Character Raace Typho

[Raace Typho]

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Full Name	RAACE TYPHO
Pronunciation	RACE | | TIE-foe
Alias	ZEN
Age	EARLY THIRTIES
Rank	COMMANDER
Faction	THE IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION
Birthplace	OPLOVIS
Species	HUMAN
Gender	MALE
Force Sensitive	NO
Height	5'10"
Weight	180 LBS
Hair Color	BLACK
Eye Color	BROWN
Skin Color	TANNED
Distinctive features	SCAR ON CHIN
Playby	AI ART
Discord	.errant_venture.

Early Life
Raace was born in the industrial skydocks of Oplovis, a world famous for churning out hardened pilots and rough-edged mechanics. His father, Garran Typho, was a former planetary defense pilot who served in the Empire of the Lost, and his mother, Ceyla Typho, was a groundside nurse.

Oplovis wasn't kind to soft souls. The storms were relentless, the people tougher, and flight was a religion. By the time Raace was ten, he was already flying patched-up gliders through raging wind tunnels just to feel alive.

Military Flight Training
At 15, Raace tested into the Oplovis Aerospace Combat Academy, one of the most infamous training regimes in Wild Space. Attrition rates were sky-high—crash simulators, high-G maneuvers, psychological war games. Raace thrived in the cockpit and barely tolerated everything else.

He earned his nickname "Zen" when he knocked out an instructor for insulting a fellow squadmate mid-drill—an ironic moniker that stuck fast.

Empire of the Lost Recruitment
Raace graduated early and signed on with the Empire of the Lost, a pre-Confederation galactic power. He flew escort runs, convoy protection, and anti-pirate patrols in Wild Space—fast, dirty missions that sharpened his instincts and turned him into a killer.

He racked up kills fast. Too fast. Command began watching him carefully. His tactics were brilliant, but his discipline was questionable.

Formation of the Imperial Confederation
Now in his prime, Raace serves as Flight Commander of Reaver Squadron, one of the Confederation's most feared and effective strike units. He and his squad are deployed for critical missions—deep strikes, starfighter superiority, black ops insertions.

He wears his reputation like a shield and his grief like shrapnel. He doesn't smile. He doesn't flinch. And if you insult his squad, you'll eat the floor.

PARENTS

• GARRAN TYPHO | FATHER | ALIVE > RETIRED NAVAL OFFICER
• CEYLA TYPHA | MOTHER | ALIVE > RETIRED NURSE

SIBLINGS

• KAELEEN TYPHO | SISTER | ALIVE > ISS AGENT

LOVERS

• NONE AT THE MOMENT

FRIENDS

• FELLOW SQUADRON MATES

ENEMIES

• ANYONE WHO HATES THE EMPIRE

• Near-instantaneous reaction time in the cockpit. He can read enemy maneuvers like a street brawler reads a punch—quick, instinctive, deadly.
• He charges into battle without hesitation. Doesn't flinch under fire, doesn't pull back unless it's a tactical withdrawal. Pure predator in the void.
• He's not eloquent, but his intensity commands respect. Subordinates don't question his orders, not because he outranks them, but because he radiates "I will drag us through hell and back."
• Insults or threatens a member of Reaver Squadron? You're either getting decked or dogged until your ship's dust. They're his crew—and he protects them viciously.

• Call it passion, call it pride—either way, Raace has no fuse. He'll swing first, especially if you come for his squadron. That hothead mentality has cost him promotions and made enemies even in high places.
• Raace doesn't back down, even when he should. He'll take a 3-to-1 fight because he thinks he can win it—and sometimes he does. But one day? That gamble might end in a vapor trail.
• He's seen wingmates die. Some under his command. He buries it deep, never talks about it, but it fuels his rage and pushes him harder—maybe too hard. He'll never admit it, but it's there.

• COMING SOON