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[b]Name:[/b] Grayson, Clint
[b]Age:[/b] 20
[b]Gender:[/b] Male
[b]Origin:[/b] Lombar, Sirius System 
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[img]http://orig06.deviantart.net/f184/f/2013/017/1/d/commission__space_pilot_by_danillovesfood-d5rsyep.jpg[/img]
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[b]Craft Specialization:[/b] T-22 Dirk Interceptor
[b]Callsign/Codename:[/b] Rookie
[b]Kills:[/b] 0 In-Field, 27 Simulated (Note: One case of destruction of a friendly in simulation).
 
[b]Psychological Analysis: [/b]
Affable and easy-going, what Clint lacks in wits he makes up for in a generous helping of good mirth. Largely untouched by the ravages of war, the naivety of youth still clings to Clint like a blanket, and contributes to his continued optimism even in the face of adversity. It may have also, alongside his rather provincial upbringing, imbued him with an almost endless sense of wonder that displays itself most prominently when he is faced with some of the stranger aspects of the wider universe. 

As of yet, Clint has shown no inclination to unconventional thinking when faced with combat scenarios. His willingness to follow orders exactly and precisely has however, endeared him to his superiors who have praised his dedication, if not his intelligence. Additionally, his sense of justice and concern for innocent lives may prove too idealistic in a time of war. Occasionally clumsy (see note above), with the right guidance and experience, Clint could grow into a fine and able pilot.


[b]Military Record: [/b]
Born on the planet Lombar, Clint was the son of colonists who made the journey from the core worlds to one of humanity’s newest settlements, seeking a better life for themselves on the agricultural planet. 

Simple farmers, in both mind and profession, Sara and Graham Clintson eked out a comfortable, if not glamorous life on the fertile plains the stretched for miles in each direction. At the very least, it provided a safe environment for their new son to grow up in, away from the crime and poverty that often plagued many of the inner systems. Seeking to protect him from the worst elements of humanity, the boy was raised on a strict diet of hard work and discipline, spurred on by the occasional smack of a belt from his father; the stern gruff figure dominated much of his childhood while his mother travelled off world to trade. Believing a bit of elbow grease could fix most problems, Clint was a happy child for most of his youth.

However, raised in relative isolation from the wider affairs of the Terran Federation, Clint grew increasingly fascinated by the world beyond his planet as the colony developed and more and more travellers visited, bringing with them tidings from across the galaxy. Although his parents tried to discourage him from growing too curious, fearing it would lead to restlessness and the desire to travel, they were not blind to his desires. Deciding it was best to satisfy his hunger for travelling in some capacity, they allowed him to travel off-world occasionally when his mother needed to trade. 

As time went on, Sara and Graham placed more trust and responsibility in their son, and began teaching him the basics of piloting. Under strict tutelage, Clint’s abilities grew, albeit slowly; his parents were reluctant to teach him too much too fast, fearing he might use his new skills might help him find a way off world. Unfortunately for them, fate had other plans for their son.

With the outbreak of war, Terran Federation presence on the planet grew drastically, and the sight of their ships hanging in the sky grew increasingly common. Concerned with maintaining the flow of vital foodstuffs from the outer worlds inwards, they guarded vigilantly against pirate incursions that threatened to disrupt the trade routes that Clint and the people of his planet had used for years. Their appearance fascinated Clint, and each time he passed one of their sleek hulls piloting his family’s now rusting merchant vessel, he gazed in wonder. It was during one such moment of marvel that they attacked. Without warning the Interceptor he had been watching zipping effortlessly around his vessel was obliterated. Varaxian raiders swarmed the Federation ships acting as an escort to Clint, determined to destroy his cargo and disrupt the flow of trade. Desperate to protect his family’s livelihood, and realising he could not hope to fight the raiders alone, Clint turned the ship quickly and manoeuvred it deeper within the group of Federation Interceptors, desperate to reach safety. Although not an expert pilot, his skill was enough that he was able to navigate the crossfire to reach a safe distance. Realising they could not hope to reach their quarry without significant losses, the Varaxians retreated, leaving the Federation pilots, and Clint, to lick their wounds. 

Having witnessed the danger the Varaxians posed first hand, Clint now knew he had to do something to protect the peaceful life his parents had built for themselves. Although he did not previously grasp the significance the war held for his planet, seeing how the Federation fought to protect that which he held dear inspired something within Clint. He knew he had to take action.

The very next day he left home to sign up to the nearest Federation Naval Academy. Unable to face the tearful faces of his parents, he left a small note explaining his decision, vowing to return once the war was done and he had seen the universe. After a few years of training, during which his skills as a pilot developed far more quickly than they had at the helm of the merchant vessel, Clint emerged a fresh faced and fully enlisted pilot, assigned to the 144th Direwolves aboard the Galatia. 
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