A game set in the early years of the Republic, at the beginning of the Great Galactic Civil War. With armed conflict approaching, the masters of the Jedi Order have begun their own silent, War of the Force.
It's been a long six month tour in central system Coruscant. It's hard at times for Travis to remember back to before he started his adventure to join the Jedi, back before they cast him aside and revealed how much of an elitist group of meddlers they truly are. Since then Travis has found his way in the lower sections of the city, selling his skills out as a gun for hire. Many have come to call him a bounty hunter, but he knows better, he is serving a purpose, to attract the attention of the Jedi and show them what a terrible mistake they had made in not letting him join their order.
The trip back to Travis' home planet of Corellia was uneventful and after landing in Starship Row he is given a chance to breath in the sweat air of a living world. The trip is a pleasant break from the overcrowded Galactic City, but it was the offer of a new job which brought Travis here. It was during a raid of a gang of street racing thugs that he attracted the attention of Marcus. As it turns out, Marcus had been a merchant working the space lanes within the central systems when his ship was robed by the Black Sun gang. They took everything from his ship, even scavenged the hyper-drive of fuel and left Marcus stranded until he could recover enough to head back into space. That's about all Travis knew when he took on the job to go with a small strike team and recover what they could from the Black Sun.
Looking down at the data-card Travis reviews the details of the message Marcus had sent him a few nights before. 'œI respect the hard work you and your fellows did in helping me to reacquire those items which were stolen. Your skill and dedication is truly something to be cultured, and for that I may have work for you. The pay may not be what you are accustomed to, but I may be able to at least help you find some of those things you are looking for. Meet me at the New Haven Cantina on Corellia. '€"Marcus'
Markus is a rather unassuming individual who stands at 5' 10' and a medium build. Frequently dressed in duro-mesh black pants and heavy weight shirts of varying style and color, over all of which is a green all-temperature cloak. He tends to choose those cloths least likely to wear out and able to survive long space travels. Whenever he can get away with it he has, strapped low on his leg, a vintage small grade blaster cannon which could likely tear a hole in power armor with a well aimed shot. The clothes are not the only thing hard worn as Marcus ranges in appearance form well shaven with a military haircut to scraggly and unkempt, all depending on the last time he made port for an extended stay.
Please post your description and setup for your character along with establishing his general mannerisms. A large part of the prelude is for me as a story teller to get to know your character and understand how you intend to play him, so that when the time comes to put you with the other characters in the game their aren't allot of hiccups and breakdowns. Also if you are able to post your picture go ahead and do so.
Looking around the streets of the bustling city Travis, for a moment, misses the Corelia he left behind. A place miles and miles from where he stands, where golden fields of grain dance in the wind and every day is a struggle to make ends meet. Slinging a pack over his left shoulder he picks up his large nondescript black case with the same hand. Despite the way it unbalances him, he clearly wants to keep his right hand free, the holstered blaster pistol on that thigh suggests why.
Wandering down the street the the man moves with an almost cat like grace, far surpassing what any would expect of a man his size. Despite being nearly six feet tall and built tough, there is a leanness to his muscle, whatever fat there is is hard to find. A dull gray all temperature cloak drapes from his shoulders, covering the blast vest he wears even just walking down the street. All in all, there is something about this man that says, "No, you don't want to fight me, but if you do I'm ready."
His brown eyes, set into a rugged face filled with hard lines, scan the city looking for a reliable place to get a room at. He might not sleep there tonight but he needs a place to leave his things at while he heads to the cantina to meet his contact about a job.
Coronet City may not be the Corellia Travis remembered growing up in, but at least he is again on the same planet he used to call home, and the small connection to home is enough to bring back memories of growing up.
Walking down Star Ship Row, Travis only stands out in the slightest sense. The people of central systems have become accustom to seeing soldiers of the Republic and this young man has all the bearings and markings of another professional soldier. He is given breathing room and remains unmolested on his walk down the Row in search of a place to lay his head. Eventually the soldier finds his way to the Neon Roof, a hostel serving many wayward travelers that, while being rather inexpensive, has had a reputation of keeping a safe and discreet clientele. The silver droid concierge looks up expectantly as Travis enters and offers in a polite voice, 'œWelcome good traveler to the Neon Roof, we have several vacancies available tonight in single and group accommodations, may I interest you in a room?'
Travis nods to the droid. "I need a single." He replies. Shelling out the extra cash is rather harsh, but a few of his belongings are too expensive to risk. That and while he's started to make friends he can only assume he's started to make enemies. He's hungry, but the cantina will have some semblance of food for him to munch on.
The droid accepts the 70 credits for the room and Travis scans his finger into the pass scan system. After the scan a series of small green floor lights illuminate down the hall, leading Travis towards his room. The room is half way down the hall and on the second floor. Opening the door and conducting a swift search of the place reveals nothing to be out of place and aside from a clean bed, no window, solid looking door, and hygiene facility the room is bare. This place should work to hold up in for a day or two.
Opening the case Travis checks over his light repeating blaster, making sure nothing was jostled in the flight, that the energy pack is still full, and that all in all the weapon in is good condition. When that is complete he does the same with his blaster pistol meticulously going over the weapon. Alot of folks don't bother with this kind of maintenence, after all blasters don't really wear much from use, but Travis and any one else that's serious about thier weapons always checks to make sure.
Everything in order the pistol goes back on his hip and the case gets slid under the bed. Tossing the pack on the bed he wanders into the hygiene facility to clena off the grim of travel and to just relax a little. Even there though he keeps one gun close at hand...paranoid not really just practicing good habits.
When everything is set he dons the all-temperature cloak once again, holsters his blaster pistol and sets out to the cantina. His thing are as secure as he can manage without a droid to watch them.
A quick 10 level check of the weapons shows them all to be in working order. A spot of grease rubbed off here, a touch of lubrication there, and polish of a few points of contact and they are as good as new. With the weapons and body cleaned, weapon holstered and a stomach for some food, Travis sets out for the New Haven Cantina.
The New Haven has been a long standing Cantina on the border of the good and bad sections of Starship Row. Here the well to do seedy traveler mingles with the well to do honest merchant, and with a small bar fight or occasional pickpocket aside, the place has been able to hold onto business for years. Inside is a diverse collection of people and a smattering of aliens, all of whom partaking of drinks at the bar, small foods at back tables, game playing, gambling and ogling over the lone dancing girl.
Unlike some of the more backwoods sections of the galaxy weapons are not a right within the city. Each citizen, and traveler, applies with the central government to carry a weapon and then obtains additional authorizations to carry concealed, openly displayed, by and sell. It has become increasingly easy for anyone to obtain a permit to carry a blaster pistol in the open that guards have stopped checking and only in rare circumstances are persons checked for authorization. Travis has managed to acquire permission to carry his blaster openly as well as transport the other more sundry weapons of his profession.
Travis walks into the cantina and immediately starts scanning the for his patron. If the man is there Travis will join him, otherwise he'll take a table to himself, preferably a booth or somewhere else where his back will be covered. Either way he'll get some food and drink. Much as he doesn't wish to mix business with pleasure, he'll get something alcoholic. Too often it's assumed that a man who can't drink can't fight.
Taking a look around, Marcus can be found standing near one of the gambling tables. He has no money placed as a bet but seems to be enjoying watching everyone else as they toss their money away on the spin of the wheel. As Travis approaches Marcus turns and smiles, 'œGood to see you, I wasn't positive you would take my offer.'
From the doorway you both hear a voice yell, 'œHey! There he is!' and turn in time to see a pre-teen kid with long dreadlocks run into the Cantina. Close behind him follows the source of the yelling, two older boys in pursuit of the terrified kid.
Travis watches the commotion trying to stay out of it for the most part. In days past he'd interfere...now though it's not worth it. Aside from him having business to do appearing too soft in front of a future employer isn't the best strategy. Sure he's not supposed to be a stone cold killer, but is suppossed to be tough as nails.
