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| | ==Background== | | ==Background== |
| − | Born on a ship inbound to Whitefall, his mother dying in the process. He was raised there by his father, who was under the boot of the local thugs. He watched his dad shoot oversized vermin and would-be bandits, watching and learning the basics of rifling.
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| − | Times got tough, however and he was sold at Six standard years as a debt payment, much to his despair. He showed a bit of grit and a desire to live, when he bit off the finger off one of his new owners and spat it in another ones face, making a mad dash for about ten feet before a heavy boot struck him across the back.
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| − | His grit spared him from being diced up for organs, but only as long as he showed 'promise'. He did, fighting other 'payments' and watching them get carted off as he learned to shoot and scrap, while learning the basics of space travel. Four years passed and found his father staring down the barrel of a gun in Marc's hands. A choice of Death or Life, and a commitment to his 'masters'.
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| − | He surpassed his father, sparing his life and killing his former owners; or so he assumed, and nearly died for it. But was free, of his 'master' and his father. He used what money they had, which wasn't much, to barter passage off Whitefall; leaving his father in the dust.
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| − | Underage and with waning credits, he learned that the first didn't always get in the way of amending the second. There's always a package that needs delivering, and having a fast, hard to see, and reliable little bugger carrying the parcel makes for decent tips, now and then.
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| − | Wandering between settlements when jobs got thin and people got purse-wise, he fond himself, at 14, siding with the Independent forces, though not doing much in the way of fighting. Short, small and quick, he ran through backline bases as a messenger boy. He picked up piloting skills, which improved from deep-black 'stick-sitting' to entry and exit duties.
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| − | It wasn't until he was sixteen that he was inducted into full service. His rifle skills served him well, and he operated mostly with support fire groups, operating with sniper nests and recon groups. Though his quick pistol work saved his life, and more than a few others, when a less-than-lucky Alliance squad stumbled on his camps. He earned the nick-name "Marker" from his accurate declaration of each major kill. "LT. West Corner, Heart shot through his back." If he called it, He'd make the shot... often enough.
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| − | His eighteenth birthday had rolled past by time of the battle of Serenity Valley, little more needs to be said other than he survived, simply because his squad hadn't reached the front by the time the order to pull back had been sent out. He'd been made a First Class Private for his Sniping skills, but the war ended before he could receive anything higher.
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| − | His aftermath was like so many other browncoats. He laid down his arms, surrendered, was stripped of what rank and military status he had. His time served in POW camps and prison blurred by, and when he was given his 'freedom'; he found it a bit sour.
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| − | His time after the war has been colorful, to say the least. His methods of acquiring income. Mostly in a form of low level personal security, mostly joining other, larger, merc groups for single missions before going off. His bread bringing, however, is still his sniping skills. His piloting skills aren't much above what can be called 'average'.
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| | ==Physical Appearance== | | ==Physical Appearance== |
