| Jath-Ren Selki, Failed Jedi> | 0 XP, 0 spent |
Hook: Seeking to atone for having abandoned the other
Jedi Knights. Need to make sure these young whippersnappers strong in the
Force will survive to Jedi-hood.
| Body | 5 | Chi | 2 | Mind | 8 | Reflexes | 7 |
| Toughness | 5 | Force | 8 | Intelligence | 8 | Agility | 7 |
| Constitution | 5 | Fortune | 2 | Perception | 9 | Manual Dexterity | 7 |
| Strength | 5 | Willpower | 8 | Speed | 7 | ||
| Move | 5 | Charisma | 8 |
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“I’ve got oneness with the Force right ’ere in this bottle!”
“Ever since the Death Star blew up, whenever I get decently mellow, I start seeing Master Yoda telling me to clean up my act. I used to have a better head for this stuff...”
Jath travels light, wearing old, all-weather Jedi-style robes and carrying his lightsaber, a pocket flask, a breath mask (“Never trust a freebie mask if you don’t have to!”), and a datapad containing hundreds of hours of music, still images, and video that he has accumulated in his travels; it is a fairly old, durable model, with a good set of noise-cancelling speakers that can deliver most of the sound to his ears alone. He has about 100 credits to his name these days.
His lightsaber— a hand-and-a-half model— uses an amethyst crystal to create a white-violet blade. The end with the blade emitter is threaded for a metal cover containing a cheap flashlight (which will burn through quickly if he actually turns the blade on), and the other end contains a force field bottle opener designed to lock onto corks, pop tops, twist-caps, and any other liquor sealer known to the galaxy at large. Most of the time it just passes for the favorite toy of the old drunk medic...
Jath is a grizzled Caucasian with swarthy skin, tanned from many years under distant suns. His curly hair and beard are more salt than pepper now, and are usually somewhat scraggly. When given a strong incentive, he can clean up well. His eyes are hazel, surrounded by crows’ feet and lines that speak more of sadness than laughter.
He likes to dress in blacks, greys, and browns, usually selecting for camouflage in the local landscape he’s visiting.
Jath’s accent varies from the educated accent of the Jedi trained on Coruscant (when forced to sobriety) to a lower-class one (most of the time, and especially when drunk).
Jath grew up as one of the rambunctions, rebellious teenagers in the Jedi dorms, but matured into his responsibilities as an itinerant Jedi Knight, helping to settle disputes and keep order. After his nerve broke, he crawled into the bottle and stayed there, his self-loathing of his broken nerve fuelling providing a feedback loop that sends him back to the bottle whenever he sobers up too much.
Due to his talent with Mind, Jath tends to pick up the mood of people around him when he drinks. People who knew him from wild exultant bashes remember him as an exuberant, life-of-the-party fellow with stories from a hundred worlds and a never-ending stream of jokes and wisecracks. In tense, gloomy places like the Mos Eisley Cantina, he tends toward morosely drinking himself to drunk but not stuporous, then hauling himself off to a safe place to sleep it off. In the morning, a bit of hair of the dog from his pocket flask and a little exertion of the Force help to clear away that pesky hangover.
When among people he can trust with his Jedi background, he tends to ramble about the old days in the Old Republic, with a variety of complaints about stick-in-the-mud instructors like Mace Windu and Yoda.
Jath was one of the Jedi Knights, guardians of the Old Republic, taken from his parents at an age of six months and raised in a Jedi creche. He was never one of the best— his Intrusion and Deceit skills come from his tenure as the class prankster and goof-off at the Jedi Academy— and his nerve broke when the Empire stretched forth its hand and began slaughtering the Jedi Knights. Jath took refuge in liquor, blanking out his mind to a degree that Vader failed to notice him in his quest to destroy the Jedi. Jath drifted from spaceport to spaceport, using the Force to discover when to pack up and leave town, and to augment his medical skills to provide drinking money. Every now and again, he will employ his investigative talents on another’s behalf, but doesn’t want to appear too good at it; that attracts notice.
More than twenty years later, Jath is over fifty and not in the best of health. He’s doctored up smugglers and criminals at spaceports over a large slice of the galaxy. Jath has forgotten most of what he knew about the Force; his telekinesis has reverted entirely to a subconscious level when leaping.
| Filvian cactus juice | A tequila-like beverage brewed by desert-dwelling quadrupeds |
| Alderaanian brandy | A lost treasure from the vineyard of Alderaan. |
| Ergesh liqueurs | Delcate plant extracts made by smelly, slimy, tentacled masters of biotechnology |
| Ithorean Nectar | A delightful mead brewed by the Hammerheads |
| kelp vodka | From the Mon Calamari. Packs quite a wallop. |
| vapor-bowls | Made by the Orfites: bowls of dense, intoxicating fumes that evaporate slowly and gather in the bowl until you inhale them. |
| Snow-cider | Harsh freeze-distilled cider made from Garnib snow-apples (made by Balinaka, basically sentient polar bears). |
Buy the TK sphere, pick up some more Martial Arts, Hair-Trigger Neck Hairs, Symphony of Slaughter.