A P E X
Jaren Solain
A Damn Vulture.
A Damn Vulture.
NAME: Jaren Solain
FACTION: ---
RANK: ---
SPECIES: Human
AGE: 22
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: 5'11"
WEIGHT: 185 lbs
EYES: Brown
HAIR: Brown
SKIN: Caucasian
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes
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STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES
Life on a far-flung war is not without its advantages, as evidenced by the man that is Jaren Solain. Cultivated by years of field laborn he is hardy, conditioned, and capable of ensuring strenuous physical activity. (+) However, isolation from the Galaxy at large has resulted in ignorance of all but the most famous subjects. (-) On another note, Scavenging has produced a rather decent pilot with a knack for making even "terribad" rigs fly. (+) However, his combat skills are lacking...especially in the Force department. (-)
APPEARANCE:
Jaren is a rather forgettable face, although his physique is far from it. Years of diligent work have resulted in a rather athletic build; complimented nicely by an above-average height. For the most part, there are no defining cuts or tattoos, save for several "battle scars" on the hands accumulated from literal field work. Characterised by long, brown hair and matching eyes, Jaren sports a rather laid back "style". His hair is worn in an unkempt ponytail and his choice of clothes emphasize comfort over flair. In fact, the sole "glamorous" object in his ensemble is a lightsaber pilfered from a salvage run.
BIOGRAPHY:
Life is as the Heavens.
Like stars, countless souls illuminate creation. There are some that shine brighter than the rest; oftentimes congregating to dazzle the cosmos. And there are others...who are nothing more than the dim sparks on the edge of darkness.
Jaren Solain is one such.
There was never anything truly exceptional about the man. From birth, he was raised on a backwater world; sleighted for a life of agricultural doldrum. His lineage, whilst blessed by the Force, was the definition of humble in all ways. Jaren was expected to live a life of hard work and earnest rewards; and he grudgingly played the part. You see, like all youth, an ember of rebellion burned within him. He, despite the expectations of family and friends, desired something contrary to the production of foodstuffs.
He wanted to fly.
There were no delusions of an adventurous life among the stars; not dreams of daring escapades. Jaren simply wanted a ship all his own...but the fulfillment of this desire would spell the end to a life of monotony. As time moved ever forward, the fires of war would spread across the Galaxy. Conquests and rampant expansion would result in tremendous clashes between nations...in addition to the rise of a sordid trade.
Where every battle in the depth of space took place, there were bold refugees biding their time. The fallen, the derelict, and the lost were their prey. They would lie in wait until the combatants slinked back into the depths of hyperspace, leaving behind a succlent feast for their enjoyment. These scavengers would pick clean the wreckage left behind by each naval conflict; selling some of the spoils and pocketing the rest. While dangerous, morally questionable, and a stark contrast to everything he jnew, Jaren was...intrigued...by the prospect of easy credits. In time, he put what limited HoloNet access he had to good use and found his way off the farm.
Home was left in the dust and a Vulture spread his wings.
SHIP: The Black Spindle
KILLS:
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
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ROLE-PLAYS:
- Making Friends Among the Ghosts (Ongoing)
- Gods of Iron (Ongoing)