrifice himself for anything mentioned above.

He adores his family more than anything else, and that includes more than just his little brother Al, his last living relative on Dantooine. Anyone that grew up or worked on his father's plantation is family to him. Because of this, he takes every death of theirs hard.

The man was once known to be quick to anger, though in the recent couple years it has cooled unless it involves anything threatening him or his people. Alcohol exacerbates this condition even more. It doesn't help that like Dutch's father, and his father before him, Dutch has been fighting a battle with alcoholism for most of his adult life. With support from his inner circle, he has remained sober for years despite the ever-looming temptation.

Dutch is known for his trademark sarcasm and wit, constant even in the face of terror and death. The man has almost no filter on what he says to people, especially when arguing or fighting with them. He talks smack, taunts, and jeers at enemies. Around his friends and family Dutch is still sarcastic, but also shows rare kindness to most people outside Imperials, as they too are suffering just as much as he is...

Ships/Vehicles: N/A

Equipment:

AA-37 Heavy Blaster Pistol with melee stun mod attachment

2x Smoke Grenades

2x Flashbang Grenades

1x Fragmentation Grenade

Brass Knuckles

Stats: (Feeble, Below Average, Average, Above Average, Superior, Legendary)

Strength - Average
Agility - Average
Intelligence - Average
Charisma - Superior

Force Stats: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)


Body- Novice
Sense- Novice



Combat Training: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)

Unarmed Brawling- Expert

Ranged Weaponry- Adept

Hunting- Expert

Interrogation- Apprentice

Guerilla Warfare- Expert


Force Training: N/A

Other Training: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)

Farming- Master

Atmospheric Vehicle Piloting- Expert

Ground Vehicle Piloting- Expert

Subterfuge- Adept

Charm- Adept

Vehicle Maintenance- Adept

Weapon Maintenance- Adept

Biography:

In the Grasses of Kylah: Birth-7

Twenty-eight years ago, in Farmstead Kylah of Dantooine, Erledutch Sampson IV was born to Leiliana Sampson. She was the daughter of the owner of the Farmstead, Bryce Renton, and married to a Republic soldier- Erledutch Sampson III. A welcome child, his father, Erle, pined to come back to Dantooine to be with his beloved wife and newborn son, but he still had another year before his contract with the military expired. Little did his wife know, but Erle was apart of the elite Omega’s- a team of highly trained, highly skilled anti-terrorism agents within the Republic Special Operations.

When the boy was born, the family doctor ran all the usual tests for health when he was born, and found that Erle and Leiliana’s son was Force sensitive- with a midichlorian count high enough to be accepted among the Jedi. And naturally, only a few weeks later, the Jedi showed up at the Farmstead, and requested that he be taken for training. And though Erle was stationed at Rodia at the time, he was present by hologram, he respectfully declined, stating that he would need all the farm hands he could get, and that he would not part with his first born son before meeting him. He promised them that the boy would live a simple life as a farmer- not much different than if he had been chosen for Agricorps. Leiliana agreed as well, her family should stay together in her opinion, no matter what.

A year passed, and Erle’s time with the military could be coming to a close if he wanted, and with the funds he got from being in active duty, Erle was confident enough financially to come home and start a normal life on Dantooine- one without IED's and terrorists. But no more than a week before his time was up, Bryce had been killed by a Graul when out hunting with a group of other farmers. Only three out of the seven returned. And so, instead of staying in active duty with the Republic, Erle signed off, and came home to Dantooine to live the simple life.

From the minute Erle first lay eyes on his son, he adored him. Not only did the boy have the same eyes as him, but he even did the same eyebrow lift as him even at the age of one. It took a couple years for Erle to get used to the farm life, and the work load that came with it, but not before long, he was a natural at it, balancing work and family time very well, he was a perfect father figure. As soon as his son was able to walk and talk, he would tell the boy grand tales of Ereledutch Sampson II, his grandfather, an old Republic hero. Even from a young age, the boy drank up these stories.

Time went on, and the boy began to grow up, taught by his parents and various tutors that both lived on the Farmstead the basics that any child around five or six would be taught. Though, as he got closer to seven, both Leiliana and Erle began teaching their son- who now went by “Dutch” to avoid confusion, he hated “Junior” with a passion- how to do some simple chores around the farm, milking Bols, cleaning their stalls, picking dead crops from the fields with the workers, grooming and feeding the Farmstead’s Kath hounds, chores like that. During his younger years, he befriended two girls more so than any other kid growing up, Mo and Lily, both of them daughters of a few of the Sampson Estate’s workers, but, per Erle’s liking, no one was treated as if the worked there- but as if they were one big family. If the weather permitted, the entire farm- Samspons, farm hands, even neighbors- would eat outside together, large campfire roasts of that weeks’ hunt and shared stories the staple for these communal meals. As the evenings would go on, music and singing would often follow, going for at least an hour or two after dinner.

It was a simple life, but a wonderfully happy and peaceful one. It was a life that Dutch wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world- except for maybe a pair Dash Starjumper Rocket Boots from his favorite weekend holo-show. Indeed life was good for Dutch, when he wasn’t being tutored, he was helping on the farm, and when he wasn’t helping, he would be out in the grassy fields of Kylah, swimming in the nearby creek, trying to balance on a Bol, or just lying back in the grass and watching Brith soar lazily in the air. Little did Dutch know, in a mere two years, his life would get even better.

Coming of Age: 8-15

At the age of eight, Erle decided it was time to start teaching his son about one of the most important activities on the farm- hunting. Handing his son an old bolt-action rifle, the father and son would spend hours practicing on cans and rotten fruits and vegetables. At first Dutch was a horrid shot, round after round of wasted ammo the outcome of his practices, but after months of practice, Dutch soon began to improve greatly with a rifle.

Finally, at age nine, two events happened. First and most importantly, his baby brother was born, and the Sampson family got a little bigger. Allistair Sampson was a welcome addition to the Farmstead, and Dutch felt a bond almost immediately. Eager to help his mother with the babe as needed, Dutch made sure to spend ample time playing with his little brother. The second would be his first real hunting trip with his father and other people from the Farmstead. It was an uneventful trip, the group bagging three large Iriaz for the next few days’ food. But it would be this trip that Dutch would look back on fondly every now and then, almost a coming of age time for the boy.

Time ticked on, and at around the age of eleven, Dutch was given more demanding chores around the farm- his father starting to teach him how to work the various farming machines in the Farmstead, from speeders to harvesters, cultivators to sorters. Dutch wasn’t too good with the machines actually meant for work, but he seemed to be quite talented with piloting both the land and airspeeders, sneaking out at night to pilot them, pushing the machines as far as he could- sometimes even breaking them. It was then that he would have to try to fix the machine, but almost every time, Erle would catch his boy. But instead of punishing Dutch, he would work with the boy to fix the machines. It was times like this that made him glad to have a father like Erle, stern- but kind.

As he reached the age of twelve, Erle decided it was time to start teaching his boy how to be a man. Dutch knew how to hunt, knew how to run speeders, and how to run the farm. But, Dantooine was no safe haven. Beasts roamed Kylah, and raiders were never more than a stone’s throw away. Usually the farm hands and other people who lived on the Farmstead kept them at bay, but every now and then they’d try to steal crops or animals, and the men and women of Kylah would need to step in. And Dutch was getting old enough to learn to fight for his home as well. From his training with the Republic, Erle began teaching him what he knew of close quarters combat.

It would be the last thing before dinner that father and son would do- Erle’s philosophy was that if you train when you’re exhausted, you’ll be able to fight under every condition. And so, dusty, dirty, and exhausted, the eldest of the Sampsons would spar in the waning hours of sunlight- father and son, trading blows and words, taunts, advice, and just normal conversation. Dutch of course would get his arse handed to him by his father, but every time he was knocked down- Erle would be there to lift him up. Erle did notice his son had uncanny reflexes when they would spar- the boy even catching a few punches that he was certain couldn’t be blocked. He never spoke of this though- he knew what reflexes such as those meant, his time among the Jedi having taught him. And if there was one thing he wouldn’t have, it would be his first born taken.

His relationships with his friends only ever seemed to get stronger, his core few friends constantly there for him, and he for them. But there was one relationship that seemed to blossom more than even Dutch’s brother and him. Lily, the daughter of the Farmstead’s doctor, was a young girl that Dutch had recently become strangely interested in. But due to their age differences- him being a few years older- he never dwelled on these feelings nor cultivated them, for the time being at least. Instead, his energy went to working, and not before long- fighting.

A friend of his from another estate had told him of a settlement a couple hours away from the Farmstead- it wasn’t legal per se, but it was known as Flint to the locals. It was here that on certain nights, smugglers, thugs, raiders and other scum would gather for a fight night. His buddy and Dutch would take one of Erle’s landspeeders to Flint to watch these fights. It fascinated Dutch, to see these self made, gritted men duel one another with no weapons, was a true testament to their strength in his eyes. For a year his friend and him would go to Flint weekly to watch the fights- Dutch soon joining in on the gambling that came with the fights.

During his early teen years, Erle’s training and lessons were everything to Dutch, and soon it became clear what kind of man he was to be. Stuck in his father’s ways, Dutch was rarely seen away from his father’s side. He was there as farm work was done, there when they went out hunting, but when it came to dealing with raiders, he was left at home, Erle feeling that Dutch wasn’t ready for that world yet. It was during these times and whenever he had free time; Dutch would spend it with his little brother, Mo, Lily, and the other people their age on the farm.

But his natural need to improve and show others what he could do would indeed spur him to continue his practicing and work around the farm- wanting to prove himself to his father that not only was he ready to help defend his home, but that he would be good at it.

Working Man: 16- 22

At sixteen, he decided it was time to set aside the observer- his blood ran hot for the action that went on in the arena in Flint, and with his father’s training, would be successful. And how wrong he was, first several weeks of signing up, he lost fight after fight, having never once being in a real fight, he was way over his head. His family was of course concerned by the bruises and cuts Dutch’d come home with- but he wouldn’t lie to his family, he admitted that he had been going to Flint for the weekly fights. His mother slapped him, but his father remained silent, instead choosing to take Dutch for a walk and talk. Dutch explained that he had started this, and now, he needed to finish it. Erle, being the man he was, of course, had to accept his sons wish, and even told Dutch that he’d start going with him, even if Leiliana didn't approve.

And so, every weekend, father and son would go to Flint for the fights. Erle would join in every once in a while, Dutch watching in wonder as his father would end the fight in three moves or less. It was apparent that even sixteen years after his retirement from the Spec Ops- Erle was still a formidable man. But, Dutch would still seem to lose his fights, his form was good, his strikes accurate, but it seemed that something was missing. That one thing would become very apparent soon enough.

It was a week before Dutch’s seventeenth birthday that Erle and Dutch pulled up to the cantina where the fights were held, and Dutch’s eye was instantly caught. Sitting just inches above the ground near the cantina, a shiny silver swoop bike drew Dutch right towards it. A Windchaser by the famed sports vehicle maker Navan. Dutch had a poster of this very vehicle up in his and Al’s room. As if something had taken control of his body, Dutch left his father outside the cantina, strolled right in, and demanded the owner of the Windchaser show themselves. A surprisingly handsome and well dressed man addressed him, asking what of it. Dutch told him to pick the biggest, meanest slimeball in the cantina, and that he would bet his father’s speeder against his Windchaser- and the bet was that he could beat the other guy in the ring. The well dressed man was obviously the gambling type- and thus accepted the bet.

Of course the man would pick Bronco- the biggest, meanest, baldest man in the cantina. But Dutch was determined- his dream swoop was on the line, and he would ride that bad girl home. It would be a night that the bartenders at the cantina would speak of for years to come- Dutch bobbed and weaved far too quickly for Bronco to follow, the burly man seeming to move in slow motion to Dutch as blow after striking blow. It was during his pummel of the fat man that it began to dawn on Dutch- the reason he had kept losing wasn’t because of differences in skill, nor lack of trying- he needed motivation, will, he needed to need to win, not just want it. And boy did he want that Windchaser.

After the fight was over, and Dutch won fair and square, the handsome man tossed the keypass to the young man- simply stating that next years model was going to be better anyway. And so Dutch left the cantina, his father clapping his shoulder with pride as the two admired the shining swoop bike. Dutch walked over to it, and straddles the slightly humming machine- surprisingly quite to him. He slid the keypass past the corresponding pad and the swoop roared to life, the Windchaser lifting from the ground by a foot. A massive grin slid over Dutch’s lips, Erle watching both enviously and proudly. The ride home was another little memory that Dutch would remember to this day, the wind through his hair, the hum of the Windchaser, flying side by side with his father towards the setting Dina- it was beautiful.

Time went on, and his relationships with his friends only ever seemed to get stronger, his core few friends constantly there for him, and he for them. But there was one relationship that seemed to blossom more than even Dutch’s brother and him. Lily, the daughter of the Farmstead’s doctor, was a young girl that Dutch had recently become very smitten with. Though they were great friends, just like the rest of the crew, Dutch couldn’t help but feel antsy whenever near her. As the days went by, he would try to talk to her- but would choke up something awful whenever he tried. It wouldn’t be until he was seventeen that he would finally get the courage to tell her. He wouldn’t talk to her, nor send her a message, Dutch did as Dutch does best- rash and without thinking- one night after a community meal, when she and him were on a walk down the creek that bordered Kylah Farmstead’s lands, he turned to face her, then planted one on her lips.

Needless to say, after that, Dutch would begin to spend more and more time with Lily, the young man rarely seen away from her in his free time. Erle didn’t mind that his son began to spend less time with him and the family- the man seeing that his son was growing up. Luckily, Dutch was still a loyal and hard working son- the young man now going hunting on his own, doing a large amount of work on the farm, and even helping with security now. His first time defending the farm from raiders was ugly. Thirteen heavily armed men snuck into the farm in the middle of the night, but it wasn’t long before the kath hounds alerted the people of Farmstead Kylah. Grabbing weapons, the designated defenders ran out into the night, Dutch having grabbed a sawn off shotgun of his fathers.

Tonight would be one of those times that would stick with Dutch for the rest of his life, now at eighteen, he walked through a crop field slowly, carefully, using his experience hunting to remain as silent as he could. But life never happens the way one wants it, and he was ambushed. “Luck” would have it so that Dutch would jump, his finger grazing the trigger of the shotgun, and the flechette round in it would get the raider that ambushed him right in the face. For almost an hour Dutch stood there, looking down at the man he had killed. Erle and the others cleaned up and chased off the rest of the raiders, and no one from the Farmstead was killed. He found Dutch in the same crop field finally, and before even noticing the dead raider, the look on Dutch’s face told him everything. That night over a hot cup of caf, Erle spoke words that would forever be apart of Dutch.

“Son, it’s important what you did. That man would have killed any of us, but by the Force- you finished him before he could. When it comes to your family- you protect them at all costs.”

Dutch took those words to heart- but even today, that man’s face would haunt his dreams and thoughts- the first time was something people never forget.

On Dutch’s eighteenth birthday party, a surprise guest showed up. Handsome and dashing, clad in light armor with a single vibroblade and a rifle at his back and accompanied by a bright red Zeltron woman and a silent Rodian- Dutch and Al’s Uncle Sal had come for a visit, along with his two other crew members. Salvador was Erle’s younger brother, and just as Dutch and Al were close, so were these two, even when Sal left Dantooine for a more exciting career, the two would keep in contact, even when Erle was in the military- but Erle would just "conveniently forget" his brother's whereabouts if asked. Instantly embracing the man, Dutch smiled at his uncle, a great birthday surprise indeed. Sal handed both Dutch and Al a package- a common thing for Sal to do on his extremely rare visits- his transportation business was indeed booming. Dutch unwrapped his gift and stared in awe as a dark leather jacket sat in the box. He picked it up and slid the jacket on- a perfect fit. Sal explained that it was a rancor-hide jacket, able to absorb some blaster fire, and look good while doing it. Al got some sort of fancy bladed knife, but Dutch didn’t pay much attention to it, he was smitten by his new jacket. Needless to say, to this day, Dutch was rarely seen without his jacket, now beaten and worn from age.

Along with his shiny new jacket, Erle gave his son one of his most treasured items- a slugthrower pistol that Dutch's grandfather had modified himself. Dutch had seen the "Elmer" many times as a kid, and even shot it once or twice when his father had just finished cleaning it or was checking it. Erle explained that Dutch's grandad had given him specific instructions to pass the weapon down to his first son on their 18th birthday, a tradition Erle planned to keep. After the party, and after everyone had gone to sleep, he and Lily stayed up, sharing a bottle of wine from the cellar and the stars that shone down on Dantooine- a great birthday, and one that still warms his heart.

As time went on, Dutch began taking that very shotgun from the night with the raider on his hunting trips, keeping it as a backup and a defensive weapon when out in the plains. Many a kath hound and even a single Voritor met their fate at the business end of Buttercup- the pet name he gave to the weapon. Every now and then, his friends and family would go hunting with him, though most of the time it was uneventful, except one time. Al, Mo, Lily and Dutch were out on a hunting trip near a hilly region in the Kylah Plains- but not finding anything for hours. Until Dutch felt a strange pull, almost a gentle whisper in his ear. He turned the landspeeder towards a spot in between a pair of hills, parking it just outside a small cave entrance. The four went into said cave, weapons at the ready. But there was no living creature in the cave, Al leaving glowsticks as trail markers as they wove deeper and deeper into the cave. What they found at the end of the cave was simply amazing. A massive cavern opened up, the rocky walls of the cave just covered in sparkling, bright crystals. The ground was covered in just an inch of water as they strode into it, Dutch just in awe at the sight. That day, the four dubbed it their “secret spot”- a place they could go to whenever they felt necessary, and a place to call their own.Every now and then, Dutch would take his Windchaser and fly to the secret spot- sometimes with Lily for some true alone time.

One day, a friend of Dutch’s that he would race with every now and then excitedly came to him, explaining that Flint was going to start hosting Swoop races, and that Dutch should join in. All he had to do was pass an entrance race- and he’d start getting paid to race. And so, Dutch’s weekends were set- one day, he would fly his Windchaser to Flint for the races, doing very well, never placing lower than fifth place out of up to forty racers. The next day, he would continue to participate in the cantina ring’s fights- sometimes accompanied by his friends and Al for moral support. And just like the swoop races, he didn’t always win, but tended to do well in his matches. His most prideful moment in the ring was during a tournament, placing second out of a whole slough of fighters. He was given a pair of brass knuckles for his achievement, as well as the nickname “The Kylah Voritor” for his ferocity and speed.
That night he was given the nickname, Dutch also got a tattoo in Flint of a Voritor lizard on his back, a marking that would define him to this day.

Life was good, Dutch had a loving family, great friends, adoring girlfriend, and a simple existence. The week was spent working with the crops, the farm animals, hunting, and spending time with his family, while the weekends were loud and rowdy, the farm kids going to Flint to raise hell or just messing around the Farmstead. All through this time, Dutch was getting more and more certain that Lily was his future bride, the young woman the perfect companion, and second half of him. Until she told him the news, like her father, she was offered a chance to go to medical school offworld- and accepted it. No matter how hard he argued for her to stay, her mind wouldn’t be changed- she was always one who couldn’t be swayed. She ended things with Dutch, and left Dantooine. He wouldn’t see or here from her again.

Quiet Before the Storm: 23-27

The next couple years for Dutch were hollow, he still worked- harder than usual in fact- to the point where he was completely exhausted. But instead of hanging out with his friends and family afterwards, Dutch would often go for walks alone, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, Buttercup in the other- cause you never knew what was in the grasses of Kylah.

Two years went by like this, Dutch avoiding his family for the most part, and taking greater and greater risks in his weekend ventures to Flint- getting his ass handed to him in the fights, and performing risky maneuvers in the races. And every night, Dutch would drink himself to a fitful sleep. It wouldn’t be until he turned twenty-four. Al came up to him one night, the younger brother looking more and more like a man as each day passed, and told Dutch to snap out of it. Dutch told him to space off, in which, Al delivered a surprisingly fast and painful punch- knocking Dutch right off his feet. It was as he looked up at his now taller younger brother, that Dutch realized what he had been doing- and how stupid he had been. He quickly apologized, and put aside the bottle- refusing to drink unless it was a special occasion from then on.

He put aside the fights at the cantina as well, deciding to take a day off for himself instead of getting kicked around. Dutch went easier on himself, trying to take life slow, never rushing, and never forcing himself beyond his limits. He began spending more time with Al as well, his little brother great company, and the two spending many hours together either working on the swoops and speeders in the garage, or just relaxing on the farm.

Years ticked on, and the simple life was good to Dutch. Erle soon telling him that once he passed on, the Farmstead would be left to him- and that he had earned it. Dutch was proud of his heritage, and the life he had made for himself. At twenty-six Erle brought him news ge was especially excited about- the Dantooine 146th annual swoop races was to be held at the nearby town of Jurelle- merely a few days speeder trek away- and that the Farmstead and scraped together enough credits to sponsor Dutch and his Windchaser for the races.

The track would be through the planet’s largest canyon- Shale Rock- a deadly and equally beautiful landmark that Jurelle was known for. Dutch, Al, Erle, and many others came with them for the races, massive stands having been built hanging off the edge of the canyon. Dutch awaited the race nervously, he was confident in his abilities- but he wanted to not only do good- he wanted to win, bring some fame to his family and their land. Sentients of all kinds and swoop models even Dutch had never seen were in the race yards- every one within the legal limits of the race’s rules. The inspector that checked Dutch over was even impressed with the Windchaser- a fine machine indeed.

The race was intense, several participants using dirty tricks to gain places- many racers getting injured. But as the winding path continued, Dutch wasn’t sure what was going on, as if he knew what was going to happen next, he was ducking and weaving and dodging rocks, walls, and other racers. That same whisper that went through his mind when the secret spot was found was going through him again. Time slowed, and yet blew by, and before Dutch knew it- the race was over. He had won, given a large shiny trophy, and bragging rights for a lifetime. Victorious, the folks who came from Farmstead Kylah celebrated Dutch’s victory downtown most of the night, it was a perfect celebration- but Dutch did wish his Lily had been there.

After those races at Shale Rock- life slowed once more for Farmstead Kylah, Dutch more than content with that. Al- now 17, had become one of Dutch’s best friends, Erle- the proud father he was- spent as much time as he could with his family, and Leiliana simply adored her boys- and of course their friend and surrogate sister, Mo, was a constant and welcome presence. Life was good, and Farmstead Kylah prospered- the occupants of it never once went wanting. But, as life went, what came up, must go down.

The Dantooine Liberation Army: 28-Present

If you had asked the Sampson family if they’d believe what happened one day on Dantooine, they would have told you off. But it did happen. From out of nowhere, they were attacked by the Sith Empire, the planet sacked, and the invaders slaughtering or taking the people of Dantooine- targeting settlements mostly, but it wasn’t long before the war machine crawled to the farms- including Farmstead Kylah. It was heartbreaking- Sith troopers swarmed the land, and fighters screamed overhead, blasting craters in the people’s beloved lands. Dutch immediately knew where they needed to go, quickly finding his father and his men that were fighting back the best they could, and telling him of the secret spot.
Erle knew a good idea when he heard it, and told Dutch to gather everyone they could, and prepare to flee. While Erle and his men continued the fight, Dutch quickly ran to each building in the Farmstead, gathering the women, children, everyone he could, and escorting them to the farm’s hangar. Not long after everyone was gathered, Erle had returned to them with considerably less men. He explained that several had volunteered to distract the Sith while they all ran. After everyone had piled into the various land and air speeders, and Dutch taking his beloved Windchaser, they took off- fleeing their beloved home, and just in time too. The Sith had pulled out of the area, and for good reason. Seconds later, the howl of three bombers deafened the area by bombing the Farmstead just as the occupants fled. Two of the landspeeders were caught in the explosions- including the one Leiliana was in. Dutch took everyone to the secret spot, all of them piling into the cave before bringing the vehicles in as well.

The Sampson family collapsed with everyone else in the cave, weeping and crying out in agony. Their home, their friends, their family, torn apart in seconds, and no one knew why they were targeted, Dantooine was a peaceful planet. But the why didn’t matter, days went by, people only leaving rarely to bag a iriaz or some other sort of food source. During this time, Erle plotted and planned, his beloved wife had been taken from him, and the Sampson men did not give up. Speaking secretly with Dutch and other people, it was decided that they would not sit idly and let the invaders have their way with Dantooine- they would fight. Erle disclosed his profession to his family and friends finally, explaining that during his time with the Special Forces, he was part of an elite counter-terrorism group. And that if there was one thing he knew well, it was how these types work, and that they did work with deadly efficiency. Erle said that if he knew how to stop them, he also then knew how to start them. And so, a mere month after the invasion, the Dantooine Liberation Army was formed.

There were detainment camps all over Dantooine, the people of the planet wrangled like animals into forced labor, slavery, or just simply killed. Bases were being built, and the Sith encroachment only grew. Little did they know that underground, there was a group of twenty some people training under one of the Republics finest- Erle Sampson. Everyone was told how to make simple, yet effective traps, weapons, bombs, anything from Dantooine. A small strike team consisting of Erle, Dutch and a couple others was formed, the group taking speeders to farms around the area to salvage what they could from them, tools, equipment, food, anything and everything they could find. The DLA was poorly equipped, and outmatched, but what they lacked in that, they made up with knowledge and spirit.

Nail bombs, blba tree thorn traps, IED’s, chemical grenades and other makeshift killing tools were made, and they were taught the best and easiest ways to sabotage Sith vehicles as well as the best places to plant traps and bombs. Dutch soon proved to be Erle’s best soldier, and second in command- the man’s personality alone proving to be one of his best abilities. Dutch never gave up, never surrendered, never backed down, and was fiercely protective of his fellow DLA members. Using his skills gained from hunting, Dutch was also the top sniper for the group, often setting out alone to stalk a Sith group or base and picking off one or two Sith, and relishing in every dropped invader. But there was only so much the DLA could do with their limited resources and personnel. Victories were far and few between, but each one was celebrated by the people- Erle knowing good moral could be the key factor in his people making it through this.

During these months, Dutch and the DLA would use the weapons they already had- mostly hunting weapons and other gear to help defend their lands from raiders. Dutch would stick to his three trusted weapons- his flechette gun Buttercup, the Elmer, and a hunting rifle his father customized more recently to take down sentient targets than food- The Frankford. His years of using these weapons for hunting and defending the farm proved useful, the young man completely in tune with his tools of the trade, and looking pretty intimidating with all three weapons on hand. The Elmer on his left hip holster, Buttercup on his right thigh holster, and the Frankford strapped across his back- he was a regular renegade.

Months went by, and the DLA only continued to improve- but still not enough to cause detrimental harm to the Sith. But that didn’t stop them, they fought tooth and nail for their planet, hundreds of traps and bombs put in strategic places, and soon going into the towns the Sith had occupied to bomb a building or assassinate a higher ranked invader- whatever the could do to harass the Sith. Things were going better than ever, and the DLA began to grow as detainment camps were freed- two to be exact, Erle a shining example as leader, seen as a martyr and a saint to the people- but a demon and terrorist to the Sith. Unfortunately, all good things come to an end.

One evening when Dutch and Erle had gone to the town of Oriln to plant a bomb, everything went wrong. The Sith were on high alert, and any suspicious activity was monitored closely. The Sith knocked out the pair using gas grenades, capturing two of the DLA’s top members- but not realizing it. Sith hospitality definitely wasn’t kind, starved and beaten before even asked any questions, father and son went through hell. Tortured daily, and eventually interrogated, the pair wouldn’t break to the Sith’s frustration. Luckily for the Sith, they had means of persuasion that the Republic had deemed “inhumane”- which soon became their favorite. Finger and toe nails were pulled, salt rubbed in open wounds, and public whippings were common- but even still, the pair wouldn’t break mentally. So the Sith got more creative, they shattered Erle’s legs, broke Dutch’s arms and ribs, and even cut off the tip of one of Dutch’s fingers. Little did Erle and Dutch know, but the Sith had inflicted deadly damage on Erle during on session, internal bleeding now killing him slowly.

Dutch would remember the day, both of them laying beaten and bloody on a cold, permacrete floor, whispering words of encouragement to one another before Erle grabbed Dutch by the collar and looked him in the eyes.

“Take care of them, son- and never give up, never. Fight Junior, you fight until you can’t fight anymore. Shoot them all, and if you can’t shoot them, you punch them, and if you can’t punch them, you kick them, if you can’t kick them, you bite them bastard’s throats out, you hear me boy? I love you and Al so much, you’ve done me proud…”

Those last words from his father two weeks ago continued to ring in his mind. Before the Sith noticed Erle’s death, Dutch took his father’s wedding band- knowing that he would regret not having this heirloom later on- and placed it on his own finger- the Sith hadn’t forced them to remove their personal affects, they most likely didn’t care, so he figured they wouldn’t make him remove his father’s ring. Dutch cried out in agony for hours, and when the Sith finally noticed Erle’s death and came to remove the body, Dutch fought to the best of his ability so that they wouldn’t touch his father’s body, but a swift rifle butt to the head would knock him out, and Erle’s body was never seen by him again.

But there was no rest for the wicked, the Sith gave Dutch no time to grieve, the torture began again the next day. Little did they know, but by taking his last parent away from them, they had forged a new type of warrior. He rarely spoke a word, and eventually had to be gagged for his habit of spitting on the Sith. Two weeks went by, and the higher ups decided that Dutch wouldn’t give them what they wanted- and so, after a month of torture and captivity, it was decided that he would be publically executed for the Sith’s amusement.

And so Dutch waited, the hour of his death crept closer like an animal stalks its’ prey- he began to despair, but was quickly snuffed by that will that defined him so- he would do as Erle said, he would not back down, he would bite and claw and fight for his survival. Little did he know, that while Erle and him were in captivity, the DLA was only getting stronger, and that his friends and Al were formulating a way to free their brother…

Roleplay Sample:

With a loud smack the punch hit, a grunt coming from the receiver of the slug followed by a laugh. Dutch turned his head back up to the large, burly Sith man who cracked his knuckles down at Dutch.

”Wh-at? I just said I wanted extra meat on my sandwich, that’s all! Man’s gotta eat y’know?”

Dutch said, a slight laugh coming from him as he shook his head then spat some blood from his mouth. He wasn’t lying, that was the sad thing, he truly was hungry, and would truly kill for a bite to eat. He took a few shaky breaths and looked up at the torturer, a glint of feistiness in his eyes.

”And go light on the sauce, would ya? I hate drippy sandwiches.”

He added, a knowing nod coming from him as he spoke. This nod was answered with a vicious backhanded blow, literally making he chair Dutch was tied to tip backwards onto the ground with a thud, the back of his head smacking against the floor. A groan of pain sounded from him as he laid there, his head throbbing and his eyes scrunching closed from a fresh headache.

”Look man, make sure it’s cut diagonally, not straight across, makes it easier to hold…”

The prisoner grunted, the throbbing in his skull getting worst until it was almost unbearable. Luckily, last thing Dutch saw was the man’s boot before he was knocked out by the interrogator. Least he didn’t feel the headache anymore.

* Modded appearance, Rugs witnessed 12/11/09
**Added a link to Dutch's DLA tattoo, Rugs witnessed 12/12/09