Kitter Bitters
OOC Account
Flint Chapin
| Full Name | Flint Chapin |
| Criminal Allies | Underboss of Cantonica |
| Profession | Crime Boss |
| Affiliations | Criminal Underworld |
| Homeworld | Devaron |
| Species | Devaronian |
| Gender | Male |
| Force Sensitive | No |
| Template Inspired By: | Romi Jade |
OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION
- Intent: To create an NPC criminal and the boss of my Black Sun character
- Image Credit: Midjourney AI
- Role: A criminal who my character is in debt to
- Permissions: N/A
- Age: Early Forties
- Force Sensitivity: No
- Species: Devaronian
- Appearance: Tan skin, several prison tattoos, long horns.
- Name: Flint Chapin
- Loyalties: Black Sun
- Wealth: Wealthy
- Notable Possessions: N/A
- Skills: Marksmen & Assasination
- Languages: Basic
- Personality: Smarmy and oily
- Weapon of Choice: Sluggthrower or vibroblade
- Combat Function: He would rather have his lackies fight for him
- Force Abilities (Force Users Only) N/A
- Intelligence
- Vast Black Sun Resources
- Strength
- Less than intelligent and relies more on brute intimidation
- Wanted criminal
- Being a boss means he's constantly got a target on his back
Flint was born in the underlevels of Montellian Serat, Devaron's capital, far from the temples and politics that dominated the surface. His pale skin and sharp horns made him intimidating even among his own people, but it was his silver tongue and ruthless brute force that set him apart early. He started small, running spice between Outer Rim ports, smuggling Tibanna gas, and fencing stolen relics. But it was a botched deal in Hutt Space that changed his trajectory. Betrayed by a partner, left for dead, and barely escaping Nar Shaddaa with his life, Flint learned the two rules he would never break again: trust no one, and never lose face.
Eventually, his travels led him to Cantonica, a playground of the galaxy's rich, corrupt, and powerful. Unlike other criminals who sought to exploit the casinos, Flint saw something else: structure. In the towering halls of Canto Bight's high-roller clubs, everything ran on rules—rules that could be bent, bought, or broken with enough leverage. Flint embedded himself in the local syndicate structure as a "problem-solver." He wasn't flashy. He wasn't loud. But when debts needed collecting, rivals needed silencing, or the police needed greasing, Flint delivered. Over time, the ruling crime families began trusting him more than their own blood.
Eventually, he earned the title of underboss, overseeing black-market arms trades and the "discreet removal" of inconvenient political players. While he never aimed for the top seat, rumors swirled that he had enough dirt, credits, and influence to collapse half of Canto Bight's elite in a single night—should he choose to.
Today, Flint operates out of an exclusive backroom in a high-end gambling hall with no high visible security—and no second chances. To cross him is to vanish. To owe him is to serve. And to work for him? A chance at power, if you can survive the game