Post by Val - Warning:Contains Sarcasm on Nov 18, 2009 15:50:36 GMT -5
Faction: Republic
Department: Army, Heavy Weapons/Heavy Armour Division
Rank: Private
Name: Zim Soka
Race: Feeorin
Age: 326
Height: 7' 3"
Weight: 260 lb
Appearance:
^ I don't own the above image. ^
As Feeorin go, Zim is not a particularly rare specimen when it comes down to genetics. He has a large, muscular frame as his species tends to permit, with muscles that have only ever grown larger and firmer with the coming years and continuity of age. Of the two types of facial structures, he is the one without human-like nasal features, and his face is notably lined instead. Of the multitude of marks on his face, the natural marks are the most numerous, whereas the battle scars are deeper or otherwise more significantly noticeable. One large mark scars across the centre of his forehead in a vaguely horizontal fashion, another on the right cheek which is smaller, but deeper, and a third, tear-like mark slipping down from his lower lip towards his chin. These pale in comparison to other scars across his body, and furthermore the other mentionable areas of his face, which has seen a lot of damage and harmful experiences over the years.
Once, Zim was the owner of brass eyes that shone with angry intent from beneath his shadowed brow. The skin surrounding them, reptilian but warm, sucked any light from inside and seemingly destroyed it, forcing the colour to remain its dim, bronzen hue despite any attempts to brighten up his stare. This changed when the left side of his face was essentially erased through explosives, and as well as being rebuilt, the useless eye was replaced with an artificial spherical one that took up a fair amount of space around the socket. This attachment originally offered only basic corrected sight and was rather grotesque in a dingy grey style. Additional attachments were applied, at great financial cost, to the initial structure which enabled the gear to function as an advanced headset by extending the piece to encompass more of his head, including some of the area down towards his mouth, and around his ear. Thermal vision and infared modes have also been integrated into the device and can be swapped into with just a button push.
The other eye also suffered damage over the years, and as a result has had its own addition of cybernetic implants. Embedded around the top of his right eye, the small piece of machinery is able to hook up on the same frequency as the radio aspect of the other device, and can receive transmissions of area schematics, data logs and almost anything else that can be displayed on a user interface. This can be displayed over his eye through a small screen that projects down whenever used, though the information needs to be sent directly to his signal receiver and he needs to be made aware of it in order to actually view the data coming his way. Of course, in a high stress situation, this is easier said than done. Together the pair of systems compensate for the numerous injuries and damages Zim has sustained over the course of his lifetime, and without them he'd be restricted to a weak life. Neither one of them is particularly more attractive then the other, and the forced removal of either could cause severe bleeding and damage.
The rest of his body is incredibly thick and strong whilst just as battle-worn as the face and its features. Scars decorate his torso and stomach, marks across his arms indicate blaster fights, and a tattoo on his back symbolizes his long-time affiliation with his clan.
Crossing across the full accessibility of his back, the black tattoo is dotted with marks, but otherwise has been untouched since its application. It is the only tattoo he has had applied to him, and he has no intentions for any others. Other noticeable damages to his body include the cutting of several tendrils hanging from his face, and the Nautolan-like tentacles at the back of his head - the results of many glorious battles. The severed ends of the tentacles are adorned with decorative metals applied for little practical use, and more that of a lavish extension. His hands are thick and rough, good for using weapons, fighting, and killing with.
His civilian clothing is very basic, and only what tends to be worn when off duty, either at port or within military bases. It consists of loose-fitting trousers, thick boots and a thin shirt, sometimes with a jacket over the top. Most of the fabric is rather basic and neither flattering nor particularly comforting, but compared to the military suit it's rather nice to wear. The clothing uses earthy tones, browns and blacks, and is padded only on areas that would benefit his body temperature, though it needs little support considering his warm blood. Several pockets line the attire - the jacket in particular - and make for good hiding places for his hands. If a belt is needed, it is often not the same one his military suit utilizes, though it still has the opportunity for carrying several useful items - some grenades, if appropriate, space for a blaster holster, and of course by extension, blaster. With his bare hands, however, he's often not at a loss for weaponry. A 10 inch combat knife is kept inside his boots, however, in case.
His uniform, on the other hand, differs between occasions, with some constant items present every time and some pieces different. He almost always has a belt stocked with grenades and extra clips or energy cells, often only not having it if he's caught unaware and unprepared for a fight at the time. He keeps a small amount of other explosive substance which can be useful for getting through some types of doors or walls when used properly. Finally, constant throughout all his uniforms is a sense of wear and tear, shown through the extensive amounts of damage to the fabric - blaster fire, explosion marks and repaired holes are all plain to see. Aside from the slots for weaponry, the typical grey armour carries little else that is the same in all conditions. Being a soldier of many different abilities and proficiencies, it is not unheard of Zim being called to perform more than one role during a single campaign, or even in a single assault or battle.
For most intents and purposes, Zim bears a heavy assault rifle and extra clips, in his normal battle armour including helmet. The weapon is standard issue, the same as the rest of his gear, and is typically given to the larger species, or otherwise operated from a mounted position. Zim wields this weapon well and with pride, looking forward to any chance he gets at gunning down an enemy position. Other weaponry employed in certain situations can include shoulder-mounted missile launchers and sniper rifles. He was well educated in all types of heavy weaponry, and when things got to close quarters he would quite willingly allow his fists to take over and begin to carry out the close quarters justice. His armour changed little - lighter armour in hot and humid environments, thicker, layered armour for hostile, cold and aggressive environments. Any other time it was generally assumed basic armour would suffice. Of course, his actual armour style changes depending on role - soldier, heavy armour, scouting and demolitions.
Birth place: Nar Shaddaa
Skills:
Explosives Training - Learnt during his pre-Republic days, Zim learnt how to blow down a door after several occasions where an easier route would be preferable. He is by no means an expert, but he's certainly capable of putting a dent in most things with the explosive putty he has in a compartment of his belt. Most of his knowledge is from experience, and he's learnt quite a bit - especially after having half of his face blown off in an accident.
"And boom goes the reconnaisance team."
Sniper Training - His initial role when joining the Republic's army, Zim used to be assigned as part of his sniper unit. He had been using ranged blaster weapons for a long amount of time by this point, and the transition to the pinpoint accuracy wasn't much of a challenge for him after a little while. Due do his size, he was outfitted with a larger rifle than most, which packed an extra bit of punch. Though he still engages in the use of rifles, he doesn't complete as many scout missions as he used to because of his personal preferences in other areas.
"Hold the weapon, keep it still, don't let it move even a fraction of an inch. When you feel that surge of instinct you pull that trigger, and you watch that shot embed itself into your target's head. It's a rather satisfying deed."
Heavy Weapons Training - Partially because of size, and otherwise because of strength, Zim is well suited to wielding massive weapons. They offer him the firepower he desires and the size he finds easier to use. The heavy blaster rifle he uses is rarely used by most infantry, usually the type of which is mounted to light transports, though it is slightly modified for infantry use.
"You call that a weapon? Now this... this is a weapon. Nothing says 'Pest Control' like 6000 rounds a minute."
Missile Launcher Training - One of Zim's personal favourites, simply because of sheer destructive capabilities, he is educated in how best to fire a massive rocket into enemy vehicles, buildings, and even troop clusters if the need be. He has no preference between sending tank crews to a fiery death, or blowing soldiers into chunks, and he's often reloading by the time the explosion hits. This training regime was one that he requested expressly to be part of, and he hasn't regretted it at all.
"I'd like to see a Jedi do that! OK. Now how about we use this baby on something non-organic?"
Scout Training - From his early days in the Republic army, Zim knows how to move across a large distance ahead of a column of units in order to scout out enemy forces and terrain. Moving in groups of around 4 scouts, he went on several stealthy missions to set up intelligence for the army, and took a fair few headshots in the meantime. He hasn't forgotten this in his later years, and can still practice the skills he learnt, though he finds it harder unless carrying very light armour, and even then his large size and battle preferences tend to be very un-scout-like.
"I expect silence. If you are not silent, I'll make you silent."
Heavy Armour Command Training - Zim volunteered, and was accepted into, the heavy armour division. He was not unfamiliar with piloting vehicles, having commanded and used similar types beforehand when he was younger, though not on the scale of the QTDTs. Due to his multiple roles in the army, he hasn't been promoted to any sort of officer role, though he tends to be unofficially put in charge of at least his vehicle when taking the QTDT, and sometimes others.
"I do love the smell of 3 large men in a cramped space in the morning."
Assault Training - After numerous assaults on enemy territory, and extensive amounts of training exercises, Zim is among the most well versed in taking on an enemy position, including positions that may be entrenched, well defended or otherwise difficult to take on. With his weapon blaring away, and his quick, instinctive ability to snap behind cover, he can take ground progressively and solidly.
"Last one into enemy trenches gets to clear the blood off my boots - and I won't be making it easy on you."
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 9
Intelligence: 5
Speed: 6
Leadership: 3
Unarmed: 8
Melee Weapons: 5
Ranged Weapons: 8
Alignment: -6
Bio:
You May Notice A Change Of Ownership
It is often so that the fates of life can be kind or cruel, and in one's lifetime there is very rarely the appreciation of both to a significant degree. Families may fall from majesty to poverty, and others may work their way up from the slums to the rooftops to shout their victories into the heavens. Children, open of mind and pure in innocence, would be told of the wondrous stories of the life those much more fortunate than they had, only to be reminded of the day to day harshnesses that plagued every lingering breath that prevented their escape from the rotting life. Each day a struggle to find the will to pursue life in the hope that one day you would escape - through death or otherwise. Such was the lot in life of most inhabitants of Nar Shadaa, trapped in the prison built by crime lords, smugglers and bounty hunters.
Dominated with pollution and crime, the largest moon of Nal Hutta is not a place for visiting for vacations, and certainly not a location of preference for the populace. They occupy the streets and vertical towers, though, and endure the corruption, the decay, the endless torments of living on a planet like Coruscant in many ways, and yet as different as they could possibly imagine. The sufferers imagine the jewel of the Republic, with its splendid buildings and gleaming towers, and the bright star of the Jedi Temple embedded into the landscape. The only Jewel the people know is Nal Hutta, the so-called 'Glorious Jewel', and planet of which Nar Shaddaa orbits. Crime is as thick as the pollution of the planet, and the presence of the Hutts there is as potent as their stench.
With much of the moon within their oversized grasps, the Hutts exert their power throughout the streets and businesses, governing tax laws, politics and seemingly anything that would make an average citizen's life harder. Businesses - both local and widespread - fail or succeed based on their standing with the Hutts, and there are few who are able to oppose the monsters. Other crime lords, certainly, offer some resistance against the Hutt rule, but there is the problem of replacing one poor leader with another. Whilst some people would be willing to back one side or another, depending on who is filling their pocket, the majority consensus is that an ignorant approach gives the least problems and the easier life of the two. Draped under the veil of greedy money-grabbing, the people rely on family and close friends to get themselves through the day. Small businesses rely on contacts, with the hopes that the unfounded and irrational faith that a friend's friend's friend would be enough to save their profits. The clamoring for the credits of others takes place across almost every inch of the moon, and though so much currency changes hands, the feeling of contention with a purchase is rarely found.
With a rate of immigrants far exceeding that of the individuals leaving the planet, areas quickly became overcrowded with a population density that grew at a frightening rate. When such a situation occurs, the legal influx is as difficult to spot as the illegal ones - though on the Smuggler's Moon no such thing occurred. Instead, more and more newcomers were encouraged - they brought credits with them, and were cheap labour once they had nowhere else to go and no way of living otherwise. Some came on their own ship, many of which were lost within days, even hours, and others came through civilian transports. Families, friends, often just strangers with no particular goal in life other than that of living the day to day life that barely sustained each of them. The lucky bet, the complimentary drink, it was often all that kept such a crowd going from day to day without the depression that would stop their basic functioning. The new arrivals would wander streets, looking for accommodation, looking for security, looking for sustenance, but their credits would all go to the same place regardless.
Whilst a transport shuttle carrying a variety of exotic, alien immigrants would not be anything of notable importance, it would be a mistake to say that of the passengers. Feeorin were not as common of a sight around the galaxy as they could be - tending to remain rather secluded for the most part and occupying fleets and colonies which saw little interaction with the rest of the galaxy. Their aggressive nature and confrontational attitudes often left them avoided by others, and it was a rare occasion that the reptilian giants would actually seek out a location like Nar Shaddaa. The group consisted of nine - five males, four females, though there were very little differences between them apart from physical appearance. Dressed in light combat suits, and each carrying a personal armory of personalized weaponry. Some carried blades, others blasters, and a few had explosives with them, and together they took residence in an apartment block. The small floor of just four rooms was sufficient for their needs. Not all of them intended to be sleeping at once, and there would be plenty of storage space.
With their control having started effectively with the domination of the level of apartment rooms, they implemented their course of action. The group had great desires of becoming a powerful force on the moon, and by seeking out, and strangling their landlord they consolidated this by taking over his office and saving them on rent expenses. In the dead of night, and with lethal efficiency, the entire property fell into their possession, as did the problems and dealings with the resident crime lord. It was three days before an emissary of the Hutt arrived wanting to know where his money was for that week. Expecting to see a measly Rodian, and not a muscular Feeorin behind the desk, the Gran messenger quickly realised there would be a necessity of alternative tactic. Three of the Feeorin went to meet with the Hutt, and the others maintained their position to await any calls. By now there was a small collection of 'confiscated' or otherwise acquired items laying in a pile in their quarters, and from these items the others added to their arsenal.
"Do we actually need this? I mean, if I wanted to kill someone in close quarters wouldn't I just rip his head off?" - Sez
You Might Want To Read The Fine Print
With their first audience before the Hutt known as Urbaa, the Feeorin group hid their intentions through a facade of false amicability. Clearly unhappy that his Rodian monetary supply had been dried up in the face of the newcomers, the criminal was quick to enlist the services of the warriors who had recently brought themselves to his attention. With further inquiries into the Hutt's intentions, they found that there was a clear desire to contract the group before him, and likely by extension, the other members, into joining his immoral empire. Bounty hunter jobs were declined by the Feeorins, as was manual labour, but intimidation was agreeable to him and he noted that they would be called upon when needed to provide the muscle Urbaa's current henchmen were severely lacking in. The group of three agreed, making sure to extend their meeting to appear as though they were arguing about the pricing and amount of work. Hardly though, as they wanted to be in this situation in order to sufficiently get close to a boss over time.
With the rest of their group informed of the new developments in their situation, they prepared. This was not done, however, through the management of time and being rested in the face of a job - it was along the lines of checking equipment regularly, keeping their shooting straight and punches direct. They sparred with one another, sometimes for hours, sometimes multiple on one, in an effort to prepare for any situation. And outside of this inner sanctum of warrior perfection they also plotted their moves on other areas of the planet of their goals. Messages came, with times and dates and job details, and several went each time to address the situation that Urbaa had needed them to commit to. Weak civilians were roughed up, bruised heavily and otherwise harrassed in order to prove their use to the Hutt who demanded their money. And the sufferers paid.
By the time a handful of jobs had came under their belts, the Feeorins were already proving to be a valuable to Urbaa, though they refused any hints the Hutt provided them with of moving closer to the Crime Lord. It wasn't the proximity type they were looking for. The closeness they wanted came in an alternative fashion, which was brought about with the arrival of a rather important assignment for the warriors to retrieve a weapons cache from the Starport. One that didn't belong to Urbaa, but that caught his greedy, overfed eye regardless. This was a prime opportunity for them to put their plan into action, to take over from the Hutt gradually and establish themselves in a better position. But they needed the rapport with the slug, and so the cache arrived without an incident. Not even a gun out of place. The Feeorin bunch intended to have some within a few weeks regardless.
There were more missions for the group now, and the Hutt was pressing even harder for them to join him on his so-called 'Inner Ring' of 'friends' that he supposedly held dear to him. Cronies, essentially, and the Feeorin maintained what they referred to the Crime Lord as their 'Code of Honour', which was in fact their way of not actually having to get in under the thumb of the Hutt. When another job for a high value package arrived, the entire group was suddenly involved in activities, though Urbaa was only aware of three of them. The Hutt had sent the Feeorins to pick up some high-grade explosives with some of his men, some humans who were intending on making the exchange of the bombs for several rather nice pieces of starfighter equipment. Feeorin bodyguards flanked the men, and at the meeting place the negotiations went underway. The remaining six set up around the area, and with the signal fire erupted from the outsides. The three in the middle fake-fired as the surrounding weaklings were shot down, and with them dead the trio 'working' for the Hutt grabbed all the gear and returned.
The Hutt seemed overjoyed that the items had been returned to him, even if half of his expedition team had not. The handing over of the explosives were highly appreciated by him, as was the return of his starfighter parts. The Feeorins mentioned, however, how the battle had been - a long and hard fight with many close calls. They wanted the Hutt to supply them with battle armour, the best available, and weaponry from the Crime Lord's own cache. The Hutt declined their offer, but reversed his decision when the Feeorins casually mentioned that they would find work elsewhere and cease their dealings with the creature. The loss of such valuable individuals to him was not something he was willing to bear, and he agreed that over the coming weeks the weapons and armour would be waiting for them. Another victory for the Feeorin strategy, and they felt closer and closer to taking even more power on the moon. Power they were going to be exerting once they controlled everything.
"Cleaning your armour of blaster marks: 33 credits each. New cartridges for your high-powered sniper rifle: 550 credits. Conning your boss into buying you 9 sets of battle armour: priceless." - Dheej
If You're Going To Stab Me In The Back, At Least Do It To My Face
When the battle armour arrived for the group, Urbaa wasted no time in having them put it to use, and to use it often. There were hideout assaults, full on battles in the slums and more close calls than any of the Feeorin would have been happy with, especially considering several of their number intended on becoming parents soon. The armour was good, though, and even several direct hits from blasters weren't enough to get through it. Urbaa was impressed, glad to see that his investment was paying off, and in copious amounts too. All the while the credits rolled in on behalf of the Feeorins, expanding their bank balances and mirroring their stockpile of weaponry. Urbaa was hesitant to give any sorts of heavy weaponry to the group for fear they would quickly take him up on more and more expensive firearms. The thought that they would double-cross him hadn't came across his mind at this point, but there would be plenty of time for him to think about this after his competition had been removed from the streets and towers of Nar Shaddaa.
Urbaa's major nemesis in the lower limits of the crime lords of the moon was a Devaronian by the name of Zorq. Scuffles and fights between their henchmen was growing increasingly common, and theft or sabotages by one another were another thing that was increasing in its likeliness. The Feeorins had already conducted several missions which involved running into the thugs of the other boss, and they'd been dispatched without much incident each time. Neither side was willing to let favours go to waste any more, however, and it was threatening to tend towards both sides bringing all they had against each other in order to make their final all or nothing stands. Weeks and months of skirmishes had left both teams rather riled up with one another, and the supplies were beginning to see a downturn - both crime lords saw each other as an expense to their business. Expenses that needed to be cut, and Urbaa knew just the way to do it, with his group of Feeorin elite.
The Feeorin were not stupid, however, and were aware of the multitude of similar mercenaries who were in constant competition with them. Research around the local bars and canteens, as well as their own observations, led them to noticing a particular trend of escalating violence between the two crime lords. Two small animals fighting over a particularly pathetic piece of food, in this case a small district of the moon that would ultimately fall under superior control in the future eventually. The Feeorins wanted a suitable place to take over, and two sides of a conflict equally damaged by one another was not what they wanted - not by a long shot. They quickly identified key personelle on both sides - advisors, treasurers, tacticians, smugglers - and systematically either bribed or marked them for abduction should their anonymous offerings fail. When the time would come, those that were willing to join them would make sure they were away from the hideouts, and those marked would be taken and held until events concluded.
Sure enough tensions finally came to an end and the conflicting forces of Zorq and Urbaa were destined to meet in ferocious combat, or so Urbaa told his squad of personal heroes. The Feeorin were aware of this, though Urbaa's addressing made it official and there was a sudden message going around ordering all the advisors and suchlike out from the main base to away further messages at hidden locations not far from the crime hubs. Even the chiefs of security were convinced to leave their posts temporarily, mainly because of the amount of work they'd been forced under because of the conflicts, and willingly let the security of both buildings falter before the Feeorins went in. First, they laid bombs all around Urbaa's hideout in order to cover most of the places they expected him to be at any one time, and handed the Hutt the bomb detonator, telling him they would give him the extreme satisfaction of detonating the bombs they'd lay in Zorq's base.
RP Sample:
Department: Army, Heavy Weapons/Heavy Armour Division
Rank: Private
Name: Zim Soka
Race: Feeorin
Age: 326
Height: 7' 3"
Weight: 260 lb
Appearance:
^ I don't own the above image. ^
As Feeorin go, Zim is not a particularly rare specimen when it comes down to genetics. He has a large, muscular frame as his species tends to permit, with muscles that have only ever grown larger and firmer with the coming years and continuity of age. Of the two types of facial structures, he is the one without human-like nasal features, and his face is notably lined instead. Of the multitude of marks on his face, the natural marks are the most numerous, whereas the battle scars are deeper or otherwise more significantly noticeable. One large mark scars across the centre of his forehead in a vaguely horizontal fashion, another on the right cheek which is smaller, but deeper, and a third, tear-like mark slipping down from his lower lip towards his chin. These pale in comparison to other scars across his body, and furthermore the other mentionable areas of his face, which has seen a lot of damage and harmful experiences over the years.
Once, Zim was the owner of brass eyes that shone with angry intent from beneath his shadowed brow. The skin surrounding them, reptilian but warm, sucked any light from inside and seemingly destroyed it, forcing the colour to remain its dim, bronzen hue despite any attempts to brighten up his stare. This changed when the left side of his face was essentially erased through explosives, and as well as being rebuilt, the useless eye was replaced with an artificial spherical one that took up a fair amount of space around the socket. This attachment originally offered only basic corrected sight and was rather grotesque in a dingy grey style. Additional attachments were applied, at great financial cost, to the initial structure which enabled the gear to function as an advanced headset by extending the piece to encompass more of his head, including some of the area down towards his mouth, and around his ear. Thermal vision and infared modes have also been integrated into the device and can be swapped into with just a button push.
The other eye also suffered damage over the years, and as a result has had its own addition of cybernetic implants. Embedded around the top of his right eye, the small piece of machinery is able to hook up on the same frequency as the radio aspect of the other device, and can receive transmissions of area schematics, data logs and almost anything else that can be displayed on a user interface. This can be displayed over his eye through a small screen that projects down whenever used, though the information needs to be sent directly to his signal receiver and he needs to be made aware of it in order to actually view the data coming his way. Of course, in a high stress situation, this is easier said than done. Together the pair of systems compensate for the numerous injuries and damages Zim has sustained over the course of his lifetime, and without them he'd be restricted to a weak life. Neither one of them is particularly more attractive then the other, and the forced removal of either could cause severe bleeding and damage.
The rest of his body is incredibly thick and strong whilst just as battle-worn as the face and its features. Scars decorate his torso and stomach, marks across his arms indicate blaster fights, and a tattoo on his back symbolizes his long-time affiliation with his clan.
Crossing across the full accessibility of his back, the black tattoo is dotted with marks, but otherwise has been untouched since its application. It is the only tattoo he has had applied to him, and he has no intentions for any others. Other noticeable damages to his body include the cutting of several tendrils hanging from his face, and the Nautolan-like tentacles at the back of his head - the results of many glorious battles. The severed ends of the tentacles are adorned with decorative metals applied for little practical use, and more that of a lavish extension. His hands are thick and rough, good for using weapons, fighting, and killing with.
His civilian clothing is very basic, and only what tends to be worn when off duty, either at port or within military bases. It consists of loose-fitting trousers, thick boots and a thin shirt, sometimes with a jacket over the top. Most of the fabric is rather basic and neither flattering nor particularly comforting, but compared to the military suit it's rather nice to wear. The clothing uses earthy tones, browns and blacks, and is padded only on areas that would benefit his body temperature, though it needs little support considering his warm blood. Several pockets line the attire - the jacket in particular - and make for good hiding places for his hands. If a belt is needed, it is often not the same one his military suit utilizes, though it still has the opportunity for carrying several useful items - some grenades, if appropriate, space for a blaster holster, and of course by extension, blaster. With his bare hands, however, he's often not at a loss for weaponry. A 10 inch combat knife is kept inside his boots, however, in case.
His uniform, on the other hand, differs between occasions, with some constant items present every time and some pieces different. He almost always has a belt stocked with grenades and extra clips or energy cells, often only not having it if he's caught unaware and unprepared for a fight at the time. He keeps a small amount of other explosive substance which can be useful for getting through some types of doors or walls when used properly. Finally, constant throughout all his uniforms is a sense of wear and tear, shown through the extensive amounts of damage to the fabric - blaster fire, explosion marks and repaired holes are all plain to see. Aside from the slots for weaponry, the typical grey armour carries little else that is the same in all conditions. Being a soldier of many different abilities and proficiencies, it is not unheard of Zim being called to perform more than one role during a single campaign, or even in a single assault or battle.
For most intents and purposes, Zim bears a heavy assault rifle and extra clips, in his normal battle armour including helmet. The weapon is standard issue, the same as the rest of his gear, and is typically given to the larger species, or otherwise operated from a mounted position. Zim wields this weapon well and with pride, looking forward to any chance he gets at gunning down an enemy position. Other weaponry employed in certain situations can include shoulder-mounted missile launchers and sniper rifles. He was well educated in all types of heavy weaponry, and when things got to close quarters he would quite willingly allow his fists to take over and begin to carry out the close quarters justice. His armour changed little - lighter armour in hot and humid environments, thicker, layered armour for hostile, cold and aggressive environments. Any other time it was generally assumed basic armour would suffice. Of course, his actual armour style changes depending on role - soldier, heavy armour, scouting and demolitions.
Birth place: Nar Shaddaa
Skills:
Explosives Training - Learnt during his pre-Republic days, Zim learnt how to blow down a door after several occasions where an easier route would be preferable. He is by no means an expert, but he's certainly capable of putting a dent in most things with the explosive putty he has in a compartment of his belt. Most of his knowledge is from experience, and he's learnt quite a bit - especially after having half of his face blown off in an accident.
"And boom goes the reconnaisance team."
Sniper Training - His initial role when joining the Republic's army, Zim used to be assigned as part of his sniper unit. He had been using ranged blaster weapons for a long amount of time by this point, and the transition to the pinpoint accuracy wasn't much of a challenge for him after a little while. Due do his size, he was outfitted with a larger rifle than most, which packed an extra bit of punch. Though he still engages in the use of rifles, he doesn't complete as many scout missions as he used to because of his personal preferences in other areas.
"Hold the weapon, keep it still, don't let it move even a fraction of an inch. When you feel that surge of instinct you pull that trigger, and you watch that shot embed itself into your target's head. It's a rather satisfying deed."
Heavy Weapons Training - Partially because of size, and otherwise because of strength, Zim is well suited to wielding massive weapons. They offer him the firepower he desires and the size he finds easier to use. The heavy blaster rifle he uses is rarely used by most infantry, usually the type of which is mounted to light transports, though it is slightly modified for infantry use.
"You call that a weapon? Now this... this is a weapon. Nothing says 'Pest Control' like 6000 rounds a minute."
Missile Launcher Training - One of Zim's personal favourites, simply because of sheer destructive capabilities, he is educated in how best to fire a massive rocket into enemy vehicles, buildings, and even troop clusters if the need be. He has no preference between sending tank crews to a fiery death, or blowing soldiers into chunks, and he's often reloading by the time the explosion hits. This training regime was one that he requested expressly to be part of, and he hasn't regretted it at all.
"I'd like to see a Jedi do that! OK. Now how about we use this baby on something non-organic?"
Scout Training - From his early days in the Republic army, Zim knows how to move across a large distance ahead of a column of units in order to scout out enemy forces and terrain. Moving in groups of around 4 scouts, he went on several stealthy missions to set up intelligence for the army, and took a fair few headshots in the meantime. He hasn't forgotten this in his later years, and can still practice the skills he learnt, though he finds it harder unless carrying very light armour, and even then his large size and battle preferences tend to be very un-scout-like.
"I expect silence. If you are not silent, I'll make you silent."
Heavy Armour Command Training - Zim volunteered, and was accepted into, the heavy armour division. He was not unfamiliar with piloting vehicles, having commanded and used similar types beforehand when he was younger, though not on the scale of the QTDTs. Due to his multiple roles in the army, he hasn't been promoted to any sort of officer role, though he tends to be unofficially put in charge of at least his vehicle when taking the QTDT, and sometimes others.
"I do love the smell of 3 large men in a cramped space in the morning."
Assault Training - After numerous assaults on enemy territory, and extensive amounts of training exercises, Zim is among the most well versed in taking on an enemy position, including positions that may be entrenched, well defended or otherwise difficult to take on. With his weapon blaring away, and his quick, instinctive ability to snap behind cover, he can take ground progressively and solidly.
"Last one into enemy trenches gets to clear the blood off my boots - and I won't be making it easy on you."
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 9
Intelligence: 5
Speed: 6
Leadership: 3
Unarmed: 8
Melee Weapons: 5
Ranged Weapons: 8
Alignment: -6
Bio:
You May Notice A Change Of Ownership
It is often so that the fates of life can be kind or cruel, and in one's lifetime there is very rarely the appreciation of both to a significant degree. Families may fall from majesty to poverty, and others may work their way up from the slums to the rooftops to shout their victories into the heavens. Children, open of mind and pure in innocence, would be told of the wondrous stories of the life those much more fortunate than they had, only to be reminded of the day to day harshnesses that plagued every lingering breath that prevented their escape from the rotting life. Each day a struggle to find the will to pursue life in the hope that one day you would escape - through death or otherwise. Such was the lot in life of most inhabitants of Nar Shadaa, trapped in the prison built by crime lords, smugglers and bounty hunters.
Dominated with pollution and crime, the largest moon of Nal Hutta is not a place for visiting for vacations, and certainly not a location of preference for the populace. They occupy the streets and vertical towers, though, and endure the corruption, the decay, the endless torments of living on a planet like Coruscant in many ways, and yet as different as they could possibly imagine. The sufferers imagine the jewel of the Republic, with its splendid buildings and gleaming towers, and the bright star of the Jedi Temple embedded into the landscape. The only Jewel the people know is Nal Hutta, the so-called 'Glorious Jewel', and planet of which Nar Shaddaa orbits. Crime is as thick as the pollution of the planet, and the presence of the Hutts there is as potent as their stench.
With much of the moon within their oversized grasps, the Hutts exert their power throughout the streets and businesses, governing tax laws, politics and seemingly anything that would make an average citizen's life harder. Businesses - both local and widespread - fail or succeed based on their standing with the Hutts, and there are few who are able to oppose the monsters. Other crime lords, certainly, offer some resistance against the Hutt rule, but there is the problem of replacing one poor leader with another. Whilst some people would be willing to back one side or another, depending on who is filling their pocket, the majority consensus is that an ignorant approach gives the least problems and the easier life of the two. Draped under the veil of greedy money-grabbing, the people rely on family and close friends to get themselves through the day. Small businesses rely on contacts, with the hopes that the unfounded and irrational faith that a friend's friend's friend would be enough to save their profits. The clamoring for the credits of others takes place across almost every inch of the moon, and though so much currency changes hands, the feeling of contention with a purchase is rarely found.
With a rate of immigrants far exceeding that of the individuals leaving the planet, areas quickly became overcrowded with a population density that grew at a frightening rate. When such a situation occurs, the legal influx is as difficult to spot as the illegal ones - though on the Smuggler's Moon no such thing occurred. Instead, more and more newcomers were encouraged - they brought credits with them, and were cheap labour once they had nowhere else to go and no way of living otherwise. Some came on their own ship, many of which were lost within days, even hours, and others came through civilian transports. Families, friends, often just strangers with no particular goal in life other than that of living the day to day life that barely sustained each of them. The lucky bet, the complimentary drink, it was often all that kept such a crowd going from day to day without the depression that would stop their basic functioning. The new arrivals would wander streets, looking for accommodation, looking for security, looking for sustenance, but their credits would all go to the same place regardless.
Whilst a transport shuttle carrying a variety of exotic, alien immigrants would not be anything of notable importance, it would be a mistake to say that of the passengers. Feeorin were not as common of a sight around the galaxy as they could be - tending to remain rather secluded for the most part and occupying fleets and colonies which saw little interaction with the rest of the galaxy. Their aggressive nature and confrontational attitudes often left them avoided by others, and it was a rare occasion that the reptilian giants would actually seek out a location like Nar Shaddaa. The group consisted of nine - five males, four females, though there were very little differences between them apart from physical appearance. Dressed in light combat suits, and each carrying a personal armory of personalized weaponry. Some carried blades, others blasters, and a few had explosives with them, and together they took residence in an apartment block. The small floor of just four rooms was sufficient for their needs. Not all of them intended to be sleeping at once, and there would be plenty of storage space.
With their control having started effectively with the domination of the level of apartment rooms, they implemented their course of action. The group had great desires of becoming a powerful force on the moon, and by seeking out, and strangling their landlord they consolidated this by taking over his office and saving them on rent expenses. In the dead of night, and with lethal efficiency, the entire property fell into their possession, as did the problems and dealings with the resident crime lord. It was three days before an emissary of the Hutt arrived wanting to know where his money was for that week. Expecting to see a measly Rodian, and not a muscular Feeorin behind the desk, the Gran messenger quickly realised there would be a necessity of alternative tactic. Three of the Feeorin went to meet with the Hutt, and the others maintained their position to await any calls. By now there was a small collection of 'confiscated' or otherwise acquired items laying in a pile in their quarters, and from these items the others added to their arsenal.
"Do we actually need this? I mean, if I wanted to kill someone in close quarters wouldn't I just rip his head off?" - Sez
You Might Want To Read The Fine Print
With their first audience before the Hutt known as Urbaa, the Feeorin group hid their intentions through a facade of false amicability. Clearly unhappy that his Rodian monetary supply had been dried up in the face of the newcomers, the criminal was quick to enlist the services of the warriors who had recently brought themselves to his attention. With further inquiries into the Hutt's intentions, they found that there was a clear desire to contract the group before him, and likely by extension, the other members, into joining his immoral empire. Bounty hunter jobs were declined by the Feeorins, as was manual labour, but intimidation was agreeable to him and he noted that they would be called upon when needed to provide the muscle Urbaa's current henchmen were severely lacking in. The group of three agreed, making sure to extend their meeting to appear as though they were arguing about the pricing and amount of work. Hardly though, as they wanted to be in this situation in order to sufficiently get close to a boss over time.
With the rest of their group informed of the new developments in their situation, they prepared. This was not done, however, through the management of time and being rested in the face of a job - it was along the lines of checking equipment regularly, keeping their shooting straight and punches direct. They sparred with one another, sometimes for hours, sometimes multiple on one, in an effort to prepare for any situation. And outside of this inner sanctum of warrior perfection they also plotted their moves on other areas of the planet of their goals. Messages came, with times and dates and job details, and several went each time to address the situation that Urbaa had needed them to commit to. Weak civilians were roughed up, bruised heavily and otherwise harrassed in order to prove their use to the Hutt who demanded their money. And the sufferers paid.
By the time a handful of jobs had came under their belts, the Feeorins were already proving to be a valuable to Urbaa, though they refused any hints the Hutt provided them with of moving closer to the Crime Lord. It wasn't the proximity type they were looking for. The closeness they wanted came in an alternative fashion, which was brought about with the arrival of a rather important assignment for the warriors to retrieve a weapons cache from the Starport. One that didn't belong to Urbaa, but that caught his greedy, overfed eye regardless. This was a prime opportunity for them to put their plan into action, to take over from the Hutt gradually and establish themselves in a better position. But they needed the rapport with the slug, and so the cache arrived without an incident. Not even a gun out of place. The Feeorin bunch intended to have some within a few weeks regardless.
There were more missions for the group now, and the Hutt was pressing even harder for them to join him on his so-called 'Inner Ring' of 'friends' that he supposedly held dear to him. Cronies, essentially, and the Feeorin maintained what they referred to the Crime Lord as their 'Code of Honour', which was in fact their way of not actually having to get in under the thumb of the Hutt. When another job for a high value package arrived, the entire group was suddenly involved in activities, though Urbaa was only aware of three of them. The Hutt had sent the Feeorins to pick up some high-grade explosives with some of his men, some humans who were intending on making the exchange of the bombs for several rather nice pieces of starfighter equipment. Feeorin bodyguards flanked the men, and at the meeting place the negotiations went underway. The remaining six set up around the area, and with the signal fire erupted from the outsides. The three in the middle fake-fired as the surrounding weaklings were shot down, and with them dead the trio 'working' for the Hutt grabbed all the gear and returned.
The Hutt seemed overjoyed that the items had been returned to him, even if half of his expedition team had not. The handing over of the explosives were highly appreciated by him, as was the return of his starfighter parts. The Feeorins mentioned, however, how the battle had been - a long and hard fight with many close calls. They wanted the Hutt to supply them with battle armour, the best available, and weaponry from the Crime Lord's own cache. The Hutt declined their offer, but reversed his decision when the Feeorins casually mentioned that they would find work elsewhere and cease their dealings with the creature. The loss of such valuable individuals to him was not something he was willing to bear, and he agreed that over the coming weeks the weapons and armour would be waiting for them. Another victory for the Feeorin strategy, and they felt closer and closer to taking even more power on the moon. Power they were going to be exerting once they controlled everything.
"Cleaning your armour of blaster marks: 33 credits each. New cartridges for your high-powered sniper rifle: 550 credits. Conning your boss into buying you 9 sets of battle armour: priceless." - Dheej
If You're Going To Stab Me In The Back, At Least Do It To My Face
When the battle armour arrived for the group, Urbaa wasted no time in having them put it to use, and to use it often. There were hideout assaults, full on battles in the slums and more close calls than any of the Feeorin would have been happy with, especially considering several of their number intended on becoming parents soon. The armour was good, though, and even several direct hits from blasters weren't enough to get through it. Urbaa was impressed, glad to see that his investment was paying off, and in copious amounts too. All the while the credits rolled in on behalf of the Feeorins, expanding their bank balances and mirroring their stockpile of weaponry. Urbaa was hesitant to give any sorts of heavy weaponry to the group for fear they would quickly take him up on more and more expensive firearms. The thought that they would double-cross him hadn't came across his mind at this point, but there would be plenty of time for him to think about this after his competition had been removed from the streets and towers of Nar Shaddaa.
Urbaa's major nemesis in the lower limits of the crime lords of the moon was a Devaronian by the name of Zorq. Scuffles and fights between their henchmen was growing increasingly common, and theft or sabotages by one another were another thing that was increasing in its likeliness. The Feeorins had already conducted several missions which involved running into the thugs of the other boss, and they'd been dispatched without much incident each time. Neither side was willing to let favours go to waste any more, however, and it was threatening to tend towards both sides bringing all they had against each other in order to make their final all or nothing stands. Weeks and months of skirmishes had left both teams rather riled up with one another, and the supplies were beginning to see a downturn - both crime lords saw each other as an expense to their business. Expenses that needed to be cut, and Urbaa knew just the way to do it, with his group of Feeorin elite.
The Feeorin were not stupid, however, and were aware of the multitude of similar mercenaries who were in constant competition with them. Research around the local bars and canteens, as well as their own observations, led them to noticing a particular trend of escalating violence between the two crime lords. Two small animals fighting over a particularly pathetic piece of food, in this case a small district of the moon that would ultimately fall under superior control in the future eventually. The Feeorins wanted a suitable place to take over, and two sides of a conflict equally damaged by one another was not what they wanted - not by a long shot. They quickly identified key personelle on both sides - advisors, treasurers, tacticians, smugglers - and systematically either bribed or marked them for abduction should their anonymous offerings fail. When the time would come, those that were willing to join them would make sure they were away from the hideouts, and those marked would be taken and held until events concluded.
Sure enough tensions finally came to an end and the conflicting forces of Zorq and Urbaa were destined to meet in ferocious combat, or so Urbaa told his squad of personal heroes. The Feeorin were aware of this, though Urbaa's addressing made it official and there was a sudden message going around ordering all the advisors and suchlike out from the main base to away further messages at hidden locations not far from the crime hubs. Even the chiefs of security were convinced to leave their posts temporarily, mainly because of the amount of work they'd been forced under because of the conflicts, and willingly let the security of both buildings falter before the Feeorins went in. First, they laid bombs all around Urbaa's hideout in order to cover most of the places they expected him to be at any one time, and handed the Hutt the bomb detonator, telling him they would give him the extreme satisfaction of detonating the bombs they'd lay in Zorq's base.
RP Sample:
