Devin Virell
Redline
All that changed when a family friend, a retired naval officer, saw potential beneath the swagger. Pulling a few strings, they secured him a spot at the Coruscant Naval Academy. At first, he rebelled under the discipline, but eventually the structure and the thrill of piloting began to reshape him for the better.
His journey would take a sharp turn after the loss of the Deep Core to the Galactic Empire. Just before that Imperial invasion, he was promoted to Ensign and formally commissioned; it was a moment of pride that lasted only a few weeks. The captain who had personally recommended him was killed in that same battle.
The fall of those worlds, and the brutality that followed only lit a fire in him. In the aftermath, he followed his surviving squadron leader into the ranks of The Hidden Path, quietly aligning himself and pledging his full loyalty to their cause. Now, he also serves as a secondary crew member aboard larger freighters, learning their systems and operations with each run.
For months, he has moved between different Rebel outposts, ferrying supplies, running countless escort missions, and learning the ropes from different seasoned pilots.
Devin keeps a personal journal stashed in his cockpit. Between missions, when the adrenaline fades and the silence creeps in, he writes. He writes about the choices that haunt him, the people he has lost or barely held onto, and the kind of war that never feels as simple as good versus evil. More than a log, it is the only place he can speak freely without rank or protocol. In those entries, he tends to wrestle with guilt, second guesses, and the slow grind of trying to grow into someone he understands. It's raw, messy, and probably the closest thing he has to peace.
Entry 17: Mud and Durasteel
The rain hasn’t stopped in four days. The hull’s leaking again. I patched it with scrap from a downed speeder, but it won’t hold. We lost two fighters on the last run. One of them was Juno. She used to hum old spacer songs when she flew.
Now it’s just quiet.
Command says we’re making progress. I just don’t see it. The locals are weary of us. The Empire’s scared of nothing. I keep telling myself we’re the good guys, but I’m not sure what that means lately.
I miss the Academy. I miss clean boots.
I miss believing in something.
But I’m still here. Still flying and still writing.
Strengths
-Quick reflexes and strong piloting instincts
-Adaptable under pressure
-Streetwise, with an instinct for reading people
Weaknesses
-Impulsive, occasionally to the point of being reckless
-Struggles with authority he doesn’t respect
-Haunted by survivor syndrome from the invasion
RELATIONSHIPS |
|---|
| Name | Relationship | Bonus Information |
|---|---|---|
Zane Cameron
| Hyperspace Hype Man | Co‑pilot whether it's ground or sky, mission or mischief; basically, an astromech in human form. |
Malora Varis
| Ally | A graceful blueberry from Pantora; diplomat, Jedi, with passion for song. |
BELONGINGS |
|---|
| Type | Name | Bonus Information | Acquired |
|---|---|---|---|
| - | - | - |
THREAD LOG |
|---|
| # | Title | Location | Participants | |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | The Waltz Between Life and Death | - | Odessen |
Malora Varis
|
Last edited: