First draft - Hope it isn't too bad

[hider=Dragous][b]Name: [/b]Dragous

[b]Species: [/b]Zabrak

[b]Age: [/b]27

[b]Appearance:[/b] [img]https://s14.postimg.org/9542px8ch/Dragous.png[/img]

[b]Faction: [/b]Unaffiliated

[b]History:[/b]
[hider=Click Me!]Dragous was sure that once he had a full name, but any idea of it was lost to the winds of the future. He had been told his old name didn't matter, until he made his claim in the galaxy, until he rose, until he was given a title... He was just Dragous. From memory, his childhood hadn't been a defining feature in the beginning, a bastard born from forbidden passion upon a desperate night on some backwater dirt ball. He couldn't even think of the planet's name, nor did he ever ask. Growing up, his connection to the force was apparent as well as the dangers. Nightmares, voices guiding him to the edge of a cliff, emotional outbursts that destroyed property. It was worrying. That's when she arrived, to solve the little 'problem'. Master didn't really offer a name, if she had one Dragous never sought it out, learning that she probably meant it that way. She was his master, that's all he needed to know about her.

In his youth she came to him, bringing along promises of power, praise of potential, stories of a force guiding her to him. She had knowledge, experience, all the things Dragous lacked. She offered to take him away, to guide him on the path of a force user. "Destiny calls to you" apparently. It only took a display of force for her words to ring true, a flash of her green saber to make the parents agree. Within a day the child was passed on like a package, stamped with a new label, Dragous. Years later, Dragous came to the conclusion that the woman might have been a jedi once, she certainly matched the stories spread by the Empire. The stories of power-hungry demons who drowned the galaxy in war before the Galactic Empire stepped in, told across campfires as cautionary legends.

In years to come, Dragous grew more in tune with his primal roots, his insecurities, his jealousy, his rage. It was a fire that raged within him, one that would burn him if he wasn't careful as he was always reminded. He never knew what plan his master had in store for him, but he knew she had one, she was always setting it up, always commenting that a certain lesson would come in handy later. Together, the two moved through worlds, scavenging old ruins of temples long forgotten holding knowledge of great power. Dragous realized quickly that they weren't just rushing for power, they were running, they were hiding. This power wasn't just for satisfaction, it was for the sake of safety. His master would never admit it, never entertain the notion, but she was terrified. Terrified of the embodiment of destruction and power, fearful of the man in the black mask who even Imperials regarded as a nightmare given flesh. Darth Vader was a daunting figure indeed.

Even to this day, with his supposed death aboard the second Death Star, Dragous still kept that chill, that fear, that single doubt that made him look over his shoulder. The Empire never seemed to take any notice of the two, maybe they were that good at hiding or maybe they were just worthless, either way Dragous survived. His Master, on the other hand... One day she'd been barking threats of death and damnation at Dragous's latest failure, the next Dragous found her slumped in her chair, gone. Perhaps it was a 25th birthday present? He left in a hurry, rushing into the night scared, alone and no goal in mind. He took her money, her equipment and her lessons. Spending the next few years as an aimless drifter, pondering on his own circumstance. 

People always talked as if being a force user forced you to one side, jedi or sith. But Dragous couldn't tell where he fell, he wasn't a jedi, he wasn't anything. He was just a wanderer, exploring the Galaxy through cheap transport, taking small jobs to survive the night, pondering morals and past training routines to keep himself sane. Maybe take a few bounties in, maybe help tend a few farms, maybe sign up for some cheap labor in the back of a cantina, maybe deal with a Drunk Dug and his Gambling Problem. Whatever it took. He kept his sabers hidden and his force powers in check, no matter what Dragous still held onto that fear. He didn't have a place to go to, he couldn't even remember home.

The Force is suppose to guide you, isn't it? It's suppose to give you a path, take you to a greater fate, show you the true way forward. It was always there, around you, with you, in you. And yet Dragous could only feel lost, mindlessly searching a desert for some semblance of a purpose.[/hider]

[b]Skills:[/b] 
[list]
[*] 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.
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[b]Equipment:[/b] 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.

[b]Weaknesses:[/b]
[list]
[*] 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.
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