Hubert Starhopper
New Member
CHARACTER BIOGRAPHY TEMPLATE
NAME: Hubert Starhopper
FACTION: N/A (YET).
RANK: Fugitive
SPECIES: Human
AGE: 25
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: 6'0"
WEIGHT: 244lbs
EYES: Amber
HAIR: Sandy blonde
SKIN: Pale, almost alabaster
FORCE SENSITIVE: Not in the slightest
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES (Required: 2 Weaknesses Minimum) :
His strengths lie in piloting and mechanics, on top of a seemingly unnatural case of luck. His weaknesses lie in weapon accuracy, succumbing to his own hot-headedness, and the inability to quit smoking deathsticks.
APPEARANCE:
Hubert is a tall, decently defined human male, with pale skin splotched in freckles from head to toe. His hair is typically kept up to avoid having it dangle in his face whilst he works his mechanical magic. A small amount of stubble is usually cresting his jaw, sharpening the shadows at the angles of his face. His amber eyes usually rest in an equally- sharp gaze, from years of squinting in the Tatooine suns. He is normally wearing a set of bantha leather-brown coveralls while aboard or around the ship, his pale skin plagued with a blackened grime from the oil he gave up scrubbing from his flesh, his hands stained the darkest. While on the job however, he tends to clean up, dawning a leather flight jacket and scrubbing the gunk from his body, all topped off with a flight cap, which has flaps that droop down on either side of his head.
BIOGRAPHY:
Hubert was always poor. Owned by the average greedy Toydarian, he and his family spent a large portion of their years slaving away in the sands of Tatooine. Their owner, a slimeball by the name of Gluubin, was a particularly rough Toydarian to be in the possession of. He worked his slaves to the bone from the start of the day, to the lowering of the suns with short breaks only for water when one was too dehydrated to even stand.
Gluubin traded in ship parts. In Mos Eisley, the Toydarian became rather renowned for his wide spread of parts by citizens, and repulsive by slaves and their sympathizers. For years, Hubert and his parents were forced to meander out into the hot sands and tear apart any and all ships, speeders, and caravans that were either destroyed or abandoned, lugging each piece by hand to the collective cart of nonsense (Which always seemed to be parked further away than necessary...) and repeating the process until their backs ached, their fingers bled, and their vision was spotted from all the use of fusion-cutters. Eventually, Hubert couldn't take it anymore...
One evening, he snapped. Gluubin had come fluttering his wings through the door to his family's humble, homely hovel, spattering all kinds of obscenities and slurs at his family and their "Kind." Of course, the "Kind," in reference was towards slaves in general rather than Humans, but the pain and rage inside of Hubert still began to reach a boiling point. Then the Toydarian made the mistake of striking his mother.
Hubert's father did nothing... He sat in silence and took the abuse alongside his wife, allowing the little green bug to strike her again and again, each wrapping of his knuckles across her cheek another moment for this pot inside of Hubert to boil over. As Gluubin raised his hand for another swing, it was caught, and held above his head. The look on that bug's face is a memory that both haunts Hubert's mind, and presents itself as a fond memory in a strange, sadistic sort of way.
He wrenched his now former owner's arm back, cupping his other hand under the elbow and shoving it upward. Immediately, in a gruff howl, Gluubin's wings seized and he fell to the floor with a fleshy clop. Hubert loomed over him, the man that tortured he and his family, the man that took his childhood, that for years up until this point, had robbed Hubert of any joy. For the first time in his life, Hubert felt happiness- no, euphoria in the moment, and gave in to this lost feeling now found...
His parents ran. Ran fast enough that he didn't even notice they were gone until he finished welding Gluubin's mouth shut with the same fusion-cutter he had forced into Hubert's hands. Then, at the worst possible time, reality struck him like a cargo-speeder. His parent's hadn't even tried to call him away, stop him, or even speak of their hasty retreat. He quickly stood, rushing outside to find them, and saw nothing but the shifting sands, blowing a fresh layer of dust across the fleeting indentions that were their footsteps. They had abandoned him, and after that realization came the next... He would have to finish what he started...
Welding Gluubin's mouth shut wasn't his first act. Firstly, Hubert had beaten the bug into such a pulp that Galactic Common turned into heavy-tongued, swollen gibberish between cries of agony. Tired of hearing it, and blinded by rage, he gave into the malice that intruded his psyche. But now, the scenario went from revenge to something different, something heavier. Gluubin was slumped to his back, a puddle of dark ooze forming around him as his swollen eyes danced around the ceiling. Too far gone was he to mend naturally at this point. And if he had a change of heart, and helped the bug, there was no doubt in his mind he would be back in the sands or thrown into Imperial prison.
So he left. Left Gluubin to his fate, left his parents presumably to thirst to death, wandering the sands of Tatooine in an aimless, ironic bought for safety. All he had, was his knowledge of piloting, and his knack for mechanics. It seemed to be however, that at this point in his life, luck began to favor him. He found a ship in an abandoned scrapyard. Broken, dusty, rodent-infested, and small, but a ship nonetheless. Using his knowledge of scrapping over the years, he rummaged for weeks to find, fix, and fenagle each part needed into the body of this rust bucket. And finally, after replacing the hydraulics for the boarding ramp, and siphoning some fuel out of a few unattended spaceships in Mos Espa, The Star-Scraper came to fruition.
After a few last minute tweaks to navigational commands, and a quick check of orbital chatter, the ship's thrusters sputtered to life with a large puff of black smoke, and began it's voyage starward.
SHIP:
The Star-Scraper. It is a smaller ship. In its past, it was used to smuggle various goods, be them legal or non, and since its revival, has kept up the status quo. The ship looks like it's held together with spit and glue, its panels rusting at the edges, and its frame shaky. What was once, a beautiful cherry-bomb red, is now a faded specter of its past looks, scratched from its previous owner's crash landing. To top it all off, when the ramp descends, it emits a metallic screech that could make the most stoic of the Empire's fleet cringe. As it closes, a groan that rivals that of a gooberfish's underwater.
KILLS:
N/A (YET)
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
N/A (YET)
ROLE-PLAYS:
NAME: Hubert Starhopper
FACTION: N/A (YET).
RANK: Fugitive
SPECIES: Human
AGE: 25
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: 6'0"
WEIGHT: 244lbs
EYES: Amber
HAIR: Sandy blonde
SKIN: Pale, almost alabaster
FORCE SENSITIVE: Not in the slightest
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES (Required: 2 Weaknesses Minimum) :
His strengths lie in piloting and mechanics, on top of a seemingly unnatural case of luck. His weaknesses lie in weapon accuracy, succumbing to his own hot-headedness, and the inability to quit smoking deathsticks.
APPEARANCE:
Hubert is a tall, decently defined human male, with pale skin splotched in freckles from head to toe. His hair is typically kept up to avoid having it dangle in his face whilst he works his mechanical magic. A small amount of stubble is usually cresting his jaw, sharpening the shadows at the angles of his face. His amber eyes usually rest in an equally- sharp gaze, from years of squinting in the Tatooine suns. He is normally wearing a set of bantha leather-brown coveralls while aboard or around the ship, his pale skin plagued with a blackened grime from the oil he gave up scrubbing from his flesh, his hands stained the darkest. While on the job however, he tends to clean up, dawning a leather flight jacket and scrubbing the gunk from his body, all topped off with a flight cap, which has flaps that droop down on either side of his head.
BIOGRAPHY:
Hubert was always poor. Owned by the average greedy Toydarian, he and his family spent a large portion of their years slaving away in the sands of Tatooine. Their owner, a slimeball by the name of Gluubin, was a particularly rough Toydarian to be in the possession of. He worked his slaves to the bone from the start of the day, to the lowering of the suns with short breaks only for water when one was too dehydrated to even stand.
Gluubin traded in ship parts. In Mos Eisley, the Toydarian became rather renowned for his wide spread of parts by citizens, and repulsive by slaves and their sympathizers. For years, Hubert and his parents were forced to meander out into the hot sands and tear apart any and all ships, speeders, and caravans that were either destroyed or abandoned, lugging each piece by hand to the collective cart of nonsense (Which always seemed to be parked further away than necessary...) and repeating the process until their backs ached, their fingers bled, and their vision was spotted from all the use of fusion-cutters. Eventually, Hubert couldn't take it anymore...
One evening, he snapped. Gluubin had come fluttering his wings through the door to his family's humble, homely hovel, spattering all kinds of obscenities and slurs at his family and their "Kind." Of course, the "Kind," in reference was towards slaves in general rather than Humans, but the pain and rage inside of Hubert still began to reach a boiling point. Then the Toydarian made the mistake of striking his mother.
Hubert's father did nothing... He sat in silence and took the abuse alongside his wife, allowing the little green bug to strike her again and again, each wrapping of his knuckles across her cheek another moment for this pot inside of Hubert to boil over. As Gluubin raised his hand for another swing, it was caught, and held above his head. The look on that bug's face is a memory that both haunts Hubert's mind, and presents itself as a fond memory in a strange, sadistic sort of way.
He wrenched his now former owner's arm back, cupping his other hand under the elbow and shoving it upward. Immediately, in a gruff howl, Gluubin's wings seized and he fell to the floor with a fleshy clop. Hubert loomed over him, the man that tortured he and his family, the man that took his childhood, that for years up until this point, had robbed Hubert of any joy. For the first time in his life, Hubert felt happiness- no, euphoria in the moment, and gave in to this lost feeling now found...
His parents ran. Ran fast enough that he didn't even notice they were gone until he finished welding Gluubin's mouth shut with the same fusion-cutter he had forced into Hubert's hands. Then, at the worst possible time, reality struck him like a cargo-speeder. His parent's hadn't even tried to call him away, stop him, or even speak of their hasty retreat. He quickly stood, rushing outside to find them, and saw nothing but the shifting sands, blowing a fresh layer of dust across the fleeting indentions that were their footsteps. They had abandoned him, and after that realization came the next... He would have to finish what he started...
Welding Gluubin's mouth shut wasn't his first act. Firstly, Hubert had beaten the bug into such a pulp that Galactic Common turned into heavy-tongued, swollen gibberish between cries of agony. Tired of hearing it, and blinded by rage, he gave into the malice that intruded his psyche. But now, the scenario went from revenge to something different, something heavier. Gluubin was slumped to his back, a puddle of dark ooze forming around him as his swollen eyes danced around the ceiling. Too far gone was he to mend naturally at this point. And if he had a change of heart, and helped the bug, there was no doubt in his mind he would be back in the sands or thrown into Imperial prison.
So he left. Left Gluubin to his fate, left his parents presumably to thirst to death, wandering the sands of Tatooine in an aimless, ironic bought for safety. All he had, was his knowledge of piloting, and his knack for mechanics. It seemed to be however, that at this point in his life, luck began to favor him. He found a ship in an abandoned scrapyard. Broken, dusty, rodent-infested, and small, but a ship nonetheless. Using his knowledge of scrapping over the years, he rummaged for weeks to find, fix, and fenagle each part needed into the body of this rust bucket. And finally, after replacing the hydraulics for the boarding ramp, and siphoning some fuel out of a few unattended spaceships in Mos Espa, The Star-Scraper came to fruition.
After a few last minute tweaks to navigational commands, and a quick check of orbital chatter, the ship's thrusters sputtered to life with a large puff of black smoke, and began it's voyage starward.
SHIP:
The Star-Scraper. It is a smaller ship. In its past, it was used to smuggle various goods, be them legal or non, and since its revival, has kept up the status quo. The ship looks like it's held together with spit and glue, its panels rusting at the edges, and its frame shaky. What was once, a beautiful cherry-bomb red, is now a faded specter of its past looks, scratched from its previous owner's crash landing. To top it all off, when the ramp descends, it emits a metallic screech that could make the most stoic of the Empire's fleet cringe. As it closes, a groan that rivals that of a gooberfish's underwater.
KILLS:
N/A (YET)
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
N/A (YET)
ROLE-PLAYS: