Post by weatherlight on May 14, 2013 23:08:17 GMT -5
Faction: Republic
Department: Special Ops
Rank: Specialist
Name: Jarrek Hollow
Race: Human/Native Corellian
Age: 25
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 155lbs
Birth place: Corellia
Appearance: Dark, deeply set brown eyes carry a gaunt, haunted look; Hollow has seen far more than his 25 years would indicate. His hair is cut close, a dark brown crew-cut that doesn't get in between his eyes and his scope. His skin is pale and his complexion fair, save a large scar at the base of his neck, a momento from a blaster shot that had come a little too close to his position. Hollow isn't particularly strong, but he has long, lean muscles from running and climbing. On his left forearm in black ink, he has a tattoo with the momento mori: "Not Dead Yet." Typically Hollow favors dark, light clothing when not wearing whatever gear he has into battle.
Personality: Hollow is a very, very serious young man. He's generally viewed as "a little bit creepy" (quote attributed to Sargent Hal Markow, Republic Army, who trained Hollow.) The creepiness stems more from the thousand-yard stare and the lack of conversation, but more observant individuals realize that as a sniper, Hollow has the disposition toward silence. He doesn't speak all that much, and so he chooses to communicate with his expressions more than his words. He is singularly dependable in his position, but he's learned the hard way not to get too close to those you go on suicide missions with. Hollow does have a grim sense of humor, and on the rare occasion he does speak, it will generally be some form of grim humor. Hollow is not religious and not particularly happy. He is of about average intelligence, and secretly assumes that most people are smarter than him.
Skills: Hollow is a fantastic sniper. Shunning the high-tech scopes used by most, he uses iron sights because they produce less light via reflection and thus make him harder to target. Hollow is also an expert climber, and very good at moving quietly. He can also cook a mean dinner and knows how to play the flute.
Physical Strength: 3
Intelligence: 5
Speed: 6
Leadership: 2
Unarmed: 3
Melee Weapons: 2
Ranged Weapons: 8
Bio: Things have not gone well for Jarrek Hollow. Born on Corellia to a poor family, Hollow's mother died during childbirth, and his life continued in a slight downhill trend from there. Hollow's father was a broken man; financial ruin and the death of Hollow's mother had crushed his spirit. He trudged on, went through the motions of life and provided Jarrek with just enough to get by. As Jarrek got older, his old man got worse. When Jarrek was 13, his father became bed-ridden with severe depression. At this age, Jarrek had to learn how to cook for himself; his studies suffered and he continued his academic life as a C average student. Three years later, and Jarrek's father committed suicide. He left no note, and the relationship between Jarrek and his father was so strained at this point that it was three days before Jarrek realized his father had died. The next year was a hard one for Jarrek. He worked many odd jobs to keep himself afloat, ranging from linecook to a clerk at a general store. He felt depressed, and was beginning to wonder if his father had been a precursor to his own fate before he found a calling. Jarrek sold off everything that he owned save three pairs of clothing and joined the army on his 18th birthday. Jarrek began training at Ord Mantel, and quickly stood out as a marksmen. He was too weak, to cowardly, and too quiet to be a soldier, but he persevered and managed to combine his quickness and marksmanship to make it past basic. Jarrek and his unit departed to Togoria to help a joint army/navy task force combat the Mandalorian threat. Jarrek was reshaped in this combat; he acquired his signature weapon, an ancient Aratech SR1 Widowmaker, that allowed him to hone his craft over the four-year deployment. After seeing a number of his comrades cut down due to anti-sniper fire directed toward the glint of scopes, Jarrek stopped using them all together, instead opting to use the iron-sight built into the body of the weapon itself. Jarrek, already sullen and quiet, grew instead to be nearly mute and pensive. He was and is often sent to psychological services but at this point, he's become a pro at answering the baseline questions asked to ascertain his condition. With his deployment up, he was invited to join the special ops to better use his unusual skill set. As a testament to this, Jarrek got his tattoo before being shipped out with his squad mates to Ordo in the face of a possible Manadlorian threat.
Password: So, I read the Must Read like three times, and I can't for the life of my find the password
RP Sample:
As he walked, powerful muscles could be seen, even under the bulky carapace-style armor he wore. Naturally handsome, tanned, and with a smile for the holos, he was star material for morale-boosting holos that the Republic liked to send out once a week. This was not Jarrek Hollow.
Jarrek struggled to keep up with his friend, as they slogged through some sort of swamp. Swamp is the closest term that Jarrek could come up with in his mind, but swamps didn't have the kind of fearsome wildlife this one seemed to be determined to kill them with. Jarrek's pale skin glistened with perspiration, where his squad mates moved along easily. He struggled to carry not only his pack, but the heavy, draconian ARC Widowmaker long rifle in such a way that it wouldn't get too wet. Swamp water, silty and full tiny creatures, would play havoc with the thing's internal workings. Jarrek frowned, realizing that he'd probably need to clean the thing three times a day as opposed to the usual two. Adjusting his rituals was not something he enjoyed.
Suddenly, he felt himself dropping. That was good. Sargent Gorten had motioned a stop and drop, and the squad had did it instantly, silently. Pride floated across the soupy ocean of depression Jarrek normally existed in, but he shooed it away. His left hand dropped down to a pouch tied to his waist, and removed a very much unused high-powered sniper scope. The thing was bulky, shiny, and expensive, and Jarrek loathed it in combat but realized quickly it was better than a normal pair of macrobionoculars. He looked around, but frowned again. Just trees. What did this man think was coming at them? He lowered the scope and tucked it back into it's leather nest, and slowly flicked the safety off. Whatever it was, it was going to find a neat little hole between it's eyes and a significantly messier one in the back of it's head. Exit wounds never looked neat.
Jarrek was suddenly aware of a dim splashing sound. Footsteps, but Jarrek didn't really know how many. They'd taught them in basic some tricks for trying to estimate enemy strength through things like footsteps, but it hadn't really stuck with Jarrek. Gorten motioned to him ahead, and Jarrek shrugged, but lifted up the ARC Widowmaker slowly, careful not to make a sound. The dim sunlight struggled through the canopy overhead, but even if he'd been standing in the middle of a Tatooine desert, the weapon would have been nearly invisible. The metal had been roughened up with industrial sanding equipment, taking away the sheen. It looked dirty and didn't smell excellent, but it was his baby.
Jarrek knelt and used his left arm to brace the rifle's long barrel on. He peered down the sights, and let the rest of the world fade into so much noise in the background. Time seemed to slow, and Jarrek focused on his breathing.
In...
A lone head popped into view, but it was turned, looking behind it. What that did or didn't mean wasn't important to Jarrek, but he did note, with professional detachment, that he was dressed up in the guise of the Mandalorians. He was big, bigger than average, and clearly carried himself in the manner leaders tended to carry himself.
Out...
As the air escaped Jarrek's lungs, he slowly squeezed the trigger, keeping it in rhythm with his respiration. The whistle of a sniper shot rang out, but even as Jarrek heard it, the target's head became so much red mist in the air. The background noise whirred into reality as he was rudely yanked back by a squad mate as blaster shots sizzled all around him.
Department: Special Ops
Rank: Specialist
Name: Jarrek Hollow
Race: Human/Native Corellian
Age: 25
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 155lbs
Birth place: Corellia
Appearance: Dark, deeply set brown eyes carry a gaunt, haunted look; Hollow has seen far more than his 25 years would indicate. His hair is cut close, a dark brown crew-cut that doesn't get in between his eyes and his scope. His skin is pale and his complexion fair, save a large scar at the base of his neck, a momento from a blaster shot that had come a little too close to his position. Hollow isn't particularly strong, but he has long, lean muscles from running and climbing. On his left forearm in black ink, he has a tattoo with the momento mori: "Not Dead Yet." Typically Hollow favors dark, light clothing when not wearing whatever gear he has into battle.
Personality: Hollow is a very, very serious young man. He's generally viewed as "a little bit creepy" (quote attributed to Sargent Hal Markow, Republic Army, who trained Hollow.) The creepiness stems more from the thousand-yard stare and the lack of conversation, but more observant individuals realize that as a sniper, Hollow has the disposition toward silence. He doesn't speak all that much, and so he chooses to communicate with his expressions more than his words. He is singularly dependable in his position, but he's learned the hard way not to get too close to those you go on suicide missions with. Hollow does have a grim sense of humor, and on the rare occasion he does speak, it will generally be some form of grim humor. Hollow is not religious and not particularly happy. He is of about average intelligence, and secretly assumes that most people are smarter than him.
Skills: Hollow is a fantastic sniper. Shunning the high-tech scopes used by most, he uses iron sights because they produce less light via reflection and thus make him harder to target. Hollow is also an expert climber, and very good at moving quietly. He can also cook a mean dinner and knows how to play the flute.
Physical Strength: 3
Intelligence: 5
Speed: 6
Leadership: 2
Unarmed: 3
Melee Weapons: 2
Ranged Weapons: 8
Bio: Things have not gone well for Jarrek Hollow. Born on Corellia to a poor family, Hollow's mother died during childbirth, and his life continued in a slight downhill trend from there. Hollow's father was a broken man; financial ruin and the death of Hollow's mother had crushed his spirit. He trudged on, went through the motions of life and provided Jarrek with just enough to get by. As Jarrek got older, his old man got worse. When Jarrek was 13, his father became bed-ridden with severe depression. At this age, Jarrek had to learn how to cook for himself; his studies suffered and he continued his academic life as a C average student. Three years later, and Jarrek's father committed suicide. He left no note, and the relationship between Jarrek and his father was so strained at this point that it was three days before Jarrek realized his father had died. The next year was a hard one for Jarrek. He worked many odd jobs to keep himself afloat, ranging from linecook to a clerk at a general store. He felt depressed, and was beginning to wonder if his father had been a precursor to his own fate before he found a calling. Jarrek sold off everything that he owned save three pairs of clothing and joined the army on his 18th birthday. Jarrek began training at Ord Mantel, and quickly stood out as a marksmen. He was too weak, to cowardly, and too quiet to be a soldier, but he persevered and managed to combine his quickness and marksmanship to make it past basic. Jarrek and his unit departed to Togoria to help a joint army/navy task force combat the Mandalorian threat. Jarrek was reshaped in this combat; he acquired his signature weapon, an ancient Aratech SR1 Widowmaker, that allowed him to hone his craft over the four-year deployment. After seeing a number of his comrades cut down due to anti-sniper fire directed toward the glint of scopes, Jarrek stopped using them all together, instead opting to use the iron-sight built into the body of the weapon itself. Jarrek, already sullen and quiet, grew instead to be nearly mute and pensive. He was and is often sent to psychological services but at this point, he's become a pro at answering the baseline questions asked to ascertain his condition. With his deployment up, he was invited to join the special ops to better use his unusual skill set. As a testament to this, Jarrek got his tattoo before being shipped out with his squad mates to Ordo in the face of a possible Manadlorian threat.
Password: So, I read the Must Read like three times, and I can't for the life of my find the password
RP Sample:
As he walked, powerful muscles could be seen, even under the bulky carapace-style armor he wore. Naturally handsome, tanned, and with a smile for the holos, he was star material for morale-boosting holos that the Republic liked to send out once a week. This was not Jarrek Hollow.
Jarrek struggled to keep up with his friend, as they slogged through some sort of swamp. Swamp is the closest term that Jarrek could come up with in his mind, but swamps didn't have the kind of fearsome wildlife this one seemed to be determined to kill them with. Jarrek's pale skin glistened with perspiration, where his squad mates moved along easily. He struggled to carry not only his pack, but the heavy, draconian ARC Widowmaker long rifle in such a way that it wouldn't get too wet. Swamp water, silty and full tiny creatures, would play havoc with the thing's internal workings. Jarrek frowned, realizing that he'd probably need to clean the thing three times a day as opposed to the usual two. Adjusting his rituals was not something he enjoyed.
Suddenly, he felt himself dropping. That was good. Sargent Gorten had motioned a stop and drop, and the squad had did it instantly, silently. Pride floated across the soupy ocean of depression Jarrek normally existed in, but he shooed it away. His left hand dropped down to a pouch tied to his waist, and removed a very much unused high-powered sniper scope. The thing was bulky, shiny, and expensive, and Jarrek loathed it in combat but realized quickly it was better than a normal pair of macrobionoculars. He looked around, but frowned again. Just trees. What did this man think was coming at them? He lowered the scope and tucked it back into it's leather nest, and slowly flicked the safety off. Whatever it was, it was going to find a neat little hole between it's eyes and a significantly messier one in the back of it's head. Exit wounds never looked neat.
Jarrek was suddenly aware of a dim splashing sound. Footsteps, but Jarrek didn't really know how many. They'd taught them in basic some tricks for trying to estimate enemy strength through things like footsteps, but it hadn't really stuck with Jarrek. Gorten motioned to him ahead, and Jarrek shrugged, but lifted up the ARC Widowmaker slowly, careful not to make a sound. The dim sunlight struggled through the canopy overhead, but even if he'd been standing in the middle of a Tatooine desert, the weapon would have been nearly invisible. The metal had been roughened up with industrial sanding equipment, taking away the sheen. It looked dirty and didn't smell excellent, but it was his baby.
Jarrek knelt and used his left arm to brace the rifle's long barrel on. He peered down the sights, and let the rest of the world fade into so much noise in the background. Time seemed to slow, and Jarrek focused on his breathing.
In...
A lone head popped into view, but it was turned, looking behind it. What that did or didn't mean wasn't important to Jarrek, but he did note, with professional detachment, that he was dressed up in the guise of the Mandalorians. He was big, bigger than average, and clearly carried himself in the manner leaders tended to carry himself.
Out...
As the air escaped Jarrek's lungs, he slowly squeezed the trigger, keeping it in rhythm with his respiration. The whistle of a sniper shot rang out, but even as Jarrek heard it, the target's head became so much red mist in the air. The background noise whirred into reality as he was rudely yanked back by a squad mate as blaster shots sizzled all around him.
