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Lidam Rader - Details

Born

08 May 4122

STR

12 (1)

DEX

10 (0)

CON

14 (2)

INT

10 (0)

WIS

8 (-1)

CHA

14 (2)

Administer

0

Connect

-1

Exert

0

Fix

-2

Heal

-2

Know

-2

Lead

-1

Notice

0

Perform

2

Pilot

-3

Program

1

Punch

1

Shoot

1

Sneak

1

Stab

-2

Survive

-2

Talk

1

Trade

-2

Work

2

MAX HP

30

Speed

30 ft

Occupation

Provisional Governor of the Pamita Chha System

Archetype (i.e. Class)

Bureaucrat

AC

11

Age

48

Species

Human

Gender

Male


Backstory

Lidam Rader was never meant to be a leader. A career mid-level logistics administrator for the Red Sun Dominion , he spent twenty years managing synthetic grain shipments and organizing officer's galas in the core sectors. His skill set—looking busy, filing paperwork, and entertaining visiting dignitaries—served him well in the safe zones. However, a clerical error (or perhaps a deliberate move by a rival seeking to remove him) saw him promoted to 'Provisional Governor' of the newly annexed Pamita Chha system.

Rader arrived expecting a cushy oversee role. Instead, he found Vintik: a toxic world inhabited by the 'Weavers,' terrified locals fused with machinery. The Dominion military detachment stationed on the moon treats him with veiled contempt, and the locals on the planet surface ignore his edicts entirely. He resides in a prefab orbital station above Vintik, technically the seat of government, but in reality, a floating prison of isolation.

Rader has quickly realized he is a placeholder; a sacrificial lamb sent to occupy a seat while the Dominion figures out how to bypass the deadly Iron Halo defense grid. He spends his days writing fictional reports about his 'progress' to High Command, terrified that if they find out he has no control, they will execute him—if the planet's ancient AI doesn't kill him first.


Description

Lidam is a portly man of average height, his posture permanently slumped under the invisible weight of anxiety. He has a receding hairline of thin, greying hair that he meticulously combs over, and his face is perpetually sheen with a layer of nervous sweat. He wears the crisp, crimson uniform of a Red Sun Dominion Governor, but it strains at the buttons and the collar is often stained. His eyes are darting and watery, constantly checking the nearest exit or screen for bad news. He carries a handkerchief that he uses to incessantly wipe his forehead.
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