:: HERO of KORRIBAN ::
NAME: Quint Salis
FACTION: I work for myself, thanks.
RANK: I've never been in the military.
SPECIES Human
AGE: Twenty-six, and old enough to know better.
SEX: I love sex… I'm a guy so yeah… always on the brain.
HEIGHT: 6’0”
WEIGHT: 173 lbs.
HAIR: It's jet black and kept short.
EYES: Brown
SKIN: Ivory, a little tan sometimes.
FORCE SENSITIVE No wizarding for me.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:
Great Artist
Street Smart
Agile
Good Aim
Knife Skills
Mistrusting
No Family
Independent
Checkered Past
Addicted to Tattoos
Not the Strongest
APPEARANCE:
I’ve never been an overly muscular guy, but I do like to stay pretty trim. You really should see me with a shirt off, well maybe not. I like keeping my hair short, and my face whatever. It isn’t always clean shaven. My sense of style is whatever is comfortable. Usually that’s a t-shirt, and jeans. Boots are my go to footwear, and when it’s cold I like to wear a leather jacket. Pretty much what you see with me is what you get. I’m fairly a simple person when it comes to my looks. Nothing complicated.
BIOGRAPHY:
People are born, they live for a while, and then they die. All of the stuff that happens between the being and born and dying, that living stuff, it’s just a bunch of random crap that happens to you. Some people get it lucky and a whole bunch of random things happen to make them wealthy, well taken care of, smart, good looking, you name it, it seems like some people just get all the good stuff. Then there are those who experience a bunch of random crap which makes life miserable. Maybe they don’t have the looks, or the brains, or the wealth that others do, but it still makes them people.
I was one of the later kinds. Life sucked as a kid. I was born out of wedlock. You could say I was just some random crap that happened to my mother, and she didn’t want to keep me. She set me on the steps of some orphanage where she thought I would be well cared for, yeah right. That was a horrible way to be brought up. I got into fights all the time, usually won, but no one walks out of a fight looking pretty. I’m surprised my nose isn’t all funny looking. I swear that was one thing that actually went my way. They made us work like dogs. If we didn’t do what they wanted, well, we got beat, or we got the box. That place was just a prison for kids nobody wanted. Sure sometimes someone got lucky and a nice family adopted them, but that never happened to me. I ran away.
Running away was the best thing I could have done. I was eleven when I did that I think. Living on the streets, going from shelter to shelter, it wasn’t as bad as the orphanage. Looking back on it all, the only thing I would change was the crowd of people I fell in with back then. Who knows what my life might be like now if I could change all that. When you live on the street, you pick up the occupation of the street. Eleven year old kids didn’t have many options. I did what I could and that meant stealing things and carrying spice on the streets. When I was thirteen I got caught for the first time and wound up in a correctional facility.
You would think I’d hate it, but it was still better than that orphanage. I got three hot meals, a shower every day, and pretty much got left alone as long as I didn’t piss off the wrong people. I got my first tattoo in there, a feline predator of some kind. I would be in and out of that place until I was an adult. Nothing changed though. I still ran spice, and I still stole stuff. The older I got the bigger the stuff, and the more drugs I dealt.
It always caught up with me, and sometime when I was nineteen I really messed up. I should have known it was a sting. All the signs were there. The buyer was too eager to get the good stuff, didn’t seem to care about certain precautions most did. I got suckered in by an easy sell, and that’s how it always happens. Six years of hard labor was the sentence, and off they sent me to the mining facility on Kessel.
The way to sum up my time there was I made friends, and I made enemies. I made more friends than enemies, so I survived the place. More tattoos were added to the collection I seemed to be getting while spending time in all these dirty places. Ink and needle was like an addiction of sorts. I enjoyed it. It seemed to be a way out of the life I was in too, so I began to draw in my free time. Turns out I was good at it.
They let me off the hook three years in for good behavior. I’ve been spending the rest of that time working hard to not go back to the drugs, and the theft. Since they never found all my accounts, I took the credits I had and opened up my own tattoo parlor with it. It’s steady work, but not always enough, so I supplement with high paying smuggling jobs. You can take the felon out of jail, but I guess it’s hard to take the felon out of the felon. At least the game I play is a little more legal than before, and only when business for my parlor is dryer than the deserts of Tatooine.
SHIP:
Don't have one yet.
KILLS:
Never killed anyone.
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
I'm more likely to have a bounty on my head than collect any.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ROLE-PLAYS:
FACTION: I work for myself, thanks.
RANK: I've never been in the military.
SPECIES Human
AGE: Twenty-six, and old enough to know better.
SEX: I love sex… I'm a guy so yeah… always on the brain.
HEIGHT: 6’0”
WEIGHT: 173 lbs.
HAIR: It's jet black and kept short.
EYES: Brown
SKIN: Ivory, a little tan sometimes.
FORCE SENSITIVE No wizarding for me.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:
Great Artist
Street Smart
Agile
Good Aim
Knife Skills
Mistrusting
No Family
Independent
Checkered Past
Addicted to Tattoos
Not the Strongest
APPEARANCE:
I’ve never been an overly muscular guy, but I do like to stay pretty trim. You really should see me with a shirt off, well maybe not. I like keeping my hair short, and my face whatever. It isn’t always clean shaven. My sense of style is whatever is comfortable. Usually that’s a t-shirt, and jeans. Boots are my go to footwear, and when it’s cold I like to wear a leather jacket. Pretty much what you see with me is what you get. I’m fairly a simple person when it comes to my looks. Nothing complicated.
BIOGRAPHY:
People are born, they live for a while, and then they die. All of the stuff that happens between the being and born and dying, that living stuff, it’s just a bunch of random crap that happens to you. Some people get it lucky and a whole bunch of random things happen to make them wealthy, well taken care of, smart, good looking, you name it, it seems like some people just get all the good stuff. Then there are those who experience a bunch of random crap which makes life miserable. Maybe they don’t have the looks, or the brains, or the wealth that others do, but it still makes them people.
I was one of the later kinds. Life sucked as a kid. I was born out of wedlock. You could say I was just some random crap that happened to my mother, and she didn’t want to keep me. She set me on the steps of some orphanage where she thought I would be well cared for, yeah right. That was a horrible way to be brought up. I got into fights all the time, usually won, but no one walks out of a fight looking pretty. I’m surprised my nose isn’t all funny looking. I swear that was one thing that actually went my way. They made us work like dogs. If we didn’t do what they wanted, well, we got beat, or we got the box. That place was just a prison for kids nobody wanted. Sure sometimes someone got lucky and a nice family adopted them, but that never happened to me. I ran away.
Running away was the best thing I could have done. I was eleven when I did that I think. Living on the streets, going from shelter to shelter, it wasn’t as bad as the orphanage. Looking back on it all, the only thing I would change was the crowd of people I fell in with back then. Who knows what my life might be like now if I could change all that. When you live on the street, you pick up the occupation of the street. Eleven year old kids didn’t have many options. I did what I could and that meant stealing things and carrying spice on the streets. When I was thirteen I got caught for the first time and wound up in a correctional facility.
You would think I’d hate it, but it was still better than that orphanage. I got three hot meals, a shower every day, and pretty much got left alone as long as I didn’t piss off the wrong people. I got my first tattoo in there, a feline predator of some kind. I would be in and out of that place until I was an adult. Nothing changed though. I still ran spice, and I still stole stuff. The older I got the bigger the stuff, and the more drugs I dealt.
It always caught up with me, and sometime when I was nineteen I really messed up. I should have known it was a sting. All the signs were there. The buyer was too eager to get the good stuff, didn’t seem to care about certain precautions most did. I got suckered in by an easy sell, and that’s how it always happens. Six years of hard labor was the sentence, and off they sent me to the mining facility on Kessel.
The way to sum up my time there was I made friends, and I made enemies. I made more friends than enemies, so I survived the place. More tattoos were added to the collection I seemed to be getting while spending time in all these dirty places. Ink and needle was like an addiction of sorts. I enjoyed it. It seemed to be a way out of the life I was in too, so I began to draw in my free time. Turns out I was good at it.
They let me off the hook three years in for good behavior. I’ve been spending the rest of that time working hard to not go back to the drugs, and the theft. Since they never found all my accounts, I took the credits I had and opened up my own tattoo parlor with it. It’s steady work, but not always enough, so I supplement with high paying smuggling jobs. You can take the felon out of jail, but I guess it’s hard to take the felon out of the felon. At least the game I play is a little more legal than before, and only when business for my parlor is dryer than the deserts of Tatooine.
SHIP:
Don't have one yet.
KILLS:
Never killed anyone.
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
I'm more likely to have a bounty on my head than collect any.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ROLE-PLAYS:
