Still a young man at twenty-three years of age, Ven Terrachova is in the midst of working his way up through the ranks of the galaxy's smugglers, but it isn't completely an overstatement to call him one of the best, between his inherited skill and inherited ship.  Of course, even he'd admit that the ship got a lot of work just on its own: some parts of the galaxy just knew the Ori'ramikad, after all.

Although his mother used to tease him that he looked like a dark-haired version of his father from back when they had met, he'd seen the old holos and knew better.  His hair was shorter and always a little rumpled, his beard neat and perfectly trimmed.  The eyes, though, were where the real similarity lied: just the same shade of green, with the appropriate mix of jaded experience and roguish mischief beneath their surface.  Like his mother, Ven was born with a predilection towards all things mechanical - as well as an inherent sensitivity to the Force.  The former expresses itself in a constant tinkering with his ship, the latter by way of an unchecked presence that tends to show up like a light in the darkness.

In all but the most rare of circumstances, Ven can be found comfortably dressed in dark pants and sturdy boots, paired with an assortment of buttoned shirts, topped with a well broken-in leather jacket when off his ship.  Regardless of location, he's almost never seen without a heavy blaster in view on his hip... and at least one more not in view elsewhere.