Maximilian Dorel, A Charming Old Manipulative Bastard

Out of Character
Name/Handle: I have been known by many names, but my friends call me…Azhole.
Age: Jim Carrey comes to mind.
Gender: I AM A GENTLEMAN
How did you find us?: Reply Hazy. Ask Again Later.

Character Information
Name: Maximilian Dorel
Nickname/Alias:
Gender: Male
Age: 63
Species: Human
Homeworld: Dolomar
Force Sensitive: Yes

Body Information
Clothing Outline:As would be expected from one of his stature, Maximilian puts professionalism first where clothing is concerned, and can generally can be seen walking about in a business suit of some kind. He prefers dressing in lighter colors such as white or beige.
Face Outline: Maximilian’s face shows the wear and tear of a long and full life, with laugh lines around his dark brown eyes and wrinkles above his brow. He maintains a short, well-trimmed gray beard, and his facial structure speaks of a man who very well may once have been an athlete.
Body Outline: Maximilian is in excellent shape for his age, although not particularly well-muscled or physically imposing. He’s not a large man, but neither is he a small one.
Physical Build: Fit/thin.
Height: 5’8’’

Combat Information
Faction: Confederation of Dolomar
Rank: High General
Class: Deputy Director of Intelligence- Public Relations

Weapon:
SS-K7 Heavy Blaster Pistol

Spaceship: None

Skills:

• Body Language/Face Reading: Since being recruited into the SAS (and later the Intelligence Division) Max has devoted much of his time to working out the intricacies of sentient behavior. As a result, it’s extremely difficult to lie to him unless one is highly practiced in the art of deception.
• Manipulation: Maximilian’s an extremely charismatic man, with a very calming voice- he’s used this to his advantage on multiple occasions, and as a result, is an expert at manipulating actions, feelings, and even thoughts. If you’ve buttons, chances are good that he’ll know how to push them-and which ones to push. He is an expert negotiator and conversationalist.
• The Written Word: During his youth, Max was an avid reader, and often penned stories of his own as an idle pastime. These skills have been put to good use in his position with the CID- he has a good idea of how the populace might react to a particular event, and knows just how to word a description of the event in order to cause as little damage as possible.
• Strong Mind: Maximilian has always possessed a formidable intellect, and it’s only grown sharper with age. Genius-level intelligence coupled with keen observation skills make Max a dangerous foe in arenas of the mind.
• Hand to Hand Combat: As is the case with most SAS agents, Maximilian is thoroughly trained in hand-to-hand combat. Although he’s spent the past twenty six years behind a desk, he still remembers a fair bit- enough to lay out most untrained combatants.
• Military Tactics: Another remnant from his SAS training, Max has an excellent grasp of military tactics, though this rarely comes up in his current position.
• Survival Skills: Yet one more holdout from his SAS training, Max knows how to survive in the harshest of environments.

Additional Items:

• Level-D Implant Slot
• Mental Enhancement-D Package
• Cortical Datasplint
• 3PO Series Protocol Droid
• PAC20 Visual Wrist Comlink

Additional Information

Personality:
Max is something of a study in contrasts. There’s a fatherly aura about him which speaks of a deep wisdom and a kind heart, yet he's perfectly willing to resort to ruthlessness if absolutely necessary.

With that in mind, many might assume the projections of paternal compassion form a mask designed to put his adversaries off guard.

In Max’s case, they would be wholly incorrect. Though he can be cold and calculating where his position calls for it, he cares deeply about the Confederation and its citizens, and nurses a deep hatred for the Alliance of Free Planets. He understands the mass hysteria that could be caused by a leak of the wrong information, and truly believes that the Confederate Government is the best choice for keeping the residents of the galaxy safe, and that without their laws- draconian though some may be- anarchy might well reign supreme.

Although he is a passionate man, Maximilian has an ingrained sense of duty to his commanding officers and his home-world. If the situation calls for it, he can put his emotions aside in order to do his job- for him, his orders come first, and his personal feelings second. This is the way every soldier should be, in his eyes, and he has little respect for men who question the orders of their superior without sound reason.

Benevolent though he may be, Max is still human, and still has flaws. His powerful intellect and aristocratic upbringing combine into a sense of self-satisfaction that borders on arrogance. Even though he would never stoop to abuse of his power, he still has a tendency to take on a somewhat patronizing attitude towards those he considers beneath him, though he takes care not to overtly demonstrate this that he feels superior to them.

Having always felt a deep fascination with the science of human interaction, Maximillian studied it as a hobby during his childhood- and as part of his career during his adult life. As a result, he is an excellent manipulator, and knows the right thing to say at any given moment- it’s a gift he’s perfectly willing to use if required for his mission, and though he may regret feigning friendship with a group of rebels in order to weed out their leaders, he will never shy away from the job. To say Maximilian is a charming man would be a gross understatement.

Max takes care to remember every life he’s ended, every lie he’s told, and every crime he feels he’s committed- after all, someone has to keep track. Perhaps, someday, he might atone for his sins- but for now, there’s work to do.


History:

You are a young man, seated in a stark-white, steel interrogation cell. The bench you’re on is cold and hard, and the entire room feels sterile and emotionless. You’re dimly aware of the shield dropping, though you can’t say you care who’s coming to visit you now- since your capture at the hands of the Feds, you’ve endured countless hours of interrogation. You haven’t told them anything yet- they can rot in hell, as far as you’re concerned.

The stranger who entered the room sits down on the bench opposite yours, and says something to a man in uniform; standing nearby. The man nods, salutes, and leaves. The stranger now speaks to you, his voice warm and soft.

“Sit up, lad. You’ll ruin your back, twisting it like that.”

You’re taken aback, but for some reason, you listen- there’s something commanding in that voice. It’s the voice of a man who’s used to being obeyed. You think, perhaps, that you detect a hard edge beneath the kindness, as well. It’s…compelling. You look across the table at the man. He’s old- probably well into his sixties, with laugh lines around his sparkling brown eyes.

He looks more like somebody’s father than a military commander.

“Pain in the ass, aren’t they?”

“Huh?”

“The interrogations. They’re a pain in the ass. They sit you in some room that looks like it belongs in a morgue, then put some stone-faced, rock-jawed military bastard across the table from you, fellow who acts more like a droid than a man, and he drills you over and over with the same nonsense questions until you’re ready to burst at the seams, hoping he’ll eventually wear you down enough that he stops asking.”

You’re not sure where he’s going with this, but you listen. You notice he’s concentrating on you, thinking hard. After a minute or so, he stands up, and flicks off the recording device embedded in the table. What is he…?

“I was about your age, you know. I was interrogated, too- part of my training for SAS. Hated it. Most boring thirty-six hours of my life. You’re probably feeling much the same, aren’t you? Are they keeping you fed? Treating you well?”

Why does he care?

“You remind me a lot of yourself, when I was your age. With the right factors, I think, perhaps, I could have been you. If the cards were right, anyway. I was a precocious firebrand of a boy. Grew up in one of the Dolomarian houses- hated it. Most of my family was more concerned about keeping up appearances than what was going on in the galactic community. Even as a boy, I could see it- something big was brewing. Joined the armed forces first chance I got.

My family encouraged it- it’s an honor to serve, after all. I guess they thought it made our house look good; none of them cared enough to look away from their banquets and debauched parties and do anything themselves. I was happy to get away from them- I was at that age where I thought I knew everything, and had just enough life experience that I was pretty good at faking it, when I didn’t.

I must’ve been…oh, twenty two or twenty three at the time? Can’t have been much older than you, really.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

He smiles. You can’t detect any malice in his expression.

“Just put your trust in this doddering old man for a little longer, my boy. You’ll understand soon enough why I’m sharing this with you. Now, where was I…? Ah, yes.

It didn’t take long for the top brass to take notice of me- I was something of an exceptional soldier back then, even though you wouldn’t know it looking at these frail old bones now. About a year after my induction, I was recruited into SAS. Toughest five weeks of my life, that was- but I’d found my place in the word. The next few years are a blur. I think I spent about twenty years or so there, at which point I was recruited into the Intelligence Agency as a public relations specialist. I was forty one at the time.

Been working for them ever since, and I’ve gradually worked my way up the ladder, as the saying goes. But I’m getting a bit off track. We were talking about the war…During that time, the war between the Confederation and the Republic broke out. Nasty business, that was- lot of death and destruction.”

He sighs.

“Too much, if you ask me. And since the Alliance has devoted themselves to our downfall, well…it never really ended. ”

You detect a great deal of sadness in his voice, which quavers as though he might cry.

“The….The war. One incident stands out, in particular. We were sent out to take down a Corellian Officer who’d fled when their planet fell. Wasn’t one of the top brass, but he was a problem, all the same. Most of our forces were already out to war, so we didn’t have much to spare. This officer, he’d taken up residence at a colony on a moon near Dolomar- managed to turn some of the population against the Confederation, and formed his own little militia. We’re not really sure why he chose that colony, or how he managed to get there in the first place…never really got a chance to ask him.

We were supposed to capture him if possible, kill him if necessary. We shipped down to the colony, and that…well, that’s when things got ugly, fast. We knew it wouldn’t be pretty, but…I don’t think any of us were prepared for what we’d find down there. His militia, they were more like a vicious gang of criminals than anything else- could’ve given the Black Suns a run for their money far as how ruthless they were.

This officer, somehow, he knew we were coming, and he took hostages. Children, all of them. As we chased after him, he started leaving a trail of dying kids behind- Cut them up, shot them, wounded them just enough that they’d die without any medical attention. A lot of them died anyway. When I found the bastard, when I finally cornered him, he pulled his sidearm out, and I shot him. I still remember the faces of all the kids…the death count of their take-over…the traumatized civilians…it was hell.”

He pauses, and it seems as though he’s gathering himself. Obviously, telling this story difficult, and he looks as though he might break down at any moment. He stands up, and

“Son, what I’m trying to say is…There’s enough death in this galaxy as it is. Lord knows the Confederation’s not perfect- I know that as well as anyone. But I’ve seen the alternative. I’ve seen the sort of anarchy that will reign if we fall. And the death toll…the death toll would be…”

He swallows hard, and remains silent for several moments. When he talks, his voice is husky, as though he’s holding back tears.

“Why’d you do it, son?”

“What?”

“Why’d you kill those officers? Why have your friends been placing bombs around the city? Why do you hate the Confederation so much?”

“Maybe you don’t see it…”

“Max. You can call me Max.”

“Maybe you don’t see it, Max, but…your government’s corrupt. The system’s broken. It’s a dictatorship, and your leader’s a tyrant. We were just trying to make people see the truth, trying to show them that they can resist, too, trying to make those bureaucratic criminals listen to us, trying to remind them that we have a voice, too…”

“By killing the people you’re trying to convince?”

You’re not really sure how to respond to that. It all made so much sense before, but…damn him. You find yourself doubting your cause, doubting whether or not what you did was right. Are you really no more than murderers?

“What’s your name, son?”

“Von.” There’s no point lying.

“Von…I’m not recording us right now. I don’t think you’re a terrorist- I just don’t think you realized fully what you were doing- the harm you were causing. Tell me where your friends are holed up- I want to get them off-planet. Away from the Confederation. There’s been enough death already.”

Is he serious? You…you think he might actually be telling the truth!

“Please. Help me make it right. You won’t be hurt, and neither will your friends- we simply want to make sure this whole crusade comes to an end. Please.”

He extends his hand to you, and you tell him. Your friends names. Their homes. Their hideouts. Everything. He follows along silently, nodding occasionally. When you finish, he stands up, and pulls a small device out of his jacket, pressing a button on the top of it. A red light turns off.

Bastard.

He looks at you once more, and with speaks with what appears to be genuine regret.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

You still haven’t formed a response when the guard appears to take you back to your cell.


RP Sample: One day Max went to the store to get some apple pie. He bought the pie, then took it home and ate it. It was good pie.

This post has been edited by Maximilian Dorel on Apr 13 2012, 09:35 PM