Name: Tarion Je’and

Species: Human

Age: 26

Appearance: Tarion is an impressive sight, standing at a good six feet even with black hair kept short for easy management and a beard that matches his hair in color and brown eyes. He wears light combat armor that’s thicker in the chest and upper legs that’s painted gray and dark blue.

Faction: Technically Independent, actually Order of the Grey

Equipment:




ANR Light Combat armor Custom- The ANR is a suit of light combat armor that affords the wearer maximum movement range while still providing some layer of protection against blaster bolts and explosions. Tarion’s is customized with thicker chest and upper leg armor.



Skills:
Force Wielder- Having grown up in the hidden enclave of the Order of the Grey and grown up amongst its teachings and techniques, Tarion is a powerful wielder of the Force, having mastery over basic abilities such as the Force Jump, Push, Pull and the Mind Trick as well as being incredibly proficient in several more advanced techniques, including the family Force Flame technique.

Lightsaber Combatant Master- Being a member of the Order, Tarion was trained in several forms of lightsaber combat, and while he is proficient in most, he specializes in Form I, Shii-Cho, Form II, Makashi, Form IV, Ataru, and Form V, Shien/Djem So.

Piloting- Since many missions that see Guardians deployed require a degree of secrecy, all of them are taught how to effectively pilot fighter craft and required to become proficient dog fighters in the event of a space battle.

Weaknesses:
Raised in Seclusion-While the Order of the Grey is well informed of the flow of things in the galaxy, they fear being hunted by the reigning Force wielding power again, and therefore raise their children in isolation from the rest of the galaxy in order to avoid being hunted down. As a result, their social skills with the rest of the Galaxy are...lacking. Tarion is no exception, and it shows in his interactions with others.

Little Life Experience-While having learned much on the Order’s home planet and from it’s Archives, Tarion has very little practical life experience, so this mission will prove interesting.

History:
Early Life
Tarion was born the child of Erzan and Ana Je’and, Ana being the sister of Republic Admiral and General Jason Je’and, though the pair hadn’t had much contact after he joined the Republic. It would seem that the Je’ands kept their name and made the males change theirs. His early life was normal enough, play time, learning ABCs and the like, but there was also times spent teaching him how to manifest his powers, and so from a young age, Tarion was trained.

His training didn’t really begin until he was round seven, when he was able to fully lift a rock off the ground and also maintain his focus. His training, which would normally have been handled by the collective group of Paladins and a handful of Guardians within the Order of the Grey, was handled by his mother, Ana. “Je’ands have always trained Je’ands. There is no reason to change this” was all she would ever say when questioned about it.

---

Training in the Order of the Grey
Because he was training under his mother rather than the entirety of the teachers the Order had, his training was different. Eah day started with physical training three times tougher than what he saw his fellow Acolytes doing, his focus and combat training as well. At first, he hated it, taking every moment he wasn’t under his mother’s tutelage to do as he wished and learn what he wished.

But as he grew older, he realized that, as the son of the Grand Paladin, he was held to a higher standard and, with only some minor grumbling, threw himself into his studies. After a few years, he was around thirteen at this point, his mother revealed to him and taught him how to use Force Flame, a lost Force technique that their ancestor Zar’kun Je’and had mastered and passed down to his son, who then passed it to his children, and so on and so forth.

As he got stronger, he learned he could combine different powers for different effects and that certain aspects of the Force came more naturally to him than others, particularly when it came to building and maintaining his lightsabers. By seventeen, he was ready to complete his training. He did so in the traditional matter, reciting the Order of the Grey’s code followed by dueling his master. He then became a Guardian, beholden only to the Paladins and his mother, the Grand Paladin.

---

As a Guardian
After becoming a Guardian of the Order of the Grey, he was dispatched on his first mission, rebirth by flame as it were, where he and two other Guardians were responsible for removing a upstart Darkside user who had made himself Warlord on a backwater world in the Unknown Regions. The mission had taken three months to complete, as they other Guardians were new as well and unsure of how to proceed, which made progress slow.

Near the end of the third month, the trio decided that since all their more subtle approaches to removing the Darksider had proven fruitless, a more direct approach was necessary. They struck at night, while the guards, a hired group of mercenaries more interested in credits than morals, were changing shifts. They fell quickly and quietly, though they found the Drunk Dug with a gambling problem a strange addition, the only indicator that they had been attacked was a pair of silver lightsaber blades, a single turquoise one, and dual pair of neon pink blades.

However, the Darksider had been waiting when they burst into his throne room and wounded the other two new Guardians after a brief exchange in which he was offered a chance to surrender peacefully. The wounds kept his companions from aiding him in his fight and left Tarion to finish it alone. The duel lasted several hours with him gaining many wounds, but in the end, his mastery of tonfa lightsaber use won out and the Darksider was slain. After a few weeks in recovery on his return home, he began receiving more missions, the time they kept him away from home varying.

However, with the resurgence of his uncle Jason and his attack on Imperial holdings in Hutt Space, he has been dispatched to operate at an extended length of time to ensure that the Balance of the Force was maintained.

Name: Darton Fanx

Species: Human

Age: 41

Appearance: A rather burly and sly fellow, Fanx shows his age through his face. His short, messy brown hair is streaked with gray, as is his short salt-and-pepper beard. A few wrinkles can be seen slooping across his fair skin, but his bright green eyes still show a lot of life. A wry smile crosses his lips. He wears a brown leather bomber jacket, accented with cream-coloured fur on the collar and cuffs. His undershirt is standard black, and he wears tan-coloured custom flight pants, with heating elements to keep himself warm in the cold cockpit of his ship. He is also clad in short black boots, and is never far from his brown leather belt holster, and often dons an old Y-Wing helmet, decorated in green.

Faction: Hutt Cartel, Smuggler

Equipment:

• Y-Wing Helmet, decorated with green markings
• DL-18 blaster pistol, modified with variable stun settings (from temporary loss of balance to full knockout), and a DH-17 scope
• Extra powerpacks for his DL-18
• A utility knife
• Hold-out EC-17 concealed in his jacket

Skills: Fanx knows the underworld well. He's been doing his job for twenty years, and as such he's got enough wisdom locked up there that he knows when to go ahead with a deal, when to pull out of one, who to suspect, who to charm and who to shoot. He's street-smart and handy with a blaster, and he knows a trick or two with his knife. In space, he's a competent pilot and is known to push his Z-95 to its limits. He prefers to avoid confrontation, in space and on the ground, but is capable of handling his own.

Weaknesses: Overconfidence is his weakness. While he doesn't have much faith in friends, he can often get himself in trouble by underestimating the circumstances of a situation he's in. Sure, he can take on a couple thugs at a time, but his confidence will drop if he gets into a blaster fight with, say, a dozen or so angry Trandoshans over non-functional disruptor weapons. Not that that kind of situation has ever happened, oh no. No, he'd be much too embarrassed to tell anyone about that incident. That incident that didn't happen.

He's also a small-time gambler, but pretty down on his luck.

History:

Darton was born to a couple of junkers on Ord Mantell. He grew up with an Imperial presence in the system, but his settlement was far enough out of the way so to avoid any Imperial interest. He didn't have much interest from his parents, either. The family was poor, selling scraps for credits. When he was old enough, Darton found his way onto a freighter, shipping material in and out of Hutt Space. On the freighter, he found simple work, and earned a meager salary. Eventually, he discovered the people he was working for were, in fact, small-time smugglers.

He wanted in on their operation, and over the next few years, Darton proved himself a valuable asset to the smuggler trade. Though the operation often went smoothly, an imperial inspection shut them down, and most of the crew, including Darton, found themselves in Imperial prison. Darton only served one year, but during that time he managed to make some inside money by trading spice smuggled into the prison to bored Imperial officers. When he was released, Darton found that smuggling might be just the business for him.

Returning to Ord Mantell, Darton continued working as a junker alongside his parents for another two years, until they uncovered a disused Z-95 in a scrap pile. Instead of selling it, Darton requested he keep it for himself, as he formed a plan for future business ventures. Taking it to a local mechanic, he used up a lot of his earned credits to get the gutted ship functional once again, and specifically requested the inclusion of a secret compartment underneath the ship.

While he and the mechanic continued working on the ship, Darton spent time selling spice to addicts on the streets of Ord Mantell, putting more coin in his pocket. Eventually, the Z-95 was able to run again, and upon firing up, an annoying buzzing noise emanated from the vehicle, as a result of the components that had been moved around to make room for the compartment. The mechanic joked that it sounded like a buzzard, and the name stuck. Continuing his work on the streets and work in the hangar, the Buzzard was soon fully operational and ready to fly (minus the buzzing).

It was in those intervening years that Darton Fanx found his fortune by smuggling small, but high-value items. No Imperial patrol would care about a spacer in an old Z-95, and he avoided their... distaste of smugglers on many an occasion. As he learned more and more about the dangers of smuggling, and getting into a few blaster-fights, Darton became adept at his trade over the years. He began increasingly customizing his ship even more, but the one thing that always remained the same was that little compartment.

After a few deals with some prominent figures, Darton was referred to the Hutt Cartel, who were always looking for more smugglers. He accepted their offer, and began a new chapter of his life. For the Hutts, Darton delivered many small goods - high-priced valuables, numbers of counterfeit credits, high-quality spice, and illegal weaponry. He earned a small fortune smuggling for the Hutts, but sent sizeable portions of his payments back to his parents on Ord Mantell. He continued on this path for years, until he learned of their passing. He grieved briefly, but was contented knowing that they spent their last years living comfortably. After their death, he spent some time gambling, but he found he wasn't very good, and lost a few times to a particular drunk Dug.

Now in his forties, Darton is an experienced smuggler, and a prized member of the Hutt Cartel.

Name: Paradise 'Par' Rapids

Species: Human

Age: 19

Appearance:


Faction: New Republic/New Republic Diplomatic Service.

Equipment:

- Formal clothes made up of blaster-resistant fibres.

- Ballistics vest worn underneath said formal clothes.

- Small hold-out blaster.

- Communications device.

Skills:

Negotiation - Paradise 'Par' Rapids is a diplomat first and foremost, and he knows that part of diplomacy is to know what people want, what people need, and what he himself can offer. If given substantial leeway and access, as well as allowed to keep a clear head, the young man can negotiate basic deals and agreements to benefit his faction. He also recognizes the importance of making people feel good about themselves, of charm versus intimindation, and tries to employ that in his deal-making.

Basic Shot - In these troubled times, even a diplomat needs to defend himself from pirates and bandits, and the blaster is a fairly universal weapon. So Par knows how to use and maintain one.

Agility - Par is naturally agile, able to move almost as fast as he can speak. He knows how to run, draw a gun fast, or dive for cover, or even duck when faced with a melee weapon.

Piloting skills - Par is able to pilot Speeders, Starfighters, and small Starships up to a frieghter, having been taught to do so by trainers and flight simulators provided by his parents. He was still continuing pilot training until the start of his assignment to Hutt Space.

Weaknesses:

Untrained in Combat - Paradise 'Par' Rapids, despite knowing how to shoot as well as being naturally agile, is not someone you'd want to see in the front lines. He's not good at using weapons other than blasters, frequently defers to bodyguards for instructions on how to move during a firefight, and cannot win a straight fight. What he is good at, however, is running away and not being a liability.

History: Paradise 'Par' Rapids was born on Birren, a prosperous Inner Rim planet with close links to Alderaan. His parents were minor members of the Elder Houses, the collective noble aristocrats of the Galaxy, and distantly related to the Supreme Governor of Birren themselves. For the longest time, they were uninvolved in wider galactic affairs, but then came the destruction of Alderaan when Par was fourteen, and the purges of Alderaanians themselves that followed. This drove Par's parents to join the Rebel Alliance in space, but not after they decided to take thei son with them; he cannot be allowed to become a hostage to the Imperials.

Par's education would continue, but this time, more strenously. He learned history, politics, and diplomacy, as well as the workings of various alien cultures. The boy also learned how to pilot various craft with his parents' permission, though this was mostly confined to simulator work.

And in time, he would later be allowed to accompany his parents to minor diplomatic missions to the Rebellion's financial backers, receive lessons in diplomacy from former Seperatists, and receive as broad an education as he could. Eventually, he scored some minor victories in missions to minor corporations, guilds, and rival guerrilla movements. These victories scored supplies, promises of non-interference, money and fighters to the Rebel Alliance, whose fortunes seemed to be on the rise.

Then came the Battle of Hoth, and the nadir of the Rebel Alliances' fortunes. These were dark times, and Par could barely recall his eighteenth birthday as a rush of quick escapes from imperial pursuers. Par also found that people he had previously thought allies were withdrawing their support, or even turning their backs on the Rebel Alliance. Nevertheless, he found scattered triumphs in getting a planet to keep its allegiance here, and a financial backer to keep contributing funds there.

But even so, it was clear that the Rebellion was losing relevance unless they struck one final time and risked all. But despite his many minor victories, Par was kept in the dark about the coming strike on Endor. And so, he waited, while at the same time being promoted to various diplomatic positions left vacant because of casualties during the Battle of Hoth.

Then came the destruction of the Second Death Star, and the formation of the New Republic. And Par, having been groomed for diplomacy, received his first big break; due to the huge number of fronts that all needed diplomats, he was going to end up with the mission of building up a New Republic Presence in Hutt Space!

Faction Logo(If applicable):


Faction Name: New Republic Diplomatic Service

Faction Classification: Diplomatic Embassy.

Faction Leader: Paradise 'Par' Rapids (Local Leader)

Faction Members(Players): Letter Bee

Important NPCs:









Faction Assets:



One X-Wing for Alexander with accompanying Astromech Droid.

Various Clerks, Janitor Droids, and additional bodyguards, most of them mercenaries and professional soldiers. Thirty personnel, twenty-five bodyguards.

Five Million Credits on the ship, and several bank accounts containing Fifteen Million more.

What weapons the bodyguards have on their persons and on the ship's small arsenal.

Faction History: Formerly the Rebelliion's diplomatic service, the New Republic's foriegn policy arm was remodeled after the Battle of Endor in order to gather new allies. Attached to Task Force Rancor, the New Republic Diplomatic Service seeks to find allies against the remnants of the Empire, and as long as the Hutts remain strong, find a modus vivendi with them. Now they sail for Paradise, distrusting Koren and the Golden Exchange and yet counting on their continued neutrality...

Name: Gavon TreVayne

Species: Human

Age: 39

Occupation: Bodyguard / Enforcer (Prev. Employed with Imperial Security Bureau)

Appearance: 6’0, 210lb lean muscle, olive skin, neatly combed dark hair with streaks of gray

Faction: TBD

Equipment: Reinforced leather jacket with durasteel & cortosis armor plates sewn into the lining, dual blasters, modified light blaster rifle, vibroknife, & chewing gum...because why not?

Skills:
>> Hand-to-hand / close quarter combat experience
>> Tactical Espionage
>> Proficient with small firearms & blades
>> Intermediate level slicing
>> Investigations & Security-systems specialist

Weaknesses:
Slowed over time: (physical) While he’s generally a fit person, Gavon is unable to keep up a fast steady pace for long due to a prosthetic left leg from an accident years prior.

Addicted to Painkillers: Due to his leg injury and the cybernetic replacement, which at times, seems to be rejecting its host, the pain can become unbearable and Gavon doesn’t hesitate to inject a good dose of painkillers to keep himself in the game. However, several years of the same routine has caused him to develop a habit which, if not kept in check, could hinder his actions.


A little history...

“You know the rules, lmperial dog. If you want to eat, you fight!”

The large Fight Master, whose species was unknown, fully charged electro-staff in hand, continued to poke and prod the blood and sweat-soaked combatant, shouting profanities in aurabesh, and spitting vile yellow-green saliva which poured from the corner of his mouth as he spoke. The resounding death chants of the crowd pulsating throughout the small makeshift arena had become deafening as the battle continued.

“That's ‘former Imperial’, genius…” The human retorted in between heavy breaths.

“If you want to die...well...you’ll have to die somewhere else!” The creature's lips parted forming a wry smile that revealed rows of jagged, displaced yellow stained teeth. “And I’d hate for something as succulent-looking as you to waste away so soon”

The combatant stood up slowly, holding firmly onto his right arm where his opponent, a dark reddish-hair Gundark who smelled of week old urine, carved a good sized gash that went deep, rendering any muscle movement in the arm useless at that moment. The human shot the wretched Fight Master a cold stare, his sore and tired green eyes ignited with the will to push on.

“You know I used to like you...about thirty seconds ago, but now I just want to kick you in your face. The problem is, I can't tell where your face starts and your ass ends you slimy piece of- ”

The human’s gaze suddenly switched over to the charging beast, fifty meters ahead and closing in fast.

A frantic look replaced the Fight Master's earlier smug expression as he let out a harsh squeal and something exclamatory in his native language. “Gru’dah! Time to take my place behind the gate! Good luck meatbag human!…”

The Fight Master, chuckling to himself, started toward the outer gate, while the human’s arm quickly reached out and grabbed the electrostaff mid-handle. “Not so fast worm, I need to finish this...”

The human male, tall, lean, and muscular in physique, held tight to the staff, shifted his weight to his leading foot and spun around with the grace of a wild Cathar, ripping the weapon free from the Fight Master's greasy hands. As he was virtually meters from the huge beasts open jaws and massive claws, the human gladiator launched the electrified end of the staff straight out in front of him and the weapon hit its mark with near precision.

The crowd roared with intense excitement. Blood is what they wanted to see, no matter whose it was.

“Move!” He shouted toward the slug-like Fight Master as he dove and rolled sideways out of the overly-pissed creatures path of destruction. The energy cell powering the staff overloaded causing the beasts insides to burn at an accelerated rate. It writhed out of control for a few moments longer until the dust settled and the beast’s shrieks and thrashing fell silent.

“Now I eat…” The human said behind clenched teeth. “And you’ll not say another word...”

The fight master, shaking off the anxiety, stared at the creatures half-burnt corpse in disbelief and then back at the dust-covered, bloodied, and bruised humanoid and nodded in acknowledgement.

“Ehh, right...so what do I call you off-worlder?” The fightmaster asked, as he motioned over to the clean-up crew.

The man grabbed the edge of the Fight Masters tattered cloak and wiped the sweat, dust, blood, and whatever else was stuck to his face.

“Call me whatever you want slime, just pay me what I'm owed and I'll go on my way.”

“Hah, bold words, meatbag. You'll get your pay, less the cost of that electrostaff you destroyed, of course. But I need a name as well before you see anything.”

“Fine. Gavon..call me Gavon”



Odd jobs. It had been like that since the collapse of the Empire, its many holdings and investments dried up, stolen, or destroyed by enemies and competitors, or any entitled rogue group considering themselves valiant heroes of the war. Many corporations throughout the galaxy whose vested interests were embedded in the mega-structure of the Empire, abandoned planets, or negotiated new contracts with private businesses, Republic officials, or anyone willing to keep them employed. Inhabitants of the galaxy needed work and did what they could to hold on to it.

Gavon had no real love for the Empire, it’s Imperial army of drones and tools, and especially not the deified Sith, whose ego knew no bounds, or so he heard. Fortunately, he never actually met a Sith Lord, or any “force sensitive” during his employment, and even if he had, Gavon [jokingly] assumed they would be easy to spot. Did a Jedi or a Sith glow with the force? Was there a secret handshake that would be their tell?

However, all things considered, his dislike for the Empire only went so deep as they did provide a steady stream of work, enough it seemed considering the amount of enemies in and out of Imperial controlled territories.

At the time the Empire was at the height of their power, Gavon had been conscripted and trained at a young age under a relatively new branch of the Imperial Security Bureau (ISB) as an “Enforcer Agent”. The ISB had many branches and agents that kept their fingers busy shuffling through everyone else's business, and the Enforcers were there to ensure they survived when things went awry. They were considered, for all practical purposes, a bodyguard. Training as an Enforcer was quite strict, and long hours were spent in physical as well as mental exercises, learning to extract a team member (and themselves) out of any given situation. Weapons training was one of the last exercises, and a number of blasters, rifles, and an assortment of melee weapons were given to each Enforcer agent to use as needed. But above all things, they were protectors to the agents, and each life lost was a scar on their reputation that would be carried forever. A scar that Gavon wore with much shame.

Kaliza.

Her bloodied face and frightened expression haunted him each night and continued to remain at the forefront of his mind. It was supposed to be an easy covert Op for her, in and out, but the ambush came quickly and the false intel Imperial Intelligence had been fed positioned Gavon and his crew at the wrong extraction point. Even among the opposition of the higher-ups and some of her peers, she had been the first non-human to be accepted in Imperial Intelligence and her career was over before it started.

Protectors. Who are we protecting now, but the undeserving?

After the seat of the Empire had diminished, and the Imperial military no longer working in any official capacity, Gavon found himself at the unemployment crossroads, and sometimes even at a dead end. The galaxy was trying it’s best to pick up the pieces left by the last war, and most corporations and small business had hiring freezes that lasted months. Relief work wasn’t hard to find, and while it paid very little, the benefits had been well worth the time spent for the ex-Enforcer. During a demo and clean up job on Coruscant, the Undercity had been overrun with refugees who once lived on the surface, crime and violence was at an extreme high, even for the likes of the underground world beneath the shining city. Gavon, having taken residence on one of the housing levels, came across a girl, no more than six or seven years of age, who had been hiding away in the closet of a unit he rented. The frightened Togruta child, who he later found out was one of the many war orphans, quickly warmed up to Gavon, and strangely he to her, for it wasn’t until moments after their meeting that he realized the little girl had an unbelievable resemblance to Kaliza.

Weeks turned into months, and both Gavon and his charge, Uriah, left Coruscant and headed toward Nar Shaddaa, to meet a potential employer, Madam Z’noshe, a wealthy art collector who was in need of a full time and local bodyguard. She also had concerns of several pieces of artifacts she claimed were being stolen by pirates and gangs looking to sell them back to her, but had no hard evidence, or a location to start. Gavon knew this job wasn't going to be as black and white as he hoped.

In the long run though, Gavon hoped after some time, his new employer would be able to provide a good home and education for the Togruta orphan Uriah in exchange for half his agreed amount of pay. Even half was enough for him to live comfortably and Gavon knew the little girl needed a life away from all the chaos…



The momentary pinging sound from the communicator console next to his bed startled him from a deep sleep.

“What the...how long was I out? Geez, I didn’t even hear it ring the first time” Gavon rubbed his eyes, and turned on the holoscreen to view the message:

MESSAGE PENDING:
From: Enara Z’noshe
0200 : Centaxday
[[ URGENT ]]

A miniaturized translucent version of Madam Z’noshe materialized on the small holopad.

“Mister TreVayne, my apologies for the disturbance at this late hour, but your attention is of the utmost importance. Please contact me as soon as you can on my private channel, pass phase: ‘drunk Dug with a gambling problem’. Enara out.”

Gavon arched an eyebrow, mumbling to himself. “Must be important. She addressed me as ‘Mister’ “

Name: Dragous

Species: Zabrak

Age: 27

Appearance:

Faction: Unaffiliated

History:


Skills:

• Trained Force User - Whisked away at a young age to pursue the path of the dark side, Dragous has undergone years of training to build up an efficient skill set. He acts as a marauder, wielding two light-sabers in a style that focuses on agility and reflex, channeling his primal urges into enhancing his body in battle... Not that this always works in his favor.
• Speed - Dragous has a slimmer build than most, while he can still pack a punch, he is very much someone who has come more to outpace his opponents than overpower them (He tried over powering once and that just got his arm broken). This preference and build to a more momentum-based style worked hand-in-hand with his two sabers.
• Cook - You'd be surprised at some of the skills you can pick up when dragging yourself across half the known universe with no direction in sight. In his time, he found himself learning the essentials, but the skill he managed to become proud of was his cooking. Sure, you don't really get a chance to try out all the fancy recipes when you're practically a hobo, but there's so many ways to experiment with Bantha meat! How would this help in a sticky situation? Well, some people will do anything for a nice hot meal.
• Strong Willed - When you have time to think, time to meditate, time hear the dark whispers of the force scratching at your head; you learn to harden your mind. Dragous has been able to build up an impressive resilience when it comes to such matters. You'll have to do more than tickle his feet to break him, but don't touch his bear, that's just rude.

Equipment: Throughout his years, Dragous has learned that it's good to keep tools for both ranged and melee situations, no matter your skill level. So, while he isn't that good with ranged weaponry, he still keeps an old DL-18 Blaster Pistol at his side in case he ever thinks he can get in a lucky shot. Wouldn't take anything bigger or he'd probably shoot his own leg off, plus he had to travel light. He was a drifter, all he owned was what he could carry. Keeping his prized sabers (Purple Crystals) wrapped up in cloth and hidden under the back of his coat, rarely finding the occasion to use them. Other than that, he keeps a simple satchel, a second-hand pair of binoculars and a small vibro knife that does a good job of looking pointy when he didn't want to bring any attention to the sabers.

Weaknesses:

• Ineffective against long ranged weapons - What can you do if your enemy isn't in range and just on't give you the time of day to force them closer? Dragous has found difficulty when dealing with those who know their way around a good blaster, especially snipers.
• Brash/Reckless/Dumb - While Dragous isn't the worst example of Dark Side training, he sadly carries the hallmark of some personality quirks, carrying a large ego and pride that overtake logical reasoning. This leads to crazy schemes and leaps in logic that only end in him leaving himself wide open to his attacker or hitting himself. He still has scars from when a random kid said he couldn't break through a wall with just his head, now he has a broken horn.
• Not the tech guy - He has a basic understanding of technology, he can work a coffee machine, but get this guy behind the wheel of a vehicle or heavy machinery and you're just asking for explosions. He has yet to fully wrap his head around droids.
• Not a snow flake - Dragous grew up in a rather hot environment, so even now he still has yet to become resilient to the cold.
• Claustrophobic - He does not like tight spaces, he does not like enclosed space, he does not like boxes.