[hider=Vaehach of Samla]
Name: Vaehach of Samla
Species: Kiellar
Sex: Male
Age: 103
Reason for being on the ship: Seditionist Behavior, Anarchist Sympathies, Pacifism, Cowardice, Defeatism 
Appearance:(Feel free to describe with text or put pictures in here)

Strengths and Weaknesses

Skills: Vaehach has lived a life of war. Not as an officer, but as a poor bloody enlistedman fighting through the mud and the guts. He is not squeamish and will not cower from a fight if he believes it worth fighting. Unsurprisingly, this also means he’s quite familiar with the blaster and the bayonet.

He’s also familiar with a good bit of field craft, camp-building, and foraging as a result. He’s a surprisingly decent cook, despite having lived off military food for most of his life, and skilled at stretching out ingredients.

The conditions of the Command’s Warlord period, however, has also instilled him with a better sense of valor: Avoiding a fight that isn’t worth fighting is often better for survival. 

Weaknesses: Academia is not the man’s strong suit. The finer points of political theory, mechanical engineering, and many other subjects all elude him.

Lingering romantic ideas, fool-hardy as they are, might lead him to believe that a fight might be worth fighting when really it ought to be avoided.


Background:

Backstory: For the old Command, the Second Ragon War was meant to be a triumph. Yet another triumph of the legions of soldiers and armada of ships at a Marshal’s call. Instead, it cracked the foundation of the state, and eventually doomed it once the veneer of victory vanished. For much of the urban poor of Relenar, there was never any real glory to be had. Merely another propagandized meat-gringer with the false promise of prestige and advancement.

Vaehach of Samla embodies this story. Born to a low-class family in the densely populated urban centers of the Kiellar homeworld, there were four paths ahead of him. To grind away in the underclass until he died, perhaps eeking out a life worth living? To join a gang, and live in a corrupt luxury or die trying? To join a colonial effort and toil to build a new home? To enlist in the Command’s Legions and Armadas, and find glory and honor against the enemies of the state? The latter promised advancement, honest respect, and a steady paycheck. He took Marshal’s Credit, and resolved to make something of himself in the infantry.

The luster wore off quickly. Boot-camp was hellish, designed to break and remake the young, diverse men and women who signed up into a functioning cohort of soldiers. Killers. Specialists in their roles perhaps, but ultimately killers. Vaehach’s initial posting was garrison duty. It was months of boredom. Routine patrols and parades and paperwork that was punctuated by the occasional raid. One against an insurgent group there, another against a criminal gang there. No glory, no promotions. Then the war started. Garrisons on planets deemed safe were stripped down to skeleton crews and Vaehach was sent to the front, and into the Meat Grinder. 
To say the average Command infantry was outclassed by his Ragon counterpart is the understatement of the millennia, and the casualty figures proved that. To Vaehach and everyone else on the ground, that academic fact was personal. It meant men getting burst from energy shots. Vaporized by bombardment. Disembowled in the melee. Eaten alive. Crushed. And yet the men and women fought on, for survival, and not strictly ideologically. 

The eventual peace was a welcome change for the population of the Command. For Vaehach, there was very little change. He had little contacts outside of the military, and little skills to make his way, even with the money he had. For him, peace was a return to garrison duty, to crushing revolts.

As the Command collapsed inward, Vaehach became something of a mercenary. Those less charitable would call him a serial defector. As the shooting between the cliques in the core started, he bounced between warlords. Fighting and bleeding as he did under the Command in search of a cause worth fighting for, until he couldn’t any longer. What cause was there fighting for Commandists looking to repeat the sins of the past? Or sectional separatists looking to reclaim their worlds and nothing else.

So he wandered for a while, and settled on one of the worlds that would comprise the Mazdhul Republic as a laborer. Colonial life suited him well, and perhaps he should have signed on with the Colonial Office all those years ago. Once more, however, war found him. He refused the call this time, and found himself arrested for it.

[/hider]

Have an app. I'll find an image or type out a description later.