Character
Wimbly
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Image credit [x]
NAME:
Given name: Wanvi Mulbe
Chosen name: Wimbly
FACTION: Outer Planets Alliance
RANK: Freelancer
SPECIES: Pantoran
AGE: 24 Standard Years
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: 6'1"
WEIGHT: 156 lbs
EYES: Golden with an outer ring of black
HAIR: Straight black hair grown out to reach the shoulders
SKIN: Deep blue with bright gold tattoos on his face
FORCE SENSITIVE: Nope
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES (Required: 2 Weaknesses Minimum) :
Trained: He is militarily trained and thus has discipline and skill in combat and piloting of a ship
Physically strong: He keeps in shape and has the strength necessary to carry the bulk of his heavy blaster rifle for hours
Determined: When he decides to do something, he does it
Proud: Even when a job seems impossible, he won't abandon it if he's already accepted it
Short temper: It doesn't take a lot to piss him off, and he can be quite violent even with his military discipline
Mistrusting: Very few people have garnered enough trust for Wimbly to even show his face, let alone much more than that.
APPEARANCE:
Wimbly tends to wear clothes or armor that covers most if not all of his body, so his face and even species are not known to any but a select few. (See picture at top)
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ITEMS:
Scoundrel clothes, hat with integrated helmet/breathing mask, KXR SFR-58 Blaster Rifle, Westar 55 Heavy Blaster Pistol, hidden vibro-knives in his boot and wrist cuff
SHIP:
VCX-350 Heavy Courier (Refitted with modern outfits and systems after being repaired from a scrap yard)
-Called the "Campsi"
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RP:
Broken Angels [x]
KILLS:
N/A
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
N/A
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BACKGROUND:
Wimbly was tossed into the rough life from the start. Born on the scum-covered planet of Reuss VIII, he had to struggle to even breathe, let alone find edible food and clean water. Stories told of when the planet was a beautiful agricultural hub for the region, prior to the Galactic Civil War. Nothing could be further from the truth now though. Crime is rampant, survival rates are slim. People will often work themselves into an early grave just trying to get enough money to feed themselves for a night. It was disgusting.
Race didn't matter in this hell-hole. All that mattered was survival, so that's what Wimbly learned. He spent his early days scrounging for what food and water he could, finding clean air any way he possibly could. His immune system built over the years so that he didn't really get sick very much even with the awful atmosphere and living conditions of his little corner of the planet. His parents barely raised him, only giving him enough time to reach some level of maturity before cutting him loose in the streets to save themselves a little money and food. Their definition of maturity was only about 8 years, though. Wimbly started stealing, robbing, and even killing if it meant he'd get a scrap of food or a couple drops of water, or even a half-used air filter. Everything was precious, and it was necessary to take what he could.
After a couple years of this street-rat living, he signed up with one of the local crime bosses' militias at the age of twelve. This particular organization broke what little he had mentally before training him and his group of recruits to be vicious, effective, and efficient killing machines. The weapons they were given were far inferior to anything of the modern age, but what would a misfit band of thugs know? The company provided their soldiers with food, water, and cleaner air when compared to the outside. It was all bare minimum, but it was the best Wimbly had ever gotten regularly. He spent the next decade doing their dirty work while learning all he could about ships and other engineering skills. It had always been of some interest to him, but he'd never had time to spend on it before. He taught himself all he could find on anything that could get him off this rock, and after serving with the militia for 10 years, he paid off a smuggler to get him off-planet towards Spice Terminus. All he brought with him was the clothes and mask he'd gotten in his years with the militia and an old pistol that had gotten him out of more binds than he could count. After reaching the space station, he disappeared into the crowd to work on starting a new life.
Jump ahead a year, Wimbly had bounced from system to system. He got a new blaster rifle along the way, but kept his only pistol for sentimental reasons. Finally, though, he came across a junk yard with a ship perfect for the work he aimed to do: an old broken down VCX 350. With great cargo space, speed, and defensive capabilities, Wimbly had found what he was willing to put effort into making his own. He'd saved up enough money, so he spent the next year working on the thing until he finally took it for its maiden voyage. He gave it the name of Campsi and took it to his next job among the stars.
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