Tenish the Mighty — Roleplayer Guild

Name: Private Jubali "Wizard" Tusk
Species: Near-Human
Age: 20
Planet of Origin/Birth: Spacer (Uslam adoptee)
Force Sensitive Y/N: Yes

Appearance:

Skills/Abilities:- Overly High Body Mass Midi-Chlorian Index: Jubali has the hoodoo, the voodoo, things she ain't even tried. A force-sensitive since puberty, Jubali has started to come to the creeping, existentially dreadful conclusion that any thing of worth that she has ever done might be because of a surplus of cosmic parasites in her bloodstream.
- Quick twitch - Jubali has always been a physical creature of great innervation. Swift and spry, her education at Tanis Central Continental Academy was predicated upon her athletic prowess at Holoball. Since joining the rebellion this trait has been earmarked for making Jubali suitable for the frenetic, quick strike tactics of the reconstituted 2nd and Only. When something needs to be done quick more than it needs to be done right, Jubali is who the corporals call.
- Greater Invisibility - Jubali has always had an almost preternatural knack for going unnoticed. In spite of having no real grace to speak of and little training in stealth techniques, Jubali has proven herself to be able to go undetected in battlefield contingencies and otherwise, seemingly through force of will, or maybe just the will of the Force.
- Alternative Medicine - Jubali never really wanted to be a healer. She never much cared for alien ichor and diseases. She did like the security and prestige that supposedly came with being a doctor. Unfortunately, whatever her personal givings, Jubali is a terrible healer. She never would have made it through the two standard years of medical school she did pass without the benefit of her minor force sensitivity. Able to intuit a basic form of a kind of 'force healing' Jubali can treat moderate tissue damage in herself and others, albeit at a rate that is nominally inferior to proper, modern medical attention in all aspects except for the resources necessary.

Equipment:- E5 Blaster Carbine - The stock locking pin broke.
- Ill-fitting Blast Armor - Helmet not included.
- Cliff Flax Kiffar Kanga - It's a dress.
- Vibro-Knife - Kitchen Grade, much better than military.
- Medpacks - Which she mostly pretends to use.

Psychological Profile:Jubali isn't in this for your damned rebellion. She doesn't really expect to be paid, either. She just wants to burn holes into Imperials before they burn holes into her. Some of that is vengeance, mostly it's self-preservation. Combat scares her shitless. Sometimes she wishes she was dead. Mostly she wishes everyone else was dead. She's certain we'll all get there eventually.

History:Jummali Tusk was killed in front of Jubali when she was 7 standard years old. Jubali did not realize the fact until a couple hours later. She doesn't remember the colorful shot that killed her mother. There were so many, reflecting in beautiful shades off of the crystalline dunes of Quen, breathable moon of the gas giant, Joob. Mostly Jubali only remembers how cold it was. How difficult it was for her to breath. To this day she cannot fathom how her sister managed to run across the freezing desert, carrying Jubali in her arms for nearly 2 hours, all with the flesh of her back burnt to the bone, exposed to the thin atmosphere of that moon. Jubali just remembers reaching the refugee shuttle moments before it took off. She remembers the alien who gave up it's crash seat so that Jubali's sister could strap her in. The look of numb horror on the faces of the other passengers as they stared at the ruins of Jummali's back. Jubali's memories turn to the auditory here, her eyes filled with tears and squeezed tight. Just the deathly rattle of the shuttle, her sister singing to her from her place on the shuttles grated floor. The feeling of her sister's hands folded over her own. A thumb rubbing soothingly over her knuckles. At some point Jubali fell asleep, exhausted. Jummali must have as well. The next time Jubali saw her sister, she was ashen and still under an opaque, plastic sheet.

Jubali never met her parents. She was born of the void on a little tramp freighter the name of which she never knew. From the moment she was born she could see the stars. She used to think they watched over her. Now they always seem like cold, distant gods, judging from on high. Her sister, 10 years older than herself, raised her in spaceports and stations, busking, grifting, mulling, fleeing port authorities and the occasional Hutt enforcer. Jubali remembers the smells and sounds of a thousand different aliens, crushing all around her in little boxes of metal, spinning in the gravity of one planetary mass or another. She remembers landing on Quen, how beautiful the starlight looked on it's surface, how Jummali had seemed to relax for the first time, exulting on the breeze that drifted across the sands. How she had told Jubali that they might have finally found a place to stay, for good. How comfortable the five by eight room they shared at the mining complex had been. How warm it was nestled between drilling drivers. How the blood had drained from Jummali's face when she entered the clinics office, shouting for Jubali pushed towards the door by the stern lunar authority officers that had surrounded Jubali when she woke up. 

Jubali did not remember the fall. She had been playing near one of the old pit mines. In hindsight it was a foolish thing to do. The pit must have been a hundred meters deep, at least. Jubali should not have survived. She did not know what tests they performed on her while she was unconscious, but the nurse that was in the room with the officers had looked at Jubali like she wasn't human, or alien either, she clutched a native charm in a white knuckled grip on her chest, like it would protect her from whatever Jubali was. Jubali was taken from that place. She did not see her sister for a time. She was taken to a place that was cold, and clean, and full of light. She lost track of days. The only ones she saw were other people dressed in the same gray cloths as she was given to wear. The only one who spoke to her was the garrison commander who was in her cell on the first day. He looked scared of something on the other side of the cell door. He spoke to her of things she did not understand. He seemed mad at her, or worried about her, she still wasn't sure. He spoke of what needed to be done, of the Empire, of superstition, of sedition. He didn't seem to be speaking to Jubali at all. She worried he would hurt her. She wanted to ask about her sister. She didn't. Many days later there was an explosion.

Then came the lasers flashing in the night. Her sister had come for her. Other people had come too. They had made huge holes in the walls of the clean, cold place. Many people ran out of them dressed just like her. A man with a beard made out of skin and wearing a brown bathrobe told them to run and pointed across the desert. He looked at Jubali and smiled sadly. He turned on a little stick that made a sword of light.

Jubali was taken with the rest of the refugees to a place she did not know. She does not remember much of it. She was taken in by an elderly pair of humans who living in the asteroids around Uslam. She does not remember much of the rest of her childhood. Some men occasionally came to check up on her. They spoke in hushed tones on the other sides of doors. They gave Jubali a holochit. They said it would get her into the best imperial-sponsored academy on Ulsam. Turned out to be the only one. Jubali did well enough in her studies, well enough to be recruited into the primary medical program. It seemed like a good idea. Jubali just wanted to never live the life that had gotten to this point again. She just wanted to avoid trouble. To never see uniformed men paying her any mind. To have the money to never live in a five by eight again. To stay warm, to breath clean air. It did not seem like a lot to ask. The stars are not kind. The PMP was much harder than her primary courses. She didn't know there were so many sapient species, or how different their biology was. The imperial-sponsored course only focused on humans and their near relations, even then, Jubali was barely passing. The only saving grace Jubali ever had was her practicals. In spite of her ostensible incompetence, her hours at the mining clinic always finished with clean reports. She treated her patients quickly and efficiently. She never wasted clinical supplies. Jubali knew it had nothing to do with what she knew about medicine. She searched the holonet for spontaneous healing. Species with healing powers. Some oblique references to spiritual mysticism were all she found. A number of sites turned up empty space, with nothing but the Imperial emblem and boilerplate condemnation notices citing illegal misinformation and other offenses. Jubali started to get scared. She was sure her professors stared at her in class. Her foster parents called after her, asking why they had a notice saying she had authorized the academy access to her adoption records. Jubali tried to quietly pack her room. Then revolution came to Ulsam.

The Imperial administration building at the academy was set on fire in the night. The rebel-sympathizing students responsible were caught and publicly executed. A thousand simultaneous incidents occurred across the system. In an instant, the planet and it's holdings were carved into battling lines. Tanis Academy was put into lockdown. Stormtroopers poured into the campus. Jubali ran. She has no idea how she managed to get away without being spotted and shoot by the white deathmask wearing soldiers. She has her suspicions. She did no know how she managed to find a bulk speeder pilot willing to take her to her home hab, but she does now. The captain saluted the strange men at the front gate, the ones wearing defaced garrison uniforms. She was brought to a new crush of people, miners, engineers, all listening to another uniformed man decrying the brutal Imperial regime. At some point, a blaster was forced into Jubali's hands.

The war is a blur. Jubali isn't sure how she managed to survive. Mostly it was probably how well she hid whenever fighting started. Or maybe how quick she was to shoot when a blaster was pointed at her. Or maybe it was her fellow soldiers who were responsible. How grateful her squad was when she managed to patch them up. How amazed they were that they had a medic. They never questioned how she managed to get them back into fighting shape without adequate medical supplies. Someone must have told the rebel command because she was given her own medipacs at some point. War continued. She didn't save everyone. Most of her squad died in their final engagement. She was extracted from a place filled with mud and blood. The war ended while she was in triage. 

Now a new war is being fought on far flung worlds. They need veteran soldiers. Ulsam has those. Jubali just wanted to live a quiet life of comfort. She is sick of the sound of blaster fire. Tired of watching a rainbow of flickering light reflect off the glassy eyes of the dead. But the stars are not kind. They never were.

Yes, and:Jubali isn't sure whether she loves or hates Norana. In many ways, the Togruta represents everything that Jubali wishes was better about herself. She thinks Norana is fast, confidant, and possessive of a certainty that Jubali believes she lacks. She thinks they could be fast friends, or bitter foes. She thinks Norana is an arrogant, reckless, self-serving nerf herder. She thinks Norana might be a worse version of herself. She thinks Norana probably doesn't think much about her at all.
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