Sep

Fashionably Late: A Crime Thriller Roleplay

<Snipped quote by Stormyx>

Ty ty <3 I sincerely meant at first to get this done over the weekend but once I started it was kinda hard to stop.

@Qia

This do be the best vibe

Star Wars - Banshee Down

@Half Pint Tyrell is going to be on the older side too, former Separatist if we maybe want to work in a crossing of paths previously....

Expect him to be up and published by Saturday at the latest since it's my first day off this week.

Star Wars - Banshee Down

It's too tempting, I got an idea in my head and I had to write it.

Darth Emperor Grandmaster Skywalker Starkiller Jar Jar-Gon Jinn

That big wheel spins, the hair thins
People forget

Name: Trelvik Noss
Species: Sullustan
Age: 43
Appearance:
Trelvik is built like a scatter gun - short, stocky, but packing a lot of power. His face is marked and scarred by shrapnel burns and old blunt trauma. He is normally seen wearing his now out of date reinforced rebel cap and goggles, but if he ever has it off one would notice one ear ridge that is partially collapsed and re-hardened, the result of a close detonator blast.

He wears layered Rebel surplus reinforced with scavenged plasteel, crudely welded and repainted more than once. A thick scarf is wrapped tight around his neck and lower face. His gear is about one or two generations back from the current Rebel outfit, and he's taken care to scratch off any visible Rebel markings on the outside of his gear. He's yet to come across any who've noticed his allegience through his clothing - at least, not any who could beat him in a fist fight.
Equipment:

• A280 Blaster Rifle
• DL-18 Blaster Pistol
• Machete
• Field Survival Kit
• Datapad

Skills:

• Close-Quarters Combat: Exceptionally dangerous at intimate ranges. Frightening when forced into melee.
• Navigation and Spatial Memory: Innate Sullustan sense of direction, even underground or indoors.
• Jungle and Wreck Fighting: Excels in dense terrain, low visibility, and broken structures.
• Improviser: Extremelly good at improvising with weapons and environment

Weaknesses:

• Reckless Aggression: Pushes too far, stays too long, hits harder than necessary.
• Authority Issues: Resents distant command decisions, especially after being sidelined for so long.
• Out of His Prime: He's older than he was when he was in the thick of it, and a bit out of practice.
• Haunted Reputation: Some Rebels remember why he was sidelined and haven't forgiven him.

History:
Trelvik Noss was born beneath the surface of Sullust, in the deep industrial districts where the cities never saw open sky. His family weren't rich by any means, and made their way in life as miners working for the ever present SoroSuub corporation.

He grew into physical work quickly. Of course, he started off with a miner alongside his father, but this quickly grew to bore him. Instead he career hopped for a bit in his younger years, trying everything from
fFreight routing to emergency response. All were jobs where spatial awareness mattered more than speed. His natural Sullustan sense of direction made him reliable, and reliability made him valuable. He wasn't brilliant or ambitious, by any means, but he was reliable.

During the Clone Wars, Trelvik was in his mid-twenties. Sullust changed hands more than once, and neutrality became a polite fiction. He saw armies pass through, supplies seized, and civilians caught between banners that all claimed to be temporary. By the time the Republic fell and the Empire rose, Trelvik had learned a hard truth: governments changed, but the people doing the bleeding rarely did.

The early years of Imperial rule were quiet for him. Shipping lanes were nationalised. Local authority disappeared. Workers were conscripted or replaced. Suddenly the foremen and managers were singing Empire songs and hanging propaganda on any free wall. Trelvik avoided open resistance at first, focusing on survival, moving off-world when he could, taking contract work as escort and security on marginal routes.

He joined a Rebel aligned cell in his late 20s. The Empire had closed too many doors, taken too many people and changed too much. To say he was radicalised was an understatement. The clone wars and ensuing rise of the empire had taken too much from him, taken too many people.

For years, Trelvik became known as a dependable frontline fighter. He held evacuation corridors, secured crash sites, and held off waves of storm troopers that bought others time to escape. He wasn't flashy and he definitely wasn't subtle. But when things went wrong, and they often did, Trelvik stayed upright when others broke. His reputation grew not as a hero, but as someone you could trust when plans collapsed.

That trust fractured during an extraction operation several years before Yavin. The mission was meant to stay controlled and precise. An Imperial logistics node sat on the edge of a civilian block. Too close for comfort to any unneeded casualties, but still workable if discipline held. Trelvik's unit was assigned to apply pressure at a distance while another team extracted a Rebel asset elsewhere in the settlement. The rules were clear: keep the Imperials pinned, do not engage within the block.

However, the pressure wasn't enough. Stormtroopers began advancing instead of pulling back, tightening their perimeter rather than breaking for the diversion. The extraction was stalling, time was bleeding away. Trelvik pushed forward to force a reaction - closing ground he wasn't meant to close, compressing the fight into tighter streets.

That was when the Imperials threw a thermal detonator. It wouldn't have landed anywhere near civilians if Trelvik hadn't advanced. It would have detonated in open ground, between combatants. Instead, it bounced along the ground oand skidded back toward his squad.

Instinctively he swatted it away, his natural sense for self preservation taking over. He didn't even look where he'd batted it towards, he just continued firing. It was only as he heard the detonator about to go off that he stole a glance.

He'll never forget what he saw. An open doorway into a family home, the look of terror on their collective face as the detonator rolled to a stop at the daughters feet.

The fight ended seconds later. The extraction succeeded. His people survived. A little girl did not.

There was no ambiguity in the reports. No shared responsibility. The detonator throw was logged. The deflection was logged. The impact point was logged.

<Snipped quote>

Command didn't dress it up as a tragedy of war. They didn't excuse it as unavoidable. They called it what it was - a lapse in judgment by someone trusted to know better. They didn't court-martial him. They didn't strip his gear or his pay. They simply took his authority away.

Frontline assignments stopped. Assault rosters vanished. He was reassigned to work where reactions didn't matter and instincts couldn't kill anyone.

Trelvik didn't argue. He was already in a prison of his own conscience, as far as he was concerned he was better off away from the frontline.

By the time of Yavin, Trelvik was 42 and sidelined. Living in the arse end of the galaxy on Exaron, wasting away his days doing busy work for the Rebel Alliance and drinking his life away in the local bars. It's been sometime since his mistake, and the empire has only gotten stronger and more oppresive. He's made multiple attempts to request transfer back to where the fighting is happening - to no avail. If anyone remembers him at all they just remember his failure and his brutality.

When word reached him that Tyrell Omi-Ren had been shot down with crucial information, Trelvik recognised the stakes immediately. If he ever had a chance to get back to the frontlines, to get back to where his fighting mattered - this was it.

He doesn't expect absolution.

He expects one more chance to be necessary.

@Half Pint

I'm.noy.yoiny to even read the sheet, based on the name alone I'm going to accept this and I can't wait till he one shots the entire Yuuzhan Vong armada.

Star Wars - Banshee Down

We love ourselves some discussion and collaboration

No Wraith allowed

The blades of grass rustled in the calm breeze, as the cool night time air crawled lazily around them. The moisture from the day hung heavy, and close. Occasionally there was a splash from the pond as a fish breached the glass like surface in an attempt at a midnight snack. They breathed together, as one. Connected by their hands in this shared moment, fingers intertwined. Slow and deliberate, a peace unbreakable. A moment frozen in time. He looked at her, and all he could see was the silhouette of her face. As if she was part of the Earth and the heavens themselves, the tip of her nose and the curve of her lips. He studied every millimetre of it.

Then there were her eyes. Usually the most azure blue, cool and calm. They were alive with life, letting a contended breathe escaped him he followed their gaze. The heavens opened up before him, the vastness of space as the Milkyway and the cosmos beyond opened up for him. The spectrum of colours danced across the night sky, but the night was not calm. It was alive, as streaks of golden yellow light raced across the sky. Something so violent as a meteor shower transformed into something truly beautiful.

Held in this moment, he felt her hand squeeze his. Three times, in a slow rhythmic pulse. Three words. Shared, but not spoken. The risk of breaking the spell was too great. He returned the sentiment, squeezing once. I. Squeezing twice. Love. Squeezing a third time. You.

There was nothing. His hand balled into a fist around the thin air, the warmth now gone. The cold clawed its way, burrowing itself deeper and deeper into its skin. The wind howled as dark clouds blotted out the sky. He sat up, looking for where she was supposed to be. Where she had always been, his hand running over the blanket chasing the warmth. The soft woolen blanket turned coarse. Pain shot up his arm as the angry fabric began to tear through his skin, his mind flared with the agony and the pain but he persisted. Pushed harder, as the blanket became cooler and cooler till only one spot of warmth remained. With all his might he pushed -

and the Earth opened up and swallowed him whole.

The cold air hit Frank like a brick. His entire body siezed from the shock of the cold air entering his lungs as he gasped for air, through the pain he savoured it. As if it was his first, his eyes slowly adjusting to his surroundings. The sense of dread, of panic slipped away from his mind with the remaining grogginess of sleep. The sorrow however, the sorrow remained. An eternal scar, running deep. Reaching over to the coffee table, he lifted the mug of ice-cold coffee and without a seconds hesitation raised it to his lips and forced it down.

The bitter liquid easing the dryness out of his throat, but adding a momentary spike of pain in his head. The pain was good, the pain let him know he was alive. He was concious, that this was the real world. Swinging his legs off the edge of the sofa he groaned as he rubbed his face with his hand, his joints were stiff and sore. As if they rebelled against this notion of leaving the blanket, of his feet touching the cold and hard floor of the cabin. A thin smile crossed Franks face as he heard the telltale pitter patter of little feet, followed by the wet nose against his palm before the silky smooth bump as Dog nuzzled his hand, brushing up against his legs.

Frank allowed himself a moment to pat Dog on the side, saving the sensation of touching something warm and alive. A scratch behind the ear and they both stood up, he did it slightly more unceremoniously. Grunting as he did so, allowing himself a moment to stretch. Stretching his muscles along his spine as he reached into the air, vertibrates cracking and popping as he did so. Dog did the same before moving over to his food bowl, and sitting before it in his attempt at subtlety. Frank shuffled over, picking up his plate from the previous night and poured probably unhealthy portions of salisbury steak into the bowl on the floor. Giving Dog a pat on the head as he placed the plate in the pile by the sink. He had never wanted a Dog. They had wanted a dog. Frank would never allow it.

Oh things were too unstable, or they were about to move home, or were they really responsibile enough to have a dog?

All the stupid reasons. The reasons that didn't matter anymore. So when Dog had visited him that day, when his life was at an end - Well. Dog had made that decision for both of them, the reasons didn't really matter anymore.

Star Wars - Banshee Down

<Snipped quote by Colonel Sep>

I wasn't going to make them a Jedi but definitely taught in their ways of the force and combat. No lightsaber as his mother's is broken. That'd be like a mid or late game rp thing if allowed. Carry a vibro-blade instead. Be more Force Sense focused so they can grow through the RP though idk your plans for this. So if it's a smaller adventure, I can make them a bit stronger to accommodate. Especially since we'll be land locked.

@Taka

Make your character as the GM it's my job to make the roleplay around the characters.

It's part of why rather than just on Exaron we have a whole system to play with potentially depending on how things go.

Star Wars - Banshee Down

I shall say a Force Adept or even a Former-Jedi, while I'm not against these things specifically... Resistance will scale with the players abilities 😉

One day I need someone else to GM a game like this so I don't feel guilty about the prospect of running a Jedi sheet

Star Wars - Banshee Down

<Snipped quote by Colonel Sep>

Still just lurking for the time being I'm afraid, however if I had the free time I'd have definitely applied for this.

@Half Pint

If you have a little time, based on your circumstances I could maybe figure something out for you.... If you were tempted. That wouldn't be very demanding.

Star Wars - Banshee Down

Wild @Half Pint spotted

Star Wars - Banshee Down

I'm aiming to have my sheet up within the next couple of days, that said I'm going to spend as much time likely helping you all along by crafting various NPCs.

(Assuming there is a you all)