xenoarchaeologist
New Member
(Note: this is my very first RP post, and my character is completely open to whatever will come his way. Please read the following post; afterwards, it's up to you to determine how he becomes entangled in the conflicts and adventures of your roleplay--maybe you get into a scrap at the cantina and he jumps in, or maybe you're looking for a ride to another planet...).
Al Sedda didn't have any special affiliations, biases, or political preferences. In truth, he couldn't afford to. He needed credits--and badly.
When the swoop gang had descended on his uncle's droid repair shop (refer to bio: http://starwarsrp.net/topic/51282-al-sedda/), Sedda had fled Coruscant's underworld. He had taken his uncle's XS Freighter, The Deep Wind, and escaped to the planet's surface, piloting through streams of air traffic, up through the giant ventilation shafts that served as the exits and entrances between Coruscant's surface and undercities.
Sedda had been to the surface before, having flown his uncle's ship on various occasions to pickup and deliver various shipments of questionable items, including spice and weapons. However, Al Sedda had never breached Coruscant's atmosphere--he had never been off-world. The XS Freighter was capable of jumping to Hyperspace, but the fact of the matter was, Sedda didn't have enough credits to leave. Even if he did, where would he go?
He had been forced to leave everything behind, including the savings he had been scrounging since adolescence, and he didn't dare return. His uncle's gambling debt and spice addiction had finally caught up to him. His uncle was in all likelihood dead, and if Sedda couldn't accumulate the credits to refuel and get off-world, he might be too. The gang was still looking for him, if only for the ship.
And so there he was, sitting in a surface cantina clutching a half-empty glass of spirits, surrounded by strangers and alien humanoids, some drunk, some laughing, some arguing, and others whispering quietly in seclusion...
Al Sedda didn't have any special affiliations, biases, or political preferences. In truth, he couldn't afford to. He needed credits--and badly.
When the swoop gang had descended on his uncle's droid repair shop (refer to bio: http://starwarsrp.net/topic/51282-al-sedda/), Sedda had fled Coruscant's underworld. He had taken his uncle's XS Freighter, The Deep Wind, and escaped to the planet's surface, piloting through streams of air traffic, up through the giant ventilation shafts that served as the exits and entrances between Coruscant's surface and undercities.
Sedda had been to the surface before, having flown his uncle's ship on various occasions to pickup and deliver various shipments of questionable items, including spice and weapons. However, Al Sedda had never breached Coruscant's atmosphere--he had never been off-world. The XS Freighter was capable of jumping to Hyperspace, but the fact of the matter was, Sedda didn't have enough credits to leave. Even if he did, where would he go?
He had been forced to leave everything behind, including the savings he had been scrounging since adolescence, and he didn't dare return. His uncle's gambling debt and spice addiction had finally caught up to him. His uncle was in all likelihood dead, and if Sedda couldn't accumulate the credits to refuel and get off-world, he might be too. The gang was still looking for him, if only for the ship.
And so there he was, sitting in a surface cantina clutching a half-empty glass of spirits, surrounded by strangers and alien humanoids, some drunk, some laughing, some arguing, and others whispering quietly in seclusion...