NAME | Xan Vantra
ALIAS | Jor Vantra (the Hutt Clan never really changed Jor to Xan when he took over for his father)
FORCE-SENSITIVE | No
SPECIES | Mirialan
AGE | 32
EYE COLOR | Blue
HAIR COLOR | Light Brown
HEIGHT | 6’3”
APPEARANCE |
To say Xan is built like a brick-shithouse would be as obvious as pointing to space and saying it is a vacuum. A tall mirialan with broad shoulders and heavily muscular everything—well, almost everything—Xan tries his best to appear intimidating. His dusty green skin is littered with scars, ranging from obvious laser blasts, vibroblade slices, burn patches from his gun overheating, and the occasional bite mark. Most of the bites look like from an animal of some sort, but some of them seem far more humanoid. Yet, what might be most upsetting about the mirialan hired gun is that he’s missing a couple of fingers, the tips off of most of them, along with a notch off his ear, and a few front teeth—which have been replaced by black, metallic alloy that’s shiny and a little sharp.
In mirialan fashion, his face is decorated in black, geometric tattoos that allude to various tasks and goals he’s achieved. Asking what they mean will get a different answer from Xan every time. It’s hard to say if he applied them himself to blend in better with his fellow mirialan, or if he’s just shitting on every one that might consider asking.
He is usually wearing mismatched heavy armor that is in varying degrees of abuse. None of it is in disrepair, but the right pauldron might be shinier than its sister pauldron that’s been scratched to Unknown Space and back. He usually doesn’t have his helmet donned, preferring to show off his disdain and stylish haircut, but he does have one and the knowledge that getting shot in the face isn’t great.
EQUIPMENT |
VICES |
- Gambling Addiction: The higher the stakes, the more excited he is. He’ll gamble credits, equipment, knowledge, and even pieces of himself for something he views as worth it. There’s a reason fingers and teeth are missing. But the thrill of winning is worth it. Even the thrill of losing has its own delicious taste, trying to scramble out of a situation before he loses too much.
- Masochist: Now, this is not the implication that Xan loves pain, but he views it as making any job “worth it.” If he doesn’t have a couple of new scars, or broken bones, or bloody nose, how will anyone know what effort he went through to get it done? The pain means progress, and progress means payment. He’ll throw himself into the line of fire for a good win.
- Crass and Blunt: Xan will tell you to fuck off in many ways. Maybe a different language, maybe in body language, or maybe he’ll just threaten to shoot you. While not a lone wolf, he isn’t in the galaxy to make best friends and braid each other’s hair. He’ll be as rude and condescending as he needs to be to get some peace. Remember those humanoid bite marks? Yeah. He doesn’t make friends easily.
- A Bit of a Glutton: Xan is constantly moving, doing, and lifting his unnecessarily large gun around. He needs a lot of energy to do that and energy comes from consumption. In the beginning, it was about survival, but now that he has enough creds he can indulge. Food, alcohol, and some drugs, Xan enjoys new experiences. It’s beginning to crop up on his frame, though. Xan’s less svelte, but no less intimidating. He just takes up a little more room.
BRIEF HISTORY |
Not having grown up on Mirial, Xan doesn’t know much about the culture of his peoples other than what is obvious. He knows that they enjoy waxing poetic about the Force, and they receive very aesthetically pleasing tattoos when they achieve something of worth. Xan was more a fan of the latter than the former, the opinion of the Force being a near-religious experience not shared by him. Though, he’ll admit, on lonely jaunts through space, that his actions do reflect his destiny—a core mirialan belief. Then he’ll usually spit on the floor and challenge anyone with a glare to fight him about it.
Instead, he grew up on Tatooine, his father, Jor Vantra, in deep to one of the Hutt Lords. His mother had skipped out when Xan was very young, taking the only modicum of common sense and decency with her. With Xan’s father constantly busy trying to settle his debt, the young mirialan pretty much was the man of the house—which was unfortunate, because he wasn’t the only mouth to feed. Xan had a younger sister, Fextra Vantra, who was a
handful to say the lease. You see, she was force sensitive, and her power grew as the days went on. With the Confederation thick in Tatooine, Xan had to go out of his way to hide her budding abilities. He was successful—until he wasn’t.
His father died in the middle of a job, and with the debt still having not been settled, it fell to Xan. No longer being able to watch Fextra, and keep her powers hidden from those that would kill or take her, he came home one day to it being upturned and Fexla missing. Xan could still feel his knees hitting the hard soil of the floor of their meager hut. It hurt, but it was negligible to the pain in his chest. That was it—he was alone.
What was there to do? There was no way Xan would be able to get off this planet without alerting the Crime Syndicate of escaping. So, he threw himself entirely into his job. What else was there to do? It—oddly enough—paid off in dividends. He learned useful skills, how to fight, how to fight dirty, how to shoot, how to stab, and how to skirt the law with a wink and a nod. It also sent him all over the Outer Rim, seeing the underbelly of the galaxy for what it was… a very competent machine. The mirialan believed that the Force was what turned the cogs of the galaxy, and they were very wrong. It was credits.
A day came when Xan bought out his father’s debt, and a little of his own if we’re being honest, and was a free man. A free man armed with a lot of secrets and skills that were coveted by those that he’d once worked for and against. It painted a bounty on his head. So, he jettisoned off of Tatooine with what he had—which were a handful of credits and some swanky weapons. The Outer Rim was basically his backyard, and he knew how to find work and cover.
While no enemy to the Sith, having taken a few jobs from them as they paid well, he wasn’t a fan. But, his opinion changed drastically when handling a security detail for some smugglers selling old Republic tech, he saw Fextra. She was Sith. Panicked, he didn’t confront her. Instead, he found a way to contact her through backdoors and exchange of credits. All he could think of was how he
wasn’t alone in the world. His sister had surely been taken and forced into the Sith against her own free will. She had to be. He could contact her and get her out of this life. Maybe Xan could clean up his own. They could finally be a family. That thought died the moment he heard back from her. The messenger’s hand was delivered to him a few days later with a note that said “if you try again, you’re next.”
Xan now had a mission. Maybe the romantic in him had bled out years ago between all the busted skulls and long nights of binging, but hope hadn’t quite been snuffed out. He knew he had to find a way to bring her back to him, but he also knew that he couldn’t do that alone.
OTHER |
- Xan understands numerous languages. Huttese, Bocce, crude Binary, and Durese.
- But does he speak them well? Eh.