|.:: Specs ::.|
Name: Malcolm Jenkins
|Birth Planet: Talus|
Current Homeplanet: None
|.:: Attributes ::.|
Current Faction: Criminal
Current Rank: None
|History: Mal’s father, Gavin, was a spice runner, and his mother, Pia, a con artist. Both had criminal ties, and met while doing mercenary work for the Black Sun. After Pia became pregnant, she and Gavin moved to Talus to start anew. Since Talus had been long settled by Zabrak, Mal spent most of his younger years surrounded by them, picking up many skills and the independent, strong-willed personality that so many Zabrak seem to have. |
As he grew older and started showing potential as a warrior, a Zabrak called Ne’Fal took Mal under his wing as his mentor and trained him to endure and survive in the harshest conditions, strength and proficiency with vibro-swords and light sabers, targeting skills with ranged weapons and advanced piloting. Mal did most of this training on the harsh Zabrak home world of Iridonia.
During the 2 years of training, Ne’fal became Mal’s closest friend. Sadly, Ne’fal died shortly after Mal completed his training, when Ne’fal’s spacecraft’s life support system malfunctioned on a cargo run to Correlia. Around this time, Mal’s Parents were both killed in an incident after a gang affiliated to the Hutts assaulted Pia.
After Ne’fal’s and his parent’s deaths, Mal disappeared for about 3 years, wandering the galaxy, hunting down his parent’s killers. When he reappeared, he became a thief, bounty hunter, and mercenary.
|Personality: Mal has a very cynical, somewhat Nihilist personality. He can be quite anti-social and has a brooding, mysterious quality to him. He has developed quite a level of distrust, acting sarcastic and rude to even the most powerful and important of people. Despite this, he can be friendly and accommodating to most people, on the condition they show they deserve it. He is quick-witted, and has a very dark, somewhat self-deprecating sense of humour. Above anything else he values friendship, which is strange as he has very few friends.|
Mal has an idealistic notion of the “Honest” Criminal, of which he believes he is part of. This ideal is problematic given his chosen profession, and he often finds himself disappointed and revolted at the psychotic, delinquents that make up the majority of the criminal underworld. Mal sees himself – for the most part – as a gentleman amongst thieves, and has a deep desire to move up in the world.
|Strengths/Weaknesses: Other than his proficiency with weaponry and piloting, Mal is quick-witted and a fast talker. He is loyal, honest, and generally willing to give people a chance.|
Unfortunately, Mal often lets his emotions have the better of him. He is brash, has a short fuse, and reacts poorly to those in a position of power. He also has issues trusting people, can be quite impulsive, and struggles to say no his many vices.
|Likes/Dislikes: First and foremost, Mal loves his HWK-290, dubbed Kynuss II. He likes Correllian whiskey, drinking in general, money, quiet bars and cantinas, Coruscant, freedom from attachment to any particular Faction, acting chivalrously, and being around The Pantheress. |
He generally dislikes the Force, and those who actively use the force. He also dislikes The Hutts, all the major factions in the galaxy desperately tearing each other apart for power, feeling singled out, his drinking problem, and the lack of the “honest” thief in the criminal world.
Fears: While he does not necessarily fear it, Mal is very uncomfortable and distrusting of the Force, and those who wield it. Mal fears losing control of a situation, and being unable to influence the outcome when innocent people are involved. After the murder of his parents Gavin and Pia, as well as the death of his mentor Ne’Fal, Mal has developed a strong paranoia and anxiety complex about losing anyone ever again, something that has inadvertently left him to make very few new friends.
|.:: Appearance ::.|
Face: Mal has a thin, pale face, leaving him with a constant look of being unwell and malnourished. His hair is relatively short, black, and generally left in a wavy mess. He also has a seemingly undeviating 5 o’clock shadow, adding to his gruff and unkempt appearance.
Body Structure: Mal stands at around 5 feet, 10 inches. He is strong, but not particularly built, due to an active lifestyle but lack of any real structured exercise.
Scars/Marks: Mal has Zabrak inspired tattoos covering large areas of his torso, back, arms and neck, due to his long standing connection to the species and culture.
|Clothes/Armor: Mal prefers to dress in civilian attire, wearing a simple white shirt and black pants. The extent of his armour is a light breastplate generally worn under his shirt. He wears republican standard military boots, as well as a holstered belt. Mal also wears a thick, black overcoat, with patterns duplicating his Zabrak-inspired tattoos. |
Accessories: A steel ring with Zabrak patterns, given to him by his mentor Ne’Fal.
|.:: Inventory ::.|
Starting Weapons (2):
DLT-20A Blaster Rifle
Vibrosword (Cortosis weave)
|Starting Starship (1):|
HWK-290 Light Freighter, The Kynuss II
|.:: Roleplay Sample ::.|
(Minimum 75 Words)
“No, no, NO! That one goes there, THAT on goes there!”
A grease-covered Mal stormed up to one of the mechanics working on the Portside of the Kynuss II, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him out of the way. He gritted his teeth as he pried out the Pitch-shaft the utterly moronic Gran so haphazardly forced in around the wrong way.
“Are you trying to piss me off?” He yelled, between grunts as he yanked at the part fruitlessly. “Or do you just want to send me into the side of a kriffing building the second I tilt the thrusters when I leave!”
As the Gran dimly grunted back, Mal heard a crack, and found himself unexpectedly falling backwards, with the former Pitch-Shaft now in two pieces. He sat where he fell for a stunned second, before furiously throwing the two rusted bars at the Gran and hurriedly marching over to the workshop-steward. The timid steward, a Neimoidian, who was talking on a comlink behind his small desk, froze up upon seeing the livid Mal.
“You!” He barked, cornering the Neimoidian before he could scurry off. “Where’s you’re boss, that slimy, Bith, Nerfherder!? That’s him on the Comlink, isn’t it?”
He snatched the comlink, promptly sitting down on the desk.
“Hey, this is Mal Jenkins-“
“Yeah the one you saw this morning! Listen, do you hire straight from the ‘Moronic Asshole Club-“
“I don’t care if they are used to working on YT’s, mine is still a Correllian ship, and THIS is still a Correllian workshop!-“
“No! No, I’m not saying you sold me the wrong parts. I’m saying the parts you sold me were crap, and that you are a fucking idiot!”
“Damn it!” Mal spat, throwing the comlink at the alarmed shop-steward. He had given up on the hole of a workshop; he would throw his beloved ship back together and get out of there as fast as he could.
“Boring conversation, anyway.”