NAME: Avery Regailis
FACTION: The Silver Jedi Concord
RANK: General
SPECIES: Human, Corellian
AGE: 42
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: 6'1
WEIGHT: 221 lbs
EYES: Light Blue
HAIR: Graying Brown
SKIN: White, pale
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes, but only slightly.
FORCE USAGE:
Darkside Miasma: While Avery himself doesn't have any force ability in itself, that doesn't mean he is completely cut off from it. Surrounding him, seeped deep into his mechanical parts, his clothing, everything, is a deeply powerful Darkside energy. Granted, it isn't noticeable at first, he himself doesn't even realize it's existence, but someone powerful in the force could definitely detect it. Unbenounced to him, this 'Miasma' has been the result of many of his victories over force users, sort of blinding them in a way. To Avery this it is just combat skill, to others, it is a small wound in the force. Avery isn't entirely unaware of this 'thing', it does manifest itself to him, typically through voices. The loudest and most prominent voice of them all, coming from his mask. It speaks to him, chastises him. In a way, it represents his innermost thoughts. If you're strong with the force and listen closely, you too can hear it. Too Avery though, he's just going crazy.
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:
Stunted Emotion: Due to extensive cybernetic work, Avery has difficulty sympathizing with others. This can often lead to problems when interacting with people.
Soft Hearted Fool: For as long as he could remember, Avery always had a soft spot for the innocent. Be it a longing to be like them, or some rigid moral compass, he doesn't know. What he does know is that he will go out of his way to help people like that. (i.e. Children, the elderly, puppies...)
Built To Last: Avery has been shot, stabbed, and mangled more times than he could count. All that said and him still being alive, it's safe to say that he's built to last.
Commandant: Standing on the podium, rousing the troops, teaching the freshest recruits, this is where Avery feels most at home. If he had his way, he'd die doing it.
PERSONALITY:
Servos whirl and slight, barely noticeable, clicks of machinery coats Avery like oil on a refurbished speeder. His cold exterior commands respect and holds the attention of even the hardened veteran. This is a man who expects the world to listen to him and if need be, he'd throw himself and those under him into the black void of space to get the job done. Underneath that though, under the metal and military rhetoric, is someone with a deep appreciation for the smaller things. When the day's done, the people tended, and all guns put in their holsters, he just wants to ramble on while drifting into a quiet nap.
APPEARANCE:
An intimidating figure, standing at 6'1. Donning a black trench coat, weathered beyond reason, hiding wrist blades and a pistol in the sleeves. he wears common army fatigues, black high boots, and leather gloves. Situated on his head is an old military service cap, below is a mask resembling a battle droid he can't remember the name of. Underneath that, a pale face, blue eyes, and a prosthetic jaw followed by a mechanical voice.
BIOGRAPHY:
He was old, that was the constant that rang out in Avery's head louder than any cannon shot or blaster round. he'd been 'created' as one of those high-cost assassins you only hear about in the deepest part of Coruscant or Corellia. That was a long time ago, and even longer since he'd killed at all. He eventually left that life behind, leaving his master, his gang, his people, all of it. For a while he drifted, killing for this crime lord or that one.
It all reached its closing point around his late twenties when he first got a taste for war. he'd been tied to some old faction, The Corporate Protectorate, they taught him things, gave him a reason to stand. That was the first time in his life where he felt like he had a real cause. Better yet, it gave him soldiers, men and women who looked up to him. Like the rest of his life, that was a long time ago. he missed them, those people who gave him a reason, the soldiers he commanded. He remembered how his soldiers would call him "Lil' Vader", he'd chuckle at that.
For all the things he looked at with pride, he couldn't rid himself of the bad things he took part in. They were monsters, he knew that now, no matter how much they claimed the opposite. They were imperialists who glassed planets and put entire cities to the sword, many of those cleansings he lead himself. He couldn't abandon his soldiers though, he wouldn't allow it. Maybe all those mechanical parts didn't stunt his emotions at all, he just thought they did, as if that justified the things that happened. Still, it had to stop somewhere. His breaking point was watching a small village being led out into the street, being marked for the slave trade and carted off to some distant world. He was a trained killer, he knew how to get out of a situation he didn't like, so he did. He left that life behind him, not being to stand himself.
Nowadays, he sulks in Corellian bars, waiting for time to take him.
SHIP:
N/A
KILLS:
N/A
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
N/A
ROLE-PLAYS:
N/A
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