A man, younger than he looked, stepped forward up to one of the recruiting booths quietly. His hair swept back in a wild swirl. Eyes never really settling in one spot, but not in a fit of nervosity. It was like an old man expecting all of the evil to come jumping out at him- force of habit.
He pulled out a small disk and offered it to the machine. A hastily completed compilation things he figured they wanted to know about him.
He hadn't ever done anything that was all for himself.
Now was the time.
Full Name : Leon "Blanco" Lobo
Age : 29
Skills : Marksman and hand-to-hand specialist, more used to ship boarding and planet-side operations than piloting, but these days, everyone's a pilot, somehow. Well versed in 'indirect' combat and overhearing things he probably shouldn't.
Reason for choosing the brotherhood : Diplomacy, force, it doesn't matter if you're unable to do either. I have been twiddling my thumbs for too long, I wish to rectify this, and to aid corsairs who deserve it. And I think even the honourable brotherhood could use any aid they can get- they deserve it.
Biography : Leon "the white" Lobo, meaning wolf, got his nickname for two reasons, he wasn't as much a pilot as others. But his skills were there to make sure others lived in the first place- while securing the most valuable objectives for whatever raiding party enlisted him and his crew. The first reason was plain, he was an albino, though he originally had a dark haircolour, by he was a teen, he was whiter-haired than milk and sugar on a sheet of paper. The second reason was the adaptation of his nickname to fit his surname, for the ferocity he displayed in the line of duty.
He could make boarding a troop transport seem like a dance, more graceful than a ballerina floating through the air on a stage.
To him, hunting was an art.
Being a bodyguard was a passtime.
Making sure his men and his superiors got their hands on important transports and prison liners was his reason to live, it was how he saved lives of other corsairs. He served under a previously more famous captain, whose name is now a disgrace, a person he would rather forget about. A captain who got his crew killed and subsequently ran off with a bretonian woman.
These days, boarding actions are uncommonplace, especially for the ignoramus of the corsair's upper echelons. And Leon spends his time opening doors for scared traders and spoiled brats.
In his youngest of days, Leon was trained in hand to hand combat and marksmanship, archery, espionage. An agent his adoptive father, a mercenary, could use in foreign space. Who died of old age and crossfire before the boy could even complete his rite of manhood.
