Post by The Conman on Oct 25, 2015 20:48:03 GMT -5
Name: Prellon Yalthik
Species: Human
Faction: Imperial Security Bureau
Rank: Major
Age: 39
Height: 6’0
Weight: 220
Image:
Appearance:
Personality:
Prel tends to have a sort of “I don’t give a damn” sort of mentality about most things. In a jovial sort of way, like a carefree college student who’s had a few too many drinks. Or an Asshole. He’s a bit cocky, smart enough to get himself into trouble, and more of a mouthpiece than he probably should be given his status in the ISB. His lack of promotion ( only *just* promoted to Major ) probably has something to do with this.
Around most people he’s a bit of a dumbass, to be frank. He tends to make bad puns and off colour or simply stupid jokes at somewhat inopportune times. He’s got a childish sense of humor and will giggle if an engineer is describing the proper uses for male and female fittings. That’s not to say he can’t keep his mouth shut, more that when he knows the people around him can’t put him in a cell he’s a bit of an idiot.
Weirdly, he’s got a savant like way of noticing small details and catching “stuff”, as he calls it. This is partially why he’s so good at what he does. The man can catch patterns, see relationships between events, and sometimes seems like a tinfoil-hat wearing conspiracy theorist. Usually, he’s about as correct, however, he does have his moments of genius when he figures out where the Boska are hiding, or that Enarin isn’t actually the High Prince of Boskatonia Prime, Heir to the Gilded Throne and Holder of the Keys of Kuuva'atu, Right hand of Zazzmatazz.
He’s not really an...imperials imperial. He’s not one for pomp and circumstance, doesn’t really have any ambitions aside from getting as much freaky alien poon as possible, and generally isn’t an absolute asshole to those under his command. He doesn’t over-use his authority or power, instead tending to more use it to get access to data he needs to do his job...much as the rank is intended. He even will sometimes walk around in plain clothes, because everybody tends to sort of clam up and not say anything aside from the party line when an ISB officer is around.
History:
Born 11 years before then end of the clone wars, the founding of the empire, and the general malaise that’s hit the Galaxy, Prellon does somewhat remember a “different time”. His formative years ( from birth to basically 18 ) were spend in the gorgeous Kattadan capital of Haleoda.
Born to a pair of managers, his mother at one resort and his father at another, lead to an interesting upbringing. Both of them were known for being exacting in their standards and requirements of their underlings, as well as efficient and money wise. During the clone wars, they managed to keep both the resorts they worked for ( two average sized ones, about an hour from the capital by speeder ) barely afloat.
This excellent display of managerial skill, however, meant that the only child was basically in the hands of sitters and friends parents most of the time, if he wasn’t in school. The result was that he got into A LOT of trouble. Most of his buddies were in the same situation, and the sitters just wanted to get paid. As long as nobody got overly injured, they could do whatever they wanted in their tropical paradise.
And how…
Around the time Prellon was 12 he and his friends were known to at least a few for their antics, harmless pranks, mainly. Stealing keys, dying entire pools purple, dumping entire ( stolen ) containers of detergent into fountains and laughing like idiots as they overflowed with bubbles. Eventually they’d gotten good enough at not being seen that they progressed to more ambitious plans. Movies being suddenly swapped with highly inappropriate material during the middle of a showing on movie night became a theme for one summer of idiocy.
Eventually they were apprehended by the authorities. However Prellon’s youth and his parents status meant they just dropped him off and told his parents what’d happened. They tried to discipline him, but the reality was that working 70 hours a week and proper parenting didn’t go hand in hand, and after a week or two of grounding, they’d forgotten about his transgression and moved onto bigger and better problems regarding where they worked.
This went on for most of Prellon’s early teen years, basically. Him and his friends being harmless but still annoying pranksters and troublemakers ( as unsupervised boys tend to be at any age ). The various involved parents tried to instill some discipline, but it never really worked, some of them chocking what they did upto “boys being boys.”
Things did change, for Prellon, however, around the age of 17. He’d gotten his first job at 16, the year prior, at the behest of his parents, in a bid to keep him out of trouble. While it did work, somewhat, the teen had a decent paying resort job and nothing to spend it on. By the time he got his speeder licence, the teen had nearly 5 grand in the bank.
Being a rebellious young man with no fear, an invincibility complex, and an ego the size of a small moon, he promptly bought the fastest swoop he could afford and started hooning around the capital with his friends. Very quickly two things became pretty apprent.
One, he was nuts when in control of any motorized thing. Swoops in particular, racing his buddies he’d generally win, not necessarily because he was a better pilot, but because he had bigger balls. Be that because of raw skill or stupidity, nobody was quite sure, Prellon included.
Two, he had very quick reflexes. Twice in one week he’d avoided death by a matter of inches due to his ability to just react, and have what he needed to happen actually happen.
Over the next year or two, Prellon and his buddies progressed from pranksters to hoons, tearing up the streets in and around the capital in their spare time, modifying their swoops, and racing each other for money and fun. They’d get chased by the cops, but 9/10 times manage to outrun them and avoid capture and consequence.
Well...until they started to give a crap.
The day of Prellon’s 19th birthday, they’d decided enough was enough and managed to finally catch the man. The Imperials weren’t pleased with his inability to follow the rules, and, as if to teach him a lesson, gave him a choice after capturing him.
Either go to prison for 5ish years, or, spend those 5 years in the service of the Empire. Prellon, took the service path.
Training for him wasn’t overly difficult, technically. He picked up the basics very quickly. What he did have trouble with was the Imperials expectations. That he’d follow obediently any order, no matter how stupid. That he’d consider himself an expendable part of a bigger machine, flying a fighter made of what amounted to duct tape and paper mache. The man was, in a word, a mouthpiece.
During training he twice got put in the brig for insubordination. Not because he made an officer’s idea look stupid, but because he was a jackass in the classes. Having the natural talent, ability, and scores to get away with it, the man knew he wouldn’t get kicked out of training, he was too good.
That, however, was the problem.
As if to punish him for his insubordinate attitude even more, after he’d finished weapons school for the TIE ( all of 2 months ), he was pulled into the commander’s office. The man thought he was being sent to go fly GT’s on Garqi or cargo ships to some backwater shithole. The Commander did do a good job of ripping him apart and showing his great disdain, questioned his character, parentage, the whole nine yards. All before shoving a tablet with his new orders in front of him.
He was to report to Vensinor Academy at once for Advanced Space Combat training.
Training went well, the man finishing in the top 20% of his class. He managed to keep his nose mostly clean, strangely. Prel managed to get through the entirety of Basic Flight and Advanced Flight without winding up in the brig. Once he got to Combat flight training, though, he wound up butting heads with an instructor and twice landed in hot water. Had his scores been lower, hed’ve probably washed out and wound up flying freighters.
Vensinor was a different experience for him. Gone was the unquestioning rhetoric of the previous training academy, some numbered facility on commoner. They were training them to hunt down “clever” enemies. How to fight properly, not through sheer numbers. They first had to unlearn all the lessons they’d learned, and then how to actually dogfight. It was during this time, Prellon’s 3 months at Vensinor, that he began to understand just how dangerous a properly piloted TIE was.
After graduating ( with honours! ), he was assigned to a Destroyer hunting down the remnants of the CIS. Some of the captains and Admirals had flatly refused to lay down arms, and the Empire had to find and destroy them. It was a boring job, with Prellon relegated to flying CAP because he was “the new guy”.
After a few months of no dice, he found himself in the CIC, and had a brainwave. Noticing the way the enemy fleet had moved, where they were going to, and based on his estimations based on the ships they were chasing, he had an idea. Now, being a Junior Lieutenant, in the Imperial Navy, he’d have precisely zero chance of getting that idea heard...typically. However, this particular time, the captain was in a rather heated feud with two individuals, and, it culminated in a proclamation that he’d accept anybody’s ideas except theirs.
Prellon, not really thinking it through, decided to take him up on that offer.
The resulting plan was unorthodox, and a break from Imperial Doctrine. It was risky, based on hunches and educated guesses, and if it didn’t work would have left the ship and the entire fighter wing exposed. Not to mention the “requisitioned” civilian vessels he’d worked in to stand in as a “mining fleet”.
The XO and CAG were disgusted by the plan, the CIO thought it was the “stupidest thing he’s ever heard”, and the CSO offered to have him tossed in a brig pending a hearing. The Captain, however, a former Republic Officer and a Vet of the Clone Wars, was smirking by the end of the exchange. He made it very clear, that if anything went wrong, Prellon would face the firing squad. If it went well, he’d probably be promoted.
Both nasty fates, he warned.
Prellon accepted his fate, and the operation went ahead, being executed and resulting in the capture of 2 Frigates.
This process repeated it’s self a few more times until the Captain promoted Prellon to a full Lt., making him a member of his CIC staff and helping in mission planning. After a year or so of this, the Captain called him to his ready room. The man looked haggerd, tired, and somewhat nervous. Prellon wasn’t sure what to make of it, until an ISB Colonel stepped out and...made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.
The rest, as they say, is history. Prellon specialized in hunting down CIS remnants as an advisor to the Navy, before being tasked with hunting down the Boska, a task he’s been immersing himself in for about 6 months. The man, now a freshly minted major, spent the past half year questioning those who’d had run ins with them. Imperial commanders, Freighter Captains, even captured Boska themselves.
He’s been recently posted to the ISD Irresistible, tasked with advising the fleet on how to eliminate the Boska Threat.
Miscellaneous Crap:
Species: Human
Faction: Imperial Security Bureau
Rank: Major
Age: 39
Height: 6’0
Weight: 220
Image:
Appearance:
Personality:
Prel tends to have a sort of “I don’t give a damn” sort of mentality about most things. In a jovial sort of way, like a carefree college student who’s had a few too many drinks. Or an Asshole. He’s a bit cocky, smart enough to get himself into trouble, and more of a mouthpiece than he probably should be given his status in the ISB. His lack of promotion ( only *just* promoted to Major ) probably has something to do with this.
Around most people he’s a bit of a dumbass, to be frank. He tends to make bad puns and off colour or simply stupid jokes at somewhat inopportune times. He’s got a childish sense of humor and will giggle if an engineer is describing the proper uses for male and female fittings. That’s not to say he can’t keep his mouth shut, more that when he knows the people around him can’t put him in a cell he’s a bit of an idiot.
Weirdly, he’s got a savant like way of noticing small details and catching “stuff”, as he calls it. This is partially why he’s so good at what he does. The man can catch patterns, see relationships between events, and sometimes seems like a tinfoil-hat wearing conspiracy theorist. Usually, he’s about as correct, however, he does have his moments of genius when he figures out where the Boska are hiding, or that Enarin isn’t actually the High Prince of Boskatonia Prime, Heir to the Gilded Throne and Holder of the Keys of Kuuva'atu, Right hand of Zazzmatazz.
He’s not really an...imperials imperial. He’s not one for pomp and circumstance, doesn’t really have any ambitions aside from getting as much freaky alien poon as possible, and generally isn’t an absolute asshole to those under his command. He doesn’t over-use his authority or power, instead tending to more use it to get access to data he needs to do his job...much as the rank is intended. He even will sometimes walk around in plain clothes, because everybody tends to sort of clam up and not say anything aside from the party line when an ISB officer is around.
History:
Born 11 years before then end of the clone wars, the founding of the empire, and the general malaise that’s hit the Galaxy, Prellon does somewhat remember a “different time”. His formative years ( from birth to basically 18 ) were spend in the gorgeous Kattadan capital of Haleoda.
Born to a pair of managers, his mother at one resort and his father at another, lead to an interesting upbringing. Both of them were known for being exacting in their standards and requirements of their underlings, as well as efficient and money wise. During the clone wars, they managed to keep both the resorts they worked for ( two average sized ones, about an hour from the capital by speeder ) barely afloat.
This excellent display of managerial skill, however, meant that the only child was basically in the hands of sitters and friends parents most of the time, if he wasn’t in school. The result was that he got into A LOT of trouble. Most of his buddies were in the same situation, and the sitters just wanted to get paid. As long as nobody got overly injured, they could do whatever they wanted in their tropical paradise.
And how…
Around the time Prellon was 12 he and his friends were known to at least a few for their antics, harmless pranks, mainly. Stealing keys, dying entire pools purple, dumping entire ( stolen ) containers of detergent into fountains and laughing like idiots as they overflowed with bubbles. Eventually they’d gotten good enough at not being seen that they progressed to more ambitious plans. Movies being suddenly swapped with highly inappropriate material during the middle of a showing on movie night became a theme for one summer of idiocy.
Eventually they were apprehended by the authorities. However Prellon’s youth and his parents status meant they just dropped him off and told his parents what’d happened. They tried to discipline him, but the reality was that working 70 hours a week and proper parenting didn’t go hand in hand, and after a week or two of grounding, they’d forgotten about his transgression and moved onto bigger and better problems regarding where they worked.
This went on for most of Prellon’s early teen years, basically. Him and his friends being harmless but still annoying pranksters and troublemakers ( as unsupervised boys tend to be at any age ). The various involved parents tried to instill some discipline, but it never really worked, some of them chocking what they did upto “boys being boys.”
Things did change, for Prellon, however, around the age of 17. He’d gotten his first job at 16, the year prior, at the behest of his parents, in a bid to keep him out of trouble. While it did work, somewhat, the teen had a decent paying resort job and nothing to spend it on. By the time he got his speeder licence, the teen had nearly 5 grand in the bank.
Being a rebellious young man with no fear, an invincibility complex, and an ego the size of a small moon, he promptly bought the fastest swoop he could afford and started hooning around the capital with his friends. Very quickly two things became pretty apprent.
One, he was nuts when in control of any motorized thing. Swoops in particular, racing his buddies he’d generally win, not necessarily because he was a better pilot, but because he had bigger balls. Be that because of raw skill or stupidity, nobody was quite sure, Prellon included.
Two, he had very quick reflexes. Twice in one week he’d avoided death by a matter of inches due to his ability to just react, and have what he needed to happen actually happen.
Over the next year or two, Prellon and his buddies progressed from pranksters to hoons, tearing up the streets in and around the capital in their spare time, modifying their swoops, and racing each other for money and fun. They’d get chased by the cops, but 9/10 times manage to outrun them and avoid capture and consequence.
Well...until they started to give a crap.
The day of Prellon’s 19th birthday, they’d decided enough was enough and managed to finally catch the man. The Imperials weren’t pleased with his inability to follow the rules, and, as if to teach him a lesson, gave him a choice after capturing him.
Either go to prison for 5ish years, or, spend those 5 years in the service of the Empire. Prellon, took the service path.
Training for him wasn’t overly difficult, technically. He picked up the basics very quickly. What he did have trouble with was the Imperials expectations. That he’d follow obediently any order, no matter how stupid. That he’d consider himself an expendable part of a bigger machine, flying a fighter made of what amounted to duct tape and paper mache. The man was, in a word, a mouthpiece.
During training he twice got put in the brig for insubordination. Not because he made an officer’s idea look stupid, but because he was a jackass in the classes. Having the natural talent, ability, and scores to get away with it, the man knew he wouldn’t get kicked out of training, he was too good.
That, however, was the problem.
As if to punish him for his insubordinate attitude even more, after he’d finished weapons school for the TIE ( all of 2 months ), he was pulled into the commander’s office. The man thought he was being sent to go fly GT’s on Garqi or cargo ships to some backwater shithole. The Commander did do a good job of ripping him apart and showing his great disdain, questioned his character, parentage, the whole nine yards. All before shoving a tablet with his new orders in front of him.
He was to report to Vensinor Academy at once for Advanced Space Combat training.
Training went well, the man finishing in the top 20% of his class. He managed to keep his nose mostly clean, strangely. Prel managed to get through the entirety of Basic Flight and Advanced Flight without winding up in the brig. Once he got to Combat flight training, though, he wound up butting heads with an instructor and twice landed in hot water. Had his scores been lower, hed’ve probably washed out and wound up flying freighters.
Vensinor was a different experience for him. Gone was the unquestioning rhetoric of the previous training academy, some numbered facility on commoner. They were training them to hunt down “clever” enemies. How to fight properly, not through sheer numbers. They first had to unlearn all the lessons they’d learned, and then how to actually dogfight. It was during this time, Prellon’s 3 months at Vensinor, that he began to understand just how dangerous a properly piloted TIE was.
After graduating ( with honours! ), he was assigned to a Destroyer hunting down the remnants of the CIS. Some of the captains and Admirals had flatly refused to lay down arms, and the Empire had to find and destroy them. It was a boring job, with Prellon relegated to flying CAP because he was “the new guy”.
After a few months of no dice, he found himself in the CIC, and had a brainwave. Noticing the way the enemy fleet had moved, where they were going to, and based on his estimations based on the ships they were chasing, he had an idea. Now, being a Junior Lieutenant, in the Imperial Navy, he’d have precisely zero chance of getting that idea heard...typically. However, this particular time, the captain was in a rather heated feud with two individuals, and, it culminated in a proclamation that he’d accept anybody’s ideas except theirs.
Prellon, not really thinking it through, decided to take him up on that offer.
The resulting plan was unorthodox, and a break from Imperial Doctrine. It was risky, based on hunches and educated guesses, and if it didn’t work would have left the ship and the entire fighter wing exposed. Not to mention the “requisitioned” civilian vessels he’d worked in to stand in as a “mining fleet”.
The XO and CAG were disgusted by the plan, the CIO thought it was the “stupidest thing he’s ever heard”, and the CSO offered to have him tossed in a brig pending a hearing. The Captain, however, a former Republic Officer and a Vet of the Clone Wars, was smirking by the end of the exchange. He made it very clear, that if anything went wrong, Prellon would face the firing squad. If it went well, he’d probably be promoted.
Both nasty fates, he warned.
Prellon accepted his fate, and the operation went ahead, being executed and resulting in the capture of 2 Frigates.
This process repeated it’s self a few more times until the Captain promoted Prellon to a full Lt., making him a member of his CIC staff and helping in mission planning. After a year or so of this, the Captain called him to his ready room. The man looked haggerd, tired, and somewhat nervous. Prellon wasn’t sure what to make of it, until an ISB Colonel stepped out and...made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.
The rest, as they say, is history. Prellon specialized in hunting down CIS remnants as an advisor to the Navy, before being tasked with hunting down the Boska, a task he’s been immersing himself in for about 6 months. The man, now a freshly minted major, spent the past half year questioning those who’d had run ins with them. Imperial commanders, Freighter Captains, even captured Boska themselves.
He’s been recently posted to the ISD Irresistible, tasked with advising the fleet on how to eliminate the Boska Threat.
Miscellaneous Crap:
