Desmond Cartyom
Space Jockey
Desmond Cartyom
Age: Ancient
Species: Chiss
Gender: Male
Height: 6'0
Weight: 195lb
Force Sensitive: Yes
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Desmond's eyes are typically red and bloodshot. His hair is long, gray and framed by a particularly scruffy looking five o'clock shadow that he never seems to shave but that never seems to grow any longer. He reeks of cheap booze and spice. The stuff radiates from his pores and seeps into his clothes. He wears non descriptive spacer clothes as the spook in him prefers to blend in. His skin is blue and heavily scarred.
INVENTORY
A disruptor pistol, a ship and a couple of sets of clothes. Not to mention copious amounts of drugs. Lots and lots of drugs…
STRENGTHS
Desmond has a keen eye for the indiscernible
Des has fast hands. Great for picking pockets and working the yoke
WEAKNESSES
Desmond is old. He's no longer capable of taking the same amount of damage he once was
HISTORY
Desmond is old now. Older than he ever thought he would grow to be. All his former companions and ideologies had passed in seemingly a blink of an eye. He had done horrible things in the name of the Empire… In the name of his dear friend and master, Grand Moff Tanomas, but as age stretched into century he tried not to take it so personally. It wasn't his fault that Graf did experimental drugs in a attempt to live forever that turned him into a raving lunatic. After all Des was only following orders… But, it did have its moments. Like fighting for the galactic alliance when he and his mentor defected from the first order… Short lived, but at least Des got an X-Wing out of it. Now where were the good times? What did he do now? Run. From his past. From his enemies. From himself. He drowned the day's away with a pipe full of glitter stem and a grog of Tarisian ale. The best his retirement and connections could get. But, what was the point? He should've strangled Graff in his sleep when had the chance... His Ship The Krayt Dragon beeped incessant warnings of his lifestyle choices which made Desmond regret removing the memory coding from that trash compactor and installing it into his pride and joy. But, hey, a deal's a deal. Now the flying trash can (both literally and metaphorically) glided through space with no seeming direction. With no seeming purpose. He longed to be in the field again. To race through asteroid fields littered with debris and harrowing canon fire. To push the yoke of his ship to the limits and cheat death one last time. But, that's the joke isn't it. Cheating death means it's never the last time. He wanted atonement. Redemption. He believed in the order of the Empire, but when Graf lost his marbles that all kind of went out the window. He just wanted someone to validate his bantha poodoo and say they weren't wrong. Just a little misguided. That they did something good. Something for the better… But, until he found that co-signer he was prepared to take as much mind numbing medicine as he needed
Age: Ancient
Species: Chiss
Gender: Male
Height: 6'0
Weight: 195lb
Force Sensitive: Yes
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Desmond's eyes are typically red and bloodshot. His hair is long, gray and framed by a particularly scruffy looking five o'clock shadow that he never seems to shave but that never seems to grow any longer. He reeks of cheap booze and spice. The stuff radiates from his pores and seeps into his clothes. He wears non descriptive spacer clothes as the spook in him prefers to blend in. His skin is blue and heavily scarred.
INVENTORY
A disruptor pistol, a ship and a couple of sets of clothes. Not to mention copious amounts of drugs. Lots and lots of drugs…
STRENGTHS
Desmond has a keen eye for the indiscernible
Des has fast hands. Great for picking pockets and working the yoke
WEAKNESSES
Desmond is old. He's no longer capable of taking the same amount of damage he once was
HISTORY
Desmond is old now. Older than he ever thought he would grow to be. All his former companions and ideologies had passed in seemingly a blink of an eye. He had done horrible things in the name of the Empire… In the name of his dear friend and master, Grand Moff Tanomas, but as age stretched into century he tried not to take it so personally. It wasn't his fault that Graf did experimental drugs in a attempt to live forever that turned him into a raving lunatic. After all Des was only following orders… But, it did have its moments. Like fighting for the galactic alliance when he and his mentor defected from the first order… Short lived, but at least Des got an X-Wing out of it. Now where were the good times? What did he do now? Run. From his past. From his enemies. From himself. He drowned the day's away with a pipe full of glitter stem and a grog of Tarisian ale. The best his retirement and connections could get. But, what was the point? He should've strangled Graff in his sleep when had the chance... His Ship The Krayt Dragon beeped incessant warnings of his lifestyle choices which made Desmond regret removing the memory coding from that trash compactor and installing it into his pride and joy. But, hey, a deal's a deal. Now the flying trash can (both literally and metaphorically) glided through space with no seeming direction. With no seeming purpose. He longed to be in the field again. To race through asteroid fields littered with debris and harrowing canon fire. To push the yoke of his ship to the limits and cheat death one last time. But, that's the joke isn't it. Cheating death means it's never the last time. He wanted atonement. Redemption. He believed in the order of the Empire, but when Graf lost his marbles that all kind of went out the window. He just wanted someone to validate his bantha poodoo and say they weren't wrong. Just a little misguided. That they did something good. Something for the better… But, until he found that co-signer he was prepared to take as much mind numbing medicine as he needed
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