Post by nonune on Sept 7, 2020 23:50:27 GMT -5
 Shirak Skyfire Full Name • Sharik Eldesen (Birth), Sharik Skyfire (Legal) Nickname • Prince Race • Human Birthplace • Noaune Age • 32 Gender • male Sexuality • hetero Faction • Fringe, Ex Republic Concept • Captain of the Freighter Starlight Languages • Basic, Noaunese (Can read and write, old planetary "latin"esque dead language), Basic, Huttese, Bothese, Durese, Twi'leki Assets • Modified XS Stock Light Freighter, Modified Astromech (Design personalized to Sharik's tastes and to better service Starlight, Personal heavy blaster, holdout blaster, Cheap slug thrower stored above docking ramp of freighter, abnormally large library from multiple worlds for a smuggler. Appearance Face Claim • TENNANT, David Height & Weight •6'1" Overall Looks • Sharp angular lines lead up his face to an unruly sprouting of hair, often roughly tousled and unkempt. Preferring utilitarian clothing, he often can be found in outfits that have a plethora of pockets filled with data spikes, wrenches and his personal datapad. His look is out of date, by at least a decade, if well put together for those eras. Never far from his side is his heavy blaster pistol and his long coat. Personality Profile Sharik's personality can depend on a few things. When dealing with droids he is often affable and friendly, to the point of treating a few of them as equals. Beyond that, his mood shifts largely on how drunk he happens to be at any given moment and how many sentient beings surround him. His time in the Republic military has left him with an extreme case of PTSD that he avoids dealing with in nearly any way possible. Avoidance of any sentient life being a key one, he operates through codes on local Datanets, preferring the anonymity it gives him. The rare exception is when he can fly. Not fly through system traffic or in the long lonely straight lines of space. When he's avoiding system patrols through an asteroid or debris field is when he finds the most joy, and a deep dark rage can be felt from him if anyone fires on his baby the Starlight. Background Father • Famir Eldesen, 59, Noaunese Diplomat Mother • Pania Eldesen, 57, Noaunese Librarian Siblings • Lisabeel Eldesen, Sister, 28 Other Important Connections • Sirenia, Ex Comms Officer, Twi'lek, Credits Sharik with her lack of dishonorable discharge, arranged secondary Republic Transponder, Flight controller at one of Coruscant's many Starports Gles Tres'uale, Bothan, Ex Intelligence/Counter Electronic Warfare tech, Status Unknown. Zulim Bog, Duros, Ex Gunman. Hates Sharik for "Siding with Fascists" Tallunn Biss, Correllian ex Copilot. Flies low priority transports in system of Corellia Overall History • Building Civilization takes a certain drive. Some Sith have it, some Jedi, Mandolorians have no taste for it, and the Republic has been trying to build it for Millenia. Nouanese are born with it, the Eldesen family more so than all but the most stringently traditional of the Nouanese. Wealth and privilege course through their veins, and the family crest rests above many a public library entrance. Born with a silver spoon and a golden library that would make many a Jedi Scholar’s mouth water a few steps from his bedroom, Sharik was not much different from his fellows. Study occupied his youth, with the only exercise being that of wandering the massive halls of this library or state hall. Minister he would be one day, for few understood the running and philosophy of civilization like the Noaunese. Where would be determined by his test scores upon coming to age. The only indulgence Sharik was given was access to what his father called trash or pulp novels. And it was an indulgence that played heavily into his future. Because when the Sith Empire returned, half blind by stories of courageous heroes and tramp freighter pilots, young Sharik did what so many young folks around the galaxy did. He signed up for Service. Little did he know the truth of wars and the ravages it caused regardless of side. And much to his Statesman father’s disappointment. Young Sharik's path had been plotted for him since before birth and his place was at the Planetary Academy, in the halls named for his grandfathers and grandmothers. It was a higher Service that young Sharik was drawn to. Without truly understanding the young noble was quickly found in the mud of a boot camp, where his nickname and callsign came to haunt him. Prince. His hands were soft from the handling of books, his face cut with the attractive soft lines of one who had hardly toiled a day in his life. And because of this his drill sergeant made it his personal goal to harden up the young Prince. Blisters became callouses, and his soft lines became harder angles. Soft pretty muscle was trained into something leaner and more predatory. When the aptitude tests came before he knew it that time in the mud was lost as Sharik found his first true love. Flying. Wealthy enough to live in a luxury most of the universe could never dream of, there had always been fast speeder cars, and the regular trips to the orbital Noaunese Library were common. He had always Known he loved to fly, and to fly fast. But a sky speeder and flying in the back of a commercial orbital transport were not the same thing as riding fire. Interceptors, Strike, Assault, Bombers, even some of the larger Patrol craft seemed to come naturally to the young Sharik. As naturally as walking. But it was in the Gunboats and military transports that his skills truly shone. Shooting was not for him. Each life had a voice, had a Right to exist. A founding principle of a free civilization. That all Sentient life was precious. But give him a Sabacc card to land a squad of troopers on, or a team of gunners to fire, and the mission would arrive on time and on target. Skills that landed him aboard the battleship Anenke with a bunk shared with Sirenia his Twi’lek comms officer, Gles Tres’uale Bothan intelligence officer and his Duros, Zulim Bog, gunman and human engineer, a Correllian Tallunn Biss. Their ship, the Skyfire, an SGS-45 Quarrel participated in many battles through the eight year conflict with Shirak making the heavily over armed gunship dance like an assault fighter even with its unimpressive speeds. But more and more, Sharik became less enamored with the life of destruction. Against his every request to upgrade to the heavy ion cannon that his favorite Quarrel sported, enabling the small gunboat to disable even small capital ships, Zulim Bog insisted on flying with the slug firing rail gun. With the burst fire laser cannon, this enabled them to put large holes in many an Imperial Transports and other gunboats. “Let’s make ‘em float.” Became a gravelly phrase from the Duros that would constantly haunt his nightmares and waking moments, driving him to drink heavily to hide his nerves and the trauma of watching the enemy freeze and choke in the empty vacuum. But otherwise the team worked well together. They were at war together; a little extra violence was a good thing. And the vile Sith would not hesitate to vaporize them. Dancing his larger craft through interceptor fire gave him little doubt of that fact. Over the course of the war the Skyfire racked up an impressive kill count, though not nearly the largest in the fleet, they were more known for always coming back. If the engines till ran, it didn’t matter how many holes the Sith put in her, Shirak always brought them home. That skill and his willingness to learn his teammates native tongues brought the team closer together. Until the battle of Nar Shaddaa against the Acherii Chorus. Sharik had learned early to keep his thoughts of peace to himself, and that battle was no different. The Sith and the Republic finally were working together against a common foe. A foe greater than any they faced before, that threatened all free will. The thought was thrilling to Sharik, now in his early thirties. Perhaps…. But no… Even as the Acheri fled the word came from the Anenke, “We aren’t waiting for the damned fascists to fire first. Target the Sith Fleet.” Several of the red blips indicating Sith ships shimmered in the holodisplay, and one such ship was his target. A large transport of Sith Troopers that were escaping the falling debris. Unusually slow to respond Shirak gasped as Zulim gravelly cheered out, “Finally! Bring us in line Prince, lets show these fascist scum what they deserve.” It was an illegal rogue order. And Shirak knew it. As turbolaser fire and other gunships of the Battle Group Vespado lit the darkness of space with blood red fire. Then the blue white light of a capital ship’s engine exploding. And there Shirak would wake, again. And again. And again. And probably would again tomorrow night. The Skyfire wasn’t the only ship of the battlegroup that had not fired, though they were in the mass minority and when only starfighters do not fire, the level of devastation remains unthinkable. Nearly every member of that battlegroup faced a dishonorable discharge, certainly everyone who participated in the rogue attack. Only the fact that Sharik had locked up and refused to bring the Skyfire to bear, refusing an illegal order had saved his crew from a similar fate. Then came the investigations, the hopelessness. Everything he had fought for, everything he believed was good, was decimated by the rogue actions of a few. On Prahzi they faced the worst and got better than most of their fellows. Fellow crewmen treated them as Sith Sympathizers, worst than the Sith. The Sith themselves treated those few like them with more dignity. It had quickly become apparent that the rogue actions were of the minority. “Honorable” Discharge was what he was given in the end. Failure to follow orders alienated him from his Republic Comrades, even if those orders were wrong. A betrayal of all the morays of civilization for which he thought the Republic stood. A betrayal of his fellows. But the Right thing to have done. If Civilization mattered naught… The broken pilot turned to a life of crime. It came easy and fast, with as much alcohol as he could want. Never enough to drown out the red glare and starburst blues that had burned into the back of his mind. Now carrying the name Skyfire, bearing the name to remind him of the price of trust, Sharik flies the Starlight, a light freighter, crewed by droids with a severe lack of trust in other sentient lifeforms. |
