Post by lion on Sept 7, 2015 23:37:51 GMT -5
Name: Zrask An'tei
Race: Bothan
Age: 21
Birthplace: Drev'starn, Bothawui
Allegiance: Galactic Republic, Republic Armed Forces
Status: Active
Rank: Private
Height/Weight: 5'0, 115lbs
Appearance:
"Many scumbags died to bring you this bad-ass explosion!"
Standing at five feet tall and a modest one-fifteen pounds, Zrask isn't overly big even by Bothan standards, but don't mistake his size for weakness by any means; he's not up to a human's level of strong but Zrask can pull his weight without a problem. Rather than a bodybuilder-esque physique associated to Republic troops, Zrask is more of an athlete's stature; compact, toned and sinewy; perfect for crawling about, hiding, and navigating the hard-to-reach places his duties as a sniper take him.
Fairly canine in appearance as with many Bothans, Zrask is covered head-to-toe in amber-orange fur, shaved down to a thinner coat to better handle the demands the Republic Army requires of its troops. He sports tapered ears atop his head, short claws on his fingers, a 'muzzled' face ending in a short goatee and a short, thickly-furred mane. Each of these are kept in good grooming standard as both a manner of pride and requirement; Zrask looks good not only by Bothan standard as a potentially handsome young man, but by Republic Army standard as a presentable soldier.
Dress-wise, Zrask prefers the simpler things when not on duty; he's not going to win any fancy dress contests on any planet, anytime soon. Shirts, shorts and sandals are generally the choice attire, but the young man has been known to change it up depending on the weather; nothing too flash to stand out but more than enough to be comfortable. Owing to his fur, it's not uncommon to see Zrask off-duty in only shorts, either; especially if a game of boloball has been organised on base. Dude's got no shame in it, especially if it's hot. Sunglasses, to protect the eyes from the harsh sun rays or to keep the light from being a distraction, are also common.
On duty, Zrask dons the requisite armor, fitted for a Bothan frame rather than human, as well as a camouflage ghillie when the mission profile requires low-tech camouflage. As with most troopers, Zrask also wears his identification tags around his neck, beneath his armor body-glove, in case the worst should ever happen.
Personality:
Zrask's a thrill-seeker for sure; nothing's too fast, too fun or too much to try, and whilst he's risking his hide more often than not in the name of the Republic, the Bothan tends to find the fun in things more than the concern or fear for his life (That's not to say he can't feel fear, however). Constantly motivated and full of energy, Zrask's the sort of friend who'd be the one to suggest 'skydiving' over a nice walk, or high-velocity speeder racing over a road trip, and whilst remaining static is certainly no problem for the Bothan, he simply prefers to be active to the fullest. A natural sports fan, Zrask's avid following of Boloball and his preference for Team Kothlis is well known among those who know him.
With family ties being incredibly important in Bothese culture, the sense of camaraderie and familiarity of the Republic Army has given Zrask an extended sense of 'family', considering the troops he works with his brothers and sisters. Add this with the general 'protector' role the sniper tends to play within a squad, keeping enemy marksmen from picking off more traditional soldiers and scouting ahead, and it's only strengthened; every injury concerns him, and he's always got time to chat with his fellow troops. Likewise, failure in his job is something Zrask takes personally; he considers himself dependable and doesn't like to come up short.
Unrefined and preferring the simpler tastes, Zrask doesn't pretend to be someone he's not; you'll rarely see him in formal wear or attending the high life, and whilst he tends to observe military doctrine and regulation, he's likewise not the sort to ever consider becoming an officer. You're more likely to find him in a bar with friends when on leave, or when on touring duty, having some fun around base or his quarters. Pranks can, and have, been known to happen when the furred little man's around, and he's usually perceptive enough to keep out of retaliation's way if and when it comes.
On duty, however, Zrask's a patient man capable of waiting for an opportunity rather than forcing action, but can with a single action dominate a space and cause panic. The Bothan possesses a surprising maturity for the tasks given his age and go-for-broke personality in casual aspects of his life as well as an extreme tolerance for physical and mental discomfort and fatigue, imparted to him through both basic training and the specialized sniper course. He's a very keen marksman, has a good grasp of ballistic sciences and guiding his round on target, and has no problem with the inherent 'closeness' between he and the victim in his sights, reasoning that no friend of the Republic would find themselves there (At least, that's what he tells himself for when the time comes).
He's cautious in setting up firing positions and, when operating alone, tends to prepare several contingencies for escape if things go awry. If caught in close quarters, Zrask has no issue fighting with pistol and knife just the same, and when it comes to fistfights, the Bothan has what's been referred to jokingly as a 'Transparisteel chin'; he might appear fragile and weak but he can take a serious level of punishment and keep going.
Ships/Vehicles: N/A in service. Zrask is, however, certified to drive speeders and swoops, and has a basic swoop bike in storage for his return to civilian life.
Equipment:
Ranged:
*Republic AM-10 Sniper Rifle
*Republic AM-25 Anti-Materiel Rifle
Republic M-55 Blaster Pistol
(*: Dependent on mission profile; one or the other, never both.)
Close-Quarters:
4" Durasteel vibro-knife
Explosives:
2x Light Anti-Personnel Fragmentation Mine (Stake-mounted, used for trip-wire traps)
1x Merr-Sonn Thermal Detonator
Armor:
Republic Standard Battle Armor (Light Model, Alien Configuration)
Camouflage 'Ghillie' Net (Self-made, attaches/detaches to armor hard-points)
Support:
Rangefinder/Electrobinoculars.
Stats: (Feeble, Below Average, Average, Above Average, Superior, Legendary)
Strength -Below Average
Agility- Above Average
Intelligence- Average
Charisma- Above average
Combat Training: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
Marksmanship (Rifle)- Adept
Marksmanship (Pistol)- Apprentice
Use of Explosives- Novice
Rudimentary Hand-To-Hand- Novice
Other Training: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
Cardiovascular Endurance/Physical Fitness: Adept
'Spotting' with a sniper- Adept
Stealth and Concealment: Adept
Weapon Maintenance: Adept
Terrain Assessment/Evaluation: Apprentice
Climbing: Apprentice
Swoop-Bike piloting: Apprentice
Speeder piloting: Novice
Biography:
The son of a lawyer and a civil engineer, Zrask's upbringing could not have been more mundane for a Bothan, and had his parents been politicians instead of working people, perhaps even stereotypical. Money was common; building brought in a decent income in Drev'starn due to the constant expanding nature of the city and its peoples' desire for beauty, but it was actually his mother's legal practice that really put the food on the table. After all, inter-clan disputes always took place, and independent legal representation being required by the governing council, skilled lawyers were always sought after; as such, well paid. It was hardly riches all around, of course, but money never seemed to really be an issue; family struggles to put food on the table or meeting costs never happened.
An only child but with many cousins and distant relatives, Zrask's upbringing was hardly sparse. He always had someone around to watch over him and, furthermore, foster a sense of family that helped to shape the boy as a social, friendly young man. Privacy was no issue, but never was the young boy truly alone, be it his parents or a relative coming to watch over him whilst they were out, there was always someone to talk to.
And, of course, someone to annoy when the mischievous years started. It wasn't long after learning to walk that the boy learned how to explore, and suddenly the large downtown house became a series of new worlds to see and places to experience, which meant a lot of hassle in keeping him still. Keeping a bundle of energy like Zrask occupied during his formative years was akin to trying to keep sand in a cracked container; every effort simply had the boy looking elsewhere for fun. So what if the laundry was only a laundry; to Zrask's young mind, it was the deck of a grand spaceship!
Likewise, when it came to schooling, the excited Zrask would often find himself immersed in adventure and fun, often at the expense of schoolwork. Whilst far from being an idiot, of course, the young man was simply errant in thought, often wandering from daydream to daydream between classes. Whilst an active imagination certainly stopped the young Bothan from being bored, it unfortunately led to poor grades, and whilst his parents were certainly supportive of the boy's imaginative ways, it was clearly too far for it to interfere with his grades.
Zrask could remember the day clearly, a meeting with his teacher and his parents to regard his poor grades. Zrask had been failing practically all aspects of his study; mathematics, literacy, science, arts and even sports. Expressing her displeasure, Zrask's teacher laid the facts simply; either the boy straightened up his act or would be forced to repeat classes. Zrask was hardly a poor student, she'd said; he'd never ended up in detention but it was not enough to just avoid punishment, he had to lift his game.
It was the first time in his life that Zrask had found himself staring down the prospect of disappointment from his parents, of truly having upset them, and it was worse than perhaps any punishment that could have come. The shame was enough to bring tears to the young child after the meeting, made aware of the extent of his faults and the consequences they bore, that led to one of the most touching moments of his childhood. Both his mother and his father sat him down, together, and explained what he needed to do. They loved him, they didn't want him to suffer or fall behind, but only he could make the change; they could only do so much.
It was arranged then and there.
Tuition wasn't all bad; whilst it seemed boring and strict, the defined rules allowed Zrask to focus. His attentive tutor, an aging Bothan educator, had little patience for distraction; Zrask's imaginative drive was concentrated solely upon the tasks for one of the first times in his life. Each time he was errant, daydreaming, a quick snap of disapproval brought the young boy back into line; in short order, the young boy soon developed a strong sense of discipline that ended up sticking with him for life.
It was during his middling school years that, desperate for a hobby that wasn't scholastic, that Zrask took a shine to Boloball. The school had a junior team, and like many youths in his class, many would take up the sport as both a means of recess entertainment and physical activity. Add that to the infrequent days off for inter-school competition and Zrask ended up practically chomping at the bit for a place. Dedicated to practice thanks in no small part to his blossoming focus and partly reigned-in attitude, the young bothan did well; showing promise as a midfielder. Friends came from the game; constant practice with his team-mates developed that vital sense of camaraderie and brotherhood.
It was this love of the sport, Zrask's father used with some intelligence, that would further be put to use to leverage some focus and motivation from his son; get high exam grades, and they'd go see pro-league Boloball games. To a child just finding the sport and loving every bit of it, this was practically a gift; Zrask would spend what free time he had studying just to make sure he could go and see Team Kothlis play!
Going through teenage life came with its own ups and downs; certainly the extra freedoms that came with coming older were more than welcome, but puberty had its way of kicking a boy's ass like nobody's business and Zrask wasn't spared it. Odd fur growth, embarrassing 'called up to the chalkboard at a bad time' moments in class, voice breaks, the boy had it all; whilst his continued Boloball practice had Zrask as physically fit as almost any other boy and even passably handsome, he was somewhat socially awkward during those pivotal years, avoiding the bulk of the 'experimentation' phase most of his friends had gone through.
Furthering his scholastic work, the prospect of a job and potential career loomed; something Zrask had never really considered with any seriousness prior. His grades had been fairly steady, good but not great, and whilst he had many options on the table, none seemed to appeal. Desk jobs, such as clerical work or administration, seemed well paying but dull; where was the fun in data-entry? The thrill in accounting?
No, what did seem fun was signing on to the Republic Army, and shortly after graduation, the just-short-of-eighteen year old made his intentions known. As a child, Zrask had imagined so many conflicts in his head, pretended to be the fierce and ruggedly handsome infantry captain leading the charge against the enemy[ whilst it was hardly the youthful whimsy that drove the bothan to make a decision, his ever-present sense of adventure practically jumped at the notion of seeing the stars for real, and on the Republic's creds!
The recruitment station in Drev'starn wasn't far, and the staff were more than happy to help guide the youth through what paperwork he had to sort in order to become enlisted. One question of certainty from his parents, concerned as they were but supportive, and Zrask's intentions were cemented; signed on the dotted line, the boy would be trained as a soldier.
"Your first target is target Uniform! Target Uniform! Team 1, you're first."
The voice echoed across the bitter morning field like a gunshot, howling against the greyed-out air marred by thick fog from the night before as if bouncing off of it, as Zrask's ears twitched against the reverberated waves. The cool air, chilling almost down to the bone, seemed to be both a friend and an enemy; the gentle caress of a light breeze helped to stir the lingering desire for sleep, but its bitter touch left his hands to shake; the rifle trembling in his hands and shuddering against his shoulder.
Even propped against the prone Bothan's forearm, the weapon was unsteady; fatigue and cold working in tandem to send his body into a mild fit for warmth. The scope before his eyes jiggled, disorienting the Bothan for a moment as his eyes struggled to maintain focus; the crosshair lines blurring over the zoomed display of the scope and the outside world around it.
Target Uniform, a painted durasteel plate emblazoned with the designated letter, sat in his unstable sights downrange; just shy of a thousand yards, the riddled plate of metal seemed to almost fade into the layers of fog swirling gently about it. It was a distant shot, one of the longest on the range, and with no indicator of range other than the guestimation of he and his spotter, Zrask could only find himself wishing for any other letter; any closer shot to start the day off.
'Slight hold up for drop; steady breaths.' The bothan thought to himself, even his inner monologue hazy and sleepy in tone, bringing a yawn to the fore that a sharp bite down against his jaw struggled to stifle. Cheek pressed hard into the cool surface of the rifle's stock, Zrask did what he could to steady; gently guiding the crosshairs of his sights just slightly high of the center of the target, accounting for the effect of gravity that the round would be exposed to during its brief flight.
Breathing calmly, the picture from his scope began to steady; the ever so slight bobbing and shuddering from his breaths and his shaky hands beginning to slow down with each passing second. The stock pressed to his right shoulder, Zrask squeezed tight, doing his best to press the rifle against him; the kick that he'd become somewhat familiarised with was still something of a shock to deal with, a solid kick-back. Emptying his lungs of what breath remained in a soft, silent sigh, the Bothan committed; depressing the trigger with as gentle a touch as a safecracker...
*Click!*
Nothing; not the loud blast of the primer igniting and the rush of a hunk of metal soaring to its target, not the thud of the padded stock thumping into his shoulder, nothing but the soft metallic tap of a hammer striking firing pin and meeting nothing. The second that it took for the young marksman to realise what had happen felt like an eternity, and sleep-addled as the prospective sniper was his reaction time was slow enough that his instructor's voice was a surprise.
"Miss! Re-engage in ten, nine, eight..."
A misfire! The weapon hadn't been correctly loaded; be it fatigue or simply lack of attention, the instructor wasn't about to grant any leeway. Panic sent the Bothan's heart aflutter and his cheeks burned with embarrassment; perhaps the simplest of mistakes and yet the most foolish, and he'd made it. Feeding the magazine into place wasn't enough, the bolt had to slide back to push the first round into position, then forward to bring it into the chamber; priming the weapon to fire. Zrask's failure to pull the bolt back far enough in the loading stage had failed to load a round; the chamber was empty on firing and, as such, rested on the shooter for fault.
No round in the chamber might as well have meant a miss for all the good it did.
Had the round itself been faulty, sure, maybe some leniency may have been given, but this was amateurish at best, and scrambling hurriedly to pull the bolt back and release the magazine from the rifle, Zrask could feel the pressure mount. Childish mistake brought on by lack of attention, and whilst recrimination felt in order, there was no time to even think about it. It felt like everyone was watching him, fumbling to pull the second thirty-round magazine from the ground beside him and clap it into place. This time, Zrask made certain to tug the bolt back and properly feed the rifle; unwilling to make the same mistake twice.
"Five, four..."
Pressing cheek to stock once more, squeezing his left eye closed to focus on the scope just before his face, the Bothan fought to regain his sight picture. Reloading the rifle had taken it off of his target, and losing precious seconds to regain the target and his concentration, the Bothan quickly found himself struggling to lower his breathing rate.
"Two, one..."
Zrask squeezed the trigger.
The rifle kicked back like a mule; within the same instant as the trigger fired, the firing pin struck the primer and sent the round down the barrel and out into the open world. Zrask's upper body jerked, shock from the rifle kick jerking him in position to deal with the recoil as the round soared; burning the air from barrel to target. The second of semi-silence, marred with the howl of his rifle report echoing from the flats of the range, were far too long, before the voice of his instructor broke the silence, bringing Zrask to a start as he waited for the call with breath held.
"Hit! Good placement; watch that reload, An'tei."
Relief washed over the boy like a tidal wave; a hit! A shot in the practical dark at a hair under a thousand yards and he'd drilled it. Feeling his spotter tap his ankle in approval, Zrask could only lean forward, releasing his held breath with a roll of his eyes, blinking slowly. Far too close...
Race: Bothan
Age: 21
Birthplace: Drev'starn, Bothawui
Allegiance: Galactic Republic, Republic Armed Forces
Status: Active
Rank: Private
Height/Weight: 5'0, 115lbs
Appearance:
"Many scumbags died to bring you this bad-ass explosion!"
Standing at five feet tall and a modest one-fifteen pounds, Zrask isn't overly big even by Bothan standards, but don't mistake his size for weakness by any means; he's not up to a human's level of strong but Zrask can pull his weight without a problem. Rather than a bodybuilder-esque physique associated to Republic troops, Zrask is more of an athlete's stature; compact, toned and sinewy; perfect for crawling about, hiding, and navigating the hard-to-reach places his duties as a sniper take him.
Fairly canine in appearance as with many Bothans, Zrask is covered head-to-toe in amber-orange fur, shaved down to a thinner coat to better handle the demands the Republic Army requires of its troops. He sports tapered ears atop his head, short claws on his fingers, a 'muzzled' face ending in a short goatee and a short, thickly-furred mane. Each of these are kept in good grooming standard as both a manner of pride and requirement; Zrask looks good not only by Bothan standard as a potentially handsome young man, but by Republic Army standard as a presentable soldier.
Dress-wise, Zrask prefers the simpler things when not on duty; he's not going to win any fancy dress contests on any planet, anytime soon. Shirts, shorts and sandals are generally the choice attire, but the young man has been known to change it up depending on the weather; nothing too flash to stand out but more than enough to be comfortable. Owing to his fur, it's not uncommon to see Zrask off-duty in only shorts, either; especially if a game of boloball has been organised on base. Dude's got no shame in it, especially if it's hot. Sunglasses, to protect the eyes from the harsh sun rays or to keep the light from being a distraction, are also common.
On duty, Zrask dons the requisite armor, fitted for a Bothan frame rather than human, as well as a camouflage ghillie when the mission profile requires low-tech camouflage. As with most troopers, Zrask also wears his identification tags around his neck, beneath his armor body-glove, in case the worst should ever happen.
Personality:
Zrask's a thrill-seeker for sure; nothing's too fast, too fun or too much to try, and whilst he's risking his hide more often than not in the name of the Republic, the Bothan tends to find the fun in things more than the concern or fear for his life (That's not to say he can't feel fear, however). Constantly motivated and full of energy, Zrask's the sort of friend who'd be the one to suggest 'skydiving' over a nice walk, or high-velocity speeder racing over a road trip, and whilst remaining static is certainly no problem for the Bothan, he simply prefers to be active to the fullest. A natural sports fan, Zrask's avid following of Boloball and his preference for Team Kothlis is well known among those who know him.
With family ties being incredibly important in Bothese culture, the sense of camaraderie and familiarity of the Republic Army has given Zrask an extended sense of 'family', considering the troops he works with his brothers and sisters. Add this with the general 'protector' role the sniper tends to play within a squad, keeping enemy marksmen from picking off more traditional soldiers and scouting ahead, and it's only strengthened; every injury concerns him, and he's always got time to chat with his fellow troops. Likewise, failure in his job is something Zrask takes personally; he considers himself dependable and doesn't like to come up short.
Unrefined and preferring the simpler tastes, Zrask doesn't pretend to be someone he's not; you'll rarely see him in formal wear or attending the high life, and whilst he tends to observe military doctrine and regulation, he's likewise not the sort to ever consider becoming an officer. You're more likely to find him in a bar with friends when on leave, or when on touring duty, having some fun around base or his quarters. Pranks can, and have, been known to happen when the furred little man's around, and he's usually perceptive enough to keep out of retaliation's way if and when it comes.
On duty, however, Zrask's a patient man capable of waiting for an opportunity rather than forcing action, but can with a single action dominate a space and cause panic. The Bothan possesses a surprising maturity for the tasks given his age and go-for-broke personality in casual aspects of his life as well as an extreme tolerance for physical and mental discomfort and fatigue, imparted to him through both basic training and the specialized sniper course. He's a very keen marksman, has a good grasp of ballistic sciences and guiding his round on target, and has no problem with the inherent 'closeness' between he and the victim in his sights, reasoning that no friend of the Republic would find themselves there (At least, that's what he tells himself for when the time comes).
He's cautious in setting up firing positions and, when operating alone, tends to prepare several contingencies for escape if things go awry. If caught in close quarters, Zrask has no issue fighting with pistol and knife just the same, and when it comes to fistfights, the Bothan has what's been referred to jokingly as a 'Transparisteel chin'; he might appear fragile and weak but he can take a serious level of punishment and keep going.
Ships/Vehicles: N/A in service. Zrask is, however, certified to drive speeders and swoops, and has a basic swoop bike in storage for his return to civilian life.
Equipment:
Ranged:
*Republic AM-10 Sniper Rifle
*Republic AM-25 Anti-Materiel Rifle
Republic M-55 Blaster Pistol
(*: Dependent on mission profile; one or the other, never both.)
Close-Quarters:
4" Durasteel vibro-knife
Explosives:
2x Light Anti-Personnel Fragmentation Mine (Stake-mounted, used for trip-wire traps)
1x Merr-Sonn Thermal Detonator
Armor:
Republic Standard Battle Armor (Light Model, Alien Configuration)
Camouflage 'Ghillie' Net (Self-made, attaches/detaches to armor hard-points)
Support:
Rangefinder/Electrobinoculars.
Stats: (Feeble, Below Average, Average, Above Average, Superior, Legendary)
Strength -Below Average
Agility- Above Average
Intelligence- Average
Charisma- Above average
Combat Training: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
Marksmanship (Rifle)- Adept
Marksmanship (Pistol)- Apprentice
Use of Explosives- Novice
Rudimentary Hand-To-Hand- Novice
Other Training: (Unskilled, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master)
Cardiovascular Endurance/Physical Fitness: Adept
'Spotting' with a sniper- Adept
Stealth and Concealment: Adept
Weapon Maintenance: Adept
Terrain Assessment/Evaluation: Apprentice
Climbing: Apprentice
Swoop-Bike piloting: Apprentice
Speeder piloting: Novice
Biography:
The Start of Adventure (1-10)
The son of a lawyer and a civil engineer, Zrask's upbringing could not have been more mundane for a Bothan, and had his parents been politicians instead of working people, perhaps even stereotypical. Money was common; building brought in a decent income in Drev'starn due to the constant expanding nature of the city and its peoples' desire for beauty, but it was actually his mother's legal practice that really put the food on the table. After all, inter-clan disputes always took place, and independent legal representation being required by the governing council, skilled lawyers were always sought after; as such, well paid. It was hardly riches all around, of course, but money never seemed to really be an issue; family struggles to put food on the table or meeting costs never happened.
An only child but with many cousins and distant relatives, Zrask's upbringing was hardly sparse. He always had someone around to watch over him and, furthermore, foster a sense of family that helped to shape the boy as a social, friendly young man. Privacy was no issue, but never was the young boy truly alone, be it his parents or a relative coming to watch over him whilst they were out, there was always someone to talk to.
And, of course, someone to annoy when the mischievous years started. It wasn't long after learning to walk that the boy learned how to explore, and suddenly the large downtown house became a series of new worlds to see and places to experience, which meant a lot of hassle in keeping him still. Keeping a bundle of energy like Zrask occupied during his formative years was akin to trying to keep sand in a cracked container; every effort simply had the boy looking elsewhere for fun. So what if the laundry was only a laundry; to Zrask's young mind, it was the deck of a grand spaceship!
Likewise, when it came to schooling, the excited Zrask would often find himself immersed in adventure and fun, often at the expense of schoolwork. Whilst far from being an idiot, of course, the young man was simply errant in thought, often wandering from daydream to daydream between classes. Whilst an active imagination certainly stopped the young Bothan from being bored, it unfortunately led to poor grades, and whilst his parents were certainly supportive of the boy's imaginative ways, it was clearly too far for it to interfere with his grades.
Zrask could remember the day clearly, a meeting with his teacher and his parents to regard his poor grades. Zrask had been failing practically all aspects of his study; mathematics, literacy, science, arts and even sports. Expressing her displeasure, Zrask's teacher laid the facts simply; either the boy straightened up his act or would be forced to repeat classes. Zrask was hardly a poor student, she'd said; he'd never ended up in detention but it was not enough to just avoid punishment, he had to lift his game.
It was the first time in his life that Zrask had found himself staring down the prospect of disappointment from his parents, of truly having upset them, and it was worse than perhaps any punishment that could have come. The shame was enough to bring tears to the young child after the meeting, made aware of the extent of his faults and the consequences they bore, that led to one of the most touching moments of his childhood. Both his mother and his father sat him down, together, and explained what he needed to do. They loved him, they didn't want him to suffer or fall behind, but only he could make the change; they could only do so much.
It was arranged then and there.
Making the Grade (10-18)
Tuition wasn't all bad; whilst it seemed boring and strict, the defined rules allowed Zrask to focus. His attentive tutor, an aging Bothan educator, had little patience for distraction; Zrask's imaginative drive was concentrated solely upon the tasks for one of the first times in his life. Each time he was errant, daydreaming, a quick snap of disapproval brought the young boy back into line; in short order, the young boy soon developed a strong sense of discipline that ended up sticking with him for life.
It was during his middling school years that, desperate for a hobby that wasn't scholastic, that Zrask took a shine to Boloball. The school had a junior team, and like many youths in his class, many would take up the sport as both a means of recess entertainment and physical activity. Add that to the infrequent days off for inter-school competition and Zrask ended up practically chomping at the bit for a place. Dedicated to practice thanks in no small part to his blossoming focus and partly reigned-in attitude, the young bothan did well; showing promise as a midfielder. Friends came from the game; constant practice with his team-mates developed that vital sense of camaraderie and brotherhood.
It was this love of the sport, Zrask's father used with some intelligence, that would further be put to use to leverage some focus and motivation from his son; get high exam grades, and they'd go see pro-league Boloball games. To a child just finding the sport and loving every bit of it, this was practically a gift; Zrask would spend what free time he had studying just to make sure he could go and see Team Kothlis play!
Going through teenage life came with its own ups and downs; certainly the extra freedoms that came with coming older were more than welcome, but puberty had its way of kicking a boy's ass like nobody's business and Zrask wasn't spared it. Odd fur growth, embarrassing 'called up to the chalkboard at a bad time' moments in class, voice breaks, the boy had it all; whilst his continued Boloball practice had Zrask as physically fit as almost any other boy and even passably handsome, he was somewhat socially awkward during those pivotal years, avoiding the bulk of the 'experimentation' phase most of his friends had gone through.
Furthering his scholastic work, the prospect of a job and potential career loomed; something Zrask had never really considered with any seriousness prior. His grades had been fairly steady, good but not great, and whilst he had many options on the table, none seemed to appeal. Desk jobs, such as clerical work or administration, seemed well paying but dull; where was the fun in data-entry? The thrill in accounting?
No, what did seem fun was signing on to the Republic Army, and shortly after graduation, the just-short-of-eighteen year old made his intentions known. As a child, Zrask had imagined so many conflicts in his head, pretended to be the fierce and ruggedly handsome infantry captain leading the charge against the enemy[ whilst it was hardly the youthful whimsy that drove the bothan to make a decision, his ever-present sense of adventure practically jumped at the notion of seeing the stars for real, and on the Republic's creds!
The recruitment station in Drev'starn wasn't far, and the staff were more than happy to help guide the youth through what paperwork he had to sort in order to become enlisted. One question of certainty from his parents, concerned as they were but supportive, and Zrask's intentions were cemented; signed on the dotted line, the boy would be trained as a soldier.
Birth of a Sniper (18-21)
Roleplay Sample:When it came to physical fitness, Zrask had no issues; he had always been active and had spent a good portion of his youth running up and down the Boloball pitch, but all the sport in the world couldn't have prepared the young Bothan for basic. The physical requirements were brutal; not a day went by that Zrask didn't find his fuzzy backside pushed to nigh-breaking point. Two of his friends from school had similarly signed on, and it had been seeing those two guys in similar condition that drove Zrask to continue; if it wasn't just him feeling the squeeze, it was a little easier to bear when it came.
Sprinting, weights, firearms training, explosives use, obstacle courses and various drills, among other factors, practically bombarded the young Zrask into submission, but at every point the Bothan managed to dig down and find the grit necessary to push on; refusing to entirely break down under the bellowed orders of his drill sergeant. After some time to become acclimated to the stresses of service, Zrask soon began to pull ahead of the pack along with the 'standouts' of the recruit block, particularly in the areas of marksmanship; be it luck or a knack understanding of how to point and shoot, Zrask managed to find his targets fairly consistently among the pack.
It was this surprising proficiency that, when Zrask finally managed to make the grade through basic, drew the attention of his superiors, who approached the young Bothan with an interesting if slightly surprising offer. Zrask's grades had netted him, if the Bothan chose to pursue it, a place within the dedicated sniper training course. Five weeks of grueling training, beyond what basic could have ever been, for the potential to further his career and become a sniper; a long-range killer of the Republic's enemies. The washout rate was high, but the skills learned were invaluable; it was a surefire way to push himself to the absolute limits both mentally and physically.
Tired, sore, but hungry for adventure as always, Zrask accepted, and much like basic, soon began to find his desire for a thrill and a challenge far too great for his body to tolerate easily. If the arduors of basic had been a nightmare, the course was a night-terror; nothing like it had ever come close in Zrask's life before or since. Five weeks of grueling physical training, taxing ballistics studies and comprehension of the pinpoint-accurate rifles used by the Republic snipers had Zrask feeling like he was going to drop dead, but the Bothan gutted out as long as he could.
The small class of about fifty was quickly pared down; shooting wasn't the only skill required and the numbers began to dwindle away under the must-pass testing criteria. Even Zrask, dedicated as he was, flirted with disaster several times; just narrowly avoiding failure on several of the 'must-pass' training exercises and scoring middle to low on many others. By far worst had been the 'trench crawl', three back to back laps of a hellish four-hundred yard bellycrawl through murky water and swamp-like terrain during the late hours of the night, wearing full camouflage gear to break the recruit-made suits in.
The water was icy cold and stole the breath from the boy's lungs worse than any crawl could have ever done; the terrain leaving the Bothan filthy from head to toe, shivering even with the exercises post-lap to keep his body warm, and practically ready to drop, Zrask made it through. From a class of fifty, the five-week course had whittled the ranks down to less than fifteen; among them was the fatigued Zrask An'tei, earning the designation of sniper.
It's here that Zrask steps out into his career; fresh from training and eager for his first assignments, the young Bothan looks to stamp his name into the history books and serve the Republic dutifully against those who would oppose it.
Sprinting, weights, firearms training, explosives use, obstacle courses and various drills, among other factors, practically bombarded the young Zrask into submission, but at every point the Bothan managed to dig down and find the grit necessary to push on; refusing to entirely break down under the bellowed orders of his drill sergeant. After some time to become acclimated to the stresses of service, Zrask soon began to pull ahead of the pack along with the 'standouts' of the recruit block, particularly in the areas of marksmanship; be it luck or a knack understanding of how to point and shoot, Zrask managed to find his targets fairly consistently among the pack.
It was this surprising proficiency that, when Zrask finally managed to make the grade through basic, drew the attention of his superiors, who approached the young Bothan with an interesting if slightly surprising offer. Zrask's grades had netted him, if the Bothan chose to pursue it, a place within the dedicated sniper training course. Five weeks of grueling training, beyond what basic could have ever been, for the potential to further his career and become a sniper; a long-range killer of the Republic's enemies. The washout rate was high, but the skills learned were invaluable; it was a surefire way to push himself to the absolute limits both mentally and physically.
Tired, sore, but hungry for adventure as always, Zrask accepted, and much like basic, soon began to find his desire for a thrill and a challenge far too great for his body to tolerate easily. If the arduors of basic had been a nightmare, the course was a night-terror; nothing like it had ever come close in Zrask's life before or since. Five weeks of grueling physical training, taxing ballistics studies and comprehension of the pinpoint-accurate rifles used by the Republic snipers had Zrask feeling like he was going to drop dead, but the Bothan gutted out as long as he could.
The small class of about fifty was quickly pared down; shooting wasn't the only skill required and the numbers began to dwindle away under the must-pass testing criteria. Even Zrask, dedicated as he was, flirted with disaster several times; just narrowly avoiding failure on several of the 'must-pass' training exercises and scoring middle to low on many others. By far worst had been the 'trench crawl', three back to back laps of a hellish four-hundred yard bellycrawl through murky water and swamp-like terrain during the late hours of the night, wearing full camouflage gear to break the recruit-made suits in.
The water was icy cold and stole the breath from the boy's lungs worse than any crawl could have ever done; the terrain leaving the Bothan filthy from head to toe, shivering even with the exercises post-lap to keep his body warm, and practically ready to drop, Zrask made it through. From a class of fifty, the five-week course had whittled the ranks down to less than fifteen; among them was the fatigued Zrask An'tei, earning the designation of sniper.
It's here that Zrask steps out into his career; fresh from training and eager for his first assignments, the young Bothan looks to stamp his name into the history books and serve the Republic dutifully against those who would oppose it.
"Your first target is target Uniform! Target Uniform! Team 1, you're first."
The voice echoed across the bitter morning field like a gunshot, howling against the greyed-out air marred by thick fog from the night before as if bouncing off of it, as Zrask's ears twitched against the reverberated waves. The cool air, chilling almost down to the bone, seemed to be both a friend and an enemy; the gentle caress of a light breeze helped to stir the lingering desire for sleep, but its bitter touch left his hands to shake; the rifle trembling in his hands and shuddering against his shoulder.
Even propped against the prone Bothan's forearm, the weapon was unsteady; fatigue and cold working in tandem to send his body into a mild fit for warmth. The scope before his eyes jiggled, disorienting the Bothan for a moment as his eyes struggled to maintain focus; the crosshair lines blurring over the zoomed display of the scope and the outside world around it.
Target Uniform, a painted durasteel plate emblazoned with the designated letter, sat in his unstable sights downrange; just shy of a thousand yards, the riddled plate of metal seemed to almost fade into the layers of fog swirling gently about it. It was a distant shot, one of the longest on the range, and with no indicator of range other than the guestimation of he and his spotter, Zrask could only find himself wishing for any other letter; any closer shot to start the day off.
'Slight hold up for drop; steady breaths.' The bothan thought to himself, even his inner monologue hazy and sleepy in tone, bringing a yawn to the fore that a sharp bite down against his jaw struggled to stifle. Cheek pressed hard into the cool surface of the rifle's stock, Zrask did what he could to steady; gently guiding the crosshairs of his sights just slightly high of the center of the target, accounting for the effect of gravity that the round would be exposed to during its brief flight.
Breathing calmly, the picture from his scope began to steady; the ever so slight bobbing and shuddering from his breaths and his shaky hands beginning to slow down with each passing second. The stock pressed to his right shoulder, Zrask squeezed tight, doing his best to press the rifle against him; the kick that he'd become somewhat familiarised with was still something of a shock to deal with, a solid kick-back. Emptying his lungs of what breath remained in a soft, silent sigh, the Bothan committed; depressing the trigger with as gentle a touch as a safecracker...
*Click!*
Nothing; not the loud blast of the primer igniting and the rush of a hunk of metal soaring to its target, not the thud of the padded stock thumping into his shoulder, nothing but the soft metallic tap of a hammer striking firing pin and meeting nothing. The second that it took for the young marksman to realise what had happen felt like an eternity, and sleep-addled as the prospective sniper was his reaction time was slow enough that his instructor's voice was a surprise.
"Miss! Re-engage in ten, nine, eight..."
A misfire! The weapon hadn't been correctly loaded; be it fatigue or simply lack of attention, the instructor wasn't about to grant any leeway. Panic sent the Bothan's heart aflutter and his cheeks burned with embarrassment; perhaps the simplest of mistakes and yet the most foolish, and he'd made it. Feeding the magazine into place wasn't enough, the bolt had to slide back to push the first round into position, then forward to bring it into the chamber; priming the weapon to fire. Zrask's failure to pull the bolt back far enough in the loading stage had failed to load a round; the chamber was empty on firing and, as such, rested on the shooter for fault.
No round in the chamber might as well have meant a miss for all the good it did.
Had the round itself been faulty, sure, maybe some leniency may have been given, but this was amateurish at best, and scrambling hurriedly to pull the bolt back and release the magazine from the rifle, Zrask could feel the pressure mount. Childish mistake brought on by lack of attention, and whilst recrimination felt in order, there was no time to even think about it. It felt like everyone was watching him, fumbling to pull the second thirty-round magazine from the ground beside him and clap it into place. This time, Zrask made certain to tug the bolt back and properly feed the rifle; unwilling to make the same mistake twice.
"Five, four..."
Pressing cheek to stock once more, squeezing his left eye closed to focus on the scope just before his face, the Bothan fought to regain his sight picture. Reloading the rifle had taken it off of his target, and losing precious seconds to regain the target and his concentration, the Bothan quickly found himself struggling to lower his breathing rate.
"Two, one..."
Zrask squeezed the trigger.
The rifle kicked back like a mule; within the same instant as the trigger fired, the firing pin struck the primer and sent the round down the barrel and out into the open world. Zrask's upper body jerked, shock from the rifle kick jerking him in position to deal with the recoil as the round soared; burning the air from barrel to target. The second of semi-silence, marred with the howl of his rifle report echoing from the flats of the range, were far too long, before the voice of his instructor broke the silence, bringing Zrask to a start as he waited for the call with breath held.
"Hit! Good placement; watch that reload, An'tei."
Relief washed over the boy like a tidal wave; a hit! A shot in the practical dark at a hair under a thousand yards and he'd drilled it. Feeling his spotter tap his ankle in approval, Zrask could only lean forward, releasing his held breath with a roll of his eyes, blinking slowly. Far too close...
