Post by Dex on Aug 7, 2014 21:13:26 GMT -5
Faction:
Sith Empire
Department:
Navy
Rank:
Captain
Name:
Kyros "Crutch" Faraday
Race:
Human
Age:
27
Height:
5'9"
Weight:
135 lbs
Birth place:
Dantooine Orbit, S-O Grain Transport F37
Appearance:
If one were to envision the paragon of naval masculinity, the steady oak of a man with square jaw, broad shoulders, a family name from Corellia or Anexes, and a gravelly voice booming commands to his subordinates, one would be envision the type of officer Crutch Faraday typically outscored quietly on exams. In fact, Crutch would be best visually characterized as the type that would be shoved into a uniform locker by the aforementioned officers, were it not for his highly visible disability.
Crutch's defining feature is also where he gets his name. The somewhat dicey medical facilities on the frontier did not possess the advanced cybernetics of the core, so the most they could give the young, pale boy handed to them was limited use of his legs and a rather patchwork cure to his waist-down paralysis. Hence, the brown-eyed lad with a matching smokey mop on his head had to learn to get by on a pair of durasteel arm braces and a quick wit.
Further health complications in childhood has left Crutch a pale, gangly, withered creature. A broken nose peaks his long, angular face, and a warm smile often breaks his rosy lips and sallow cheeks. The mop on his head became a short puddle of choppy brown water when he joined the navy, and the warm smile was shown capable of growing impish when a plan cooked in his head.
Personality:
Crutch prefers to be called Crutch. Its one of his many ways of coping with his difficult little existence. While many commanders in the Imperial Navy rule from afar with a cortorsis fist, this captain prefers not to treat his men like impudent nerfs. Instead, he dines and drinks with his officers, is quick to grant leave, and always, as his increasingly loyal men would say in earnest and conniving commanding officers would say in sarcastic facetious tones, a pleasure to work with.
An unflagging optimist and cynically jovial comic, Crutch enjoys the company of other human beings. He comes from a town when one knows everyone, so he makes his best efforts to being that atmosphere to his ship. This has affected his judgement before, and earned his a reprimand here and there, but he shrugs it off and feels it is for the best. Most of his men soon fear not the whip but the disappointment of the captain when a failure occurs. Loss of troops saddens him, but an adherence to a certain limited degree of professional detachment keeps him grinning. He is also a brilliant tactician, but shy to bring up corrections to his superiors, or address his superiors with anything but a good attitude and comradere. This is a chronic problem.
Skills:
Advanced space-combat tactics and strategy, Advanced grand tactics and strategy, Cooking, Can count cards in Saabac, Basic diplomacy
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 2
Intelligence: 8
Speed: 2
Leadership: 6
Unarmed: 2
Melee Weapons: 1
Ranged Weapons: 3
Bio:
Family
The Faradays are a simple, motley bunch. They are given to jovial family reunions, where the ale flows free, the punchlines fly fast, and stories are passed around like the booze. They are not given to wealth, funerals, frowning, or shirking work. This is the environment Kyros grew up in.
Born he son of a stocky Faraday and a round-faced woman from the Gordian Reach, and the younger sibling of a severe looking girl, Kyros, a Dantooine native, would appear to be nothing special at first. His father was the local junk-shop owner, his mother flew with the local agricultural megacorp transport fleet. As thrifty rimmers, they considered maternity leave to be, quote "For sentimental blockheads with money to burn." Thus, he was born without the use of his legs in the cockpit of a transport outbound to an orbiting freighter and delivered by mom's new copilot. Daddy and sis watched from a viewscreen, the transport docked, and mom made the flight back to the surface in the copilot chair with a little Kyros in tow.
Friends
Kyros spent his early years in one of three places. The first was in a hoverchair floating around his father's junk shop, annoying the force out of his sister, Baltya, and generally being a quiet observer of the ins and outs of the place. During this time, he began to show a bizarre affinity for math and, more subtlety, strategy. He won games of tag far too much for a boy in a hoverchair. The three or four neighborhood children who dared play with the weird kid discovered that his hide n' seek abilities were unprecedented. To the confusion of his father, Kyros, at age five, was capable of basic addition and subtraction, at least with blocks.
The second place was the Holonet terminal in the back of the shop. Since running and climbing were not options for the paralyzed boy, making the rounds on the Hypercommand II servers was more his speed. By the time he was sent to homeschool to grade school at age seven, he had garnered a cult following as the enigmatically silent "Happy_Droid0024" and ranked as one of the top ten Hypercommand II players. Oblivious to all of this, the enigmatic disappearance of HappyDroid was spoken of in hushed tones, and theories of a Mandalorian kidnapping or a secret Republic supersoldier program swirled in the forums as Kyros focused on how to spell his name and what clouds did.
The third place Kyros spent his early years was at the hospital. He was the reason his parents could never get ahead. The paralysis was only the start. Lung conditions, heart malformations, muscle conditions, immune issues, and the kitchen sink forced his parents to sink credits into their son. Treatments were usually available, but expensive and arduous. Kyros was very spritely through it all. By the time he was strong enough to really get around on his crutches, he knew most of the hospital staff by name. He also became the subject of many a psychologist's interview. What began as a lucky game of chess against a Mon Cal neurologist quickly turned into a bit of a sensation. A gifted child ignorant of his own genius, he took the relatively simple tests and answered all the questions and went on with his life.
And then there was school. At first, it was a small nightmare. The weird kid got the stinging nickname 'Crutch' quickly, and many a lonely lunch was to be had. But when the trading card game "Gold of Hapes" hit the stage in fourth grade, the weird kid got a new lease on life. Undefeated, he was always the first picked to be on the three-man attack team. He even beat Dr'poit Nesh and his copper-foil Consortium Crusader with nothing but stock cards. Respect turned to visitations of more populated lunch tables turned to house visits to dates with hunky farmboys as grade school became high school. His home life also shored up a good deal. The junk shop finally got into the black enough to open up a branch by the spaceport, his mom could take weekends off and teach her son the art of Gordian cooking. His secret weapon was undoubtably his unflagging adherence to his parent's oft-spoken syllogism: "Its a rough galaxy for everyone out there, Kyros. Try not to make it rougher, will ya?" To wit, he was known for being a guy who would help you with you math homework or take a disciplinary hit for the team when his social group's mischief was discovered. His other secret weapon was his sister. Baltya was well known for her quick temper and skill in unarmed combat. She ensured that the bullies steered clear during Kyros's formative years, and by the time she graduated and started a spaceport-proximity branch of Faraday's Toolbox, Kuros had enough of his own defenders to let his sister sleep at night. Captain of the chess team and unquestioned champion of the Sabaak table at lunch, Crutch had it good when he finally shipped off to Bastion to enlist in the Imperial Navy and get a crack at those pretentious core-worlders and finally see some action that would really test his wits.
Officers
Early on, this proved to be a miscalculation. His academy years were a breeze, for the most part. While his physical condition was a major detriment in the eyes of his militant commanders, Crutch simply saw their scorn a chance to make them bluster. Maintaining this attitude was quickly shown to be difficult, as basic training turned from a minor concern to a living hell. The only way he scraped by the Empire's lowest expectations was a deal with the devil. A nasty dose of glitterstim and temptest could give his limbs enough of a jolt to ignore the pain of the physical exertion and get him running and climbing without crutches. Trading essays and physics homework for spice, Crutch became a glit-biter. By the time he moved from boot camp to the classroom, his past year has been nothing but a hazy blur. When his dealer got busted the first week after basic, a nasty withdrawal landed him a monthlong trip to the hospital, where his lung complications returned along with his need for crutches. He passed basic on a technicality, and all involved knew it.
But sometimes the pressure cooker produces a diamond. Every brutally arduous assignment handed to Crutch was returned in glowing state to the offending faculty. He knew he had to compensate, so he compensated. Quickly gaining a reputation as a natural officer on campus, Crutch made a name for himself as a casually brilliant commander in the simulators. Becoming the comically frail big dog on campus, Crutch discovered he enjoyed command, but more for the people and the tactics than the power. Garnering the respect of the baseborn staff, and the ire of the aristocratic faculty, he used his position to broker an end to a dangerously escalating rivalry between two highborn dorms. As he said upon exiting the top floor of the library, where the peace talks were being held, "Never again will this campus fear the threat of drinks spiked with laxatives and ion grenades in the mess hall." Unbeknownst to Crutch, this eliminated nine different lessons that were taught to aspiring lordlings under this context. He even synthesized an underground radio station that blasted what was melodic and hip to the student body and was referred to as 'Vile rimmer trash lesser beings call music' by the aristocracy running the place.
After an extended fling with a buff future oligarch went south his senior year, Crutch was reprimanded for searching above his station, given a brief, but not brief enough job as the object of demonstration in Creative Interrogation 304, and set to leave for a desolate patrol command following graduation. The only reason he got it that good was some strings pulled among the rank-and-file administration and what the dean would call in later years "One hell of a speech." Shamed in the eyes of his peers, he managed to win back the admiration of all of his classmates, the respect of his non-force-using commanders and the ire of all his force-wielding superiors by orchestrating the greatest senior prank in Bastion history: A faux Republic invasion. It took quite a few favors and convincing to get the manpower to pull it off. But after all the work, the orchestration of all parties involved, the stealing of the long and short range scanner codes, the holographic landing craft, it was a hell of an event.
Naught but a swimmingly pristine naval career followed. Starting out as a captain aboard a paltry bulk freighter, his wily evasion of piratical vessels netted him higher and higher ranks. When the Sith took over the government, Crutch was aboard the Harrower-class Dreadnought Hidden Dagger as a flight deck commander. He, like most of the baseborns in the navy, regarded the move as an interesting development and stroke of fortune. The flight of the fortunate ones from the ranks of the navy opened up some room for advancement, and that landed him a rather important position on a Terminus-Class Destroyer. Yet other than a chance to get some justice payed against the Republic for its support of oppressive megacorps like the Corporate Alliance and the possibility of actual law being spread throughout the rim, Faraday and his kin regarded the shift as a inconsequential one and with a degree of ambivalence. They were in the navy because they wanted to serve and protect the Empire. This did not change that.
By the time the war broke out, he had graduated from the supply freighter his prank earned him to 3rd in command of a Terminus-Class Destroyer. During a routine patrol near Mygeeto during the attack, the ship in his employ, called the Blizzard, came under attack by a Republic troop convoy escorted by a Valor-Class Cruiser. Being the highest-ranking officer on the ship following the destruction of the main bridge, Lt. Comm. Faraday, from the secondary bridge and in command of a damaged ship, executed what is now taught at Bastion as the 'Crutch Maneuver' and damaged the Republic cruiser enough to force a retreat. This would have earned him the command of a dreadnought, but the politics involved left him quite happily in the captain's uniform aboard the Blizzard. Eager to prove himself, he has earned the trust of his men, and all aboard are eager to storm down the Hydian and strike at the core.
Password: Swordfish?
RP Sample:
The space above Vykos was brilliant. Among the swath of stars that dotted the night sky of the galaxy was a glimmering shock of foggy green. The Maelstrom was a sight to behold, but a pain to navigate through. Hence, the tacticians at Korriban decided that the hyperlane that ran from Vykos through The Maelstrom to Mygeeto warranted only a pair of Terminus-class destroyers to guard it. It would be a folly to send any sort of force through it. As Lt. Commander Faraday hobbled his way to the secondary bridge and saw the Conquest III belch plumes of smoke and list sickeningly towards the atmosphere of the grassy hamlet below, he remarked that nobody told the Republic that.
Crutch walked into the command center just in time to see the Conquest III become the object of that blasted Republic Cruiser's next volley and crumble like pastry in a blender. Hissing in air sharply and taking a seat at the empty command chair, he asks "I know it was big, but what did we just lose?" The shakey ensign at the helm says "The entire command tower got blown clean off." Alright, so nothing that important.
The acting captain looks to the tactical station. "Can we return fire?" The Rodian barks back. "Nosir! We need to fifth our distance to do that!" Faraday coughs as the woman manning the shields and sensors says "Sir, I have restored shields, but that cruiser is preparing for another volley." "Excellent!"
All in the room stop, and stare at the frail man sitting in the command chair. He gives a smile that is either brilliant or mad. "Ahead full! Take us about a quarter-click under their current position. Shift the shields to equal front, rear, and lateral coverage and divert power from ventral shields to dorsal shields."
The klaxons blare as the hodgepodge staff execute their orders. "Helm!" The shakey ensign looks back, a little green in the face. "S-s-sir?" Faraday coughs, a bit longer than the situation would seem to warrant. "Ehrm. Excuse me. Prepare a maneuvering solution. Tactical, how long are the volleys from that cruiser?"
Tactical looks up with an undignified "Hunh? Oh, uh..... Fifteen point seven seconds!" "Sensors, how long will our shields last in the current configuration under concentrated fire to any four of the sections?" "About two point one seconds by my estimation, sir, twenty seconds until the next volley." "Oh good! We have some wiggle room. Helm, on my mark, cut engines and stabilizers. Induce a clockwise flatspin with rotation rate of once every eight seconds, and reignite engines and stabilizers after the second spin has completed."
Confused and terrified, the helmsman turns to his console and furiously begins to program the maneuver. The cruiser on the tactical hologram in the center of the backup bridge slowly edges its way towards the Blizzard. It has sustained damage to its short rage weapons array and sublight engines (Courtesy of the Conquest III), but the Republic captain seems more than content with keeping his distance and taking potshots. The Blizzard is closing the gap quickly, however. The navigation tag reads 40 seconds out. In the distance, a few blue flecks indicate the sizable troop convoy bound for Mygeeto. The captain idly taps the shipwide intercom. "Attention. This is the acting captain. Brace for flatspin. Repeat. Brace for flatspin."
Sensors calls out "They are firing in five, sir." and is cut off near the end by helm saying "Solution prepped!" Faraday grips hold of his chair. "On my mark." Sensors calls out "Impact in two!" The captain counts off a beat as the flurry of glowing rods streak across the hologram.
"Mark!"
The ship quakes as the massive destroyer begins to drift. There is a jolt, and a tug towards the rear right of the ship. On the hologram, the Blizzard spins lazily. The forward shields flare, but do not break as the port shields rotate into the firing line. A sudden gasp of understanding comes from the Sensor officer's mouth as the Blizzard moons the Cruiser with her engines. Like a craft skimming through the atmosphere, the destroyer is spreading out the damage evenly to protect the vitals.
As the starboard shields rotate into the firing line, the forward shields are completely restored. The captain laughs and gives a whoop of jubilation. "Its like a ballet!" One can almost hear the music of a swearing Republic commander as the pirouetting destroyer, completing its second spin. glides underneath the hulking Cruiser's soft underbelly.
The stabilizers fire. The dorsal shields take what little short range fire the Cruiser has to offer. Lt. Commander Faraday stands, leaning on his crutches, and says to the Rodian at Tactical, "Tactical, would you please show our guests the exit?" The silent symphony continues as plasma rips through shield generators, weapons arrays, and communications nacelles. The burning Cruiser does its best impression on the Conquest III as it turns sideways and jumps into hyperspace, followed shortly by the small fleet of transports.
Faraday turns to face his bridge crew, the klaxon still blaring, fire crews still rushing across the upper decks and putting out fires. Crutch grins "Well, that was exciting!"
Let's hop to it shall we?
The skirmish you have him involved in which earns him the offer of a better ship, and the loyalty of his men, is a bit brief would love to hear more about this event. As it is the defining the moment in his military career to date.
