Zharra

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

Faction: Republic
Department: Navy
Rank: Captain
Ship: The Anthelion

Name: Zharra (no last name on record. Pronounced most closely to Jah-ra)
Race: Farghul
Age: 63
Height: 5’ 11”
Weight: 168 lbs
Birth place: Jahhnu, Farrfin

Appearance:

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Tall and lean, Zharra doesn’t appear (at first) to be as well muscled as she truly is. Beneath the uniform hides a hardened body built for agility and strength and covered in short, silky, fur of a brilliant golden tan color. That fur is kept immaculately clean and well groomed, her hair (the hair on her head, mind you) being cropped into a short bob and of a darker golden brown. Regulation appearance must be kept, after all (at least, while she’s on duty). Several scars (mainly dealt by bladed weapons or claws) mar her body, but her silken fur does quite a good job at covering most of them. Nimble hands are tipped with well kept, sharpened, and carefully cared for (and utilized) claws. A long, prehensile, tail is not to be missed when taking in her features…but the most notable thing about Zharra is, perhaps, her face.

The oddest part of Zharra’s physiology is that her head and face are considerably less…elongated…than those of many other Farghul. A family trait, it seems, as her mother’s side of the family has the same facial structure. Despite that, she has a rather perfectly feline nose, as well as elongated (and very feminine…at least to her race) feline ears which are able to move fairly independently of each other and tipped with the same brown as her hair. Slanted, almond shaped eyes of hazel green (green/blue mixture) glint cunningly out at the world. Highlighting her eyes, the fur just above them is a considerably darker brown to indicate something similar to eyebrows just as the fur starting at the outer corners of her eyes and sweeping up toward her temples are a similar dark brown.

When it comes to clothing, Zharra can most often be found in her standard uniform with a close fitting, high neck white shirt, uniform coat, uniform pants, and tall boots that lace up. In keeping with the rather ostentatious way that her people prefer to dress, she’s also very fond of wearing her uniform hat. While her regular uniform is all well and good, she does prefer her dress uniform for much the same reason as she prefers to wear the hat…it’s all about appearance. On her days off, however, Zha will slip into just about anything…especially clothes as slinky as she is. She can always be found with a knife or two (or three or four) on her, as well as a small comlink and a grappling spike launcher…just in case.

Personality: Zharra is, at best, a complicated personality…at worst, she’s an absolute handful. Her rather shady and…off color…past has, in some ways, lead to a more calm and even persona than she was, but that doesn’t diminish the fact that she is still a very ‘off color’ individual. Many still wonder how it is she became captain of her own vessel. Like many Farghul, Zha can be an extremely subtle pickpocket; she grew up as one, after all. She’s also prone to making all sorts of odd, off color, and downright bad jokes…when she’s in the mood, of course. Though she has her bad days, for the most part Zharra is quite an affable, if wary at first, personality.

Unless you’re a force user.

She has something of a mixture between a phobia and loathing of all force users she comes across. While she does her best to judge any force users she comes across as individuals, and deal with them on a case to case basis, it’s exceedingly difficult for her to see them in anything but a negative light…even the jedi. Sometimes especially the jedi. Often times she must still remind herself that they are now on the same ‘team’ as she is. Despite her feelings, however, she at least attempts to keep her composure and manners around jedi and most neutral force users. Dark jedi, however, will often find themselves facing more loathing than anything else.

Highly conscious of her appearance, Zharra does her utmost to remain in top physical form and appealing to the eyes of all…or at the very least tolerable. Her fur and hair are kept as immaculate as possible, claws kept well cared for, uniform and all other clothing kept well pressed and in excellent condition… Some call her vain, but considering how gaudily some of her species chooses to dress themselves, and how much time they choose to waste on their appearance, she’s on the low end of the totem pole. Besides, these days duty comes first to her. No matter what condition she’s in, or what clothing she’s wearing, if there’s an emergency on her ship Zha isn’t going to take the time to pretty herself up or change over to her uniform. She’ll be on the bridge in that slinky dress or those workout clothes shouting orders so they can live to patrol another day.

Skills: Thievery, entertainment (including: dance, singing, violin/harp playing), piloting, standard field medical training, officer/captain’s training

Languages: Farghul, Basic, Falleen (language)

Attributes:
Species related: “incredible strength and speed”

Physical Strength: 6
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 7
Leadership: 7

Unarmed: 7
Melee Weapons: 3
Ranged Weapons: 6

Alignment: +1

Bio:

Cat’s in the Cradle

”A child arrived just the other day,
Came to the world in the usual way”

I was born into a world of…less than scrupulous people. A world chalk full of thieves, smugglers, con artists, and game riggers, that’s what people believed Farrfin to be and, for the most part, they were right. My parents, Kishaa and Gharrin, were thieves and information brokers themselves, eking out a meager living in the bustling city of Jahhnu. We were relatively poor, yes…after all, thievery didn’t pay much in a city full of catburglars…and information could only sell for so much. I didn’t particularly notice our lower class lifestyle, however, since I was a relatively happy child. I had all I needed: a loving family, playmates, food, water, a roof over my head. I didn’t go without, and didn’t notice that sometimes my parents did. Not until I was older, anyway.

Growing up in this environment, I didn’t see thievery as being against the law, but more as a game and way of life. Mother and father would often make little games of it with me while I was still in my toddler years, hiding a bit of candy in their pocket or belt and telling me I could have it if I could get it without them noticing. They would then pretend not to pay attention to me, even though they knew that I wanted that candy badly. Being the child I was, and hell bent on getting that sweet bit of sugary goodness, I would, of course, make haste to attempt to get it from their pocket…but every time I was too noisy, or too obvious, about trying to get it, they would suddenly ‘notice’ me again and move the candy to yet another pocket. Eventually I learned the game and learned to be more stealthy about my actions, or be more silent when I tried to sneak up on them.

They got many, many, hugs…and I got plenty of sweets.
As I grew older and more capable of understanding what my parents did, I thought it a good, fun, job and was quite determined to follow in my parents footsteps. To me they were a cross between thieves and spies…and of course, spies were ‘cool’ in every story I heard. So, while my parents were running with their sticky fingered friends, I ran with the children of those very same friends. The older children taught us younger ones how the ‘game’ was played, and what rules the ‘game’ had.

Rule Number One: if you’re caught stealing or cheating, give back what you took immediately.

There was no more important rule than that one. Of course there were others, such as: don’t snitch on your accomplices, if being chased never run directly back to the ‘hideout,’ older children are responsible for younger ones…so on and so forth…but if you broke the number one rule, you were in no small amount of trouble. Needless to say, as one of the youngest in our little group, I was terrified to find out just what kind of trouble I might get into if I broke the rule…so I never dared. Whoever said “there’s no honesty amongst thieves” has obviously never been to Farrfin.

Like Cats and Dogs

” When you comin' home dad?
I don't know when, but we'll get together then
You know we'll have a good time then”

Farrfin…it’s approximately twelve minutes shy of anarchy and a few seconds over freedom. It’s located solidly on the route to corruption. We have smuggling, con artists and thieves. The only problems are the pests. You see, most places have mynocks or gizka…we have Jedi.

Believe me, there is no greater pest to a thief, smuggler, con artist, or information broker than a jedi, and the two groups…those of the ‘fringe’ of society and those of the jedi and Republic…are always at odds, like cats and dogs. It was a shame that my parents could check two of those metaphorical boxes and knew quite a few in the other two arenas. I’d seen the jedi ‘arrest’ several of our family’s friends for being involved in smuggling, and heard of others who had suffered the same fate while I was in school, and while the idea upset me…made me feel the itch to be wary of all off worlders, especially those that dressed in robes…the idea of just how utterly frightening a force user could be never really sunk in until I was eleven. My life changed drastically that year, leaving me with the beginnings of a fear and mistrust that even now, fifty one years later, takes a strong will to push through.

I had just gotten out of class for the day and was half way up the steps to the apartment where we lived when two of my friends came hurrying out, looking nervous and talking about some argument that my parents were having about a meeting they were going to. This may not seem strange, but it was…my parents rarely fought about anything. I remember hurrying up the stares to the apartment that I called home, curious and a bit worried. The arguing was loud enough to hear through the door, but it stopped as soon as I punched in the code to unlock it. Sometimes I wish I’d stayed and listened longer at the door, but…well, nothing can change that now. Instead, I discovered, through no small amount of prying (and pawing around through their documents), that mother had ‘a bad feeling’ about the offworlders they were set to meet, and just where that meeting was set to take place.

If my parents ever discovered that I had been pawing through their files, I never found out. I also couldn’t possibly begin to tell you just why I decided to follow them later that evening. Perhaps it was curiosity, perhaps it was stupidity…no, it was stupidity, there’s no question about that…but the point is, I honestly don’t recall my motivation, all I remember is that I slunk through the shadows several minutes behind them in the direction of their meeting place. When I arrived, I very soon wished I hadn’t. Everything happened so swiftly it was difficult to tell what was going on; one moment they were speaking off in the distance, but as I drew closer the unmistakable flash of light on binders caught my eye. Now, as Farghul, we tend to be faster than many of the races that come around…but not these ones. These humans moved with a blurred speed that outmatched my parents, who thought to escape.

My father had drawn a blaster, moving to slow the two humans as my mother hurriedly scaled the fire escape of the building closest to them. The brilliant yellow of the blade one of the two drew, and the way it so easily deflected the blaster bolts, put a new sort of fear into me. I had heard of those things, read about them, but had never seen one. The weapon of a jedi, a lightsaber, was said to be able to burn through nearly any substance, but as the man behind it blurred forward, I didn’t expect it to slice through the barrel of father’s blaster, nor did I expect to see my mother pulled down from the fire escape by nothing. This ‘nothing’…this ‘force’…lifted her and pulled her down, back toward the waiting second jedi despite the fact that she struggled.

Cowering in the shadows, I could do nothing but watch as both of my parents were subdued and bound. It wasn’t until one of the two, the older man, started in my direction that I even remembered that I could (and likely should) move. I remember running as if death itself were chasing me, and as far as I was concerned it was since I could hear the rush of footsteps behind me. I didn’t run far, there was no way I could outrun a creature such as a jedi, I knew that finally, but I ran smart. I was small, one of the smallest of my friends, and able to hide in places most couldn’t fit, so that’s what I did. I ran for the first place I could think of, slipping swiftly into the tiny ventilation shaft that ran beneath a building not far off. Packing myself in, I only barely kept myself out of arms reach of the man as he stopped and attempted to get me to speak to him, to coax me out, but I would have none of it…I came close, too close (at one point), to coming out as he asked me to, but I was simply too stubborn, angry, and terrified to fall prey to his attempts at a mind trick.

With no progress and his partner (or perhaps his padawan) waiting with my parents, he seemed to decide that it wasn’t worth wasting the time to wait me out or put more effort into his attempts…and I was left alone.

Alley Cats

”Some would call it hell but to me it was heaven
God gave me the grace, amazin' ways of livin’…”

It was difficult, those first weeks without my parents. I had never realized just how sheltered and cared for I truly was until they were gone. What little we had I used…hiding away the smaller objects that reminded me of them, and pawning or selling the things that I could live without. I wasn’t without some help, since my friend’s parents knew all too well what had happened…news traveled fast, after all, and there was no reason I should lie about something like this. One of them helped me open a banking account, putting what I earned from the sales into it, but my parents had only been the beginning and soon my support net…all of our support net…began to fray and break.

Those friends my parents had, the ones I’d grown up around, the ones who’s children I was friends with…they too were captured as the jedi attempted to crack down on the smuggling rings that took refuge on our planet. Farrfin may not have been a Republic world, but the jedi didn’t particularly seem to care about that. If the parents of my friends weren’t arrested, they moved away, hoping to escape the noose that they must have felt tightening around their necks. At the time I hated them for it, for leaving…for trying to escape…but the older I got, the less I could blame them and the more I blamed the jedi.

More and more of our little clan were left without parents, without homes, but we managed. We went to school, we stole food or money or clothes or items we could sell or pawn, we took refuge in building after building, hopping between places or breaking into homes that were vacant for some small amount of time to shower or stay warm. With what little money we made we got clothing or better food…it was a rough life, especially for a group of teens and preteens. Some of us were caught and put into foster homes, some of us left once they got hold of relatives, some of us remained on the streets, and some of us died.

It was a miracle I lived as long as I did…and there were days I wished I wouldn’t live to see the next…but I was graced with the tools I needed to survive: brains, agility, some measure of stealth, and I learned swiftly how to fight…to defend myself if I needed to. It kept me alive, gave me the base I needed to build upon the lessons I learned in school, but more importantly, the ones my parents and their friends had taught me. These things allowed me to become a better thief…become a better pickpocket, learn to slip into a shop and out again with some of its wares relatively unnoticed, to keep my ears open and my mouth shut so that I learned information and could take advantage of it without others thinking I heard. It helped that I was blessed with an immune system that seemed able to battle of nearly anything that came at it. Despite these things, however, I didn’t have an immune system good enough, wasn’t clever enough, agile enough or stealthy enough to keep me safe from my new life.

The Cat’s Meow

"Cannot ignore the way you move your body, girl
And everything so unexpected - the way you right and left it
So you can keep on shaking it"

It was a typical day, really, when it happened. My friends and I had followed a few high rollers that had come to Farrfin looking to gamble to a club downtown. Honestly it was the perfect place to pick the pockets of dancers and gamblers clean without them knowing who had done it because of the crowd. Among the crowd of moving bodies, however, there was another sort of thief…a kind I didn’t know of and couldn’t possibly have prepared for.

They must have been watching the crowd, watching me, for some time since it happened so fast. We were slowly filtering out of the club with our pilfered ‘earnings’ so as not to attract too much attention when he came. With practiced skill and a charm that just…didn’t seem right…the twi’lek man wrapped one arm around my shoulders before something sharp pierced my neck. Whatever drug it was it worked swiftly, clouding my mind and distorting my perception of things…until, before I could grasp what was happening, I was being led into a ship and then…into a cell.

After sleeping off the effects of the drug, I woke to find myself on a ship bound for Falleen. We must have been traveling for a while, because it didn’t take much longer for us to reach our destination. I remember touching down on that humid planet and waiting, frightened of what might happen to me. The others around me seemed just as anxious and uncomfortable, but none of us dared to speak or ask questions for fear of the guards who stood glaring daggers at us from both ends of the hall. For an hour or more we waited until the door to the outside opened and a tall, gaudily clad, lizard man and a shorter human man entered the area. I’d never seen a falleen before, especially not a noble of their people, so the sight had me intrigued and I dared come close to the force field to get a better look. It must have gotten the man’s attention since he casually passed the others without more than a glance and stopped directly before me.

We stared at each other for what felt like ages before he gave me a very…thorough…once over and asked to have a better look at me. The human and his crew moved to restrain me but the man waved them off. I didn’t attack, though part of me wanted to…it would have been foolish with so many blasters trained on me and (as I would learn later) a man well trained in close combat not two feet from me. Ears, tail, limbs, fur…he inspected me from head to tail before finally stepping out of the cell and taking the captain of the ship with him. Not but a half hour later the man was back with another of his race and I was taken to his estate. I was taken to a room, told to bathe thoroughly, and locked in with several other women…all dressed in richly colored, loose, flowing, and revealing clothing the likes of which I’d never seen. Surprised beyond measure I did as I was told and when I was done I was garbed similarly and fed the first full meal I’d had in years. After that first day my ‘training’ began.

Was I a slave? Yes. Did they label me that? Of course not. The term ‘slave’ had far too many ‘horrible connotations’…but an ‘indentured entertainer’…now that was acceptable. Well, at least more so than ‘slave girl.’ Over all I didn’t have a life as bad as most slaves. I wasn’t a dancing girl for a hutt, I was treated well enough, given nice clothes, fed, was allowed to read and write and speak to the other girls, they taught me to dance, to sing, to play music, to cook…but I was also taught to be a servant and to be submissive. I was an entertainer, performing at my masters’ parties and for individual guests whenever they might come over, and I was good at what I did. The Jiu’s had other uses for their lady entertainers, however, and as the most…exotic…of their girls, I was offered to ‘entertain’ their most honored and most reputable visitors to ensure their ‘satisfaction’ with the hospitality of House Jiu.

Again, I didn’t mind much…after all, I came from a background of poverty and thievery, where everything I had was scrounged, stolen, or fought for (if I had it at all), and this was a large step up from that life…but that didn’t necessarily make it right. There were times, like when the Lord and Lady of House Xan came to visit, that I wondered if my new life (complete with bell collar) was acceptable. They didn’t seem to believe so, but it wasn’t my place to ask them…or even speak to them. Despite that I always managed to enjoy days they came over and the occasional times I found herself questioned by the Lord, Lady, or their son, Rizzen ((permission granted by Vex))…but times like that were fleeting.

I found myself missing the freedoms I had on Farrfin: the ability to go where I wanted, when I wanted…the ability to eat what I wanted and when I wanted to…the ability to speak to who I wished, when I wished, how I wished. Slowly I became more and more discontent with this new life, and finally began to understand the reason why the other girls seemed so unhappy. It was a gilded cage we were all stuck in, and while the novelty lasted it was fine but…once it started to fade...well, I felt the desire to be free of it.

The question was: How?

A Cat with Nine Lives

” When will I be unleashed?
It’s not the way it should be
Yearning again only to be myself”

The answer to that question came one evening, after a small party the Jiu’s had for several offworlders of particular influence: a disgusting little Jenet (a rat by any other name), a Givin, and a human. In the eight years I’d been…attached…to my masters, I had been ‘asked’ to do all manner of things to all manner of guests, but I had been too blinded…too naïve…to think it distasteful (at the very least). That changed when I spent the night ‘entertaining’ our Jenet guest as he was utterly repulsive in every way. To this day I can’t comprehend why the Jiu’s had invited him into their lovely (and clean) home, nor can I possibly hope to understand why they would have me…of all their ‘entertainers’…stay the night with him. Perhaps he had requested it out of some sick desire for domination over a race that, at one point or another in our history, might very well have eaten him for supper?

Whatever the reason, I can’t recall, nor should I repeat, everything that happened that evening. I had danced, played the harp and sang, then was sent to the man’s (Chir’rik Lem was his name?) room. It was in the middle of that where I…I could only describe what happened as an out of body experience. Looking down at myself, what I was doing and why, reflecting on my current life right up to that point, and utterly disgusted by the man with me, I found myself wondering…why? Why didn’t I just leave? The Jiu’s hadn’t implanted me with any chip, I wasn’t chained, they didn’t have dozens of guards…and the ones they did have I was fairly sure I could sneak past…so why didn’t I just…leave…and save myself from all of this horror and torment? Some of my thoughts must have slipped out or…something (I'm not entirely sure how force users work)…but the next thing I knew the man was chittering the most repulsive laugh and telling me that I would never get away. That the Falleen were far too clever, and that they owned me, and chances were they’d managed to slip something on me that would keep me from ever getting away.

He was in my mind…he’d just proven it…and it terrified me.

That didn’t stop the fury from building up, however. My claws had been filed down to near nothing, but I was still stronger, bigger…and meaner…than that little rat. It didn’t matter if he was in my mind or not, he was too close and I was too fast. I'm not certain if the red I saw then was my anger or the little rodent’s blood, but I saw red as my mind clouded over. All I remember were squealing screams, a slight struggle, and then quiet…and wet. I’ll spare you the details of what I saw that I’d done to the man, claws or no, suffice it to say that it wasn’t pretty and left blood everywhere.

I dressed swiftly (unfortunately in his clothes…just in case) and had just barely managed to pry the bell collar off of my neck with some bit of junk the rat had carried around with him when the door opened. There stood the Human and Givin, come to check on their friend. That same bit of junk I had used to pry off my collar became the instrument of the Givin’s death. Poor man really didn’t deserve what happened to him. The human, terrified, had actually tripped in the hall and was sent tumbling down the stairway (I later learned that he also didn’t survive). From that point I remember everything clear as day.

Picking up the head of the Jenet, I stalked along the halls, back toward the room I was typically locked in with the others. My exceptional hearing came in handy once more as I matched the tones to the keypad outside to the ones I was accustom to hearing when they let us out…low and behold, the door opened. Given the chance to run if they wished, I didn’t bother staying to see if the other girls left or not before moving down through the house to a window I knew well. The house was already in an uproar from the commotion I’d caused with the Jenet and his companions and I had to leave quickly, but I’d planned to leave a present for my ‘masters’ on their front doorstep. Opening the window I was out and onto the wall below without much trouble, head still in hand.

I didn’t get far. Not a single step was taken before Lord Jiu’s voice shouted out through the open window, blaster in hand. Before he could get a shot in I was certain to toss the head back at him, forcing him to move to avoid it striking him in the chest. “I’ve taken care of your rodent problem, so I’ll be leaving now.” Those were the last words I said to them before I dropped down to the other side of the wall and made off like a thief in the night…

Little did I know that those three: the Jenet Chief Data Officer, the Givin Chief Technical Officer, and the Human CEO of a ship building company Lord Jiu had invested heavily in, were there to pitch ideas for a new design of frigate whose blueprints (after the company’s liquidation later that year) would eventually (and much, much later) fall into the hands of one, Grigor Sark.

Catting Around

” 'Cause I'm a gypsy, are you coming with me?
I might steal your clothes and wear them if they fit me
I never made agreements, just like a gypsy
And I won't back down 'cause life's already bit me…”

The rest of my 25th year was spent in hiding, stealing what I could, and looking for a way off Falleen. When I finally did break down and stow away on a ship, I found that the galaxy was far larger than I ever could have imagined. There was so much to see that I hadn’t been able to before. So many people, so many different cultures, so many different planets…I’d read about them in classes back on Farrfin, talked to the other slave girls about their homes, but never had I been able to imagine anything like what I experienced. Not in my wildest dreams.

The next two years of my life I was very much a gypsy. Dancing in clubs for money, picking pockets, trading ‘favors’ for rides to other planets…I even tried my hand at piracy at one point, not that it went well or that I stayed long, but I tried it. I found my way back to Farrfin and finally collected the remaining sum in my account there (now that I was able to access it without an adult), as well as the items I’d saved after my parent’s capture…but I found that I had no desire to stay. Farrfin was no longer my home.

This led me to a new wondering, and a new quest: where was ‘home’ for me? Just what was home, anyway?

In my search for the answer I came across a particularly interesting woman. She and her two friends were pilots, but not just any pilots…pilots for the Republic Navy. I met them working as a server for a cantina on Zeltros and, through some small talk while taking their orders, I got…curious…and started asking questions. I had always admired those with the skill and training to fly through the stars on their own, able to travel when and where they wanted, but I was stuck in a rut that I couldn’t quite make it out of…and certainly didn’t allow for me to learn how to pilot a ship, much less have one of my own. In my previous reflections on my life of freedom, I had begun to realize that, as much as I loved traveling, I also craved some form of structure to my life…and that I was becoming more and more dissatisfied with the mildly criminal elements of it. When my shift was over I sought them out once again, barely catching them as they moved out into the city at large.

They didn’t seem to mind my curiosity about their job, though that might have been the alcohol, and even gave me instructions on where to go to get more information since they were due to leave the next day. Taking my leave of them, I swiftly set to work procuring the cheapest ticket I could find to Coruscant…

The Cat’s Repayment

”…Imagine flying a half a million tons of starship!
You gotta have nerves of steel!”

Upon my arrival to Coruscant I was…dumbfounded. I had seen large cities before, but that city was utterly shocking to behold. Somehow I found my way through the vast and glittering jungle of buildings and people to a recruiting office. Needless to say, I wasn’t the best dressed there…but it didn’t seem to matter. After a week or two of mulling it over and speaking with the recruiter, I soon was indentured once again…this time to the navy. By the time I was twenty seven I was inducted and in training.

It was a pleasant change, being pushed to my limits in ways that I wasn’t accustomed to. While I didn’t like the conformity, having to cut my hair, wear a uniform, and meet high expectations for everything…it grew on me more swiftly than I realized. The routine of training, I found, was easily embedded in my mind. Given my natural strength and speed, as well as my self-taught fighting skills from Farrfin, I excelled in hand to hand and close quarters combat during basic training (and later on, the advanced training I received), as well as finding that I had a knack for firearms. Try as I might, however, my skill with melee weapons was only barely passable; luckily it wasn’t a requirement for pilot training.

By the time I was 29 I was piloting corvettes for the Republic Navy.

My time as a pilot was, in a word, enjoyable. While there wasn’t much fighting going on, there were no lack of pirates to chase down, and the occasional skirmish between the Empire on the outskirts of Republic territory kept things a bit interesting. Skirmishes with them or the mandalorians, however, were rare and so much of my time as a pilot was spent piloting through the myriads of serenely glistening stars as we played guard dog for planetary freighters. It was fairly fulfilling, but something was still missing…I itched to further myself, better myself, and so I requested to start training to become an officer. At 32 I began my training. The journey was a slow one, painfully tedious at points, but I stuck to it…finding that, in the end, I enjoyed the challenge that was my path of progress up the chain of command.

Twenty years. Over the progress of twenty years I had slowly worked my tail off (pardon the pun) to get to the rank of commander. Frigates and corvettes were my stations most often, preferring the smaller, more maneuverable, and more versatile vessels to the larger battle ships and dreadnaughts. The stress could be great, at points, knowing that in the captain’s absence the crew was in my hands, coupled with the documents and duties I was assigned to work through, but I felt that…finally…I was getting close to what I really wanted in my life. In fact, I was so close I could almost touch it…every time I looked out at the stars from the command deck of the frigate I was assigned to while the captain was off duty, every time I stood in command and watched the serene picture of space, or the swirling vortex of hyperspace, or a star peeking around the curvature of one of it’s planets…I felt calm and…at home…as if that’s where I belonged.

After two years as a commander on the RMS New Dawn, a frigate that preformed patrols along the outer rim territories, I requested training to become a captain. At 52 and with more than my fair share of experience in the navy, the request was granted and I began my training. There was only one problem: I had a record of being…unorthodox…at times. While I had all the skills, knew how to handle command in a pinch, could perform admirably…the admiralty found some parts of my past, and my personality because of them, to be a reason for concern. It didn’t help that, at points, I took risks or gave solutions to problems they posed that they didn’t like or agree with. Fortunately, every risk I had taken in conflict with raiders or in the small skirmishes we had on occasion with the Empire or the Mandalorians had worked out for the best, sometimes better than they had expected.

For five years I attempted to gain command of my own ship, and for five years I was denied. It was unfortunate that the routine sweep of one of the sector we were patrolling, and the skirmish we found ourselves in…as well as the death of my friend and our captain…was what finally clenched my acceptance for command of my own vessel.

All Cats are Gray in the Dark

”Belling the Cat: It is one thing to say that something should be done, but quite a different matter to do it.”

Just over three years ago now…

That’s when it happened, on a routine sweep of the Subterrel sector. I had just relieved Captain Iban Mo’ama for duty and the New Dawn had just exited the swirling tunnel of hyperspace. As usual I had the crew ready to run the post hyperspace sweep when our communications officer notified me of a distress signal. The ‘wounded’ freighter and her small escort of fighters had all been heavily damaged or destroyed. The work of raiders, I had believed…foolishly. Well…partially foolishly, anyway, as it had been raiders. What I didn’t realize at the time, however, was that the Empire was not above bribing such pirate crews to set up traps for unsuspecting Republic ships. I’d never seen it before, not heard of it before, and it had honestly never crossed my mind. That lapse in understanding made us that unsuspecting Republic ship.

Was I careless? No, not exactly, but I wasn’t as cautious as I would be now. Ordering shields up and informing the captain, we approached the ailing ship without hesitation. Before we knew what was happening three Imperial ships dropped out of hyperspace only a couple minutes out of firing range. How did they manage to know we had arrived? The blue glow of a fighter’s engines appeared from the wreckage of the other destroyed fighters…they had been laying in wait…expecting us…and when we arrived, the drifting, and intact, enemy fighter had contacted its commanding ship with our coordinates so they didn’t drop out of hyperspace on top of us.

The first blasts rocked the Dawn mercilessly as ion cannons from the opposing frigate, and its accompanying corvette’s laser cannons, hammered against our shields, draining them swiftly. It was a blessing that the Dawn was a heavily armed and armored frigate, or it’s very likely we wouldn’t have survived…but after scrambling our fighters and returning fire, with some minor assistance from what remaining weapons systems the damaged freighter had, one of the corvettes was forced to limp away. That didn’t keep our shields from failing, however, because of the Imperial frigate’s ion cannons. With systems in and out of operation because of the shorting, it was far more difficult to force the other, smaller, corvette out of the fight.

Our system failures because of the ion cannons weren’t our biggest problem, however. As we took more and more damage the ship would often shake or jump violently, to the point where one of our pilots was thrown from her seat and rendered unconscious. With Captain Mo’ama on the bridge I didn’t wait for orders, but simply took the pilot’s place as others got her out of harm’s way. This change in position was a blessing…and a curse. The next volley of fire struck just behind the bridge, utterly destroying some of our systems and bringing heavy debris down on the crew members closest to the exit…including the captain.

He…didn’t survive the heavy panel of metal that struck his neck and back.

With our lives on the line, all I could do was assume command and act as secondary pilot.

With our fighters finishing off the corvettes, our own ion cannons had been battering away at the opposing frigate as they were able, our gunners pounding away at them with the heavy laser cannons when the ions faltered or failed altogether. Slowly the damage began to add up as we limped as close as possible to our enemy and attempted to stay in their weapon’s ‘blind spots’ and attempting to keep them in easy range for our own. That was how we took them down…barely.

…but at what cost?

When the cavalry finally arrived we were sorely damaged, our captain and almost a quarter of the crew dead, and all feeling more like we’d been on the losing side than the winning…

Captain Kitty

”And it’s up and away in the mornin’
With the wind to our backs we will sail…”

When we returned to Coruscant after limping to Kallidah in the Dawn, the remaining crew was given sufficient leave to calm ourselves once more, attend the funeral for our fallen comrades, and have some time with our families (for those of us who had families anyway). During this interim I was called before the Admiralty to give a report of what had happened on the outer rim. What I didn’t know was that they had already called in other members of the crew to give their own reports…especially on my actions, both before Captain Mo’ama’s death and after. Whatever they heard they must have liked, because the day after I gave my report I was summoned once again, and the rank of captain bestowed upon me.

For the past three years, as tensions rose between the Empire and the Republic, and then the Mandalorians, I found my home among the stars on a frigate not so dissimilar to the New Dawn. Her name was the Retribution…a fitting name for the number of smaller Imperial and pirate vessels we brought justice to. Many of the crew from the New Dawn had followed me to my new command as the old and damaged frigate was decommissioned and disassembled…and it was pleasant to have faces I was familiar with and who were familiar with me.

With war breaking out, however, the Admiralty has deemed it proper that I be put in command of a more agile and well balanced ship. The Ogma-class attack frigate…I’ve only seen one once, and even then it was simply docked, awaiting her new crew. Despite that it was…impressive. Have I seen my new ship yet? The Anthelion…her name is the Anthelion, and no…not yet, at least, not the inside of her. Last I saw her she was sitting in space dock getting the ‘finishing touches,’ and I’ve been busy seeking out and assembling my new crew and crew requests, though I'm pleased to see that my request to keep the majority of my current crew has been accepted. The Anthelion’s launch is due soon, however; but first I have a rather…intriguing…invitation to see to on Kuat.

…Apparently I have to see a man about a droid…


RP Sample:

”Mister Nevvan…You, sir, are quite drunk. You do realize this, don’t you?”

An almost wicked grin curled along those pleasantly feline features as her ears perked forward, watching her navigation officer accidentally slosh a bit of his drink onto the table as he slammed it down and shook his finger at her. Jost Nevvan was quite the interesting drunk, as he often said anything and everything on his mind…most of it quite lecherous. Luckily none of it was directed at her…well…currently his slurred words were directed at her as she idly watched his hands flit about like birds wings through hazel green eyes. Quite honestly she was utterly amused with his current antics, as were the other five at her table…all in various stages of drunkenness as well.

Not that she hadn’t had a few herself, but who was keeping track?

“Now see 'ere, Jahra--“

”That’s captain to you, sir.”

This earned a chuckle around the table as the zeltron she was addressing almost visibly ruffled his proverbial feathers before continuing on.

“Zeltrons don’ ge’drunk as easily’s you folks.” And there went those fluttering hands again as he seemed to think that a ‘shooing’ motion was a way of motioning around to the others at the table. With a laugh, the taller Farghul stood and rested her hands against the table, leaning forward on them to get closer to him, her sharp incisors almost seeming to glint in the soft light of the private booth they had reserved for the occasion. Her darkly tipped tail flicked with her amusement, the rich burgundy of her top and the gold of that scale mesh necklace (something she’d saved from her mother, though she had never told any of them that) both contrasting and accenting her coloring and figure.

”Mr Nevvan, either you’re a poor zeltron, a poor drinker, or just don’t know how much it takes for you to get drunk, but you’ve had twice as many as any of us here. So take your pick, but you’re drunk as a skunk…now do sit down you lecherous lump or so help me I’ll find a brig to throw you in until you sober up.“

Was she mad? Not a bit. It was sometimes difficult to tell with her when she was teasing and when she wasn’t…there seemed to be a very fine line there at points, but right now, she was mostly teasing. Mostly. Luckily, the laughter at her rebuttal echoed around the table as the two came nearly forehead to forehead as Jost attempted to focus on her. One pink hand came up, index finger ready to wag at any moment…but he seemed at a loss for words.

Finally, after a long moment of silence between the two, only broken by the consistent snickering of her other crew members, Jost shut his mouth, blinked, and shrugged. “Aye Ma’am.” With that, he promptly sat down, sending the other five into fits of yowling laughter.

”Very good, Mr Nevvan, glad to see some part of your mind is still working…or perhaps I should simply be thankful that it’s shut down completely and saved me from further trouble.” A light chuckle bubbled up from her chest as she straightened once more and looked around at all of them, a mixture of pride and bittersweet happiness permeating her slightly foggy mind. ”Now…on for business. I didn’t bring you all here simply to get you all drunk…though it is amusing.” With those words the air around the group almost immediately became more serious. I say ‘almost’ because, quite honestly, the end of her statement had a few of the more tipsy ones snickering again.

Settling back into her seat, Zharra rested clasped hands on the table top and blinked around at all of them, ears swiveling like radar dishes as she listened to the other sounds in the pub. ”As you all know, I’ve reached the end of my third year as Captain of the Retribution…hence our little feast tonight. I’ve served with all of you for even longer than that, and proudly so…but I have news…”

“You’re gettin’ married and leaving the navy!”

”Only in your wildest dreams Miss En’vir…only in your wildest dreams!”

“Eh, I can hope, right?!”

Again laughter burst out around the table, and Zha patiently waited it out, a calmly amused smile plastered to her features. Once the chatter had died down again, she nodded once and continued. ”I was informed not too long ago that I will no longer be captain of the Retribution…” The universal outcry of dismay and the following upset chatter had the silken furred female motioning for them all to settle down once more. ”Calm yourselves…stars fire, you’d think I’d said they were giving me a dishonorable discharge by your reactions! Now…nothing’s in stone yet, but I'm in line to receive a brand new ship of a fairly new design. I’ve put in my crew requests…or most of them, anyway…and yes, you’re on them, as well as most of the old Dawn crew, but I can’t make promises.”

“Sure you can! You just might break ‘em!”

”Oh pha…you’re one to talk. Don’t you still owe me a painting?”

“Hey! I ran out of paint and canvas!”

“Sure you did! That’s why I caught you sneaking that blank one through the halls when Zharra was on duty!”

”Hah! I knew it!”

The poor server entered the roomy booth to a new roar of laughter, making him look exceedingly uncomfortable. It didn’t help his cause any…especially when he was caught eying Zha like she might eat him alive. Once he’d scampered off to get the newest (and last) round of drinks, Zharra contented herself with sitting back and enjoying her anniversary. If everything went well, she’d spend many more anniversaries like this with her friends...

Answer in the form of a Question: What is: a Bylgia?

------------------------------------------------------------

Model #: 19

Assigned Name: Diana

Class name: FIDES (Familiar Intelligence Ductile Environment Symbiont)

Classification: Familiar

Purpose: Multi-purpose, evolution, advisory

Dimensions
Height: 65 cm
Weight: 7 kg

Manufacturer: Project Familiar

Power Source: solar cells/Reciprocating Chemical Muscle

Movement type: Bi-Quadrupedal

Number of limbs: 5
Arms: 2
Legs: 2
Other: tail

Armor: Impact/Corrosion/Temperature Resistant Synthskin

Shields: N/A

Armaments: Controlled Electrical Redirection Nodes, retractable claws (most models)

Other Equipment: Infrared photoreceptor, transmitter, self-repair tools, vocabulator, various processing cables, FEEVOS (Final Evaluation Evolutionary Viability Operating System), lateral solar array, RCM generator, retractable micro-fusion cutter, Serial Empathic Evaluation Receptor, incision scalpel, electromagnetic adherence pads

Description: For simple reference, the FIDES line of familiars have a distinctly mustelid appearance, much like that of a weasel or otter with only slight variations between models. Each is coated with a semi-transparent rubber-like synthskin that repels foreign particles, absorbs in-proportionate impact, and is highly resistant to extreme temperatures and chemical corrosion. Beneath this synthskin, in places, the RCMs (Reciprocating Chemical Muscles) can be seen which allow these Familiars a greater range of organic motion like never before. The belly-mounted solar panels represent one of the few weak points on the design visible through the thinner layer of synthskin to allow sunlight to enter.

Diana, in particular, has deep blue and silver iridescent flecks embedded in her synthskin in all manner of undefinable and flowing patterns (similar to how one might picture wisps of clouds, nebulae, ocean spray, or even the wind), while the rest dot her body like tiny stars (since that's what she requested). Her body and facial structure seem to be most closely described as a cross between a mink and a sable.

Personality: Kind, caring, mothering, free spirited, thoughtful, and with a case of wanderlust, Diana is the "hippie gypsy" of the familiar family. Always attempting to have a good word to say to all she comes across, this little familiar enjoys giving compliments...especially to people's names, which she will most often make some visual and poetic comment about. To her, everyone she comes across is a new chance to make a friend and all familiars are brothers and sisters (as opposed to most of them considering each other cousins if they aren't of the same class). Soft spoken, Diana has yet to raise her voice in anger, not that is isn't possible, it just...hasn't happened. Also, she has developed a habit of referring to others as 'dear,' 'hun,' and 'my friend.'

She has a deep fascination and love of nature and cultures, attributing (in part) to her wanderlust, as well as her choice of 'coloring'. The way she views the things around her, as well as her special ability, has shaped her personality to being more open, accepting, and conscious of more abstract concepts such as music and poetry than her siblings. Add to this her warmhearted nature and you have a very unique little droid, even for a familiar.

Status: System observations are in effect, monitoring coordinated uplink status.

Special Ability: Neural Extension - A special headset has been designed to accompany this model. Using revolutionary neuro-integration technologies, the wearer of this headset gains direct neurological symbiosis with Familiar 19. "Seeing", "hearing", and "feeling" everything 19 does, the user in a sense becomes the Familiar to varying degrees. Simple sensory feed or rudimentary control may allow the user to continue with his or her own actions while higher level of integration may well render one immobile. During the symbiosis, the Familiar's AI remains completely intact with full override capability for the user's safety. The AI can continue to monitor auxiliary systems as well as give direct guidance to the user.

Interface Headset (link) (Additional 'polarized' advanced-visual visor not shown)

Role: Miscellaneous

Arheim's notes: Risky, highly controversial technology is back, baby! Designed to be the ultimate so far in organic-AI communion, this Familiar links with its partners mind the moment you activate the headset. The adjustable VR display allows for casual visual monitoring or places you straight into the Familiars servos. You take over its primary functions and in return, it will keep a watch on your own vitals, ready to intervene should you behalf any misfortune. Note that this is mostly untested territory and as such not much is known about its potential. As of now, it has not yet been fully analyzed as to whether or not the control can work both ways, though hypothetically 19 should not be capable of doing so...

"Adoption" Status: Reserved for Tal's kitty cat and completion on the Familiar Fangirl's collection.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

and she's done.

Interesting side note: many of her section titles from here

[Rugs]

Hey Tal, here we go

Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 7
Leadership: 5

Unarmed: 7
Melee Weapons: 3
Ranged Weapons: 6

Alignment: +1

For the most part, this looks fine, though I'm not quite feeling the 7 in strength. A 6 should suffice, I'd think. Conversely, given her role as the captain of a warship, I'd think Leadership could be brought up to a 7, at least. Melee could probably be a 4, but as is said in-bio, it's not a strong suit for her, and so it's fine.

Though, just as a random musing, I was a bit surprised to see her alignment at +1 after seeing IM Zha. Always thought it would be a bit higher. But it's of little consequence, I guess.

Anyway, bio stuff looks good. Just do that quick change and she'll go ready to rawk.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

the high stat in strength comes from her race's abilities, as does the speed stat I quoted it from the wookiee, but i'll grab it again:

The Farghul were felinoid sapients indigenous to Farrfin. They had claws, incredible strength and speed, and were covered with tawny fur and possessed prehensile tails.

so...I guess I don't understand why the 7 seems out of place for her to you? As for Leadership, I can see where you're coming from there, especially with the way she handled the IM situation, I was just being careful since I didn't quite know how she'd play through until then and didn't think to change it after the fact. With the attunement...well...for as nice as Zha -can- be...she can also be an evil b--uh, yeah...so that's giving me wiggle room.

[Rugs]

Things have been discussed via IM

And so approval has been given

Go forth

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

*puggles*

[Rugs]

Accepted Stats

Physical Strength: 6
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 7
Leadership: 7

Unarmed: 7
Melee Weapons: 3
Ranged Weapons: 6

Alignment: +1

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

Anthelion NPCs
((more additions coming soon))

Department: Navy
Rank: Lieutenant
Occupation: Secondary Medical Officer/Ship’s Doctor

Name: Lily En’vir
Race: Wroonian
Birth place: Wroona
Age: 30
Height: 5’ 5”
Weight: 135
Eye color: Golden-yellow
Hair Color: Black

Appearance: Lily is…svelte. Icy blue skinned, black haired, and svelte. With a gracefully curved face, black locks of hair to the bottoms of her shoulder blades, a striking golden-yellow irises, Lily is quite the frozen little flower. Beyond that, just because she’s a doctor doesn’t mean that she’s a slouch…far from it. Ever since her induction and basic training, Lily has been especially sure to keep her body fit and well toned, even if her body type will never allow her to be muscular or overly strong. Like many of her race, Lily has several tattoos, the two most notable ones scroll gently along her cheekbones to the outer corners of her eyes in simple, thin, curling lines. Another set, twist along her collar bones. The last is a simple and stylized owl tattoo across the backs of her shoulders (Link).

Personality: Lily is, for lack of a better way to phrase it, emotional. She isn’t so bad that she allows it to hinder her work, but she feels things very deeply. When she’s happy, she glows with it…when she’s sad, the gloom is palpable…if she’s hurting, she bleeds on the inside as if the pain might never end…that’s just how she’s always been. This isn’t to say she has terrible mood swings either (though she can, what woman doesn’t?). Most of the time, Lily will simply feel strongly about the people and events around her, then even out once more. These strong emotions do help one thing, though…she cares very deeply for others, making her a good doctor to any patient that she tends to. Many times she’s been teased by Jost about being a Zeltron in disguise for the simple fact of how deep her emotions run.

Because of this, Lily is…more careful…about what she says to others, and how she says it. She dislikes making others feel bad, or feel guilty, or angry, even though she knows she must at points. On the other hand, when she’s upset about something, chances are she’ll say exactly what she’s thinking and how she’s feeling in no uncertain terms. Zharra has certainly had some experience with that. She tends to get angry and defensive around people who act like they could care less about others feelings, and attempts to avoid this people…or outright tell them how she feels about it, then push them away, even if it’s only for a short amount of time. After all, she’s had a few bad experiences with people being wounded and sent to her because of commanders who didn’t care…or, that’s what she believes anyway.

She seems to get along rather well with Zeltrons, for the most part. Jost is actually one of her closest friends and a (not so) secret interest. She also has a fondness for stories and storytelling, not that it’s a surprise given her people’s culture. Lily tends to be at odds with Roshgar, his silent and sometimes gruff or mysterious nature making her uneasy in his company, but she tries to keep this fact to herself. While she respects Zharra, Lily…doesn’t always see eye to eye with her captain, sometimes leaving both women ruffled, but in the end one or the other will always come around and things will be back to rights. Though, there’s an ongoing joke that Lily is constantly pestering the Farghul woman to find a man, sometimes even going so far as to try and act as a sort of makeshift matchmaker. Well, Zha hopes it’s a joke…Lily, however, is quite serious about it, and is determined to one day see the consummate bachelorette with a beau of her own.

Skills: Medical training, basic military training, speaks: Wroonian and Basic, basic piloting

Attributes:

Physical Strength: 5
Intelligence: 7
Speed: 5
Leadership: 6

Unarmed: 3
Melee Weapons: 2
Ranged Weapons: 5

Alignment: 3

---

Rank: Ensign
Occupation: Capital Ship Pilot

Name: Jost Nevvan
Race: Zeltron
Birth place: Zeltros
Age: 27
Height: 5' 11"
Weight: 157 lbs
Eye color: Honey brown
Hair Color: ’rosewood’

Appearance: Clean cut, well built, ‘persian red’ hued skin, and ’rosewood’ colored hair with brown eyes almost the color of honey, it’s no wonder Jost is yet another testament to excellent Zeltron breeding. With a handsome face, including a strong jaw and (to his mild chagrin) a slightly ‘roman nose’ ((for lack of a better way to describe it right now)), not to mention those sparkling and mischievous honey colored eyes, the man isn’t at all hard on the eyes. Even with a short scar (about an inch long) cutting through his right eyebrow at a diagonal to his forehead, he has to admit that it not only could have been much worse, but it might have even been an improvement. Chicks dig scars, right?

Well, he has a few of them, actually. Considering he wasn’t always a pilot for the Republic, the Zeltron man has several reminders of his time as a bouncer for a decently popular club on Zeltros. It’s no wonder he has a taste for women like he does after his time at The Smoldering Rose, his looks and having to occasionally act like the muscle he’d been hired for getting him a respectable amount of attention from the ladies. Because of this, and obviously needing to have the muscle required to be at least a bit intimidating should he need to be, Jost keeps himself in top shape…with a bit of extra muscle on the side for a good form.

He’s often seen smiling, smirking, grinning, laughing oh looking down right mischievous…even when he’s on duty and focused on piloting. His eyes are constantly on the move unless his complete focus is needed on one thing…typically piloting or women…in which case they have a sort of fire behind them (perhaps a lust for life in general?) that gives him an added (and sometimes odd) sense of intensity. When he’s serious or upset, though, it’s visible in every fiber of him. He only has a poker face when playing poker. Other than that, the only real distinguishing mark he has is a tattoo he got atop his right pectoral; a tattered, yet waving, Republic flag behind the Navy sigil, the words “RMS New Dawn” curving above and “Retribution” curving below in remembrance of the lives lost on the ship (it not only serves as a reminder to remember and of his desire for vengeance, but also of his second station in the Navy).

Most days the man wears his uniform (what else can he wear while on duty?), but when given the chance he’s just about as ‘zeltron’ in clothing styles as possible without being utterly gaudy and unnecessary. Bright reds mixed with black tends to be his favorite color combination, closely followed by dark yellow (or gold) and black, and black/white (or silver)/light (or bright) blue. He will, however, wear emerald greens, purples and oranges, though he’ll rarely wear orange as a solid color…it typically has to be in a design or pattern of some kind. He never goes anywhere without his blaster sidearm, a gift from his father when he joined the Navy, or a thick silver chain bracelet with a stylized cross on it (link) around his right wrist from Lily.

Personality: Mischievous, playful, flirtatious, lecherous, friendly, caring, loyal, vengeful…these are all words that have been used to describe the Zeltron at one point or another, and they’re all very true.

Over all, Jost is a playful and mischievous person, loving to tease and joke and even prank others, often doing things just to get a rise out of others, though he tries to be careful not to cross too many lines. He especially loves ‘razzing’ Zha about anything and everything (especially with his flirting), and tries valiantly to pester Roshgar in some way. He just…hasn’t found a way to get under his skin yet. One way he enjoys teasing others is giving them pet names, a past-time he seems to enjoy.

Now, yes, Jost loves flirting…hell, he loves women…all kinds of women…but can you blame a Zeltron who not only grew up on Zeltros, but worked as a bouncer at one of the hottest nightclubs in his sector of the capital city? He saw women…all kinds of women…and they were all beauties. Heck, he grew up with an appreciation for pretty girls, and it wasn’t about to end any time soon. He will flirt with just about everyone…’help’ many…and of those (and here’s the fairly surprising thing) quite a few he actually attempts to keep in touch with. He likes to make sure his girls are kept happy, healthy, and safe. While he may not always be around, he’ll make a few calls, send a few notes, touch base to make sure things are going fair to decent and maybe (if he knows he’s coming to port) try to set up another meeting…maybe. The ladies he really likes, though, are kept up with constantly and he’s even been known to wire a little support if things are especially bad. Doesn’t mean he’s gonna be tied down to any of them, but…he likes to know people are taken care of.

Of course, he has a bit of a vain streak to him as well. He takes immense pride in his appearance, taking care to stay well groomed and fit, keeping up enough muscle to make people think twice before outright starting something with him…though, honestly, it’s more for the benefit of the ladies. Now, not everything he does is for the ladies, surprising I know. He is actually a surprisingly devoted and loyal person in all other areas. Piloting is a passion of his, especially with capital ships. There’s just something about piloting something that big, and with that many people on board, that makes him feel important. Unfortunately, his first post as a pilot (the New Dawn) has also caused him quite a bit of trouble emotionally. As shown by the tattoo he wears, the New Dawn, and what happened on it, affected him deeply, his next post (The Retribution) adding a double layer of meaning…because he does, very much, want retribution against pirates of all kinds, though it also (obviously) stands as a reminder of his post on Retribution as well. The New Dawn’s disastrous last battle has left him feeling that if he’d been better prepared, had more experience, he could have changed something…and so, in a way, he feels a bit responsible. It’s never stopped bothering him.

He has a healthy respect for Zharra, especially after the New Dawn and working with her again on Retribution, but that doesn’t mean she’s safe from his mischief. He especially loves razzing his captain with his flirtatious ways and old, tired, cat jokes and pet names. Roshgar bothers him, however, because the man just seems to let nothing free emotionally. Of course, he can feel things from him, but they always seem muted and distant and that’s always bothered him. They get along as well as can be expected for how very different they are, and despite (or more likely because of) Roshgar’s introversion, Jost constantly attempts to get the shistav to open up. Melina and Rudee are friends, but casual ones, mainly only really talking to the two of them at meals and whenever ‘their group’ gets together on shore leave…especially after Melina showed her disinterest. Lily, though, is one of his favored ladies and the two are good friends (with benefits). He’ll often tease her by saying that she was simply born the wrong color and a liver short.

Skills: Piloting (heavy/large/capital sized craft), natural pheromone and empathic abilities, persuasion, standard military training, self taught brawling skills

Attributes:

Physical Strength: 6
Intelligence: 5
Speed: 6
Leadership: 4

Unarmed: 5
Melee Weapons: 2
Ranged Weapons: 6

Alignment: +2

---

Rank: Chief Petty Officer
Occupation: Fighter Pilot, 3rd flight

Name: "Rudee" Lox (Real name: Rudinar Loxxif)
Race: Firrerreo
Birth place: Agoue, Aiaru
Age: 28
Height: 5' 9"
Weight: 152
Eye color: ‘Deep emerald’ green
Hair Color: Auburn with natural second tone of medium copper ‘blond’

Appearance: Face/hair style/partial body reference link

Slightly rectangular face, lean and athletic build, auburn colored hair with an odd secondary tone of a medium copper blond in thick pieces, golden skin tone that will occasionally shift to a more silvery one, nictitating eyelids over deep emerald eyes…Rudee is a Firrerreo. He isn’t the most handsome man ever, but his general appearance is different and rare enough that he tends to be noticed a fair amount. He has a couple of scars about him, but nothing major…mostly injuries from roughhousing with his friends on Aiaru or his training in the military. His hair is kept fairly short and grows (mostly) naturally in feathered layers.

Most of the time he can be seen in his flight suit (sans most of the gear), training clothes, or something fit to work on his fighter in. Considering the military lifestyle he lives that isn’t really surprising. Of course, he also has a dress uniform, as to all military members, and he (perhaps surprisingly) doesn’t mind wearing it. It’s one of the few things he thinks he looks good in (beside a flight suit). When off duty and casual he chooses to wear clothing that covers most of his skin, in colors that are earthy or muted. Shirts are typically fairly loose fitting and long sleeved, pants are fairly loose (not baggy) and easy to move in, the bottoms tucked into his combat boots, and a sash of blue-grey with golden designs tied around his waist. If events are a bit more formal, but don’t require his dress uniform, he’ll opt for button down shirts and a jacket as well as some slacks and his dress uniform shoes (no point in having a third pair of shoes, after all), in darker colors.

Personality: Outgoing and warm, Rudee enjoys making friends. He isn’t hyper, or overly playful or mischievous, or even overly talkative…he just enjoys people. Rudee is the sort of man to sit and people watch on a sunny day, or paint a woman and her child walking in the park, or just hang around and chat with some of the boys from the wing. Somewhere between social and introverted, the man is dynamic and has many interests, the main two being the fast pace of fighter piloting, the other being the creative freedom of painting and sketching. In fact, he carries a small sketch book and pencil with him at all times, often tucked away in a pocket or pouch. When he has enough spare time he’ll actually go for the brushes and paints, using swift drying acrylic paint to make sure that whatever he does paint while on ship doesn’t get messed up easily. He’s…actually pretty good with a brush also. Good enough to sell a few of the more detailed pieces he’s done while on leave, anyway. He still owes one to Zharra…something she playfully reminds him of as often as possible.

While he’s generally gregarious and upbeat, Rudee sometimes still feels the sting of loss from his friend’s deaths on the New Dawn. These times can find him quiet, or even downright surly (depending on what’s happening that day), and often very introverted. During these bouts he’ll often go and find Melina because he finds her able to help bring his spirits up. It’s sort of understandable though, because Melina his best friend and…well…she’s a lot more than that to him, but they try to keep that quiet. In fact, he’s very proud of his relationship with Melina and it shows. He isn’t the biggest fan of Iona, but then again, he’ll admit he doesn’t know Melina’s sister that well either. Jost he finds amusing, but sometimes he can only tolerate the Zeltron in small doses, and while he likes Lily and gets along with her well he’s of the opinion that she can be a little too emotional. He doesn’t often see Tieres around but the two are fairly close for the amount of interaction they have. Roshgar…Rudee finds the shistav a puzzle all his own. Several times he’s tried to take a picture of the elusive security officer to paint from, finding the sleek being a fitting figure for artwork (and perhaps in hopes of figuring the male out somehow), but consistently his efforts are confounded. The same goes for trying to get more than a few sentences out of the man. Despite that Rudee has some sort of respect for the (now) Chief of Security.

Speaking of respect, he holds a large amount of respect for his captain, especially after Roshgar’s chiding of them all after Captain Mo’ama’s funeral. He’s gotten used to her oddities over the years and is about as friendly with her as Jost and Tieres are. None of them, however, know his full (real) name. Even though he was born on Aiaru, and had adapted to that culture and the culture of the city he grew up in, his parents were sure to instill into him the fact that people could own you and control you if they knew your name. Of course, Zha and the military all have his full name, but his lineage was (thankfully) taken into consideration when that name was handed out to people who would use it. Still, he’s a bit more…accepting…of the fact that people probably can’t own him just by knowing his name. Still, he’s not taking any chances…

Skills: Advanced piloting (Fighter pilot training), painting, Speaks Basic and Namaru (language of Aiaru), basic fighter maintenance, basic military training, natural ability to see into the ultraviolet spectrum.

Attributes:

Physical Strength: 6
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 7
Leadership: 3

Unarmed: 4
Melee Weapons: 2
Ranged Weapons: 5

Alignment: +1

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Rank: Petty Officer 2
Occupation: Chief Mechanic, 3rd flight

Name: Melina Visz
Race: Mirialan
Birth place: Camien, Morion
Age: 25
Height: 5’2”
Weight: 120
Eye color: Blue, lightly tinted with natural orange (recessive trait in her family)
Hair Color: Black with dark blue highlights

Appearance: Melina is…well, she’s obviously a Mirialan. As if the green skin and black hair weren’t enough of a hint toward her ancestry, the ‘chain’ of small singular triangular shaped tattoos across the middle of her forehead (and one two larger triangles creating a vertical diamond shape directly in the middle of her forehead), as well as two ‘diamond’ sets of triangles placed horizontally between the outer corners of her eyes to her hairline at the sides of her temples in dark blue-grey add another distinctive visual cue. Not to mention these designs signify her achievements in becoming not only a good mechanic, but one of decent standing in the Republic Navy…a source of pride for herself and her family.

Smaller than her sister, Iona, Melina is quite petite…though that doesn’t mean she’s a push over. She’s got quite a bit of muscle, a necessity for her job, but it isn’t always readily visible…especially not below the dull grey mechanic jumpsuits she wears so often. Her (just barely) shoulder length hair is just a bit unruly, and likes to fall in strands around her face when she has it pulled up and back, which is most of the time when she’s on duty. It also has a bit of color added to it, in the form of blue highlights so it isn’t easily noticeable…after all, the military doesn’t exactly smile upon being flashy, and the last thing she wanted to ever do was potentially cause herself trouble with something so simple. Like many of her people, Melina is lean, flexible, and agile…and she looks that way. Her face is slim and well shaped, but nothing that would make her stand out (the same could be said of the rest of her as well), and the only things that really make her stand out are her blue eyes, lightly tinted with orange. Apparently a recessive trait in their family. It was, however, just her luck to not receive the much rarer fully orange eyes.

Her hands are small and nimble, marked with tiny sets of four diamonds tattooed on the 1st through 4th main knuckles of her hands…another testament to her skills as a mechanic. They’re also typically stained with grease and oil and require lucrative amounts of automotive hand cleaner…after all, the darkly colored and staining ‘liquids’ (and she would use that term lightly at points) she deals with sometimes just doesn’t want to come off without a bit of extra…assistance. In fact, most of her ends up getting some sort of stain or smudge, and typically in more places than just one, but she doesn’t particularly seem to mind. If anything, she seems to feel better with a bit of oil or grease or cooling fluid on her, wearing them like badges of honor or battle scars and seeming to have a bit of a bounce to her step with them.

She can clean up, however…and when she does, she’s quit a little gem. Whether in dress uniform or in civilian clothes, she has the ability to turn a head or two…though she’ll be the first to admit that she believes whole heartedly that her sister is “the prettier one.” She’ll also admit (most times) that she feels awkward when dressed up for formal occasions, or even ‘slightly nice’ occasions requiring more than a pair of cargo pants, a T-shirt and some combat boots. She doesn’t wear any jewelry, really, except for a pair of tiny, ice blue, corusca gem stud earrings…a gift she treasures and will only ever remove one at a time, just long enough to clean them.

Personality: Despite being in the military, the woman hasn’t seemed to lose her soft spoken and mild mannered disposition. Not entirely anyway, she just picks the times she acts out of her norm. Of course, it’s a wonder she had this sort of personality at all, considering where she and Iona grew up…the city of Camien being more of a rough and tumble place than not (even considering the fairly low ‘crime’ rate). Despite that, or maybe because of it (and her sister), Melina grew up saying what she meant, but doing so just a bit more gently than seemed natural for the people of the city…doing what she wanted and learning to be a mechanic, but going about it without making a fuss and trying not to step on toes. She’s never been a very confrontational type, but that doesn’t mean she’ll back down from every fight. Sure, she’ll try to talk people down (most of the time), but after growing up where they did, and the fact that brawls and scuffles in their neighborhood (especially amongst the children), Melina has a few rough edges. She’s just good at keeping them discrete.

Mechanics and flight jockeys tend to be her preferred people, typically feeling right at home among the, often off-color, grease-monkeys and fighter pilots. She often feels they have a lot in common, even if she doesn’t say half the things she wants to say. That, and, most of the time they’re good for a laugh, the company making the typically quiet and soft spoken woman show a more chipper and boisterous side. There is a certain fighter pilot, however, who has won her heart over…the one who gave her the corusca gem earrings.

Melina and Rudee can often be found spending time talking whenever one or the other of them have any time to do so. While they aren’t outwardly affectionate, save for friendly hugging, it’s decently obvious that they’re interested in each other by the simple amount of time they spend together. Whether he helps her with her maintenance duties as they talk, or she spends time working out or sparring with him, or they spend time “arting it up” (he paints and she draws, after all)…or even just chatting in the galley…they tend to be within a short distance of each other unless duty says otherwise, and that’s just how they like it.

Melina isn’t exactly a fan of Jost and his flirtatious ways, but once he got the hint that she most certainly wasn’t interested she got on with him better…more like how she got along with most pilots. Other than that, she takes a pretty neutral stance on the other members of the others, finding likes and dislikes about all of them…they’re fun enough, and she considers them friends, but Rudee is closer to them than she is. Her sister…well…as far as Iona’s concerned, there’s always been sibling rivalry there…it’s one reason why she’s worked so hard to stay the same rank as her sibling. Well…that and she’s always had a passion for mechanics…ever since she could remember first seeing a speeder engine. It’s a passion, and she indulges it at every possible moment.

Skills: Repair/building/rebuilding/running and interpreting diagnostics of Star fighters and speeders, Speaks Basic, Mirialan and Mintuè (language of Morion), sketching/drawing (mainly machines, vehicles and droids, though she’s starting to branch out), basic military training.

Attributes:

Physical Strength: 5
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 7
Leadership: 5

Unarmed: 4
Melee Weapons: 2
Ranged Weapons: 5

Alignment: +2

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[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

Exclusive NPC

Rank: Chief Warrant Officer 4
Occupation: Chief Security Officer

Name: Roshgar Sharish
Race: Shistavanen
Birth place: Uvena III
Age: 45
Height: 6' 2" (at full height) 6' (relaxed)
Weight: 205
Eye Color: Bright, icy, blue
Hair/Fur Color: Primarily white with black, brown and dark grey accents and markings. (appearance for more detail)

Appearance: Ref. Link 1 (wrong fur color)
Ref. Link 2 (wrong fur color)

Tall, even while naturally slouched, Roshgar is thickly muscled and very obviously lupine. While more sleek looking than some of his brethren, he is still a physically intimidating presence when he wishes to be…often pulling himself up to his full height (about two inches taller than his typical stance suggests) as an intimidation tactic, the full range of his muscles showing more clearly with the action (simply because he has to use most of them to pull himself up that straight). Typically it works even with his thick and ‘fluffy’ fur. The scars he’s received over the years tend to help.

Even with the oddity of his fur color and the ‘fluff’ of him, the scars crossing his form are made obvious by lines or small circles of fur missing where he’s been cut or shot. His most noticeable ones, however, are likely his left ear (which has the tip missing as well as small chunk of the side), a long scar from his shoulder diagonally to the center of his chest, a short slice across the outside corner of his right eye, and a blaster bolt burn along the left side of his thick neck that cut a line in the thick fur there down to the skin. Unfortunately, even these markings don’t always counteract the fact that for some reason people just don’t seem to take a (primarily) white shistav as seriously as those of darker colors.

With his father’s white fur, he only received a minimal amount of his mother’s black, dark grey and brown fur coloring. Black and grey tip his thickly furred tail and ears (though only the right ear really holds any coloring any longer), brown and grey mark his brow line above each eye before thinning to a line that curves under them as well. His muzzle around the nose to just past his whiskers, and his lower jaw to the middle are colored with a rusty brown and bits of dark grey and black. The very tips of the ‘fluffy’ fur around his neck, scruff and upper back show hints of that same rust-brown and grey, leaving most of the fur looking snowy white with only a hint of that color. Yet another oddity of his coloring.

Much to his great relief Roshgar has been given permission to forego the typical military uniform (except dress uniform) because of his position and his species. Instead he can typically be seen in a pair of grey or black pants made of thin, easy to move in, cloth and a white or grey, sleeveless and close fitting, tunic cut shirt. Above that he wears a brown leather, and specially cut, leather utility belt with a heavy blaster (and holster) attached, as well as a combat knife (and sheath) at the back of it, two metal forearm bracers and leather leg armor with metal knee guards to protect his thighs all the way down to just above his heavy paws. On any typical day Roshgar will wear upper armor consisting of one thick leather shoulder guard (with the CWO4 and Republic navy symbols stamped into the part covering the right portion of his chest), and one metal shoulder guard on the left (also with his rank and the Navy symbol engraved onto the actual shoulder). If things get chaotic, however, he can add a metal chest guard and two metal hip guards for added protection…if he gets the time to do so, anyway.

His right ear (while on duty) carries a single, large, metal stud. While off duty he wears a string of beads with a small feather at the end in its place…a reminder of his parents and his past. In fact, he typically shows the most about his past while off duty. A thick chain necklace with each end of the chain attached to each side of a metal ‘paw’ shape, five metal ‘claws’ dangling from it (link), leather bands or braided straps bound around his upper arms, even his clothing may change…though that’s exceedingly rare. Well, it’s exceedingly rare to catch him that way, anyway.

Personality: Quiet. Intense. Observant. Introverted. Mysterious. Protective. Honorable. Utterly loyal. These are all ways to describe Roshgar as broad generalizations. Truthfully, though, the generalizations are extremely accurate. The male shistav rarely speaks more than is needed, and even more rarely does he do so without being prompted by a question or to better instruct someone. It is obvious, however, that his silence does not mean he isn’t aware or interested in the world around him. Ice-blue eyes are filled with an intelligent and intense sort of fire as his senses take in life, which (perhaps surprisingly to those who don’t know him) he has a great lust for.

Few know why he’s so introverted, assuming it’s because of his species. While that may be partly true, it isn’t the full truth, and he seems more than reluctant to share his past with anyone. That’s where most of the hints and roots of his mysterious and introverted ways lie, after all. The truth is that he’s quite introverted because of how he grew up, his parents being something very similar to shamans who practiced (unbeknownst to them) rituals utilizing force healing (as well as other force abilities). While many had heard of jedi and their similarities to the shamans’ abilities, no one really thought much of it, and so Roshgar grew with his parents attempting to bring about latent abilities in him…especially with much meditation and isolation in his early years. The mind set never really changed, neither did the teachings they instilled in him…nor did the fact that he was unable to tap into the powers that his parents could.

It was also from his parents that he learned the notions of honor and integrity, as well as a love for hunting, tracking and survival. He was never to take more than he needed to live, either from others or from the galaxy around him. He was to think before speaking, especially when angry or upset, because words could not be unsaid. He was to be loyal to those worthy of loyalty, and to protect those who needed protecting. He was to be a gentle force of nature, only causing harm or destruction when it was the only way to protect innocents. He was to be a teacher to any and all he could, and a student for his entire life. These were his parent’s ways and they are now his ways.

Of course, his youth after his parents deaths…his later teen years (17-19) as a little more than a slave to a particularly nasty Empire aristocrat’s son…found him doing more ring fighting and murdering than he ever cared to do. It did, however, teach him just how cruel and intimidating he could be…tactics he still occasionally uses if warranted. That time left him with more than physical scars, however; it left him rough around the edges, more than a bit gruff at points, and with more than a bit of guilt and distaste for the Empire. Those three years also taught him how much he enjoyed learning and practicing combat. This carried over into his time (after escaping) in the Republic military.

For those who actually get to know Roshgar beyond the closed surface, they’ll find a warm, calm, kind and caring personality who puts quite a bit of thought into things, and puts others before himself. Happy and at home just about anywhere, he especially enjoys his time on planets where he can go hunting, or enjoy nature. His favorite times, however, tend to be the time he spends in the presence of the others from the New Dawn. While he understands and feels close to the others, however, it’s Zharra that he feels closest to, since they seem to have a sort of unspoken understanding of each other…something he prizes greatly, since so few seem to understand him, and he feels that (while she’s more outgoing than he) she is just as misunderstood. He also finds great amusement in their friendship considering their respective ancestries.

Skills: Extensive weapons and martial training, Speaks Shistav. Language and basic, standard military training, tracking/hunting, survival, basic piloting

Attributes:

Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 6
Leadership: 6

Unarmed: 6
Melee Weapons: 5
Ranged Weapons: 7

Alignment: +4

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

I'm so sad to see them go..... T_T

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

I'm just gonna bring her back from NPC land...>_>

[Neology]

Moved to inactive.