Star Wars
Entry of a Mercenary
The problem with being a mercenary is that it's never the poor and downtrodden who do the hiring. I've helped crush the hopes of so many people for so long. In fact, my unit was notorious for it. I lost my humanity a long time ago. Perhaps I sold it for a couple of credits back in the early days when we annihilated our first rebellious village. We just doused our consciouses with strong alcohol and the occasional light spice.
Things were easier then. There were more lawless areas of space, places where the Jedi had little to no presence. We worked for governments and crime lords. We were a close-knit group until one day. We were part of an extremely large force, a collaboration of many different mercenary units. We were tasked with reclaiming the captiol city of Janteen VII. We were combing an industrial district when we stumbled on a group of Bothans hiding out among some starship parts. Most of them were children. We were told by the head of our expedition force to eradicate the bothans because they were most likely spies for the rebels who had taken most of the city.
We couldn't. We refused. Why? I have ended the life of countless children. Something was wrong here. We helped the Bothans escape, but only five of my unit made it out alive. I don't know why we did it. Just the thought of more innocents dead for credits I would never spend.
I spend my time away from civilization. Someone like me doesn't deserve a normal life. The cantinas of Tatooine, where I blend in as just another drunk traveller. There are countless mercenaries out there who would shoot myself or any of the four others on the spot if they found out who I was. Blacklisted, marked for death. Yet, at the same time, I hear we're heroes on the Bothan homeworld. Someone was a nicely ranked individual in some bloody clan. Apparently we're the example of "acceptable" humans and Bothans throughout the galaxy are supposed to honor us. Supposedly they can't refuse a service, but I've never called on that favor.
Besides, I'd only use it to get myself more to drink. Or maybe drum up some wicked spice. Who knows? I've fired my blaster once since Janteen VII. Dropped a nasty pirate who was tormenting some poor moisture farmer.
I sold my blaster the next day. Drunks and blasters don't mix well.
Lothas Dienst, Drunkard.
Despicable Hero. Local Drunk.
Now Mathas Verraeter.
----End Entry----
Man, I wanna play a recovering alcoholic and spice-fiend. A former merc, so he's a bad-ass with weapons and lots of people want to kill or honor him. Naturally he goes by an alias now, to avoid problems with both sides of his group's former reputation. Ueberness in a fantasy world with many, many flaws.
The problem with being a mercenary is that it's never the poor and downtrodden who do the hiring. I've helped crush the hopes of so many people for so long. In fact, my unit was notorious for it. I lost my humanity a long time ago. Perhaps I sold it for a couple of credits back in the early days when we annihilated our first rebellious village. We just doused our consciouses with strong alcohol and the occasional light spice.
Things were easier then. There were more lawless areas of space, places where the Jedi had little to no presence. We worked for governments and crime lords. We were a close-knit group until one day. We were part of an extremely large force, a collaboration of many different mercenary units. We were tasked with reclaiming the captiol city of Janteen VII. We were combing an industrial district when we stumbled on a group of Bothans hiding out among some starship parts. Most of them were children. We were told by the head of our expedition force to eradicate the bothans because they were most likely spies for the rebels who had taken most of the city.
We couldn't. We refused. Why? I have ended the life of countless children. Something was wrong here. We helped the Bothans escape, but only five of my unit made it out alive. I don't know why we did it. Just the thought of more innocents dead for credits I would never spend.
I spend my time away from civilization. Someone like me doesn't deserve a normal life. The cantinas of Tatooine, where I blend in as just another drunk traveller. There are countless mercenaries out there who would shoot myself or any of the four others on the spot if they found out who I was. Blacklisted, marked for death. Yet, at the same time, I hear we're heroes on the Bothan homeworld. Someone was a nicely ranked individual in some bloody clan. Apparently we're the example of "acceptable" humans and Bothans throughout the galaxy are supposed to honor us. Supposedly they can't refuse a service, but I've never called on that favor.
Besides, I'd only use it to get myself more to drink. Or maybe drum up some wicked spice. Who knows? I've fired my blaster once since Janteen VII. Dropped a nasty pirate who was tormenting some poor moisture farmer.
I sold my blaster the next day. Drunks and blasters don't mix well.
Lothas Dienst, Drunkard.
Despicable Hero. Local Drunk.
Now Mathas Verraeter.
----End Entry----
Man, I wanna play a recovering alcoholic and spice-fiend. A former merc, so he's a bad-ass with weapons and lots of people want to kill or honor him. Naturally he goes by an alias now, to avoid problems with both sides of his group's former reputation. Ueberness in a fantasy world with many, many flaws.