Post by Otterling on Aug 14, 2008 7:42:15 GMT -5
Name: Daemon Cabbat (Known to most as only “Doc”)
Race: Kiffar
Age: 58
Height: 6’1”
Weight: 189lbs
Appearance: Life has not been kind on Doc. His once long black hair is now salted heavily with grey, to the point that there’s more silver than dark anymore, and even his scraggle of a beard has succumbed to the color change. His left leg is entirely missing, having been replaced with an automated part instead, and his flesh is a map of battle scars to include one that runs down his right eye. A slight cloudiness can be seen around that iris, a sign that the wound caused at least a minor amount of sight damage there, but his other eyes is keen and bright blue. His skin is pale from years spent on ships in the darkness of space but relatively free from wrinkles save for the creases right around the corners of his eyes. He must have been gruffly handsome at one point with his aquiline nose and heavy brow, both features giving him an almost leonine appearance, but it is obvious that time and stress have worn him down. The only defining feature that marks Doc as a Kiffar is the series of bright red lines that stretch across the entire left side of his face. The marks are a series of swirls, dots, and harsh lightning streaks that cover a good fifty percent of his exposed flesh on that side.
Birth place: Kiffu/Mon Iknet City
Occupation: Ship’s Medic and sometimes Cook.
Rank: None given. Doc is simply the ship’s medical personnel. He works on short term contracts and does not usually accept things like rank when they are offered.
Bio: Daemon was born the second son of an average Kiffar family. His older brother Tabit was the apple of his father’s eye but Daemon was far from ignored or abused, especially when he began to exhibit the signs of psychometric ability. His father began the task of grooming him for a position as a guardian. He spent a relatively happy childhood on Kiffar, going to good schools, playing with many friends and enjoying the affection of both his parents. It was Tabit though who held Daemon in most sway even as a child. He followed his older brother incessantly, mimicking him in every way and idolizing him from the start. Daemon’s father was a family practitioner in the small town they lived in on the outskirts of the city. Tabit watched and learned from his father, ready to take over the family business someday and of course, where Tabit was, Daemon could not be found far behind. Had he been offered a choice, being a doctor would have been his dream as opposed to a guardian. This happy life lasted until Daemon’s tenth year when his mother fell ill. Daemon’s father worked tirelessly to save his wife, his two sons assisting how ever they could, but the disease she’d contracted would not be put aside. Helplessly, Daemon watched his mother grow weak and infirmed, losing her memory until she didn’t even recognize her own children. She turned to addictions, becoming a hypochondriac and seeking out any medication at all for any perceived illness until her family was forced to babysit her night and day.
Finally, after three years of watching her suffer, Daemon found his mother in her room, having suffocated on her pillow in her sleep. Instead of letting the tragedy wound him though, Daemon took it as a personal mission to help as many people as he could to prevent such a thing from happening to anyone else. It only bolstered his resolve to be a doctor, forsaking guardianship in favor of practicing medicine like his father and brother. His father, seeing that this was Daemon’s sole dream, did his best to hide his son’s psychometric abilities from the rest of their clan so that his son could become a doctor instead. He instructed Daemon not to use his abilities so no one could know that he had them. Daemon studied relentlessly and followed in his brother’s footsteps to gaining a medical degree. Where his brother focused solely on Kiffar anatomy though, preparing to take over the family business, Daemon found himself freed to study as many other species as he could. He quickly surpassed his brother in sheer knowledge and took to medicine like a fish to water. His father was proud to say the least and his clan, though they didn’t understand why other species would be important to learn about, looked forward to having another doctor in their small town. It was much to their surprise then when Daemon announced that he wanted to go offworld to practice.
The argument with his father lasted for weeks and tore a rift through their family. Daemon felt that he could help so many more people off world than he could here and the pull of excitement and adventure would not be ignored. He argued to no end that some day his clan would discover the secret he and his father had kept hidden and there would be trouble for the lies. He was certain that he could save so many lives by traveling the worlds, offering his aid to those who could not find it elsewhere but his father warned again and again that leaving his clan was not wise and would bring only shame to them. His father insisted that no one would ever discover Daemon’s abilities as long as he never used them. Daemon would not be dissuaded though and on his twenty second birthday, he left home with his belongings, medical textbooks, and the dreams of a naïve youth. His father, crushed and feeling betrayed by his own son, denounced him and left without saying goodbye.
Tabit felt that Daemon’s dreams were foolhardy at best but one look in his younger brother’s eyes told him a life stuck on Kiffar would break his heart. He gave Daemon a small set of silver surgical tools, a token of brotherly love, and bade him farewell. Daemon left on a transport that very afternoon bound for Bandomeer. He’d heard of the struggling miners and how often they were harmed in some collapse or another without anyone to aid them so he thought that the best place to start.
Life in the great wilderness of space was not what Daemon had expected. For three years he lived on Bandomeer, stitching together broken bodies and mending the population as best he could. It quickly became apparent that he was putting a band-aid on a mortal wound. Most of the workers were injured in quarrels with other companies or collapses in tunnels. Never had he imagined the carnage of a gas explosion till then and after his fourth one, Daemon tired of pulling parts of people from the rubble. He caught a small cargo ship out of port and headed for the outer rim. Over the course of the next ten years, Daemon traveled from world to world, seeking out those who needed him and offering all he could to those in need. On every world he landed in, in every seedy bar, in every hovel, his innocence was stripped away little by little. Those who he wanted to help could not afford it and those who could afford it made his stomach turn.
Finally, on Tattooine, his funds simply ran out. Desperate for work and food, he was hired by the Hutts and found himself patching up everything from guards to dancing girls. He held many dying prisoners in his arms, stitching them back together and knowing full well he would be watching them die the next day. He helped deliver a slave’s baby into its life of bondage in a hovel so filthy he’d had to balance his tools on his knees rather than risk setting them on the table and sewed up many a freelance assassin who had killed some innocent not too long before. Still, he fought to help the needy, staying up way into the night to see the seemingly endless line of people who showed up on his doorstep with nothing to offer but gratitude in return for his services.
The day came when he could not take the work anymore and Deamon went to Temba the Hutt to inform her of his leaving. Sadly, he did not count on the fact that Temba was not willing to let him go. All avenues of escape were cut off to him and no one in any of the small border towns would take him offworld for all the money he could offer. No one wanted to cross Temba. Daemon waited patiently for another year, hitting every bar and cantina within any kind of travel distance in search of a pilot Temba didn’t have her hands on already. One dark night, he found one, a young man named Terace Withersby, who ran smuggling jobs from time to time for one of the smaller Hutts. Terace aggreed to smuggle live cargo in exchange for Daemon’s skills aboard his vessel and the deal was made. The following night saw Daemon leaving Tattooine hidden in a compartment beneath the main pilot console.
For the next six years, Daemon traveled the galaxy with Terace. They fought pirates, smuggled cargo, raced through the stars and eluded capture all while Daemon patched up the many cuts and bruises that the constantly changing crew found themselves riddled with. At long last, he’d found a place where he could do some real good, be appreciated for it, and feel at last as if he’d found a home. A deep rooted friendship began between Daemon and Terace and the men became inseparable, as close as brothers. Terace taught Daemon how to hold his own in a bar fight, wield a blaster with more than just a little proficiency and how to cook to a small extent. He’d tried teaching the good doctor how to fly but after a particularly nasty incident involving everyone on the ship vomiting due to the sudden drops, Daemon’s flying career, all one and a half days of it, was cut short.
Life was not to stay that pleasant though and soon enough trouble hit them. Terace’s home world was under some sort of power struggle that was threatening to tear it apart. Some aristocratic group known as the Sith had taken up root there, causing troubles and slowly but surely taking over the whole of the planet. Terace could not ignore his people’s need and while the Jedi and the Sith battled for control, Terace began running missions for his people. Medical supplies, food, weapons, and a whole assortment of needed items was ferried back and forth between sides as Terace strove to give his people some sense of hope and peace. It was not to be though. The planet fell and the Sith took over. Daemon could only watch helplessly as Terace struggled with this new leadership of his planet. Refusing to give in, Terace moved to the next planet the Sith had their eye on and again, their ship was embroiled in a war. Daemon became little more than a field doctor, doing his best to stem the flow of endless blood and salvage as many lives as he could.
The Mandalorians didn’t leave him much work.
Embittered by watching the deaths of thousands, his own hands coated in the blood of the lost, Daemon wasn’t sure who he hated more. The Sith with their greed and demand for more power, or the Republic who had sat idly by and turned their heads while people died. They had bought peace for a short while with the lives of innocents. The dreams of helping the worlds and all their poor had faded for Daemon. He could no longer see past the haze of war and the constant scream of lasers. Men, the ones he’d helped to patch up, were tearing themselves back apart without a second thought and Daemon was helping them do it by gluing them together enough to offer him a new patient before they died. At forty six years old, Daemon had already lost the war. His leg had been blown off in a space battle, his eye cut during a fight with Togorian pirates, and his body littered with almost as many scars as his soul. His greatest loss came with the sudden and tragic death of his friend. Daemon had still been recovering and was only just learning to use his new artificial leg when Terace left on another smuggling mission for the embattled people of their most recent planet. The Sith were closing and the rebellion forces needed food badly. Terace could not wait for Daemon to get better. He left without Daemon, waving goodbye with a smirk ever upon his lips and simply never returned. Daemon later discovered that his friend, his brother, had been blown straight out of the sky by the Mandalorians.
Crushed and broken hearted, Daemon had only one place left to turn, the one place he felt he could find peace; Home. He caught a freighter out of the war zone and hopped his way across the galaxy to Kiffu. Twenty four years after having left, Daemon touched foot once more to his home soil. He immediately sought out the place of his birth but as he wandered the streets, much had changed. Still, the small office that belonged to his father was ever where it had been and Daemon entered the shop with hope for the first time in a long time. He asked the receptionist if his father was in and knew straight away that something was wrong by the look that passed over the woman’s face. She told him to wait in a side office and after a few moments, a young man entered. He closed the door behind him and after a long pause to gather himself, the man told of all that had happened in the last twenty four years.
Tabit had taken over the family practice, just as it should have been, and everything seemed happy enough for a long while until ten years ago when tragedy struck. An unknown man, an off worlder, had entered the doctor’s office and asked for aid. When Tabit had finished stitching him up, the stranger killed him in repayment of his kindness. There was no known motive though some speculated that the killer had not wanted any witnesses to his presence and had killed Tabit to keep the man from identifying him. Daemon’s father had been crushed. His only remaining son was gone, swept away for helping a stranger, and now he was alone. The old man was never the same after that. He’d gone a little insane, most said, and the family business shut down. Over the years, Daemon’s father slowly withered and faded, lamenting his lost sons and dying alone just last year in his battered home, no longer able to take care of it or himself.
Daemon was crushed. Guilt ate at him and tore at what little was left of his soul. He visited his father’s grave one last time and then left Kiffu, never to go back. Over the next eleven years, he hopped from vessel to vessel, bartering passage aboard with his medical knowledge and leaving as soon as they hit the next port. No one was allowed to get close to him and none would have bothered to try. During this time, he met very few who managed to touch the tiny spark of a soul he had left. One such person was the Twi’lek captain of the Nui’s Jewel, a beautiful young Twi’lek named Palas. Daemon had long since stopped giving his name to those he boarded with and since no one seemed to care either way, he began to simply go by the moniker “Doc”.
Doc had been told that Palas was a fair enough captain and he sought her out, offering his services as a ship’s medic. He found the young woman to be charming and entertaining in all the ways that he cared about. Something about the young woman’s fire touched Doc and it didn’t take him long to realize that she reminded him of Terace. The similarities were enough to form a fatherly affection in Doc’s heart though he would rather die than admit it, and he broke his own rule by signing on to the same ship multiple times. Every time he went out with Palas, he was reminded of his better years at Terace’s side, smuggling what ever they could get a hold on, and he soon enough found reasons to sign on as often as she came looking.
Doc has never stayed a full member of any crew since his days with Terace and he still moves from port to port and ship to ship, seeking nothing more from the future than just another body to sew up and his next meal. In all his years of travel though, he has developed a minor reputation among the smuggling trade as a very fine doctor and a royal pain in the rear. His skills are well known and respected even if his singularly bad bedside manners are not.
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 6
Intelligence: 7
Speed: 3
Leadership: 1
Unarmed: 3
Melee Weapons: 3
Ranged Weapons: 7
Alignment: 0
RP Sample:
The Captain of the Delta draigon stood in the doorway to the medical room aboard his ship. Behind him were gathered many of his own men, standing on tiptoe and peering uncertainly over his shoulders. The person within that had them so riveted between fear and the fascination one feels watching a train wreck marched calmly across the room and proceeded to slap a bandage smeared with bacta onto the wound of a fellow crewmember with a little more force than was strictly necessary.
“OW!!!!” The crewmember screamed and clutched at his blood stained arm, the cut he’d received from the vibro-shiv of a fellow crewman now throbbing beneath his hand. “Did’ja have to put it on so dang hard??!!”
Doc worked up something truly noxious sounding from the back of his throat and spit it into the nearest trashcan before turning back to his patient. “Did you have to go and get yourself screwed up so bad?” he retorted without so much as batting an eye even as his fingers flew to the gauze sitting nearby. He batted the man’s hand out of the way and wrenched the injured arm up to where he could access it better, utterly ignoring the indignant howl of it’s owner. “Make sure you change out the bandage tomorrow and keep it dry. The bacta’ll take care of the rest.” He tied off the gauze and gave the man’s wound one more sound slap by way of dismissing him, a pleasant doctoral smile plastered on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It would have been a little more believable if the smile hadn’t been forced onto a face that had obviously not seen the sharp end of a razor in over six months. “Now get the %$^% outta my office” he added jovially.
Doc turned and sauntered back to his cluttered desk, ignoring the crewman who leapt off the table and took two menacing steps toward his back. Without turning, the rough gravel of his voice filled the office. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. See…Could be that you hit me and, well, I’m an old man. I might lose the records from the last proctological exam I did….for the whole crew. Be a shame if I have to do all those over again.” The crewman stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes going wide with fear as a rumble of threatening growls erupted from those hiding in the shadows behind the captain's back. No one wanted to repeat the terrifying ordeal that had been the doctor’s less than gentle exams and the injured man backed down quickly. He rushed from the office and the crowd beyond the door faded away now that the sport they’d been watching had ended.
Only the captain stood in the doorway still, eyeing the graying older man seated before him. Doc rifled through a few papers, jotting down the work he’d done before finally speaking up. “I know I’m %^*$^ gorgeous captain but I’d appreciate it if you’d stop starin’. You got somethin’ on your mind or do you just wanna ask me on a date?”
The captain let out a short chuckle and shook his head. No one seemed to be able to really intimidate the doc. Either he’d seen more impressive things in his life or he simply no longer cared what happened to him. The captain wasn’t sure which but he knew that scaring old Doc would be a feat he wasn’t positive he could accomplish. “Was hitting him all that hard really necessary?”
Doc finally looked up, meeting the captain’s eyes with a hard but intelligent stare. “The fool went and got himself cut open for no reason. We could have pirates or the law down our throats any second and now we’re down a man. He didn’t think. NOW, he’ll reconsider getting himself cut up for no reason again…won’t he?”
The captain looked something akin to being impressed with the logic of it though he was fairly certain the good doctor had also taken at least some small measure of pure entertainment out of the whole affair. “Fair enough,” he said softly, nodding his head and breaking the eye contact, “We’re going to be having dinner soon. You wanna join us?”
Doc turned immediately back to his work. “Nah. I’ll catch the late meal,” he grumbled. There was no such thing and both men knew it. Doc would sneak into the kitchens as always and simply grab what he wanted to eat later, after everyone had left. The captain wasn’t sure why he even tried anymore to get the old geezer to eat with them.
“Is it us?” he asked softly, “You never do anything with the crew. You never get to know them. They aren’t so bad, Doc. You could join us just this once…”
The folder Doc had been reviewing snapped shut loudly and was dropped with more noise than was strictly necessary onto the pile next to him. He snatched up a new folder and began to go over it with a fine toothed comb.
“Good NIGHT, captain.”
The captain sighed and stole one last glance at the doctor. In the harsh light of the medbay, he looked older than his fifty seven years and for a long moment, the young captain, having only reached his thirtieth year, wondered if he was seeing a future version of himself. Would life leave him so ruined too? He sighed once more and turned from the room, letting the door hiss shut behind him. Within, Doc kept on pretending to read the folder in his hands.
Race: Kiffar
Age: 58
Height: 6’1”
Weight: 189lbs
Appearance: Life has not been kind on Doc. His once long black hair is now salted heavily with grey, to the point that there’s more silver than dark anymore, and even his scraggle of a beard has succumbed to the color change. His left leg is entirely missing, having been replaced with an automated part instead, and his flesh is a map of battle scars to include one that runs down his right eye. A slight cloudiness can be seen around that iris, a sign that the wound caused at least a minor amount of sight damage there, but his other eyes is keen and bright blue. His skin is pale from years spent on ships in the darkness of space but relatively free from wrinkles save for the creases right around the corners of his eyes. He must have been gruffly handsome at one point with his aquiline nose and heavy brow, both features giving him an almost leonine appearance, but it is obvious that time and stress have worn him down. The only defining feature that marks Doc as a Kiffar is the series of bright red lines that stretch across the entire left side of his face. The marks are a series of swirls, dots, and harsh lightning streaks that cover a good fifty percent of his exposed flesh on that side.
Birth place: Kiffu/Mon Iknet City
Occupation: Ship’s Medic and sometimes Cook.
Rank: None given. Doc is simply the ship’s medical personnel. He works on short term contracts and does not usually accept things like rank when they are offered.
Bio: Daemon was born the second son of an average Kiffar family. His older brother Tabit was the apple of his father’s eye but Daemon was far from ignored or abused, especially when he began to exhibit the signs of psychometric ability. His father began the task of grooming him for a position as a guardian. He spent a relatively happy childhood on Kiffar, going to good schools, playing with many friends and enjoying the affection of both his parents. It was Tabit though who held Daemon in most sway even as a child. He followed his older brother incessantly, mimicking him in every way and idolizing him from the start. Daemon’s father was a family practitioner in the small town they lived in on the outskirts of the city. Tabit watched and learned from his father, ready to take over the family business someday and of course, where Tabit was, Daemon could not be found far behind. Had he been offered a choice, being a doctor would have been his dream as opposed to a guardian. This happy life lasted until Daemon’s tenth year when his mother fell ill. Daemon’s father worked tirelessly to save his wife, his two sons assisting how ever they could, but the disease she’d contracted would not be put aside. Helplessly, Daemon watched his mother grow weak and infirmed, losing her memory until she didn’t even recognize her own children. She turned to addictions, becoming a hypochondriac and seeking out any medication at all for any perceived illness until her family was forced to babysit her night and day.
Finally, after three years of watching her suffer, Daemon found his mother in her room, having suffocated on her pillow in her sleep. Instead of letting the tragedy wound him though, Daemon took it as a personal mission to help as many people as he could to prevent such a thing from happening to anyone else. It only bolstered his resolve to be a doctor, forsaking guardianship in favor of practicing medicine like his father and brother. His father, seeing that this was Daemon’s sole dream, did his best to hide his son’s psychometric abilities from the rest of their clan so that his son could become a doctor instead. He instructed Daemon not to use his abilities so no one could know that he had them. Daemon studied relentlessly and followed in his brother’s footsteps to gaining a medical degree. Where his brother focused solely on Kiffar anatomy though, preparing to take over the family business, Daemon found himself freed to study as many other species as he could. He quickly surpassed his brother in sheer knowledge and took to medicine like a fish to water. His father was proud to say the least and his clan, though they didn’t understand why other species would be important to learn about, looked forward to having another doctor in their small town. It was much to their surprise then when Daemon announced that he wanted to go offworld to practice.
The argument with his father lasted for weeks and tore a rift through their family. Daemon felt that he could help so many more people off world than he could here and the pull of excitement and adventure would not be ignored. He argued to no end that some day his clan would discover the secret he and his father had kept hidden and there would be trouble for the lies. He was certain that he could save so many lives by traveling the worlds, offering his aid to those who could not find it elsewhere but his father warned again and again that leaving his clan was not wise and would bring only shame to them. His father insisted that no one would ever discover Daemon’s abilities as long as he never used them. Daemon would not be dissuaded though and on his twenty second birthday, he left home with his belongings, medical textbooks, and the dreams of a naïve youth. His father, crushed and feeling betrayed by his own son, denounced him and left without saying goodbye.
Tabit felt that Daemon’s dreams were foolhardy at best but one look in his younger brother’s eyes told him a life stuck on Kiffar would break his heart. He gave Daemon a small set of silver surgical tools, a token of brotherly love, and bade him farewell. Daemon left on a transport that very afternoon bound for Bandomeer. He’d heard of the struggling miners and how often they were harmed in some collapse or another without anyone to aid them so he thought that the best place to start.
Life in the great wilderness of space was not what Daemon had expected. For three years he lived on Bandomeer, stitching together broken bodies and mending the population as best he could. It quickly became apparent that he was putting a band-aid on a mortal wound. Most of the workers were injured in quarrels with other companies or collapses in tunnels. Never had he imagined the carnage of a gas explosion till then and after his fourth one, Daemon tired of pulling parts of people from the rubble. He caught a small cargo ship out of port and headed for the outer rim. Over the course of the next ten years, Daemon traveled from world to world, seeking out those who needed him and offering all he could to those in need. On every world he landed in, in every seedy bar, in every hovel, his innocence was stripped away little by little. Those who he wanted to help could not afford it and those who could afford it made his stomach turn.
Finally, on Tattooine, his funds simply ran out. Desperate for work and food, he was hired by the Hutts and found himself patching up everything from guards to dancing girls. He held many dying prisoners in his arms, stitching them back together and knowing full well he would be watching them die the next day. He helped deliver a slave’s baby into its life of bondage in a hovel so filthy he’d had to balance his tools on his knees rather than risk setting them on the table and sewed up many a freelance assassin who had killed some innocent not too long before. Still, he fought to help the needy, staying up way into the night to see the seemingly endless line of people who showed up on his doorstep with nothing to offer but gratitude in return for his services.
The day came when he could not take the work anymore and Deamon went to Temba the Hutt to inform her of his leaving. Sadly, he did not count on the fact that Temba was not willing to let him go. All avenues of escape were cut off to him and no one in any of the small border towns would take him offworld for all the money he could offer. No one wanted to cross Temba. Daemon waited patiently for another year, hitting every bar and cantina within any kind of travel distance in search of a pilot Temba didn’t have her hands on already. One dark night, he found one, a young man named Terace Withersby, who ran smuggling jobs from time to time for one of the smaller Hutts. Terace aggreed to smuggle live cargo in exchange for Daemon’s skills aboard his vessel and the deal was made. The following night saw Daemon leaving Tattooine hidden in a compartment beneath the main pilot console.
For the next six years, Daemon traveled the galaxy with Terace. They fought pirates, smuggled cargo, raced through the stars and eluded capture all while Daemon patched up the many cuts and bruises that the constantly changing crew found themselves riddled with. At long last, he’d found a place where he could do some real good, be appreciated for it, and feel at last as if he’d found a home. A deep rooted friendship began between Daemon and Terace and the men became inseparable, as close as brothers. Terace taught Daemon how to hold his own in a bar fight, wield a blaster with more than just a little proficiency and how to cook to a small extent. He’d tried teaching the good doctor how to fly but after a particularly nasty incident involving everyone on the ship vomiting due to the sudden drops, Daemon’s flying career, all one and a half days of it, was cut short.
Life was not to stay that pleasant though and soon enough trouble hit them. Terace’s home world was under some sort of power struggle that was threatening to tear it apart. Some aristocratic group known as the Sith had taken up root there, causing troubles and slowly but surely taking over the whole of the planet. Terace could not ignore his people’s need and while the Jedi and the Sith battled for control, Terace began running missions for his people. Medical supplies, food, weapons, and a whole assortment of needed items was ferried back and forth between sides as Terace strove to give his people some sense of hope and peace. It was not to be though. The planet fell and the Sith took over. Daemon could only watch helplessly as Terace struggled with this new leadership of his planet. Refusing to give in, Terace moved to the next planet the Sith had their eye on and again, their ship was embroiled in a war. Daemon became little more than a field doctor, doing his best to stem the flow of endless blood and salvage as many lives as he could.
The Mandalorians didn’t leave him much work.
Embittered by watching the deaths of thousands, his own hands coated in the blood of the lost, Daemon wasn’t sure who he hated more. The Sith with their greed and demand for more power, or the Republic who had sat idly by and turned their heads while people died. They had bought peace for a short while with the lives of innocents. The dreams of helping the worlds and all their poor had faded for Daemon. He could no longer see past the haze of war and the constant scream of lasers. Men, the ones he’d helped to patch up, were tearing themselves back apart without a second thought and Daemon was helping them do it by gluing them together enough to offer him a new patient before they died. At forty six years old, Daemon had already lost the war. His leg had been blown off in a space battle, his eye cut during a fight with Togorian pirates, and his body littered with almost as many scars as his soul. His greatest loss came with the sudden and tragic death of his friend. Daemon had still been recovering and was only just learning to use his new artificial leg when Terace left on another smuggling mission for the embattled people of their most recent planet. The Sith were closing and the rebellion forces needed food badly. Terace could not wait for Daemon to get better. He left without Daemon, waving goodbye with a smirk ever upon his lips and simply never returned. Daemon later discovered that his friend, his brother, had been blown straight out of the sky by the Mandalorians.
Crushed and broken hearted, Daemon had only one place left to turn, the one place he felt he could find peace; Home. He caught a freighter out of the war zone and hopped his way across the galaxy to Kiffu. Twenty four years after having left, Daemon touched foot once more to his home soil. He immediately sought out the place of his birth but as he wandered the streets, much had changed. Still, the small office that belonged to his father was ever where it had been and Daemon entered the shop with hope for the first time in a long time. He asked the receptionist if his father was in and knew straight away that something was wrong by the look that passed over the woman’s face. She told him to wait in a side office and after a few moments, a young man entered. He closed the door behind him and after a long pause to gather himself, the man told of all that had happened in the last twenty four years.
Tabit had taken over the family practice, just as it should have been, and everything seemed happy enough for a long while until ten years ago when tragedy struck. An unknown man, an off worlder, had entered the doctor’s office and asked for aid. When Tabit had finished stitching him up, the stranger killed him in repayment of his kindness. There was no known motive though some speculated that the killer had not wanted any witnesses to his presence and had killed Tabit to keep the man from identifying him. Daemon’s father had been crushed. His only remaining son was gone, swept away for helping a stranger, and now he was alone. The old man was never the same after that. He’d gone a little insane, most said, and the family business shut down. Over the years, Daemon’s father slowly withered and faded, lamenting his lost sons and dying alone just last year in his battered home, no longer able to take care of it or himself.
Daemon was crushed. Guilt ate at him and tore at what little was left of his soul. He visited his father’s grave one last time and then left Kiffu, never to go back. Over the next eleven years, he hopped from vessel to vessel, bartering passage aboard with his medical knowledge and leaving as soon as they hit the next port. No one was allowed to get close to him and none would have bothered to try. During this time, he met very few who managed to touch the tiny spark of a soul he had left. One such person was the Twi’lek captain of the Nui’s Jewel, a beautiful young Twi’lek named Palas. Daemon had long since stopped giving his name to those he boarded with and since no one seemed to care either way, he began to simply go by the moniker “Doc”.
Doc had been told that Palas was a fair enough captain and he sought her out, offering his services as a ship’s medic. He found the young woman to be charming and entertaining in all the ways that he cared about. Something about the young woman’s fire touched Doc and it didn’t take him long to realize that she reminded him of Terace. The similarities were enough to form a fatherly affection in Doc’s heart though he would rather die than admit it, and he broke his own rule by signing on to the same ship multiple times. Every time he went out with Palas, he was reminded of his better years at Terace’s side, smuggling what ever they could get a hold on, and he soon enough found reasons to sign on as often as she came looking.
Doc has never stayed a full member of any crew since his days with Terace and he still moves from port to port and ship to ship, seeking nothing more from the future than just another body to sew up and his next meal. In all his years of travel though, he has developed a minor reputation among the smuggling trade as a very fine doctor and a royal pain in the rear. His skills are well known and respected even if his singularly bad bedside manners are not.
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 6
Intelligence: 7
Speed: 3
Leadership: 1
Unarmed: 3
Melee Weapons: 3
Ranged Weapons: 7
Alignment: 0
RP Sample:
The Captain of the Delta draigon stood in the doorway to the medical room aboard his ship. Behind him were gathered many of his own men, standing on tiptoe and peering uncertainly over his shoulders. The person within that had them so riveted between fear and the fascination one feels watching a train wreck marched calmly across the room and proceeded to slap a bandage smeared with bacta onto the wound of a fellow crewmember with a little more force than was strictly necessary.
“OW!!!!” The crewmember screamed and clutched at his blood stained arm, the cut he’d received from the vibro-shiv of a fellow crewman now throbbing beneath his hand. “Did’ja have to put it on so dang hard??!!”
Doc worked up something truly noxious sounding from the back of his throat and spit it into the nearest trashcan before turning back to his patient. “Did you have to go and get yourself screwed up so bad?” he retorted without so much as batting an eye even as his fingers flew to the gauze sitting nearby. He batted the man’s hand out of the way and wrenched the injured arm up to where he could access it better, utterly ignoring the indignant howl of it’s owner. “Make sure you change out the bandage tomorrow and keep it dry. The bacta’ll take care of the rest.” He tied off the gauze and gave the man’s wound one more sound slap by way of dismissing him, a pleasant doctoral smile plastered on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It would have been a little more believable if the smile hadn’t been forced onto a face that had obviously not seen the sharp end of a razor in over six months. “Now get the %$^% outta my office” he added jovially.
Doc turned and sauntered back to his cluttered desk, ignoring the crewman who leapt off the table and took two menacing steps toward his back. Without turning, the rough gravel of his voice filled the office. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. See…Could be that you hit me and, well, I’m an old man. I might lose the records from the last proctological exam I did….for the whole crew. Be a shame if I have to do all those over again.” The crewman stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes going wide with fear as a rumble of threatening growls erupted from those hiding in the shadows behind the captain's back. No one wanted to repeat the terrifying ordeal that had been the doctor’s less than gentle exams and the injured man backed down quickly. He rushed from the office and the crowd beyond the door faded away now that the sport they’d been watching had ended.
Only the captain stood in the doorway still, eyeing the graying older man seated before him. Doc rifled through a few papers, jotting down the work he’d done before finally speaking up. “I know I’m %^*$^ gorgeous captain but I’d appreciate it if you’d stop starin’. You got somethin’ on your mind or do you just wanna ask me on a date?”
The captain let out a short chuckle and shook his head. No one seemed to be able to really intimidate the doc. Either he’d seen more impressive things in his life or he simply no longer cared what happened to him. The captain wasn’t sure which but he knew that scaring old Doc would be a feat he wasn’t positive he could accomplish. “Was hitting him all that hard really necessary?”
Doc finally looked up, meeting the captain’s eyes with a hard but intelligent stare. “The fool went and got himself cut open for no reason. We could have pirates or the law down our throats any second and now we’re down a man. He didn’t think. NOW, he’ll reconsider getting himself cut up for no reason again…won’t he?”
The captain looked something akin to being impressed with the logic of it though he was fairly certain the good doctor had also taken at least some small measure of pure entertainment out of the whole affair. “Fair enough,” he said softly, nodding his head and breaking the eye contact, “We’re going to be having dinner soon. You wanna join us?”
Doc turned immediately back to his work. “Nah. I’ll catch the late meal,” he grumbled. There was no such thing and both men knew it. Doc would sneak into the kitchens as always and simply grab what he wanted to eat later, after everyone had left. The captain wasn’t sure why he even tried anymore to get the old geezer to eat with them.
“Is it us?” he asked softly, “You never do anything with the crew. You never get to know them. They aren’t so bad, Doc. You could join us just this once…”
The folder Doc had been reviewing snapped shut loudly and was dropped with more noise than was strictly necessary onto the pile next to him. He snatched up a new folder and began to go over it with a fine toothed comb.
“Good NIGHT, captain.”
The captain sighed and stole one last glance at the doctor. In the harsh light of the medbay, he looked older than his fifty seven years and for a long moment, the young captain, having only reached his thirtieth year, wondered if he was seeing a future version of himself. Would life leave him so ruined too? He sighed once more and turned from the room, letting the door hiss shut behind him. Within, Doc kept on pretending to read the folder in his hands.
Thanks for the approval! 
