J'Ghor's was brought up like most other Noghri of his generation. Prior to his conscription into the Empire's forces, he lived amongst his blood relatives on his people's diseased planet, Honoghr. J'Ghor hunted alongside and fought with the other young males of his clans. In these early stages of his life, he showed himself to be stronger and smarter than his peers, though was nothing extraordinary in his prowess.

Coming of age, his grey-green skin developed blue, irregular splotches across his thickly-muscled body. His beady, dark eyes were set into the fearsome face of a Noghri warrior. Scarred from the dangerous hunts of his youth, J'Ghor had a grizzled appearance even before he entered the Empire's service.

Training for the Commandoes was no easy task. He excelled physically in all the training, surpassing his kin as he had in his formative years. Beyond that, however, he also displayed an unusual knack for piloting. His Imperial trainers were obligated to put all the Noghri through the piloting sims, though it was strictly a formality. J'Ghor, however, scored higher then most of the average Imperial cadets. His species reflexes boosted his piloting and onboard weaponry skills. Mentally, the training took a deeper toll. He was exposed to anti-Rebel propaganda, including blaming his planets critical condition on the Rebellion's actions. The Imperial training staff put him through desensitivity training, the type of which drove J'Ghor to the brinks of his sanity, and left him scarred emotionally. Having not even taken a life for the Empire yet, J'Ghor began feeling a sickly sensation in his stomach over what he knew would be asked of him in the future.

J'Ghor would not serve long, however. His fifth mission would be his last. It was on that mission that he found the line he could not cross. The first few deployments had been what he had expected; entry level ambushes on Rebel targets. One mission even resulted in the death of a rebel commander as a unexpected bonus. During the briefing for his fifth mission, however, that feeling in his stomach deepened. A innate sense told him something was amiss. The rebel encampment was on a agri-world known for supplying Rebel forces, and his squads mission was to take out Rebel logistics said to be at the target. Landing outside the encampment just after sundown, J'Ghor was greeted by the sounds of revelry as soon as their dropship had powered down. The muffled sounds of young ones playing and adults laughing their alien laughs. He had hoped the sound was not coming from his target area, but his heightened senses quickly quelled that feeling. Knowing they would have to leave no witnesses as was typical of his unit, J’Ghor wrestled with the morale dilemma. At his core he knew he couldn’t take the life of a child, Rebel or not, and couldn’t allow others in his unit to either. He reached to a concussion grenade at his waist, pressed the detonator, and lobbed it at two of his squad mates in close proximity. The sound deafened the whole squad and the two of his Commandoes out of commission, while warning the camp he was sent to destroy. Maintaining momentum, he subdued his remaining two squad mates by hand, though not before taking a pair of blaster shots from them through the arm and shoulder. Realizing those from the Rebel camp would be upon him soon, he ignored the pain and pushed through the forest back to the dropship. The human Imperial pilot was barely able to register J’Ghor’s presence before he was swiftly discarded with a blow from the Noghri’s good arm. Using his piloting skills, J’Ghor got the ship off the ground and began flying.

He had no plan, but knew he had to get away from his betrayal if he wanted to live. The Empire was not kind to traitors, especially if you weren’t human. He flew the ship as close to a starport as he dared, the pain from his wounds beginning to take it’s toll. J’Ghor brought the dropship down harshly in a patch of forest outside a agri-zone, but near enough the spaceport that he could travel by foot. He discarded his Imperial armor, sporting only the under suit which was much more subtle though not entirely incognito. Raiding the ship, he took what he thought he could carry and sell, but before setting out , J’Ghor treated himself with the entire catalogue of first aid treatment available to him, not knowing much in the way of medicine or triage. The combination of stims and pain dampeners put him in a state of euphoria, and within minutes of travel towards the spaceport, the gravity of the situation seemed to be lifted off him entirely. In his drug induced state, J’Ghor appreciated what little beauty the planet had to offer, he let his worries and his pain wash away, and for the first time since he had left Honoghr, he felt happy.

Though the feeling was wonderful to J’Ghor, it was short lived. As he arrived to the spaceport, a ramshackle array of mobile habs surrounding roughly a square kilometer of landing pads, the pain from his blaster wounds came back as well as a clearer sense of the predicament he was in. Acting sluggishly from his hangover, he first sought out a trader who bought the goods J’Ghor had relieved from the downed transport. This particular merchant either lacked curiosity or knew not to ask questions. Either way, the arrangement was mutually beneficial. J’Ghor made enough credits to have his wounds dressed by a similarly uninterested healer with enough left over, he thought, to purchase passage offworld. Directed towards a particularly shady section of retrofitted habs to find a smuggler, J’Ghor first smelled and then spotted a druggist peddling some similar medicines to those he had taken from the ship. Without even realizing it, the Noghri spent what credits he had on the drugs he recognized and a few he didn’t. They were in his system within minutes, and J’Ghor returned to the trancelike state he had enjoyed before.

Hours passed before J’Ghor came to and realized he would need to stowaway on some ship, or rob enough credits to purchase passage. He was in this position because he didn’t want to harm these people, and so he took his chances in finding a ship to hide himself on. Thieving some food for the journey, J’Ghor managed to access a rather large cargo crate full of raw goods heading to some unknown destination. As the crate was harshly loaded onto it’s transport, the Noghri thought just how quickly his life become so chaotic. He hadn't been happy as a Death Commando, but it was a purpose, and it was what he knew. His understanding of how the galaxy operated was limited, he realized, but he also knew that his skills could be valuable to the right person. J'Ghor mulled over his limited options, his mind clouded from his recent drug binges. Eking out an existence in the wilds of some backwater planet was likely his safest bet, but far from an attractive one. He wanted not only to live, but to flourish, and he wanted to feel that euphoria again. J'Ghor knew that the right criminal enterprise could keep him flush with credits, and allow him to keep dabbling in his new hobby.

He heard the engines fire and felt the transport lift off. The events of the last day or so caught up with him. J'Ghor had only a moment to wonder where it was he would end up when sleep took him...

Crime

Betrayal, Addiction