Post by Regnier on Aug 17, 2010 2:32:14 GMT -5
Name: Kirhanos Bhavala, “The Rose”
Age: 38
Race: Human
Appearance:
Standing at 6'4", she's easily noticed for her height, and her presence is further enhanced by her build. Though not exceptionally large, she's by no means a small fry, weighing in at nearly two-hundred pounds comprised of the kind of build you'd expect on a boxer. Her hair is a very strong red, kept as well-maintained as possible given the circumstances, and runs down to the small of her back. Pale, almost colorless gray eyes complement pale, fair skin and a perpetually expressionless face. She typically wears modest middle-class clothing, generally dark, with shin-length black, soft-soled, soft-leather front-lace boots, a leather full-finger glove on the left hand and a leather half-finger glove on the right, as well as a full-body cloak, also black. Most of her clothing is typically a little worn, dirty, and even tattered from her lifestyle; her best clothing, which is of fine make, ranging all the way up to actual dresses, is reserved specifically for special occasions. She is armed at virtually all times, usually with a wide assortment of small, sharp objects concealed beneath the confines of her cloak, ranging from a collection of balanced throwing knives to a stiletto dagger, a curved long-knife to a short-sword.
Tattoos: A small silver cross featuring demonic skulls rests on her inner left wrist; a winged demon skull rests square between her shoulder-blades; a blue fairy rests on the outer side of her right calf; and lastly, a skull surrounded by roses rests on her outer right shoulder
Scars: The mark left from being fully impaled upon a two-inch thick pole lies just under her ribcage on the left side, a thin line runs up her right forearm, starting just between the middle knuckles and ending just along the side of the elbow, a jagged scar that runs all the way up her inner right thigh, starting just above the knee and ending an inch to the right of her navel, an even more jagged scar runs from just under her left shoulder blade to the back of her neck, just under the hairline, surrounded by numerous scars of various size along its entire length, and an inch-long line rests on the center of the top of her left foot, with a like mark directly opposite it on the bottom, she’s been stabbed twice, once an inch to the right of her sternum, once on the back of the left shoulder, moderate scarring from glass shards are spread along her feet, lower legs, hands, and forearms, light burn scarring sits on the back of her right shoulder, the end of her left ring finger is missing just below the last knuckle, her right middle finger has been broken twice, once at the middle of the proximal phalanx, once near end of the intermediate phalanx, her right pinky finger has been broken once at the lower end of the intermediate phalanx, leaving both fingers slightly crooked, and lastly, claw marks line her back, nearly masking scars left by a iron-barbed cat o’ nine tails.
Personality:
In short, broken on the inside, ruthless on the outside. Kirhanos is very cold and uncaring towards basically all forms of life. To her, the only difference between the Varden and the Empire is that she has no active hatred for the Varden. She has no interest in love nor lust anymore, both things that were lost in days long past, in incidents that left many scars, both physical and mental. There is very little left of her humor, but what she does possess is typically very morbid, dry, and usually involving a situation that isn’t what most would consider funny. She is vicious when provoked, and as unforgiving as they come, though not one for open hostilities if not necessary. She has seen the darkest side of man and knows that evil lurks within every creature, no matter how innocent and unlikely to surface, but that it is still there, sometimes too far buried to have even the remotest chance of surfacing. She is capable of anything, though a contract is to be honored, even if a better counter-offer is made afterwards, unless she deems the contract forfeit, which is only done when absolutely necessary and usually for survival. She is very contained and quiet, often to the point that, from her inherent hunters stillness and silence, she goes unnoticed by most even when in plain sight, simply because, unless one actually looks, the mind tends to regard her as part of the background.
Perhaps there is still a soul underneath it all, a shadow of her former self, a woman with a genuine code of honor who actually believed in something, but for now, she’s just too jaded and pissed off to care.
History:
Bhavala. That was my name once, what they used to call me. Kirhanos Bhavala. My family, we were hunters, farmers, simple folk who lived off the land in the Empire’s territory. I was never much one for farming, that much I remember, although my father once told me that I would be a greater hunter than even he. Ironic, really; he was right, of course, but I hunt a different kind of animal than he ever thought I would. For years, we lived that life, and it almost seemed like it would never change, but of course, change did come, as it always does.
When I was of age, I knew I could never live like this forever, but I knew my parents would never allow me to leave, not for many years to come at least. We even fought over it, and I, in my naïve youth, I left, under cover of darkness, traveling along the roads, surviving off of what I could hunt, and sometimes steal when I had to. Until I found Feinster. Civilization at last, or so I thought, but it turns out the big cities I dreamed of were just another kind of wilds. Predators and prey, different only in appearance. I tried my hand at a few things, living off the streets as nothing more than a common beggar and pickpocket while trying to find some way to make a living. But, let’s be honest here, no one was going to help a little girl like me in a big city like that. Everyone was far too preoccupied keeping themselves alive, and the rich…well, they never really cared. So I improvised, adapted the skills I had to the city, became less beggar and more thief. Even ventured into the richer areas a few times before I got caught. I almost died that night, and I still carry the scars born of my mistake, but the rooftops were my friends, my allies, and, that night, my saviors.
A year, I continued living like this, and I was doing alright for myself. Well enough, anyways, to survive on my own, me, not even out of my teens. But I was not the only one to stalk the shadows in the night, and that old term No Honor Among Thieves? Well, as far as I’ve seen, it holds true. And they also do not take kindly to other thieves in their territory. My first encounter with another like me ended in bloodshed on both sides, the second in an hour’s chase across the city before he cornered me. Or, I should say, the city guards cornered us. Still, I killed him all the same, before I was overtaken. Waking in a damp cell with nothing but a rat to keep me company for the next three days, I came to the realization that…well, it really wasn’t that hard. The killing, that is. It wasn’t so different than killing an animal, really. It was good timing, too, for me to figure that out, considering my first visitor was the captain of the guard. Apparently I’d impressed him with my little performance that night, and he had a problem. You see, for a few years now, he’d had himself a man under his employ, a man that could do certain things he himself didn’t want to be linked to, and they’d had a very satisfactory agreement until just a few night ago when someone had gone and killed his…friend. The way he saw it, I owed him, and if I was good enough to have killed his friend, then I was good enough to replace him. First job was on the house, to make up for the trouble I’d cause, after that, I worked for him, and got paid for my work. I figured, why not? I’d make more gold and, best of all, wouldn’t rot in a dungeon the rest of my life. How could I refuse?
It was a living. Sure, I ended up killing almost as much as I did actually stealing, but it wasn’t all that bad, really. After the first life I took not out of necessity, it became easier every time, and the thing about killing…it pays very well. In time, I figured out that I was being short-changed, so I started taking on work without my “employer” knowing. For awhile, anyways; eventually, he caught wind, and let me tell you, he was most certainly not pleased. Of course, by that point, I’d had more than a few years practice at stalking the shadows of the city, so as valiant as his attempt to have me hanged was, I was more than capable of escaping him and his cronies. I suppose the good captain believed I was afraid of him, in hiding or scared off…but honestly, he’d only really succeeded in making me want to choke the life out of him. So, that night, I did, with naught but his wife’s undergarments.
I figured after that, it was probably in my best interests to leave the city. Urû'baen was where I wound up after awhile, and I can honestly say…not really any better a place. Just as many seedy inns and dark back-alleys for a person like me to get started, only this time I had the advantage of knowing how things worked, so it really didn’t take very long for me to get right back into the same old habits. New place, new faces, same dirty deeds. I dropped my name, just to be sure, and took up using the name the captain had taken to calling me; “Rose”. A pretty red on top, but lots of sharp things below, he used to say. It was all I could think of at the time, so, there it was, and it stuck. Twenty years, I stayed in that city, keeping to the shadows, maintaining good relations with all the right people, doing only what I had to to live comfortably. Kirhanos Bhavala faded away, nothing more than a memory. I lived as Rose for so long, with no one who knew of my true name, that Rose I became, and so I remained until not even a year ago. It was a public execution, something I’d seen plenty of before, “Varden Spies”, they called them, but this one was different. It was the strangest thing, recognizing my own face among those about to be hung…such a strange thing. At first, I didn’t fully comprehend, so long apart from my family had I been, but it came back to me soon enough. Not my face, no, it was the sister I had forgotten. Dalia, that was her name…Dalia. So long had it been since I’d felt them, I almost didn’t recognize the emotions overtaking me. Fear, panic, anger…some part of me was still human enough to feel the bond of blood, and that part was enough to make me act, rashly at that. I killed a few, guards, the executioner, the man overseeing the execution, maybe more. I don’t really remember everything all that well, truth be told. What I do remember is that my ill-planned rescue only got the two of us as far as the outer wall.
Arrows. She was killed by arrows, as I myself nearly was, but I escaped. I always escape. As angered as I was, I was in no shape to fight a handful, let alone all off Urû'baen’s garrison alone. So I disappeared for a time, healed enough to travel, and for the first time in two decades…I went home. I went home, and I found nothing. Those who owned the land I’d grown up on told me that the farm had long-since been burned to the ground by the Empire, along with all but the eldest daughter.
And so I wander now, doing what I must to survive, loyal to none but myself. This…this was never my war. Varden, Empire, it had never mattered to me before, but now…perhaps my mind is right and it is illogical to feel as I do, I hadn’t been close to my family in a very long time. But none the less, they were my blood, and logic or no, anger grips me still. This was never my war, but perhaps…perhaps now it is. We shall see.
Roleplaying example:
((Taken from SWURP, character Raynes Kohul and his elite Mandalorian unit))
“Anything yet?”
Metal clicked softly against metal as the Barabel standing behind the human that had spoken set his hand on her shoulder.
”Stop worrying, vod’ika. He didn’t choose to be called Naast, remember?”
The woman lowered her head slightly, her eyes flickering back and forth. She knew Raynes was among the toughest people in the galaxy, but that didn’t make her feel in better. He was her father. “I know. It’s just…it’s been days, Mkohar…days.”
She and Mkohar both recoiled slightly as a sand-colored helmet bounced of her chestplate. The Barabel glowered at the other woman in the room, who was hunched over one of the freighter’s terminals. ”Either shut up and help, or go somewhere else and let me work in peace, haar’chak!”
”Utreekov, dinuir kaysh or’trikar!” The Barabel hissed as he scooped the helmet off the floor and threw it back. Vera came around fast as it caught her in the side, catching herself just before she lunged. Anda grabbed Mkohar by the shoulder and pulled him back, placing herself between the two. Mkohar had always been naturally aggressive, and prone to blowing off steam in such ways, and she only knew he had plenty of reason after watching the closest thing he’d ever had to a blood brother die to save him…but she’d never once seen Vera this…this…pissed.
Vera unballed her fists slowly. ”Why? Would Raynes? What do you think he’d say if he could see you now, huh? Do you think he’d appreciate the time you spent moping? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure he’d be chewing you out quite thoroughly about now! Get ahold of yourselves or get the hell out of my sight! I still have a job to do, remember?” Vera muttered a few choice words as she turned back to the console.
-----
As the boarding ramp dropped unceremoniously open, slamming into the ground and throwing out a dust-could, three armed and armored forms, two women and a male Barabel, moved slowly out of the small, battered freighter, weapons at the ready. The first, adorned in the heaviest armor of the three, which was only classified as medium by her people, had only a select few markings on her sand-colored plates, a large rifle pressed snugly against her shoulder. Behind and to her left was the only non-human, wearing a suit of very light, camouflaged armor, and carrying a smaller, though longer, scoped rifle, his tail flicking slightly. Bringing up the rear was the big one, suited in a dull red that hid blood surprisingly well, a longsword resting blade-up against her shoulder.
The leader, Vera, stopped a few feet from the ramp and looked around the landscape. It was…bleak, to say the least. Like Tatooine with a little less sand and a lot more rock. Honestly, she couldn’t remember the name of the planet, and they were so far from the Core she doubted it was on many star-charts. The only thing of any interest she knew of wasn’t visible from where she stood. Just emptiness stood before her. A quick jog up the nearest outcropping of rocks revealed what she was looking for, however. On the other side sat a large mercenary base, mostly demolished and still smoldering in a few places. Even from nearly half a mile away, she could still make out the bodies littering the base, as well as a few armored vehicles, and even one tank, sheared nearly clean in half. It struck her that this would have been an excellent vantage point for a sniper. ”Mkohar, look around up here. Namara was here. Anda, let’s have a closer look at that base.”
-----
So many dead. This hadn’t been a simple house-cleaning mission as they’d been told. This was a deathtrap. Vera seriously doubted any of her people were supposed to survive. She only had because Anda had come back to the freighter at a very opportune time, though not fast enough to save Carthen. Mkohar had survived because Vrrisk had distracted a battle-tank to keep it from firing at him. Unfortunately for the Trandoshan, he had succeeded.
Whoever had set this trap had been willing to throw away a great deal to kill them. Obviously they hadn’t known just what they were dealing with. They were supposed to have been utterly overwhelmed. Instead, they did some serious damage first. All that was left on the ground level was a handful of sentries, who were quickly dispatched as quietly as possible. Once Vera was somewhat confidant that the topside was clear, she spent a little more time looking around. The first thing to catch her attention was one of the hardened structures inside the base. The area around its entrance had obviously taken quite a beating, and there was a slightly larger concentration of bodies in the area in front of it. Stepping through the blown-open doorway, she didn’t even have to look to find just about what she had expected. A few feet behind the door sat a heavy repeating blaster, of Mandalorian make. Custom, and all too familiar. She moved through into the next room, past the bodies strewn about inside, and stopped, lowering her rifle as she leaned against the wall beside the doorway, letting a slow sigh escape her lips.
”Bralin.”
There he lay, pistol still gripped firmly in one hand, his dark blue armor scorched and dotted with numerous impacts, some obviously having breached the thick shell. His own blood mixed on the floor with that of the four corpses at his feet and the one beside him with a large knife embedded in her neck.
Vera froze as her ears caught a gentle clunk. Instantly, her rifle was up, her body twisting as she took a few steps to the side, swinging her aim towards one of the desks in the room. Almost in perfect sync, an armored Twi’lek swung up and around from behind her cover, leveling a pistol the size of her head. Almost as quickly as they’d brought their weapons up, they lowered them.
”Vera!”
-----
”Mkohar, check in.”
The Barabel’s voice rasped in response over Vera’ communicator. ”I’m here. Find anything?”
”Xarges is dead, but he kept Deggeram alive. She took a decent hit, but she’s alright. Yourself?”
A brief pause.
”She isn’t up here. Ipsich is.”
”How bad?”
Another pause before the Barabel continued on, though he obviously wasn’t speaking to Vera at first.
”Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Ipsich. Mar’eyir naak o’r kyr’am, vod’ika.”
Vera shook her head slowly. It wasn’t right that she should be surviving longer than those she led. She was starting to understand why Raynes had become what he had better and better. ”Mesh’la says this place extends underground. We’ll go down once you regroup.”
-----
More bodies. Plasma and carbon scoring marred the walls everywhere. The Underground level reeked of death. It was like-
k-THUNK
”Mmph!”
Suddenly, Vera was on her back, and for some reason, her chest hurt. A lot. Brief shouting and a few curses followed, then nothing. Slowly, she lifted her head and found herself staring at an armored gauntlet, opened towards her. She grabbed it, and, with another grunt, she was on her feet again.
”N’eparavu takisit.”
Vera waved the other Mandalorian off half-heartedly. ”My fault for not paying attention. What’d you hit me with?”
”Pipe wrench. It was handy.”
Quietly, Mkohar slipped Vera, motioning for them to move on ahead. ”Sasha, we must speak. I found Ipsich outside…”
-----
Even after several twist and turns down the long hallway, Vera had enough trouble staying focused. It was bad enough just knowing what the Barabel had needed to say, but the anguished howls of a bereft mother echoing down the hall behind her made her search all the more bitter. She wanted to just stop, lay down, and go catatonic. But she couldn’t. She had to keep going, for Anda, for Mesh’la, and for herself. Raynes was still out there somewhere, and so was Namara. Neither of them would ever give up on their vod. Neither could she.
-----
Vera was half-way through a door when the first shot rang out, and it was only trained reflex that prevented it from going through her faceplate. She’d barely had enough time to see even a glimpse of the shooter, but that tiny glimpse was enough. Raynes Kohul was easily identifiable. She peeked her head around the doorway again, certain enough that he’d seen enough as well. As she caught sight of the giant again, her arm instantly shot out behind her as Anda started to move forward, catching her in the chest. ”No. Stay here. Mesh’, stay out here. Don’t let her follow me.”
”Me’b-“
”Ibac eyn ke’gyce!”
As Vera stepped through the doorway, she closed it behind her. Before her, back against the far wall, surrounded by bodies, sat Raynes, pistol in hand, his helmet laying on the floor beside him. At first, his face bore a look she’d never seen from him, and it honestly made her feel nervous. The dried blood lining the side of his face only added to it. The complete and utter hatred that twisted his features was something she couldn’t recall seeing anywhere, actually, and it still hung with her even as it faded, only to be replaced with an emptiness nothing akin to his usual lack of emotion. There was something behind it, a grief she’d only seen once before in his eyes.
The reason, however, took very little thought to figure out. Stretched out on the floor beside him, head gently cradled in his arm, lay Namara Kohul, a hole the size of Vera’s fist burned through the center of her chest-plate.
It also explained why most of the bodies in the room looked as though they’d been mauled by a wookiee.
”How many?”
As Vera related what she knew, it became increasingly evident to her that this man was no longer the same as what she’d known for many decades. He remained silent, nodding solemnly every so often. Even the news of his daughter’s survival seemed to do little to improve his demeanor.
”Do…what needs to be done. I trust you in this. I…need…I must…think.”
-----
"Vera-"
"I told you already, I'm not saying anything. It isn't my place. Raynes can tell you when he gets here."
Sidestepping as a hoversled passed by her, Vera shook her head again. The sled, with Mesh'la on the front and Mkohar pushing, carried Vrrisk, the last of their fallen vod. Well, almost the last, but Vera wasn't letting anyone even in the same room as Raynes. He'd earned the time to mourn, and he'd most certainly earned the right to carry his little sister's body back to the ship.
"Buir! Ba'vodu!"
Everyone turned, following Anda's gaze.
Raynes was done grieving. From the look on his face, he was about to start doing something else.
"The Galaxy will regret the day it brought anger back into Te Naast."
-----
"What do we do now?"
"Everyone associated with this is dead. This...war we made, it has cost us a year of our lives and many of our vod. I am glad to say that the galaxy will never know of the species that called this place home. We will return to Mandalorian space. Once there, we will bury our vod, you will take command, and I will rejoin Mandalore's army."
Silence reigned supreme for quite some time as everyone stared at the juggernaut.
Suddenly, the room was filled with Mando'a, most of it vulgar. Raynes brought his hand up slowly. "Enough! I have made my decision! I can no longer willingly lead you into battle as I have."
"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Raynes. If you rejoin the army, I'm coming with you, and don't even try to stop me, because you won't. I've got nothing left. If it's death on the battlefield you're looking for, I'm right behind you."
After a few minutes, Mkohar nodded slowly.
"Eh...I'm too old for this crap anyways."
"Well I'm sure as hell not letting you take all the glory."
"...I suppose someone has to make sure you don't all do something terribly stupid, and it certainly won't be any of you. When did I become the voice of reason..."
"Buir, you are my Clan, my blood, my father. And you will always be my al'verde. I have children of my own. The Clan will live on. It's been a good life. I will follow you into the depths of Hell, if only to drag you back for another round. You lead, I will follow, Al'verde."
-----
One Week Later
"I suppose it's a shame we'll never meet this Solus'ad. I'd heard good things."
"All Mandalores must die eventually. Some sooner than others. At least his replacement seems to knows what he's doing."
As the newly-christened Mandalore saluted his vod, ending his speech, the six rather conspicuous warriors standing in the back replied in kind. Each and every one of them had more than simple cuts and nicks along their armor. All had been shot, recently, at least once, and both Anda and Raynes had been multiple times. Raynes, Anda, and Mkohar also all had a somewhat significant amount of blood-stains, some of it their own.
Of course, Raynes was always conspicuous, as he stood at least a head over everyone around him at virtually all times.
As Bane stepped off the stage, the six moved to follow, but the way they moved showed that it was not to congratulate him. They meant business. They didn't have much trouble moving through the crowd, either, with Raynes in front. Smart people got out of his way. Not so smart ones were brushed out of the way like grass until Raynes was within speaking distance.
"Fine speech, Mand'alor. Certainly better than the last of its kind I heard."
Raynes had never thought much of The Betrayer's way with words.
How did you find us?
An advertisement on another forum, SWURP.
Age: 38
Race: Human
Appearance:
Standing at 6'4", she's easily noticed for her height, and her presence is further enhanced by her build. Though not exceptionally large, she's by no means a small fry, weighing in at nearly two-hundred pounds comprised of the kind of build you'd expect on a boxer. Her hair is a very strong red, kept as well-maintained as possible given the circumstances, and runs down to the small of her back. Pale, almost colorless gray eyes complement pale, fair skin and a perpetually expressionless face. She typically wears modest middle-class clothing, generally dark, with shin-length black, soft-soled, soft-leather front-lace boots, a leather full-finger glove on the left hand and a leather half-finger glove on the right, as well as a full-body cloak, also black. Most of her clothing is typically a little worn, dirty, and even tattered from her lifestyle; her best clothing, which is of fine make, ranging all the way up to actual dresses, is reserved specifically for special occasions. She is armed at virtually all times, usually with a wide assortment of small, sharp objects concealed beneath the confines of her cloak, ranging from a collection of balanced throwing knives to a stiletto dagger, a curved long-knife to a short-sword.
Tattoos: A small silver cross featuring demonic skulls rests on her inner left wrist; a winged demon skull rests square between her shoulder-blades; a blue fairy rests on the outer side of her right calf; and lastly, a skull surrounded by roses rests on her outer right shoulder
Scars: The mark left from being fully impaled upon a two-inch thick pole lies just under her ribcage on the left side, a thin line runs up her right forearm, starting just between the middle knuckles and ending just along the side of the elbow, a jagged scar that runs all the way up her inner right thigh, starting just above the knee and ending an inch to the right of her navel, an even more jagged scar runs from just under her left shoulder blade to the back of her neck, just under the hairline, surrounded by numerous scars of various size along its entire length, and an inch-long line rests on the center of the top of her left foot, with a like mark directly opposite it on the bottom, she’s been stabbed twice, once an inch to the right of her sternum, once on the back of the left shoulder, moderate scarring from glass shards are spread along her feet, lower legs, hands, and forearms, light burn scarring sits on the back of her right shoulder, the end of her left ring finger is missing just below the last knuckle, her right middle finger has been broken twice, once at the middle of the proximal phalanx, once near end of the intermediate phalanx, her right pinky finger has been broken once at the lower end of the intermediate phalanx, leaving both fingers slightly crooked, and lastly, claw marks line her back, nearly masking scars left by a iron-barbed cat o’ nine tails.
Personality:
In short, broken on the inside, ruthless on the outside. Kirhanos is very cold and uncaring towards basically all forms of life. To her, the only difference between the Varden and the Empire is that she has no active hatred for the Varden. She has no interest in love nor lust anymore, both things that were lost in days long past, in incidents that left many scars, both physical and mental. There is very little left of her humor, but what she does possess is typically very morbid, dry, and usually involving a situation that isn’t what most would consider funny. She is vicious when provoked, and as unforgiving as they come, though not one for open hostilities if not necessary. She has seen the darkest side of man and knows that evil lurks within every creature, no matter how innocent and unlikely to surface, but that it is still there, sometimes too far buried to have even the remotest chance of surfacing. She is capable of anything, though a contract is to be honored, even if a better counter-offer is made afterwards, unless she deems the contract forfeit, which is only done when absolutely necessary and usually for survival. She is very contained and quiet, often to the point that, from her inherent hunters stillness and silence, she goes unnoticed by most even when in plain sight, simply because, unless one actually looks, the mind tends to regard her as part of the background.
Perhaps there is still a soul underneath it all, a shadow of her former self, a woman with a genuine code of honor who actually believed in something, but for now, she’s just too jaded and pissed off to care.
History:
Bhavala. That was my name once, what they used to call me. Kirhanos Bhavala. My family, we were hunters, farmers, simple folk who lived off the land in the Empire’s territory. I was never much one for farming, that much I remember, although my father once told me that I would be a greater hunter than even he. Ironic, really; he was right, of course, but I hunt a different kind of animal than he ever thought I would. For years, we lived that life, and it almost seemed like it would never change, but of course, change did come, as it always does.
When I was of age, I knew I could never live like this forever, but I knew my parents would never allow me to leave, not for many years to come at least. We even fought over it, and I, in my naïve youth, I left, under cover of darkness, traveling along the roads, surviving off of what I could hunt, and sometimes steal when I had to. Until I found Feinster. Civilization at last, or so I thought, but it turns out the big cities I dreamed of were just another kind of wilds. Predators and prey, different only in appearance. I tried my hand at a few things, living off the streets as nothing more than a common beggar and pickpocket while trying to find some way to make a living. But, let’s be honest here, no one was going to help a little girl like me in a big city like that. Everyone was far too preoccupied keeping themselves alive, and the rich…well, they never really cared. So I improvised, adapted the skills I had to the city, became less beggar and more thief. Even ventured into the richer areas a few times before I got caught. I almost died that night, and I still carry the scars born of my mistake, but the rooftops were my friends, my allies, and, that night, my saviors.
A year, I continued living like this, and I was doing alright for myself. Well enough, anyways, to survive on my own, me, not even out of my teens. But I was not the only one to stalk the shadows in the night, and that old term No Honor Among Thieves? Well, as far as I’ve seen, it holds true. And they also do not take kindly to other thieves in their territory. My first encounter with another like me ended in bloodshed on both sides, the second in an hour’s chase across the city before he cornered me. Or, I should say, the city guards cornered us. Still, I killed him all the same, before I was overtaken. Waking in a damp cell with nothing but a rat to keep me company for the next three days, I came to the realization that…well, it really wasn’t that hard. The killing, that is. It wasn’t so different than killing an animal, really. It was good timing, too, for me to figure that out, considering my first visitor was the captain of the guard. Apparently I’d impressed him with my little performance that night, and he had a problem. You see, for a few years now, he’d had himself a man under his employ, a man that could do certain things he himself didn’t want to be linked to, and they’d had a very satisfactory agreement until just a few night ago when someone had gone and killed his…friend. The way he saw it, I owed him, and if I was good enough to have killed his friend, then I was good enough to replace him. First job was on the house, to make up for the trouble I’d cause, after that, I worked for him, and got paid for my work. I figured, why not? I’d make more gold and, best of all, wouldn’t rot in a dungeon the rest of my life. How could I refuse?
It was a living. Sure, I ended up killing almost as much as I did actually stealing, but it wasn’t all that bad, really. After the first life I took not out of necessity, it became easier every time, and the thing about killing…it pays very well. In time, I figured out that I was being short-changed, so I started taking on work without my “employer” knowing. For awhile, anyways; eventually, he caught wind, and let me tell you, he was most certainly not pleased. Of course, by that point, I’d had more than a few years practice at stalking the shadows of the city, so as valiant as his attempt to have me hanged was, I was more than capable of escaping him and his cronies. I suppose the good captain believed I was afraid of him, in hiding or scared off…but honestly, he’d only really succeeded in making me want to choke the life out of him. So, that night, I did, with naught but his wife’s undergarments.
I figured after that, it was probably in my best interests to leave the city. Urû'baen was where I wound up after awhile, and I can honestly say…not really any better a place. Just as many seedy inns and dark back-alleys for a person like me to get started, only this time I had the advantage of knowing how things worked, so it really didn’t take very long for me to get right back into the same old habits. New place, new faces, same dirty deeds. I dropped my name, just to be sure, and took up using the name the captain had taken to calling me; “Rose”. A pretty red on top, but lots of sharp things below, he used to say. It was all I could think of at the time, so, there it was, and it stuck. Twenty years, I stayed in that city, keeping to the shadows, maintaining good relations with all the right people, doing only what I had to to live comfortably. Kirhanos Bhavala faded away, nothing more than a memory. I lived as Rose for so long, with no one who knew of my true name, that Rose I became, and so I remained until not even a year ago. It was a public execution, something I’d seen plenty of before, “Varden Spies”, they called them, but this one was different. It was the strangest thing, recognizing my own face among those about to be hung…such a strange thing. At first, I didn’t fully comprehend, so long apart from my family had I been, but it came back to me soon enough. Not my face, no, it was the sister I had forgotten. Dalia, that was her name…Dalia. So long had it been since I’d felt them, I almost didn’t recognize the emotions overtaking me. Fear, panic, anger…some part of me was still human enough to feel the bond of blood, and that part was enough to make me act, rashly at that. I killed a few, guards, the executioner, the man overseeing the execution, maybe more. I don’t really remember everything all that well, truth be told. What I do remember is that my ill-planned rescue only got the two of us as far as the outer wall.
Arrows. She was killed by arrows, as I myself nearly was, but I escaped. I always escape. As angered as I was, I was in no shape to fight a handful, let alone all off Urû'baen’s garrison alone. So I disappeared for a time, healed enough to travel, and for the first time in two decades…I went home. I went home, and I found nothing. Those who owned the land I’d grown up on told me that the farm had long-since been burned to the ground by the Empire, along with all but the eldest daughter.
And so I wander now, doing what I must to survive, loyal to none but myself. This…this was never my war. Varden, Empire, it had never mattered to me before, but now…perhaps my mind is right and it is illogical to feel as I do, I hadn’t been close to my family in a very long time. But none the less, they were my blood, and logic or no, anger grips me still. This was never my war, but perhaps…perhaps now it is. We shall see.
Roleplaying example:
((Taken from SWURP, character Raynes Kohul and his elite Mandalorian unit))
“Anything yet?”
Metal clicked softly against metal as the Barabel standing behind the human that had spoken set his hand on her shoulder.
”Stop worrying, vod’ika. He didn’t choose to be called Naast, remember?”
The woman lowered her head slightly, her eyes flickering back and forth. She knew Raynes was among the toughest people in the galaxy, but that didn’t make her feel in better. He was her father. “I know. It’s just…it’s been days, Mkohar…days.”
She and Mkohar both recoiled slightly as a sand-colored helmet bounced of her chestplate. The Barabel glowered at the other woman in the room, who was hunched over one of the freighter’s terminals. ”Either shut up and help, or go somewhere else and let me work in peace, haar’chak!”
”Utreekov, dinuir kaysh or’trikar!” The Barabel hissed as he scooped the helmet off the floor and threw it back. Vera came around fast as it caught her in the side, catching herself just before she lunged. Anda grabbed Mkohar by the shoulder and pulled him back, placing herself between the two. Mkohar had always been naturally aggressive, and prone to blowing off steam in such ways, and she only knew he had plenty of reason after watching the closest thing he’d ever had to a blood brother die to save him…but she’d never once seen Vera this…this…pissed.
Vera unballed her fists slowly. ”Why? Would Raynes? What do you think he’d say if he could see you now, huh? Do you think he’d appreciate the time you spent moping? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure he’d be chewing you out quite thoroughly about now! Get ahold of yourselves or get the hell out of my sight! I still have a job to do, remember?” Vera muttered a few choice words as she turned back to the console.
-----
As the boarding ramp dropped unceremoniously open, slamming into the ground and throwing out a dust-could, three armed and armored forms, two women and a male Barabel, moved slowly out of the small, battered freighter, weapons at the ready. The first, adorned in the heaviest armor of the three, which was only classified as medium by her people, had only a select few markings on her sand-colored plates, a large rifle pressed snugly against her shoulder. Behind and to her left was the only non-human, wearing a suit of very light, camouflaged armor, and carrying a smaller, though longer, scoped rifle, his tail flicking slightly. Bringing up the rear was the big one, suited in a dull red that hid blood surprisingly well, a longsword resting blade-up against her shoulder.
The leader, Vera, stopped a few feet from the ramp and looked around the landscape. It was…bleak, to say the least. Like Tatooine with a little less sand and a lot more rock. Honestly, she couldn’t remember the name of the planet, and they were so far from the Core she doubted it was on many star-charts. The only thing of any interest she knew of wasn’t visible from where she stood. Just emptiness stood before her. A quick jog up the nearest outcropping of rocks revealed what she was looking for, however. On the other side sat a large mercenary base, mostly demolished and still smoldering in a few places. Even from nearly half a mile away, she could still make out the bodies littering the base, as well as a few armored vehicles, and even one tank, sheared nearly clean in half. It struck her that this would have been an excellent vantage point for a sniper. ”Mkohar, look around up here. Namara was here. Anda, let’s have a closer look at that base.”
-----
So many dead. This hadn’t been a simple house-cleaning mission as they’d been told. This was a deathtrap. Vera seriously doubted any of her people were supposed to survive. She only had because Anda had come back to the freighter at a very opportune time, though not fast enough to save Carthen. Mkohar had survived because Vrrisk had distracted a battle-tank to keep it from firing at him. Unfortunately for the Trandoshan, he had succeeded.
Whoever had set this trap had been willing to throw away a great deal to kill them. Obviously they hadn’t known just what they were dealing with. They were supposed to have been utterly overwhelmed. Instead, they did some serious damage first. All that was left on the ground level was a handful of sentries, who were quickly dispatched as quietly as possible. Once Vera was somewhat confidant that the topside was clear, she spent a little more time looking around. The first thing to catch her attention was one of the hardened structures inside the base. The area around its entrance had obviously taken quite a beating, and there was a slightly larger concentration of bodies in the area in front of it. Stepping through the blown-open doorway, she didn’t even have to look to find just about what she had expected. A few feet behind the door sat a heavy repeating blaster, of Mandalorian make. Custom, and all too familiar. She moved through into the next room, past the bodies strewn about inside, and stopped, lowering her rifle as she leaned against the wall beside the doorway, letting a slow sigh escape her lips.
”Bralin.”
There he lay, pistol still gripped firmly in one hand, his dark blue armor scorched and dotted with numerous impacts, some obviously having breached the thick shell. His own blood mixed on the floor with that of the four corpses at his feet and the one beside him with a large knife embedded in her neck.
Vera froze as her ears caught a gentle clunk. Instantly, her rifle was up, her body twisting as she took a few steps to the side, swinging her aim towards one of the desks in the room. Almost in perfect sync, an armored Twi’lek swung up and around from behind her cover, leveling a pistol the size of her head. Almost as quickly as they’d brought their weapons up, they lowered them.
”Vera!”
-----
”Mkohar, check in.”
The Barabel’s voice rasped in response over Vera’ communicator. ”I’m here. Find anything?”
”Xarges is dead, but he kept Deggeram alive. She took a decent hit, but she’s alright. Yourself?”
A brief pause.
”She isn’t up here. Ipsich is.”
”How bad?”
Another pause before the Barabel continued on, though he obviously wasn’t speaking to Vera at first.
”Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Ipsich. Mar’eyir naak o’r kyr’am, vod’ika.”
Vera shook her head slowly. It wasn’t right that she should be surviving longer than those she led. She was starting to understand why Raynes had become what he had better and better. ”Mesh’la says this place extends underground. We’ll go down once you regroup.”
-----
More bodies. Plasma and carbon scoring marred the walls everywhere. The Underground level reeked of death. It was like-
k-THUNK
”Mmph!”
Suddenly, Vera was on her back, and for some reason, her chest hurt. A lot. Brief shouting and a few curses followed, then nothing. Slowly, she lifted her head and found herself staring at an armored gauntlet, opened towards her. She grabbed it, and, with another grunt, she was on her feet again.
”N’eparavu takisit.”
Vera waved the other Mandalorian off half-heartedly. ”My fault for not paying attention. What’d you hit me with?”
”Pipe wrench. It was handy.”
Quietly, Mkohar slipped Vera, motioning for them to move on ahead. ”Sasha, we must speak. I found Ipsich outside…”
-----
Even after several twist and turns down the long hallway, Vera had enough trouble staying focused. It was bad enough just knowing what the Barabel had needed to say, but the anguished howls of a bereft mother echoing down the hall behind her made her search all the more bitter. She wanted to just stop, lay down, and go catatonic. But she couldn’t. She had to keep going, for Anda, for Mesh’la, and for herself. Raynes was still out there somewhere, and so was Namara. Neither of them would ever give up on their vod. Neither could she.
-----
Vera was half-way through a door when the first shot rang out, and it was only trained reflex that prevented it from going through her faceplate. She’d barely had enough time to see even a glimpse of the shooter, but that tiny glimpse was enough. Raynes Kohul was easily identifiable. She peeked her head around the doorway again, certain enough that he’d seen enough as well. As she caught sight of the giant again, her arm instantly shot out behind her as Anda started to move forward, catching her in the chest. ”No. Stay here. Mesh’, stay out here. Don’t let her follow me.”
”Me’b-“
”Ibac eyn ke’gyce!”
As Vera stepped through the doorway, she closed it behind her. Before her, back against the far wall, surrounded by bodies, sat Raynes, pistol in hand, his helmet laying on the floor beside him. At first, his face bore a look she’d never seen from him, and it honestly made her feel nervous. The dried blood lining the side of his face only added to it. The complete and utter hatred that twisted his features was something she couldn’t recall seeing anywhere, actually, and it still hung with her even as it faded, only to be replaced with an emptiness nothing akin to his usual lack of emotion. There was something behind it, a grief she’d only seen once before in his eyes.
The reason, however, took very little thought to figure out. Stretched out on the floor beside him, head gently cradled in his arm, lay Namara Kohul, a hole the size of Vera’s fist burned through the center of her chest-plate.
It also explained why most of the bodies in the room looked as though they’d been mauled by a wookiee.
”How many?”
As Vera related what she knew, it became increasingly evident to her that this man was no longer the same as what she’d known for many decades. He remained silent, nodding solemnly every so often. Even the news of his daughter’s survival seemed to do little to improve his demeanor.
”Do…what needs to be done. I trust you in this. I…need…I must…think.”
-----
"Vera-"
"I told you already, I'm not saying anything. It isn't my place. Raynes can tell you when he gets here."
Sidestepping as a hoversled passed by her, Vera shook her head again. The sled, with Mesh'la on the front and Mkohar pushing, carried Vrrisk, the last of their fallen vod. Well, almost the last, but Vera wasn't letting anyone even in the same room as Raynes. He'd earned the time to mourn, and he'd most certainly earned the right to carry his little sister's body back to the ship.
"Buir! Ba'vodu!"
Everyone turned, following Anda's gaze.
Raynes was done grieving. From the look on his face, he was about to start doing something else.
"The Galaxy will regret the day it brought anger back into Te Naast."
-----
"What do we do now?"
"Everyone associated with this is dead. This...war we made, it has cost us a year of our lives and many of our vod. I am glad to say that the galaxy will never know of the species that called this place home. We will return to Mandalorian space. Once there, we will bury our vod, you will take command, and I will rejoin Mandalore's army."
Silence reigned supreme for quite some time as everyone stared at the juggernaut.
Suddenly, the room was filled with Mando'a, most of it vulgar. Raynes brought his hand up slowly. "Enough! I have made my decision! I can no longer willingly lead you into battle as I have."
"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Raynes. If you rejoin the army, I'm coming with you, and don't even try to stop me, because you won't. I've got nothing left. If it's death on the battlefield you're looking for, I'm right behind you."
After a few minutes, Mkohar nodded slowly.
"Eh...I'm too old for this crap anyways."
"Well I'm sure as hell not letting you take all the glory."
"...I suppose someone has to make sure you don't all do something terribly stupid, and it certainly won't be any of you. When did I become the voice of reason..."
"Buir, you are my Clan, my blood, my father. And you will always be my al'verde. I have children of my own. The Clan will live on. It's been a good life. I will follow you into the depths of Hell, if only to drag you back for another round. You lead, I will follow, Al'verde."
-----
One Week Later
"I suppose it's a shame we'll never meet this Solus'ad. I'd heard good things."
"All Mandalores must die eventually. Some sooner than others. At least his replacement seems to knows what he's doing."
As the newly-christened Mandalore saluted his vod, ending his speech, the six rather conspicuous warriors standing in the back replied in kind. Each and every one of them had more than simple cuts and nicks along their armor. All had been shot, recently, at least once, and both Anda and Raynes had been multiple times. Raynes, Anda, and Mkohar also all had a somewhat significant amount of blood-stains, some of it their own.
Of course, Raynes was always conspicuous, as he stood at least a head over everyone around him at virtually all times.
As Bane stepped off the stage, the six moved to follow, but the way they moved showed that it was not to congratulate him. They meant business. They didn't have much trouble moving through the crowd, either, with Raynes in front. Smart people got out of his way. Not so smart ones were brushed out of the way like grass until Raynes was within speaking distance.
"Fine speech, Mand'alor. Certainly better than the last of its kind I heard."
Raynes had never thought much of The Betrayer's way with words.
How did you find us?
An advertisement on another forum, SWURP.
