Vivek Niri Jo'Kar
Broken Man
Name: Vivek Niri Jo’Kar
Age: 32
Faction: None
Rank: None
Hair: Black
Eyes: brown
Skin: Brown
Force Sensitive: no
Ship: None
Strengths: Vivek is intelligent and has some training in politics and law, when he is in his right mind he can think extremely far ahead and can create complex plans. He is decent with a blaster but has no training in them so he could not stand up to a soldier or professional shooter. He has a knack for technology, a course he took while in school, but has yet to use the skills he has (skills that could do him well in the espionage and criminal careers).
Weaknesses: Vivek has a major drinking & drug problem that has held him back in his life, a result from a life that has been anything but gratifying. This life has also resulted in trust and motivational issues that have taken their toll on the man, leaving him broken and reluctant to do much that does not involve the drink.
Bio:
I was born to a family that lived on the scraps left by the few privileged families that lived on Coruscant during the darkness. My mother told me that when I first was born my heart was not beating and my little lungs refused to draw my first breath. The doctors had to struggle with ancient machines to get me to see my first light, thinking back now I realize the fact they got me to breathe was more of a curse than a blessing. From the moment my eyes first sprung open with the light of a revived corpse I have caused nothing but troubles and heartache for those around me. Everyday my father would break his back working to support his newborn child on the dark and empty streets of pre-Republic Coruscant.
By the time I was old enough to work I already pulled the weight of three jobs around the broken city planet. They all paid with little money or sometimes scraps of food and at the worst of times they would give us nothing. The only work that would guarantee us a steady income was work with the Hutts or Swoop gangs that ruled most of the lower city. Many times I was offered a living with the criminals, but each time my father would forbid me…he didn’t want to watch his only son end up dead in a damp gutter. My mother died when I was fourteen, poor healthcare and the multitude of diseases running rampant in the deep city resulted in her slow and agonizing death. Every time I think back to her face all I can see is a smile, a mask worn to protect me and my father from the internal pains that would plague her every second of every day. When she died it was the first time I had ever cried so hard…nothing had scarred me like that moment, when I watched the light slowly fade from her eyes. My father tried to comfort me; he would hug me close and tell me how her death was the only thing that would spare her the pain.
My father made me quit my jobs after her death, I told him I did not want to but he insisted. At first I never saw my father; he was always gone, leaving only day’s worth of food in his wake each day. Sometimes I would stay up all day to catch a glimpse of him, but I would always fall asleep before my father got home to take his three hour nap before heading off to work again. I remember crying everyday, feeling sorry for myself and the broken life I was forced to live in. It’s never been something I was proud of, but at the time I was only a child and I knew nothing of the real troubles I would face when I no longer had a protector.
I remember that one day my father began coming home a lot more and he always brought lots of money and food back with him. Obviously that was strange, we had never had enough money to buy food or enough food to feed us and having both was something to be suspicious about. I asked him one day “Dad, where are you getting all of this.” He just looked at me, my pale and skinny form reflecting in the defeated and shattered eyes that he bore and with a voice as broken as his eyes he answered “Somewhere that will make sure you never go hungry again…I promise you that son.”
After that day I noticed that my dad was always looking over his shoulder, every step he took and every breath he drew seemed to be calculated and processed. Something had changed in him to make him so paranoid, I was scared. What could my father have done to create such a situation for himself? I was constantly looking through his personal things in a futile attempt to find out what he was hiding. Nothing would ever turn up there and nothing would until I turned 18.
A few days after my eighteenth birthday marked the eighth time we had moved since the first day my father began brining home food and money. It also marked the first time I had ever lived in an actual house since the money quantity my father was bringing home had substantially risen. I had given up on my father’s secret for a long time, but that day something hit me to bring it up again. Something was telling me that what he was hiding was serious, so I brought it up to him. The discussion turned into an argument and the argument almost turned into a fist fight. I got so angry at him that I stormed out of the house and went to the local cantina. I can’t remember how long I was there, drinking my sorrows away with the money my father had brought to me for my birthday. When I did return home it was already late into the night and I was so drunk that the shadows of the buildings were close to becoming my home for the night. However, I pulled through and stumbled my way through the dark streets to my home. When I first laid eyes on it my blurred vision made it appear as if everything was as it was when I left…I had no idea that my father was laying dead right outside.
When I finally noticed the bleeding and battered corpse of my father I ran to him as fast as I could. Of course every step was a stumbling cluster of barely functioning movements. The front door of the house had been kicked down and my father had been beaten inside. His face was crushed into itself from the furry of his attacker, multiple stab wounds lined his body and a blood trail defined the trek his barely conscious form had been dragged on. Whoever had done this wanted everyone to see when they put my father on his knees and shot him in the back of the head with a slug throwing pistol. There was no police force to investigate what had happened and nobody who cared enough to help me burry him. I did both and buried him next to my mother in a small park in the upper levels of Coruscant, nobody cared at the time. The investigation was a quick experience as a short trail led me to the door of a man I had never met before in my life. His name was Mar and he was living in a house not too deferent from the one I was now the owner of. He had not yet learned of my father’s death, but once I told him he quickly confessed to me that he and my father had been stealing shipments of black market food and goods from the Hutts. Apparently the Hutts had found out who they were and wanted to make an example of them.
I had learned who had killed my father, but did nothing about it. What was an inexperienced boy of my age to do? There was no way I could take on a criminal syndicate like the Hutts. So I did what had worked for me in the past and began to take up the drink. I lived off the money my dad had left behind until I reached the age of 25 and the New Republic was in its early days. At that time the new police force was trying to arrest one of the many criminals who owned the Coruscant underworld, needless to say it was a Hutt. He was wanted for multiple charges, one of which just happened to be first degree murder on my father. If the police had not needed my father’s cold case to help put the Hutt behind bars they would have never dug up the rumors. However, I was a living member of his family so they figured they had a good chance of me knowing enough to put him away if I testified in court. I was sought out by a detective who, after questioning, turned me over to an attorney named Janees Forwa. She helped me through the process that came after, most her time at work was spent with me or investigate me or going over questions asked to me.
I don’t know what she saw in a bum like me, but eventually we began to see each other outside of her job. I wasn’t interested at first; I was too deep into my own sorrows to care about much. But as we saw each other more and more I found she started becoming more and more apart of my life until she was the only thing keeping me going. The trial came and went and the Hutt went to prison, after it was all said and done I began cleaning up my act and stopped drinking and even entered one of the new rehab programs on Coruscant. She became my life and I became hers. We dated, we moved in and we loved each other for years. She even helped me get into school to learn to be a lawyer or politician; they always said I had a good head on me. When I turned 28 and her 31, we decided that it was time for us to be together for the rest of our lives and be bonded in marriage. The day before the marriage I and the son of my father’s old “business partner” went to have a good time at a strip club. It was there that I would make the worst mistake of my life, I began drinking again to calm my nerves and before I knew it I was back at my house with a Twi’Lek prostitute. Janees came home from her party with her friends and caught me drunk and with another woman hanging on me. She yelled, screamed and cried…it broke my heart I never dreamed of hurting her and yet there I was…she left and said she was never coming back. I wanted to fix it so bad, I was up all night trying to think of the words I could use but I knew nothing I said would be enough…but I wanted her to hear the truth of how much she had changed my life.
The chance would never come, I found out the next day that she died in a speeder crash after she tried to cut in front of a transport speeder. Just like that I had lost the only three people I had loved and I had not even reached thirty. I sank into a depression that was like nothing I had ever experienced. I lost the only woman capable of making me willing to change anything to be with her and a stupid mistake tore that away…I quit school, began to drink and even took up drugs…now I travel as much as I can…looking for a purpose…a reason to live. What is my purpose? What could possibly be out there for me anymore…
Bountys
Kills
Roleplays
Age: 32
Faction: None
Rank: None
Hair: Black
Eyes: brown
Skin: Brown
Force Sensitive: no
Ship: None
Strengths: Vivek is intelligent and has some training in politics and law, when he is in his right mind he can think extremely far ahead and can create complex plans. He is decent with a blaster but has no training in them so he could not stand up to a soldier or professional shooter. He has a knack for technology, a course he took while in school, but has yet to use the skills he has (skills that could do him well in the espionage and criminal careers).
Weaknesses: Vivek has a major drinking & drug problem that has held him back in his life, a result from a life that has been anything but gratifying. This life has also resulted in trust and motivational issues that have taken their toll on the man, leaving him broken and reluctant to do much that does not involve the drink.
Bio:
I was born to a family that lived on the scraps left by the few privileged families that lived on Coruscant during the darkness. My mother told me that when I first was born my heart was not beating and my little lungs refused to draw my first breath. The doctors had to struggle with ancient machines to get me to see my first light, thinking back now I realize the fact they got me to breathe was more of a curse than a blessing. From the moment my eyes first sprung open with the light of a revived corpse I have caused nothing but troubles and heartache for those around me. Everyday my father would break his back working to support his newborn child on the dark and empty streets of pre-Republic Coruscant.
By the time I was old enough to work I already pulled the weight of three jobs around the broken city planet. They all paid with little money or sometimes scraps of food and at the worst of times they would give us nothing. The only work that would guarantee us a steady income was work with the Hutts or Swoop gangs that ruled most of the lower city. Many times I was offered a living with the criminals, but each time my father would forbid me…he didn’t want to watch his only son end up dead in a damp gutter. My mother died when I was fourteen, poor healthcare and the multitude of diseases running rampant in the deep city resulted in her slow and agonizing death. Every time I think back to her face all I can see is a smile, a mask worn to protect me and my father from the internal pains that would plague her every second of every day. When she died it was the first time I had ever cried so hard…nothing had scarred me like that moment, when I watched the light slowly fade from her eyes. My father tried to comfort me; he would hug me close and tell me how her death was the only thing that would spare her the pain.
My father made me quit my jobs after her death, I told him I did not want to but he insisted. At first I never saw my father; he was always gone, leaving only day’s worth of food in his wake each day. Sometimes I would stay up all day to catch a glimpse of him, but I would always fall asleep before my father got home to take his three hour nap before heading off to work again. I remember crying everyday, feeling sorry for myself and the broken life I was forced to live in. It’s never been something I was proud of, but at the time I was only a child and I knew nothing of the real troubles I would face when I no longer had a protector.
I remember that one day my father began coming home a lot more and he always brought lots of money and food back with him. Obviously that was strange, we had never had enough money to buy food or enough food to feed us and having both was something to be suspicious about. I asked him one day “Dad, where are you getting all of this.” He just looked at me, my pale and skinny form reflecting in the defeated and shattered eyes that he bore and with a voice as broken as his eyes he answered “Somewhere that will make sure you never go hungry again…I promise you that son.”
After that day I noticed that my dad was always looking over his shoulder, every step he took and every breath he drew seemed to be calculated and processed. Something had changed in him to make him so paranoid, I was scared. What could my father have done to create such a situation for himself? I was constantly looking through his personal things in a futile attempt to find out what he was hiding. Nothing would ever turn up there and nothing would until I turned 18.
A few days after my eighteenth birthday marked the eighth time we had moved since the first day my father began brining home food and money. It also marked the first time I had ever lived in an actual house since the money quantity my father was bringing home had substantially risen. I had given up on my father’s secret for a long time, but that day something hit me to bring it up again. Something was telling me that what he was hiding was serious, so I brought it up to him. The discussion turned into an argument and the argument almost turned into a fist fight. I got so angry at him that I stormed out of the house and went to the local cantina. I can’t remember how long I was there, drinking my sorrows away with the money my father had brought to me for my birthday. When I did return home it was already late into the night and I was so drunk that the shadows of the buildings were close to becoming my home for the night. However, I pulled through and stumbled my way through the dark streets to my home. When I first laid eyes on it my blurred vision made it appear as if everything was as it was when I left…I had no idea that my father was laying dead right outside.
When I finally noticed the bleeding and battered corpse of my father I ran to him as fast as I could. Of course every step was a stumbling cluster of barely functioning movements. The front door of the house had been kicked down and my father had been beaten inside. His face was crushed into itself from the furry of his attacker, multiple stab wounds lined his body and a blood trail defined the trek his barely conscious form had been dragged on. Whoever had done this wanted everyone to see when they put my father on his knees and shot him in the back of the head with a slug throwing pistol. There was no police force to investigate what had happened and nobody who cared enough to help me burry him. I did both and buried him next to my mother in a small park in the upper levels of Coruscant, nobody cared at the time. The investigation was a quick experience as a short trail led me to the door of a man I had never met before in my life. His name was Mar and he was living in a house not too deferent from the one I was now the owner of. He had not yet learned of my father’s death, but once I told him he quickly confessed to me that he and my father had been stealing shipments of black market food and goods from the Hutts. Apparently the Hutts had found out who they were and wanted to make an example of them.
I had learned who had killed my father, but did nothing about it. What was an inexperienced boy of my age to do? There was no way I could take on a criminal syndicate like the Hutts. So I did what had worked for me in the past and began to take up the drink. I lived off the money my dad had left behind until I reached the age of 25 and the New Republic was in its early days. At that time the new police force was trying to arrest one of the many criminals who owned the Coruscant underworld, needless to say it was a Hutt. He was wanted for multiple charges, one of which just happened to be first degree murder on my father. If the police had not needed my father’s cold case to help put the Hutt behind bars they would have never dug up the rumors. However, I was a living member of his family so they figured they had a good chance of me knowing enough to put him away if I testified in court. I was sought out by a detective who, after questioning, turned me over to an attorney named Janees Forwa. She helped me through the process that came after, most her time at work was spent with me or investigate me or going over questions asked to me.
I don’t know what she saw in a bum like me, but eventually we began to see each other outside of her job. I wasn’t interested at first; I was too deep into my own sorrows to care about much. But as we saw each other more and more I found she started becoming more and more apart of my life until she was the only thing keeping me going. The trial came and went and the Hutt went to prison, after it was all said and done I began cleaning up my act and stopped drinking and even entered one of the new rehab programs on Coruscant. She became my life and I became hers. We dated, we moved in and we loved each other for years. She even helped me get into school to learn to be a lawyer or politician; they always said I had a good head on me. When I turned 28 and her 31, we decided that it was time for us to be together for the rest of our lives and be bonded in marriage. The day before the marriage I and the son of my father’s old “business partner” went to have a good time at a strip club. It was there that I would make the worst mistake of my life, I began drinking again to calm my nerves and before I knew it I was back at my house with a Twi’Lek prostitute. Janees came home from her party with her friends and caught me drunk and with another woman hanging on me. She yelled, screamed and cried…it broke my heart I never dreamed of hurting her and yet there I was…she left and said she was never coming back. I wanted to fix it so bad, I was up all night trying to think of the words I could use but I knew nothing I said would be enough…but I wanted her to hear the truth of how much she had changed my life.
The chance would never come, I found out the next day that she died in a speeder crash after she tried to cut in front of a transport speeder. Just like that I had lost the only three people I had loved and I had not even reached thirty. I sank into a depression that was like nothing I had ever experienced. I lost the only woman capable of making me willing to change anything to be with her and a stupid mistake tore that away…I quit school, began to drink and even took up drugs…now I travel as much as I can…looking for a purpose…a reason to live. What is my purpose? What could possibly be out there for me anymore…
Bountys
Kills
Roleplays