Nadir
Death from Below
NAME: Khthul the Elder
FACTION: Njet
RANK: Badass
SPECIES: Quarren
AGE: Past mid-life crisis
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: Tall
WEIGHT: Could stand to lose a pound or ten
EYES: Red
TENTACLES: Eight. Proud of ‘em
SKIN: Green
FORCE SENSITIVE: Lots
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:
+ Calibrated: Khthul has perfect eye-hand coordination – thus he's an exceptional marksman, especially with handguns. His aim is impeccable, his speed is unbeatable. Bang! and you’re dead.
+ Bullet bending: He’s that annoying guy who can shoot around corners, through grates, and right between the tightly squeezed arsecheeks of a Republic senator.
– No spring chicken: Khthul’s getting on in the years. His joints creak, his back catches, his beer belly is starting to show. He won’t be cartwheeling and knee-sliding through firefights like the young ’uns.
– Like a Turk: Smokes a lot, doesn’t give a kark about it. His lungs ain’t what they used to be, and he just can’t swim as deep as his sis Cthahy or ole uncle Hastie. Just don’t try to get on his case about smoking inside. Or flicking butts on your perfect lawn. Or in your drink. Or in your face.
– Shellfish allergy: Causes severe nausea, cramps, and – in the absence of treatment – death. Cosmic irony is a queen.
APPEARANCE:
Leather hat, leather coat, leather pants, leather shi— just joking. The shirt’s linen. Carries an obscene amount of firearms on his person. He’s green. He’s mean. He’s a killing machine.
BIOGRAPHY:
A gunslinging squidface with too many tentacles and a grumpy grandpa streak. Moderately wanted man, once. Semi-retired, but only until someone steals his chair at the bar. (Or any chair, really.)
EQUIPMENT:
- Cthahy
- Cater coat – won off Dak Canton in a drunken shooting contest in a Nar Shaddaa back alley
- Bracers
ROLEPLAYS: