[b]WIP[/b]

[b]Name[/b] Uvirith Drakul and GX-70
[b]Species[/b] Cyborg/Human and Assassin Droid
[b]Gender[/b] Male and Male-Simulation
[b]Age[/b] 50 and unknown
[b]Occupation[/b] Bounty Hunters in the Imperial Service, secretly rebel operatives 

[b]Apparel[/b] 

[u]Drakul:[/u] dark, cowled robes overlaying customized plastoid armor.

[b]Weapons[/b]

[u]Drakul:[/u] DL-44 Heavy Blaster, SoroSuub ELG-3A blaster pistol (holdout weapon)

[u]GX-70:[/u]  DXR-6 disruptor rifle, Czerka Adventurer sniper rifle, arm-mounted vibro-blade.

[b]Equipment[/b]

[u]Drakul:[/u] Arm-mounted repulsorcam

[u]GX-70:[/u] Fusion cutter

[b]Skills[/b] 

[u]Drakul:[/u]

Good with a blaster

Force sensitive, which explains his lucky streak

Skilled negotiator

Skilled spy

[u]GX-70:[/u] 

Effective at close, medium and long range murder

[b]Flaws[/b] 

[u]Drakul:[/u]

Alcoholic

Arrogant

[u]GX-70:[/u]

Psychotic tendencies: Gex is somewhat addled by heavy modification over several decades, and can be unpredictably violent.

Arrogant

[Hider=Personality]

It was only midway through the daylight cycle down here but he had already made it through one bottle of fungus-wine, and GX-70 (Gex to his friends) was annoyed, or simulating annoyed, depending on the view you take of droid sentience.

“Honestly,” the robot hissed at him in that prim, Coruscant-upper-crust accent that protocol droids came pre-packaged with, “You've not even been awake three hours.”

To be clear, Gex was no protocol droid. Actually, his original make and model was not completely clear- not even to him, so extensive had been the modifications over the years. Whatever he was, he'd been designed to kill, and decades of mods had only served to make him more efficient at it. They had also given him a rather strange sense of humor- which explained the voice modulator. He had ripped from an unsuspecting protocol droid and installed in himself. He preferred the diction, he said.

The man to whom Gex was hissing just shrugged. “You'd drink too if you could. Look at this shithole.”

He gestured lazily at the scene outside the greasy window of the bar. Trash-strewn alleys, beggars, thugs and addicts, storefronts shuttered behind metal grating, everything bathed in a sickly dim yellow, the color of piss after a night of boozing.

Gex approximated a shrug, not bothering to direct its optics at the window. “I lack much in the way of aesthetic sensibility. The threat assessors and hazard-drives tend to focus one's mind on the mundane.”

“Lucky you,” said the man. He was pretty droidlike himself- left eye was a round, red bionic, and neuro-tracery weaved back into his temple. His left arm too was cybernetic, fingers clinking as he drummed them on the metal table. The fleshier bits of him were pale and gaunt and did not lack for scars. His single human eye was bright green, and glittered underneath a head of black hair turning gray.

“Our contact is late. She was to meet us-” 

“Twenty four seconds ago, by your chronometer,” said the man, “Yeah, yeah. Cool your processor, she'll show.”
[/Hider] 

[b]Goals[/b] - 

[b]Backstory[/b] - (How they ended up in 3030, etc)