Post by Grand Moff Poobah I on Sept 8, 2015 5:52:18 GMT -5
Name: Groton P. Feseldwelp
Species: Echani
Faction: Insane old man, formerly Jedi
Rank: Mayor of Pretty Good Springs, Executive Director of the Sheev Palpatine Waste Reclamation Center, etc.
Age: 65
Height: 170 cm
Weight: 67.9 kg
Image:
Appearance: Imagine to yourself Santa Claus. Now make him skinny. So far you have a short, small man with a bushy white beard and long hair. Now make him dirty. Grime all over, leaves and twigs peeking out of his beard. You're probably assuming he's the worst mall santa ever. Well you're right, he's fired, get him out of that red suit. He's in a homespun linen garment, with so many patched rips and tears that what's original and what's new is impossible to tell. It's almost a quilt. The pants aren't really any better, and the boots are mostly covered in strips of leather and fur wound about. Behind all this bushy white hair are silver eyes, one starting to get a little milky.
Personality: Groton P. Feseldwelp is an insane old man with a traumatic head injury that was never properly treated. As such he has the sort of bizarre personality someone might expect. As much as anyone can expect the bizarre. He's liable to fail at remembering things, sometimes mid-sentence, to wander about verbally, talking in 45 minute stretches now and then, regardless of whether or not anything is there. He also has a tendency to make shit up. New words. Wrong facts. He's simply not reliable about anything. If there were any justice in the galaxy he'd be in an assisted-living facility with some well-paid caretaker assistant listening to incoherent ramblings about how Werbledoofers just aren't made to the same standards they used to be back in the days of Good Old Flibbidyjib.
History: Silar Grosell was a Jedi Knight of moderate fame, with a solid reputation as something of a Sage, a highly Force-focused individual with a philosophical flair, fastidious cleanliness, and penchant for answering questions with questions. This story really isn't about him in this strictest sense, as in the first year of the Clone Wars he was lost. This is the story of what happened next.
His T-6 shuttle crashed on a small, forested moon. In the process of this crash Silar managed to sustain quite the head injury. As the lone occupant, when he did finally regain consciousness he had intermittent memory problems, and his personality knit itself back together in confusing ways. Among other things he began to identify himself as Groton P. Feseldwelp. The P standing for person. He couldn't remember the protections on the computer system, and managed to do nothing but talk to the computer periodically as it continually failed to recognize the name Groton P. Feseldwelp. Disgruntled he used the shuttle for shelter only as long as it took him to construct a cabin. Then he used the furnishings from the shuttle to decorate the cabin.
This process was punctuated by explorations of the area. As it happened it was reasonably nice. Distinctly on the cold side, during winter particularly. This was fine, as there was a set of hot springs a short jaunt away. He built another cabin there, a bigger and nicer one, and then just moved over the furnishings to it.
Groton Feseldwelp of course took other actions to civilize the moon. He beat a small path between the cabins, calling it Paisley T. Winterbottom Memorial Avenue, for the cockroach he kept as a pet for two weeks until it died. Along it he built a pair of shacks, the Sheev Palpatine Waste Reclamation Center (An Outhouse), and the Bureau of Wildlife Management, where he smoked hunted game over wood chips.
The final touch was to make elaborate carved wood signs to mark these attractions, and the crown jewel a sign by the downed shuttle reading "Pretty Good Springs, Population 1," along with a picnic bench and one more sign reading 'no littering.'
Miscellaneous Crap:
Species: Echani
Faction: Insane old man, formerly Jedi
Rank: Mayor of Pretty Good Springs, Executive Director of the Sheev Palpatine Waste Reclamation Center, etc.
Age: 65
Height: 170 cm
Weight: 67.9 kg
Image:
Appearance: Imagine to yourself Santa Claus. Now make him skinny. So far you have a short, small man with a bushy white beard and long hair. Now make him dirty. Grime all over, leaves and twigs peeking out of his beard. You're probably assuming he's the worst mall santa ever. Well you're right, he's fired, get him out of that red suit. He's in a homespun linen garment, with so many patched rips and tears that what's original and what's new is impossible to tell. It's almost a quilt. The pants aren't really any better, and the boots are mostly covered in strips of leather and fur wound about. Behind all this bushy white hair are silver eyes, one starting to get a little milky.
Personality: Groton P. Feseldwelp is an insane old man with a traumatic head injury that was never properly treated. As such he has the sort of bizarre personality someone might expect. As much as anyone can expect the bizarre. He's liable to fail at remembering things, sometimes mid-sentence, to wander about verbally, talking in 45 minute stretches now and then, regardless of whether or not anything is there. He also has a tendency to make shit up. New words. Wrong facts. He's simply not reliable about anything. If there were any justice in the galaxy he'd be in an assisted-living facility with some well-paid caretaker assistant listening to incoherent ramblings about how Werbledoofers just aren't made to the same standards they used to be back in the days of Good Old Flibbidyjib.
History: Silar Grosell was a Jedi Knight of moderate fame, with a solid reputation as something of a Sage, a highly Force-focused individual with a philosophical flair, fastidious cleanliness, and penchant for answering questions with questions. This story really isn't about him in this strictest sense, as in the first year of the Clone Wars he was lost. This is the story of what happened next.
His T-6 shuttle crashed on a small, forested moon. In the process of this crash Silar managed to sustain quite the head injury. As the lone occupant, when he did finally regain consciousness he had intermittent memory problems, and his personality knit itself back together in confusing ways. Among other things he began to identify himself as Groton P. Feseldwelp. The P standing for person. He couldn't remember the protections on the computer system, and managed to do nothing but talk to the computer periodically as it continually failed to recognize the name Groton P. Feseldwelp. Disgruntled he used the shuttle for shelter only as long as it took him to construct a cabin. Then he used the furnishings from the shuttle to decorate the cabin.
This process was punctuated by explorations of the area. As it happened it was reasonably nice. Distinctly on the cold side, during winter particularly. This was fine, as there was a set of hot springs a short jaunt away. He built another cabin there, a bigger and nicer one, and then just moved over the furnishings to it.
Groton Feseldwelp of course took other actions to civilize the moon. He beat a small path between the cabins, calling it Paisley T. Winterbottom Memorial Avenue, for the cockroach he kept as a pet for two weeks until it died. Along it he built a pair of shacks, the Sheev Palpatine Waste Reclamation Center (An Outhouse), and the Bureau of Wildlife Management, where he smoked hunted game over wood chips.
The final touch was to make elaborate carved wood signs to mark these attractions, and the crown jewel a sign by the downed shuttle reading "Pretty Good Springs, Population 1," along with a picnic bench and one more sign reading 'no littering.'
Miscellaneous Crap:
