Clayton Wade

Intro Video

Who Am I...

Leftenant Clayton Wade, Fleet Command Class of 2638, United Galactic Defense Ministry, Republic of Thera

Relationship Status

Engaged to Yumi

My Story Is...

I’ve sailed across the galaxies for the past two years protecting the trade routes for those looking for re-colonization, in search of riches, looking for adventure, or seeking out trouble. As a midshipman at the academy I never thought I would be able to keep up with the others. They all knew so much already. They were born into the profession, but as for myself it was mostly enough just to keep up. With the help of Lieutenant Commander Weltz aboard my previous ship The Ezra I was able to pass the Leftenant exam before the mast, if only by my character which seems to have gotten me this far.

Serving on the Theorean galactic space ship, the 48-gun Argo, has never been simple, however. It seems every week there’s something out there that tries to kill, consume, or belay me to one extreme or the other – the universe seems to tell me it has it out for me. I can’t say I haven’t brought some of it on myself, however. The thrill of the chase, the exhilaration of boarding the modern behemoth space ships of our day, or contending with the turbulent atmosphere of our universe shows me who I am and, at times, who I am not during the most trialing of events. We haven’t lost any of our ships this year, thank God, but last year when Yugula disappeared it put the entire fleet on edge. No distress signals, no beacons, no messages, nothing. We spent months looking near where she was last reported. Other than that we’ve been quite successful at staying alive at the very least.

Others joke at our existence, even those from the Ministry, that we are like the Amish of the space fleet. Continuing to modify our solar sail ships for space travel, not much less for aero-nautical galactic combat, seems out dated and suicidal – but these ships are more affordable, easily maintained, and can outmaneuver any of the modern space ships out there today anyways. We dock at the space stations just like everyone else – but we’ve taken on a sort of ‘rare sighting status’ since we are a minority in the fleet. They may have fancier quarters and technology, but we’re the more stylish and civilized – a sort of relic of what men in the human race can still be; honorable, respectable, and above all dignified gentlemen.  I don’t believe the characteristics of where we draw our character has ever gone away. If anything else it’s a resurgence of who some of us always wanted to be.

I never really thought someone could consider me so, but I have somehow adopted the qualities to pass as a Gentleman. The lure of the uniform was a start – then risking too much for a piece of cloth and pressed steel – but now it seems to be about something larger than that – of what I’m not entirely convinced.

I’m really not sure where I will go from here, but all I know is that I can’t go back now. No one would recognize me, although those I know now hardly know me at all. If they knew who I was, they wouldn’t want to know anyways. Maybe that’s why I stay – the thought that the hazards of the job have my destiny already inscribed in my own constellation somewhere. Maybe those I know may not be here for long. Or maybe I’ll go just the way I came.


My Appearance

What one would expect of a 27 year old Galactic Sailor – a lean young man with an upright stature, narrow and grey eyes, clothed as a gentleman of the proper 18th century era colonial empire uniform – black boots to a high shine, with a couple of updated gadgets for galactic space travel whilst fighting off the occasional scavenger.


18th Century Sailing Blues Uniform, Gold Brimmed Officer’s Cap, Shinned Black Boots, Meteoric Ruin Scabbard and Sheath, Galactic Raytheon Compass, Leather Pouch for Porea Galaxy Crystals, and a .45 Sidearm (a gentleman’s protection, of course).

My Secrets Are...

…when he walked by me I noticed he tossed something to the side, skipping as it rolled across the ground. Looking around, no one else was nearby and clearly he didn’t care much for whatever it was. “Mr. Wade,” it read, “You will report to the recruitment station at once for enrollment pre-selection at Fleet Command. Refusal to comply is punishable by imprisonment”. He obviously wasn’t interested, it didn’t have his picture on it, and it didn’t seem like an unreasonable request…

I Believe...

Everyone is responsible for their own destiny, more so if it leads to their ruin