Kirbeh, or "Kirbs" as he is known to his comrades, is a fairly novice helmsman just beginning to dip his proverbial toe into the waters of Sirius. Always looking for ways to help out, Kirbeh takes part in whatever his friends are doing.
More recently, he has noticed his friends start to drift apart, and he has begun to look for a new group to become a part of, to make his name known throughout the galaxy, and most importantly, make some money to help his family and, hopefully, his new friends.
Yeah, I know it's basic, but I'm not the best RPer :wacko:
I really like your attitude. Don't know much about you yet, and I am not sure whether long-term spacefaring is your thing'time will tell. For now, I'd like to welcome you to the Concourse with open arms. I will surely pour you a glass of Gallic wine the next time I see you. Talk to you soon.
Whilst usually being a quiet, guarded man who tends to mind his own business, Dylan has one problem: He likes to drink. A lot. And when he drinks (a lot), he does less quiet, less guarded, and less own-business sort of things. When he's drunk, he loves to gamble. Not card game gamble. Not dice game gamble. Spaceship racing gambles are more for him.
Dylan is a good pilot, by all means. Not an ace, but definitely above average. In his old Arrow, he would - when he was drunk - race the crap out of other pilots at the Hood race track. It was his job, really. A few thousand creds every day kept his game going and the drinks coming.
But one day, Dylan got unlucky. He had been drinking again, even more than usual, after losing a bet. So, when another guy asked him whether he wanted to race him, he of course said yes. Being even less right in his mind than any other day, putting up his ship and his left leg as a prize seemed to be a fair deal to him. Obviously, he lost. And so he lost his beloved Arrow and his even more beloved left leg. Lucky for him, the Hood's doctors had several artificial legs in store.
From that day on, Dylan drank even more to overcome his sorrow. When he made a stop on Barrier Gate (after stowing away on a smuggler transport) and overheard a conversation about a group of pilots calling themselves the Concourse, he decided to do some research. In this case, shouting at the conversing men and asking what the hell they were talking about. A few minutes later, he knew enough to know that the chance of getting a new ship - even if it was only a small transport - was definitely worth a shot at hooking up with this Concourse thing.
Looks like your racing days are done, but hopefully your liver has a few more years. *chuckles* Welcome to the crew. The ship's in the bay, just ask the mechanic for the keys.
Heya, fellas. Heard you spreading some stories. Anyways, I am Cristopher Carter and here's one of my adventures: I and my friend were on Planet Gaia, doing some recreational hunting of local animals, and he was so unlucky, that I decided to reveal one of my tricks. I told him to find a cave, shout "a-a-a-h", then, when the sound "u-u-u-h" comes back, shoot at it, run in and claim the trophy. So when I met him next week, he was all bandaged, with plasters and stuff. When I asked him what in the universe happened to him, he explained me, that he did exactly as I told him to: he shouted "a-a-a-h", sound of "u-u-u-h" came out, at which point he shot all the clip into the cave, ran in and appearently, a freighter came out of there and hit him. What an idiot, can you believe it?