Daxar
New Member
WHO AM I?
•NAME: Daxar Rontatt.
•FACTION: The Galactic Republic.
•RANK: Not yet.
•SPECIES: Corellian Human.
•AGE: Twenty years. (GSC)
•SEX: Male.
•HEIGHT: 5'8''
•WEIGHT: 156 lbs.
•EYES: Light blue.
•HAIR: Black coloured, straight medium sized hair.
•FACIAL HAIR: Short goatee and moustache.
•SKIN: Light.
•FORCE SENSITIVE: Not sensitive.
WHO I KNOW?:
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:
•HANDYMAN: Having worked for years fixing and solving technical problems, Daxar has grown a special interest in anything that requires mechanical attention. He enjoys assembling and disassembling anything that is in his reach, and finds no difficulty when faced against technical difficulties.
•CONFIDENT: After working his way up from nothing and reaching some success his self-confidence became a notorious part of his personality. He believes himself capable of fulfilling any task given and shows and incredible amount of confidence when talking to pretty much anyone.
•SKILLFUL FIGHTER: Being slave of an illegal slave-fighting club not only brought disgrace and pain to his life but it also teached him how to fight properly, it enhanced his reflexes and made him an experienced fighter both in melee and ranged combat.
•UNTRUSTING: Daxar's takes the saying "only trust yourself" to another meaning. He not only despises relieving his obligations to others, he carries it to the extreme and becomes paranoid of his surroundings. Missions, jobs, even cleaning, it doesn't matters, he will find a way to accuse his mates with trying to harm him or his job.
•STUBBORN: If Daxar could be described in one word, it would be stubborn. He only sees his views as the correct way to work and will fiercely fight to impose his rules to his allies. He could even try his strategies a second time after they fail, just to prove his point.
BIOGRAPHY:
– my name? huh, now that's an interesting question –
Little to none is known about Daxar's past, about as much as his intentions. It isn't clear even what's his birth name, but nothing matters to him more than respect.
As a child Daxar struggled to survive on Coronet City ghettos. He had no memories of a family and slowly learned that his life was going to be a lot different than what he considered comfortable. Collecting trash and doing favours, mostly delivering droid spare parts, the young Corellian thrived for a while, and sowing the seed of his first interest: working in the technical and mechanical field. From there on he started to hoard any part caught by his eye, their usefulness was out of question. The young man thought anything could work in his hands.
But his time as a kid was not all happiness, not even when he snatched a stable job as a delivery boy. He had to deal daily with a compass of people that just hated seeing him living. From bullies to government officials, they just refused to see Daxar, a scrappy looking kid, trying to make his way out of the underworld. The physical pain received was not something particularly bad, but problems arose when his trash, or collection as he called it, was touched. Normally the night would set with Daxar beaten up, but he was happy while his toys were there for him to raise his spirits.
Sadly there was a limit, and Daxar crossed it infuriated by the constant abuse. One day he dared to hit back, and a few minutes later he was under control of the authorities. He lost everything and was seen as a weird psychopath from the first moment in the streets again. It didn't matter how much he tried nor his story was believed by anyone that wasn't useful for him. His life in Corellia had came to an end, and, as much as he tried to fight it, he had to accept he needed to expand his horizon just to survive.
The young boy, blinded by the dream of having a happy normal life, offered his services from bar to bar until he got noticed by a pair of wealthy-looking humans. Promised a free trip to Onderon in exchange for a few days of work, Daxar accepted. He was ready to start from zero. But in their minds he was another free slave. Promptly imprisoned as soon as he got his feet in the ship, Daxar's destiny was sealed.
His dream didn't even came true after being caught. He lived on space and wasn't allowed to walk outside it. His "job" was basically taking care of the inventory of the ship, and even in that situation he took it seriously. Nobody messed with his system of organization and never one took a glance at it if not necessary. Maybe it reminded him of his old collection or he just liked to work. However it didn't impress his owners and was sold as soon as an offer high enough was reached. Against his will he found himself alone at Nar Shadda at the orders of his new owner, a smuggler.
Life was good when he was told to work smuggling and fixing things, things he did happy and with a really special dedication. Not getting paid was sufficient if he did what he loved. But it all eventually fell, and, noticing how much money he could win, the smuggler offered the little Corellian for fighting. He was amused by how mean and greedy people could be, and ultimately learnt that was the living way in his environment. He prepared for days to win, getting help from other slaves without success, spectating bar brawls and lastly, full of desperation, he initiated fights with people as weak as him just to acquire some experience. But all was futile and he never felt fully prepared to take part of the slave fights.
Year after year, fight after fight, Daxar gathered experience in the ring. His young age made him a more than desirable target and he grew fighting against every type of man you could think. His mission was just surviving enough to earn some sleep in his cell and if all went not so badly gain some time with his inventions. His routine was basically training the morning, fighting the afternoon and sleeping, and it remained for quite a lot of time like that. But after getting destroyed every match he decided it was necessary to start thinking like one of them. Winning became his sole preoccupation, the pain was nothing when balanced against the respect shown by the spectators, specially considering it was a skinny young man against the most bizarre people the underworld had to offer. He slowly started to grow a considerable amount of recognition until he was feared by those who were before were his nemesis and role-models. But one day after again winning and with a respectable amount of days without losing he was moved to a new division, where he was became again the weakest one, and where he was reminded how life didn't want to see him laugh and be happy. But his boosted confidence was a shield against anyone that was in his way. He wasn't born a winner, but he was sure as hell he would die one.
Months passed and when he finally felt he could win, he was offered a deal from a shady figure. If he could steal some precious information from the smuggler, he was going to have his liberty. At first he dismissed the strange man as he was only thinking about his fighting skills, but soon recovered what he knew was his and was untransferable: Freedom. It was again moment to live a happy life and hopefully regain the years he had lost working with no pay. At first the operation seemed easy, first taking down him and his supporters and then acquiring the intelligence. However he wasn't sure if escaping was the right choice. All his memories were there, working and living in miserable conditions, and he had certainly grown to value that. And he, for a moment, stopped his plan and planned to just live with that traitorous deal in his mind. But under the last light the polluted skies had to offer he just went with it. And it went well, except for a few injuries that were not enough to calm his euphoria. He was offered a new start, in a new planet, and nobody was going to interfere this time.
He feared, he was static the whole trip. There were no guarantees he wasn't once more going to endure being imprisoned. And he even wished it could happen again so his life would be the same. But it didn't happened, and he felt relieved. Onderon, capital of the great Galactic Republic, offered him anything he didn't had before, he was just required to get a job and so things were going to flourish. But first he needed a new name, and he wrote whatever came to his mind first: Daxar Rontatt. His objective wasn't clear until he stumbled in front of some troopers, imagining how their adventures and life were under one big flag. He shortly after enrolled, having only good hopes for his future.