Post by Krowbar on Jan 5, 2015 0:47:20 GMT -5
Name: Wylie "Mongoose" Arkwright
Race: Zelosian
Age: 29
Birthplace: The Outer Rim - Subterrel
Allegiance: No one. ... Yet.
Status: Adventurer(Self proclaimed) and Mercenary
Rank: Captain of Obviousity, obviously. (Factionless, therefore rankless and left to the demise of my own bad sense of humor.)
Height/Weight: 6'3" tall, weighing in at 173 pounds,fighting out of the blue corner and hailing from —
Appearance: Wylie looks identical to a human aside to the fact that if he was wounded, one would notice, likely to their horror, that no blood runs through his veins. He has a medium frame/build with a decent bit of muscle and pronounced features. The first thing noticed about him is his stark, unhumanly green eyes. His hair is a light blonde, about medium length, and tends to be kept up and out of the way. A nasty scar runs along his chest and collarbone, all the way up to his cheek. As far as apparel, he keeps a balaclava hung around his neck and sometimes face, aswell as the vital thermal scanner/ID scanner made into his armor. Over his armor itself he typically dons a thick, dust covered black jacket aswell as an equally dirt-infused pair of baggy cargo pants and boots. Somewhere on him at all times, can be found a dented canteen filled to the brim with sugar-infused water.
Personality: Wylie tends to be light-hearted but with a dark side. His past and his decisions, whatever they may be, will always haunt him. Despite his job description, he has managed to keep a part of his conscience and morality. If he's unsure of his surroundings, he tends to clam up and go into a more solitary mentality. Otherwise, he can really open up to those he feels comfortable with. He likes to think he's smart, which is half true since he does think outside the box. Even though in his case, thinking outside the box involves scoring four X's in a row in tic-tac-toe. The one mental aspect Wylie excels in is improvisation. Nothing pleases him more than successfully rigging something too poorly assembled or complex to have reasonably worked. He's also known to a bit of a pack rat, as you could find him scavenging just about anything from anywhere. It's rumored that he was early in life forced to find a black jacket in place of his normal brown robes, else be mistaken for a highly mutated Jawa.
Ships/Vehicles:
DSX - 245 "Vanguard" (Named the "Gryphon") swrponline2.proboards.com/thread/4184/dsx-245-vanguard
D3-V Speeder Bike
swrponline2.proboards.com/thread/10379/d3-speeder-bike
Equipment:
Armor- ML-225 "Wraith"
swrponline2.proboards.com/thread/3921/sith-recon-armor
Hardware -
KPV Model - 12 AVSR
swrponline2.proboards.com/thread/16938/model-anti-vehicle-sniper-rifle
Cadian CBR - 36
swrponline2.proboards.com/thread/17135/cadian-cbr-36-blaster-rifle
AA-17
swrponline2.proboards.com/thread/17135/cadian-cbr-36-blaster-rifle
Thermone FS-Lightfoil
swrponline2.proboards.com/thread/18038/thermone-fs-lightfoil
Lightsaber - Emerald green in color with a dark sheen. Single blade, dual phased with a curved hilt
Stats:
Strength - Above Average
Agility - Average
Intelligence - Below Average
Charisma - Superior
Force Stats: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
Telekinetic- Novice
Telepathic- Unskilled
Body- Novice
Sense- Novice
Protection- Unskilled
Healing:– Unskilled
Destruction– Unskilled
Combat Training:
Adept with blasters, Apprentice martial artist in K'thri. Unskilled/Novice - lightsaber. Master rock thrower/grenade chucker.
Force Training:
No training/not enough personal experience for me to feel comfortable putting anything here.
Other Training: Adept pilot, Experienced Sabaac player, Experienced in rock climbing/mantling(not to be confused with running, mobility, agility, etcetera) Expert Swimmer. Adept in medical practice/emergency care. Unskilled diplomat.
Lightsaber Training:
Shii-Cho- Untrained/Novice
Makashi- Untrained
Soresu- Untrained
Ataru- Untrained
Shien/Djem So- Untrained
>>Sub-form Backhanded- Untrained
Niman- Untrained
>>Sub-form Jar-kai- Untrained
Juyo- Untrained
Double Bladed Combat- Extremely untrained and slightly frightened
Biography:
—Chapter 1 - Blast From the Past - Age -0—
The Outer Rim - Subterrel
Arya Gailek's life had been one of constant, sheltered prosperity before the death of her father. She was young, and had descended from a rather prosperous bloodline, but the large city around her that bore generations of her heritage, experience and livelihood had begun to close its doors to her. Industry took hold as a new age of pioneers sought to reclaim their fortune in business, slowly overturning the mining monopoly her father left her. He had been long known as a corporate mogul, but his own daughter shared no such interest or skill. She expended his small fortune on her own desires, never giving a thought as to how to replenish it. The lavish lifestyle had slowly begun to drain her inheritance from the ground beneath her. It was apparent to her acquaintances that she had nowhere near the frugal and cautious spirit of the supposed father that she often rebuked.
Through years she taught herself to work with deceit as a potter would with clay or a mason with stone, sowing lies among gossip to eventually achieve her desires. Some of which, were carelessly released, and gained her only enemies instead of riches. Whether the two were connected, none could say, but the massive wildfire that eventually consumed her manor in the dead of night destroyed all but herself. She was no match for the rivals that had so long plagued her family, and knew she was not born with the ability to change that. The last remnants of her mining corporation had been disbanded, and any connections she had were lost to her adversaries. It became clear to her that a single soul could not so easily thrive against a mass infrastructure as the one she inhabited, and soon urged herself into breaking the last moral stand any woman of her caliber could imagine. The sinful pleasures and lusts that such a large city harbors are rarely tamed, and the wicked know how to find their pay.
Over a year later, Arya is found burdened with child. A child who's father is not, and will never be known. But deep within her, despite all she has endured, remains the faint spark of remorse. Only months later, she would not survive the delivery.
Marcus Arkwright had stayed at the clinic past her death, and was faced with the child that she left behind. With no children of his own, he took him into his family. Katrine, as the boy would learn to be his mother, had been wed to her husband for but a year. They finally had made their decision to take him back to their home on Agamar. They had no inclination to test him for force positive, and would never show any interest in the matter. Wylie, the name they soon adorned him with, had no meaning, no special heritage nor foreign translation. Simply another fish in the sea.
—Chapter 2 - Blessed Art the Pure of Heart - Ages 1- 12
The Arkwright homestead sat a good distance off of the beaten path. Along with that came the vast sense of peace, serenity, tranquility, and often dreary isolation. Not far from the house was a decent sized pond. The pond soon played host to countless swimming lessons and served as a quick refreshment from the summer heat. It was here that Wylie would learn his love of the water that would carry on for years to come.
Regardless, the realms of nature that surrounded and often raised the lad began to engulf him as he explored them with an exceptional curiosity. Every plant, every insect, every bird seemed to maintain its unique purpose in life. It's complexity overwhelmed him, and he often wondered if it was in its study that he would spend his life. His parents, however, had decided upon moving him into medical practice in the years to come after his father's path.
Through the years he quickly found fletching to be a common hobby. Starting with whatever he could scavenge, he worked his way into carving out anything he decided until he had perfected it to his liking. Eventually he could be found steaming and forming wood to help his father construct small canoes. It stuck with him deeply throughout his childhood and developed a strong self discipline. As he grew those around him began to notice within him an uncanny desire to learn coupled with constant curiosity. He had been taught little about the force, and what he had begun experiencing in it confused him. Most of it he was able to dismiss, but a small curious spark in him would drive to unlock whatever he had been blessed, or cursed with.
—Chapter 3 - Revelations - Ages 13 - 17—
The years flew, and eventually his parents had decided upon moving. The small, isolated cabin that raised and restrained him was sold. Supposedly their sole reasoning was that Wylie would continue, or start rather, his education in the heart of Naboo, but his mother seemed quite anxious to escape their backwoods home. Regardless, a major lifestyle change to say the least. He managed to convince them to stay near the outskirts of his foreign nightmare, which brought him little relief. City life soon bestowed him standard social skills, aswell as a renewed sense of reality. The old cabin was soon knocked over and the land renovated into a suspiciously unmarked facility, although he would never again see it.
However montonous or intriguing, his studies continued. He did slowly adapt to the industrial mania around him, while he was oblivious to one more thing on its way. The truth cannot be infinitively suppressed, as Marcus and Katrine well knew, and they had decided it best to inform him of his true bloodline. It disheartened him at the least, and played on his psyche. At times he even wondered why it bothered him so. The unknown tended to worry him, and his own heritage was no different. Between not knowing his origin, nor his bloodline, he decided it best to try to ignore the fact altogether. Once again the thought of the force became a pestilence in his mind. He would often in vain attempt to train himself to even lift objects, of course to no avail. Although he had no idea what he was doing, it was like any magic trick — he didn't know how it worked, and would drive himself insane trying to piece of together.
—Chapter 4 - A New Frontier - Ages 18 - 22—
Much to his father's dismay, he little enjoyed the field he had chosen for him. Between setting the snapped femur of a man who recently tumbled off a roof, or prodding around in the open flesh of a man struck by a slug thrower, it wasn't for him. As noble of a profession as he saw it, he had no desire spending his life around the constant stress and sorrow it often brought. Although he knew it would never be his lifelong profession, of course, that didn't stop him from wanting to learn. He acquired a great deal of knowledge from his father aswell as a decent amount of practice in every day life. What he did find, came from an old friend by the name of Jekyle, a practicing armorer. He offered Wylie a spot in his studies, which he strangely enjoyed. From working with the damage and injury they caused, he had finally made his way to making the weapons that dealt it. For the short while he was in it, he learned a respectable amount about the basics of blasters. His friend Jekyle, on the other hand, disappeared. He had mentioned something about a job with BlasTech, but noone had heard from him.
What time he hadn't spent at a desk, he often did in the water. If any type of swimming, fishing, or boating was near, he was often within arms reach. Unfortunately he never found himself to be the most successful fisherman, possibly due to the fact he was often trying to be a fish himself. One such instance was remembered when he dove underwater, pulling on the end of a friend's line as a joke. To Wylie's dismay, he set the hook slightly quicker than expected, tearing the barbed metal through his collarbone and chest, where a scar still remains to show for his stupidity.
Those around him for any period of time would notice Wylie to be rather entomo and musophobic for his hate of insects and rodents. It was a strange case, as he was known to love nearly all forms of nature as a child. The same passion was still there, only in some parts, more demented. His fixation with the creatures drove beyond dislike or fear and into paranoia, evidenced by one case in which he accidentally created an amateur mixture of mustard gas in trying to poison a local rat with bleach around nearby ammonia. Such antics earned him the lovingly despised name of "Mongoose" among his comrades.
—Chapter 5 - Skeletons in the Closet - Ages 23 - 29 —
After Wylie's career had become quite prominent, a fire within him was reignited. A sense and desire within him had burned for adventure and opportunity. He began by moving west to a small town where he easily continued his trade as a doctor as physician. The new sense of freedom he was brought was far greater than any that the broad city could offer him.
It wasn't long before he found what he believed to be the love of his life. The marriage was rushed and came in a matter of months, as it was well welcomed by both families. Faces soon adorned the many walls of their country home, which would surely house many generations to come. He had found his peace, and everything seemed right with the world all the while. The longer they were together, as short a time as it truly was, it had its rough edges. Wylie had learned through his years to turn a blind eye to the gossip of so many that often plagued him, especially concerning the matters of their relationship.
Each day was a greater struggle. One in particular had been an overcast, wet and dreary morning. Those who braved the chilling elements had been bound in their cloth armor to stop its brutal outlash. However paranoid one may be of an illness, there always seemed to be a family gravestone to justify their fears. Wylie had seen a lad no older than the age of nine pass from such illness only days prior. Despite their best efforts, death is not always such an easy foe. He could envision the boy, mere days beforehand joyously roaming the streets. It haunted him to his soul, and killed a piece of it to witness the nasty result of the virus. Regardless, he pressed forward through the dreary mist that soaked through his coat. He refrained from collapsing onto the floor from exhaustion once he had returned to their quaint and familiar home, quickly pacing up the old delapidated oak staircase he knew so well. If the day's events had not killed him, the travel would soon enough. His mind raced among thoughts of the coming day briefly before lightning flashed through the midnight window. The brief light illuminated the small, scarcely decorated bedroom like a candle from hell, reflecting against the two other silhouettes that sat in the bed opposite of him in bewilderment. He froze momentarily with fear and shock as his hand glided to the compact slug thrower in the dresser next to him as the stranger rose to his feet. Mere moments later, two loud and distinctive cracks echoed throughout the surrounding area, and it was not thunder.
What transpired that night left him devastated and nearly suicidal. Wylie had found himself dumbstruck and enraged at the betrayal. He left town that very night, tossing a match against the foundation of the house before he did so. With two corpses inside, the rumor began to spread that the young couple had been killed in a simple house fire.
—Chapter 6 - Specters in the Night - Age 29 - ? —
Anyone that knew him presumed him dead, any others had no reason to care. The man he killed that night turned out to have been an ex bounty hunter, a drifter at this point. Wylie was a dead man walking. It was all over. Everything. Over. But where something beautiful had ended, did something sinister begin? As with anything, only time would tell. He had his blaster, ship, will power, and an entire galaxy before him.
Eventually he would have the opportunity of scavenging a lightsaber off of a fallen Jedi, much to his excitement. Of course, he wasn't able to best the Jedi, only outrun the exhausted man who had slain him. The armor the man wore chilled him to the core. He had heard of Beskar'gam in the past, but never encounted one of the walking behemoths in person. Looking back on it, he was lucky to have escaped unharmed. After studying the lightsaber itself for quite some time, he decided to start training with it to the best of his ability. It carried far differently than an average blade, but with its danger came effectiveness and lethality. He continued to carry it, although he determined that should he ever encountered another one in living hands, he'd sooner drop his ship on them than draw his saber. Along with the saber, he also carried a less effective Lightfoil for more common use.
Eventually he would learn three things to be the greatest powers in life, Hope, Fear, and Desperity. His hope was destroyed and his fears both realized and obliterated, yet he was desperate to survive. He became a killer. One to snatch everything from another to add a little to his own. Yet he could never bear to see it that way. He tried to make all of his kills just, see that they had it coming to them in some way or another, but he knew exactly what he was becoming. The blood money it got him allowed him a small armament, and as he looked out the window of his ship he pondered. Did he really die back in the bedroom of that old house? Is this his eternal hell he's been sentenced to? The blackness beyond his cockpit offered no answer nor clue. Whatever reincarnation he was of that innocent young kid he used to be, it was behind him now. He knew where he had been, it was time to look forward. Again, that same blackness, stars and planets greeted him, but now it wasn't with silence, it was with the galaxy.
Roleplay Sample: .
Wylie kicked back and groaned quietly as the Gryphon touched down on familiar ground. Too long. It had been far too long since he was able to make his way back to Alderaan. It was like a vacation, but more than a vacation — a serenity. Not only was the planet gorgeous in his eyes, but less no-named miscreants trying to kill him made him like almost anything these days. Rocketing himself forward out of his seat, he made his way back to the cargo bay and started unloading the small crate of rations he managed to scavenge the day prior. Clicking open the cargo bay door, he looked out at the city before him with his mind set in peace. This was going to be good, he thought to himself almost subconsciously. Two steps out of the ship, and his head accidentally nails against the door frame, knocking him to the ground underneath of the heavy crate, which is now less of a crate and more of a mess of wasted food and splintered wood. Cleaning himself off, he cursed under his breath, knowing that he'd jinxed it again.
Race: Zelosian
Age: 29
Birthplace: The Outer Rim - Subterrel
Allegiance: No one. ... Yet.
Status: Adventurer(Self proclaimed) and Mercenary
Rank: Captain of Obviousity, obviously. (Factionless, therefore rankless and left to the demise of my own bad sense of humor.)
Height/Weight: 6'3" tall, weighing in at 173 pounds,
Appearance: Wylie looks identical to a human aside to the fact that if he was wounded, one would notice, likely to their horror, that no blood runs through his veins. He has a medium frame/build with a decent bit of muscle and pronounced features. The first thing noticed about him is his stark, unhumanly green eyes. His hair is a light blonde, about medium length, and tends to be kept up and out of the way. A nasty scar runs along his chest and collarbone, all the way up to his cheek. As far as apparel, he keeps a balaclava hung around his neck and sometimes face, aswell as the vital thermal scanner/ID scanner made into his armor. Over his armor itself he typically dons a thick, dust covered black jacket aswell as an equally dirt-infused pair of baggy cargo pants and boots. Somewhere on him at all times, can be found a dented canteen filled to the brim with sugar-infused water.
Personality: Wylie tends to be light-hearted but with a dark side. His past and his decisions, whatever they may be, will always haunt him. Despite his job description, he has managed to keep a part of his conscience and morality. If he's unsure of his surroundings, he tends to clam up and go into a more solitary mentality. Otherwise, he can really open up to those he feels comfortable with. He likes to think he's smart, which is half true since he does think outside the box. Even though in his case, thinking outside the box involves scoring four X's in a row in tic-tac-toe. The one mental aspect Wylie excels in is improvisation. Nothing pleases him more than successfully rigging something too poorly assembled or complex to have reasonably worked. He's also known to a bit of a pack rat, as you could find him scavenging just about anything from anywhere. It's rumored that he was early in life forced to find a black jacket in place of his normal brown robes, else be mistaken for a highly mutated Jawa.
Ships/Vehicles:
DSX - 245 "Vanguard" (Named the "Gryphon") swrponline2.proboards.com/thread/4184/dsx-245-vanguard
D3-V Speeder Bike
swrponline2.proboards.com/thread/10379/d3-speeder-bike
Equipment:
Armor- ML-225 "Wraith"
swrponline2.proboards.com/thread/3921/sith-recon-armor
Hardware -
KPV Model - 12 AVSR
swrponline2.proboards.com/thread/16938/model-anti-vehicle-sniper-rifle
Cadian CBR - 36
swrponline2.proboards.com/thread/17135/cadian-cbr-36-blaster-rifle
AA-17
swrponline2.proboards.com/thread/17135/cadian-cbr-36-blaster-rifle
Thermone FS-Lightfoil
swrponline2.proboards.com/thread/18038/thermone-fs-lightfoil
Lightsaber - Emerald green in color with a dark sheen. Single blade, dual phased with a curved hilt
Stats:
Strength - Above Average
Agility - Average
Intelligence - Below Average
Charisma - Superior
Force Stats: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
Telekinetic- Novice
Telepathic- Unskilled
Body- Novice
Sense- Novice
Protection- Unskilled
Healing:– Unskilled
Destruction– Unskilled
Combat Training:
Adept with blasters, Apprentice martial artist in K'thri. Unskilled/Novice - lightsaber. Master rock thrower/grenade chucker.
Force Training:
No training/not enough personal experience for me to feel comfortable putting anything here.
Other Training: Adept pilot, Experienced Sabaac player, Experienced in rock climbing/mantling(not to be confused with running, mobility, agility, etcetera) Expert Swimmer. Adept in medical practice/emergency care. Unskilled diplomat.
Lightsaber Training:
Shii-Cho- Untrained/Novice
Makashi- Untrained
Soresu- Untrained
Ataru- Untrained
Shien/Djem So- Untrained
>>Sub-form Backhanded- Untrained
Niman- Untrained
>>Sub-form Jar-kai- Untrained
Juyo- Untrained
Double Bladed Combat- Extremely untrained and slightly frightened
Biography:
—Chapter 1 - Blast From the Past - Age -0—
The Outer Rim - Subterrel
Arya Gailek's life had been one of constant, sheltered prosperity before the death of her father. She was young, and had descended from a rather prosperous bloodline, but the large city around her that bore generations of her heritage, experience and livelihood had begun to close its doors to her. Industry took hold as a new age of pioneers sought to reclaim their fortune in business, slowly overturning the mining monopoly her father left her. He had been long known as a corporate mogul, but his own daughter shared no such interest or skill. She expended his small fortune on her own desires, never giving a thought as to how to replenish it. The lavish lifestyle had slowly begun to drain her inheritance from the ground beneath her. It was apparent to her acquaintances that she had nowhere near the frugal and cautious spirit of the supposed father that she often rebuked.
Through years she taught herself to work with deceit as a potter would with clay or a mason with stone, sowing lies among gossip to eventually achieve her desires. Some of which, were carelessly released, and gained her only enemies instead of riches. Whether the two were connected, none could say, but the massive wildfire that eventually consumed her manor in the dead of night destroyed all but herself. She was no match for the rivals that had so long plagued her family, and knew she was not born with the ability to change that. The last remnants of her mining corporation had been disbanded, and any connections she had were lost to her adversaries. It became clear to her that a single soul could not so easily thrive against a mass infrastructure as the one she inhabited, and soon urged herself into breaking the last moral stand any woman of her caliber could imagine. The sinful pleasures and lusts that such a large city harbors are rarely tamed, and the wicked know how to find their pay.
Over a year later, Arya is found burdened with child. A child who's father is not, and will never be known. But deep within her, despite all she has endured, remains the faint spark of remorse. Only months later, she would not survive the delivery.
Marcus Arkwright had stayed at the clinic past her death, and was faced with the child that she left behind. With no children of his own, he took him into his family. Katrine, as the boy would learn to be his mother, had been wed to her husband for but a year. They finally had made their decision to take him back to their home on Agamar. They had no inclination to test him for force positive, and would never show any interest in the matter. Wylie, the name they soon adorned him with, had no meaning, no special heritage nor foreign translation. Simply another fish in the sea.
—Chapter 2 - Blessed Art the Pure of Heart - Ages 1- 12
The Arkwright homestead sat a good distance off of the beaten path. Along with that came the vast sense of peace, serenity, tranquility, and often dreary isolation. Not far from the house was a decent sized pond. The pond soon played host to countless swimming lessons and served as a quick refreshment from the summer heat. It was here that Wylie would learn his love of the water that would carry on for years to come.
Regardless, the realms of nature that surrounded and often raised the lad began to engulf him as he explored them with an exceptional curiosity. Every plant, every insect, every bird seemed to maintain its unique purpose in life. It's complexity overwhelmed him, and he often wondered if it was in its study that he would spend his life. His parents, however, had decided upon moving him into medical practice in the years to come after his father's path.
Through the years he quickly found fletching to be a common hobby. Starting with whatever he could scavenge, he worked his way into carving out anything he decided until he had perfected it to his liking. Eventually he could be found steaming and forming wood to help his father construct small canoes. It stuck with him deeply throughout his childhood and developed a strong self discipline. As he grew those around him began to notice within him an uncanny desire to learn coupled with constant curiosity. He had been taught little about the force, and what he had begun experiencing in it confused him. Most of it he was able to dismiss, but a small curious spark in him would drive to unlock whatever he had been blessed, or cursed with.
—Chapter 3 - Revelations - Ages 13 - 17—
The years flew, and eventually his parents had decided upon moving. The small, isolated cabin that raised and restrained him was sold. Supposedly their sole reasoning was that Wylie would continue, or start rather, his education in the heart of Naboo, but his mother seemed quite anxious to escape their backwoods home. Regardless, a major lifestyle change to say the least. He managed to convince them to stay near the outskirts of his foreign nightmare, which brought him little relief. City life soon bestowed him standard social skills, aswell as a renewed sense of reality. The old cabin was soon knocked over and the land renovated into a suspiciously unmarked facility, although he would never again see it.
However montonous or intriguing, his studies continued. He did slowly adapt to the industrial mania around him, while he was oblivious to one more thing on its way. The truth cannot be infinitively suppressed, as Marcus and Katrine well knew, and they had decided it best to inform him of his true bloodline. It disheartened him at the least, and played on his psyche. At times he even wondered why it bothered him so. The unknown tended to worry him, and his own heritage was no different. Between not knowing his origin, nor his bloodline, he decided it best to try to ignore the fact altogether. Once again the thought of the force became a pestilence in his mind. He would often in vain attempt to train himself to even lift objects, of course to no avail. Although he had no idea what he was doing, it was like any magic trick — he didn't know how it worked, and would drive himself insane trying to piece of together.
—Chapter 4 - A New Frontier - Ages 18 - 22—
Much to his father's dismay, he little enjoyed the field he had chosen for him. Between setting the snapped femur of a man who recently tumbled off a roof, or prodding around in the open flesh of a man struck by a slug thrower, it wasn't for him. As noble of a profession as he saw it, he had no desire spending his life around the constant stress and sorrow it often brought. Although he knew it would never be his lifelong profession, of course, that didn't stop him from wanting to learn. He acquired a great deal of knowledge from his father aswell as a decent amount of practice in every day life. What he did find, came from an old friend by the name of Jekyle, a practicing armorer. He offered Wylie a spot in his studies, which he strangely enjoyed. From working with the damage and injury they caused, he had finally made his way to making the weapons that dealt it. For the short while he was in it, he learned a respectable amount about the basics of blasters. His friend Jekyle, on the other hand, disappeared. He had mentioned something about a job with BlasTech, but noone had heard from him.
What time he hadn't spent at a desk, he often did in the water. If any type of swimming, fishing, or boating was near, he was often within arms reach. Unfortunately he never found himself to be the most successful fisherman, possibly due to the fact he was often trying to be a fish himself. One such instance was remembered when he dove underwater, pulling on the end of a friend's line as a joke. To Wylie's dismay, he set the hook slightly quicker than expected, tearing the barbed metal through his collarbone and chest, where a scar still remains to show for his stupidity.
Those around him for any period of time would notice Wylie to be rather entomo and musophobic for his hate of insects and rodents. It was a strange case, as he was known to love nearly all forms of nature as a child. The same passion was still there, only in some parts, more demented. His fixation with the creatures drove beyond dislike or fear and into paranoia, evidenced by one case in which he accidentally created an amateur mixture of mustard gas in trying to poison a local rat with bleach around nearby ammonia. Such antics earned him the lovingly despised name of "Mongoose" among his comrades.
—Chapter 5 - Skeletons in the Closet - Ages 23 - 29 —
After Wylie's career had become quite prominent, a fire within him was reignited. A sense and desire within him had burned for adventure and opportunity. He began by moving west to a small town where he easily continued his trade as a doctor as physician. The new sense of freedom he was brought was far greater than any that the broad city could offer him.
It wasn't long before he found what he believed to be the love of his life. The marriage was rushed and came in a matter of months, as it was well welcomed by both families. Faces soon adorned the many walls of their country home, which would surely house many generations to come. He had found his peace, and everything seemed right with the world all the while. The longer they were together, as short a time as it truly was, it had its rough edges. Wylie had learned through his years to turn a blind eye to the gossip of so many that often plagued him, especially concerning the matters of their relationship.
Each day was a greater struggle. One in particular had been an overcast, wet and dreary morning. Those who braved the chilling elements had been bound in their cloth armor to stop its brutal outlash. However paranoid one may be of an illness, there always seemed to be a family gravestone to justify their fears. Wylie had seen a lad no older than the age of nine pass from such illness only days prior. Despite their best efforts, death is not always such an easy foe. He could envision the boy, mere days beforehand joyously roaming the streets. It haunted him to his soul, and killed a piece of it to witness the nasty result of the virus. Regardless, he pressed forward through the dreary mist that soaked through his coat. He refrained from collapsing onto the floor from exhaustion once he had returned to their quaint and familiar home, quickly pacing up the old delapidated oak staircase he knew so well. If the day's events had not killed him, the travel would soon enough. His mind raced among thoughts of the coming day briefly before lightning flashed through the midnight window. The brief light illuminated the small, scarcely decorated bedroom like a candle from hell, reflecting against the two other silhouettes that sat in the bed opposite of him in bewilderment. He froze momentarily with fear and shock as his hand glided to the compact slug thrower in the dresser next to him as the stranger rose to his feet. Mere moments later, two loud and distinctive cracks echoed throughout the surrounding area, and it was not thunder.
What transpired that night left him devastated and nearly suicidal. Wylie had found himself dumbstruck and enraged at the betrayal. He left town that very night, tossing a match against the foundation of the house before he did so. With two corpses inside, the rumor began to spread that the young couple had been killed in a simple house fire.
—Chapter 6 - Specters in the Night - Age 29 - ? —
Anyone that knew him presumed him dead, any others had no reason to care. The man he killed that night turned out to have been an ex bounty hunter, a drifter at this point. Wylie was a dead man walking. It was all over. Everything. Over. But where something beautiful had ended, did something sinister begin? As with anything, only time would tell. He had his blaster, ship, will power, and an entire galaxy before him.
Eventually he would have the opportunity of scavenging a lightsaber off of a fallen Jedi, much to his excitement. Of course, he wasn't able to best the Jedi, only outrun the exhausted man who had slain him. The armor the man wore chilled him to the core. He had heard of Beskar'gam in the past, but never encounted one of the walking behemoths in person. Looking back on it, he was lucky to have escaped unharmed. After studying the lightsaber itself for quite some time, he decided to start training with it to the best of his ability. It carried far differently than an average blade, but with its danger came effectiveness and lethality. He continued to carry it, although he determined that should he ever encountered another one in living hands, he'd sooner drop his ship on them than draw his saber. Along with the saber, he also carried a less effective Lightfoil for more common use.
Eventually he would learn three things to be the greatest powers in life, Hope, Fear, and Desperity. His hope was destroyed and his fears both realized and obliterated, yet he was desperate to survive. He became a killer. One to snatch everything from another to add a little to his own. Yet he could never bear to see it that way. He tried to make all of his kills just, see that they had it coming to them in some way or another, but he knew exactly what he was becoming. The blood money it got him allowed him a small armament, and as he looked out the window of his ship he pondered. Did he really die back in the bedroom of that old house? Is this his eternal hell he's been sentenced to? The blackness beyond his cockpit offered no answer nor clue. Whatever reincarnation he was of that innocent young kid he used to be, it was behind him now. He knew where he had been, it was time to look forward. Again, that same blackness, stars and planets greeted him, but now it wasn't with silence, it was with the galaxy.
Roleplay Sample: .
Wylie kicked back and groaned quietly as the Gryphon touched down on familiar ground. Too long. It had been far too long since he was able to make his way back to Alderaan. It was like a vacation, but more than a vacation — a serenity. Not only was the planet gorgeous in his eyes, but less no-named miscreants trying to kill him made him like almost anything these days. Rocketing himself forward out of his seat, he made his way back to the cargo bay and started unloading the small crate of rations he managed to scavenge the day prior. Clicking open the cargo bay door, he looked out at the city before him with his mind set in peace. This was going to be good, he thought to himself almost subconsciously. Two steps out of the ship, and his head accidentally nails against the door frame, knocking him to the ground underneath of the heavy crate, which is now less of a crate and more of a mess of wasted food and splintered wood. Cleaning himself off, he cursed under his breath, knowing that he'd jinxed it again.
