TAVIAN VALE
AGE: 32
SPECIES: Augmented Human
GENDER: Male
BUILD: Athletic
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Tavian Vale is tall and broad-shouldered, built like someone who's spent most of his life carrying weight. Whether gear or responsibility. His face is clean-cut but worn, with sharp features and the kind of steady gaze that makes people second-guess their assumptions. His dark brown hair is kept short and neat, though rarely polished. There's always a bit of wear to him, like he's been on the move for too long.
He dresses simple with clean lines, durable fabrics, and armor components built into his outfit without drawing attention. Most of it doesn't match any known uniform. A thin black implant runs along the back of his neck just under the skin. Most people don't notice it. Those who do rarely know what it's for.
PERSONALITY AND BELIEFS
Vale keeps things casual on the surface. He jokes, shrugs things off, doesn't like being called "sir." But under that is control. Quiet, deliberate, and constant. He talks a lot, but without saying much. Which is often the hallmark sign of a fool, except you rarely get the idea that Vale is any type of fool.
He doesn't show strong opinions on politics, war, or ideology. At the very least if you asked him if he preferred the Sith or the Jedi, he would look at you with a blank expression. It is only when the tale turns towards the current material state of sentients in the Galaxy that he will become animated. The lack of care, the existence of hunger and injustice. Some people take that as naivety. Others say it's an act. Because a man of his age should have gotten used to these sort of things a long time ago. He doesn't correct either and usually manages to control himself so these sort of slips do not happen.
There's a gap between what he says and what he does. He speaks like a wanderer, but moves like a trained professional. He claims not to understand the galaxy, but cuts through negotiations like someone who's done it a hundred times. When asked about it, he just makes a witty quip and moves on like it doesn't matter. It's just talent, darling or Guess you either born with the gift for talk or you ain't, eh?
STRENGTHS
Diplomatic Subversion: Able to dismantle hostile or neutral targets through charm, empathy, and manipulation without ever drawing a weapon.
Adaptive Combatant: Excels in hybrid warfare: using a mix of Force intuition, AI-assisted tactics, and sheer physical power.
Cognitive Link Efficiency: Extremely high sync rate with a personal AI unit; can process multilingual communication, battlefield feedback, and sociopolitical variables simultaneously.
WEAKNESSES
Defiant Temperament: Often clashed with superiors and the chain of command, pushing limits until he's forced to pay for it.
Internal Conflict: Struggled to reconcile his belief in the mission with the methods of the system. It led to hesitation at critical moments.
Reliance on cybernetics: A heavy ion attack will reduce his working efficiency by quite a lot.
HISTORY
Tavian Vale appeared without much warning. No known records, no past affiliations. Republic, Sith, Jedi- none of them have anything on him.
He speaks more languages than anyone reasonably should. He can talk diplomats, engineers, or theologians into pretzels as if he was born in all three fields. But then he'll ask what a credit is, or why people steal food. He doesn't seem to understand crime, poverty, or the idea of galactic borders. By all accounts it's not an act he's genuinely confused about the state of the Galaxy and how it has gotten to this.
Despite these gaps, he's highly trained in very specific ways. Just as comfortable with a lightsaber as he is with a sidearm, he seems to be prepared for any combat scenario. He moves like someone with structured military conditioning, but there's no flash to it. No Jedi theatrics. Just efficiency.
Most days, he's relaxed. Talks too much. Smirks at the wrong time. But if you watch him when he thinks no one's paying attention to him personally, you'll see it in the way he walks, the way he scans a room. Like a soldier on patrol. As if muscle memory is kicking in when his mind isn't on it.
Where he came from, what he's doing here, or who he answers to- none of that's clear. He doesn't volunteer much. Most don't ask twice.
He seems to be looking for something. Or waiting. Maybe both.