Ahk-krat-rahz(only a close representation that humans can pronounce) is from a long-lived and intelligent race of apex predators that has been a member state of the Valnaur Empire for a very long time. While most people tend to assume the Zkz'Karnis are insects due to their hexipedal, carapace covered bodies and mandibled faces, but are actually more a cross between a theropod and an amphibious crustacean, though using either of those words to describe one within earshot may get you killed. Despite their average size of ten feet, with a length of fifteen, and a mass that makes star travel somewhat obnoxious for them, they took to it like Frzi-zashs to liquid nourishment. Tool use is possible because of both very fine motor skills with mandibles and a pair of dangling forelimbs located just beneath where the long neck meets the main body. The head is balanced out by a stubby tail, developed in evolution for that singular purpose. Their heads are generally covered in elaborate crests except for immediately after mating season, though the females tend to keep them on their entire lives. While their carapace makes them impossible to bring down for most of the other species on their homeworld, it turns out that larger calibre modern arms, and especially energy weapons, have little issue killing them. The first years after their conquering by the Empire were particularly difficult, as they do not have many hatchlings during any successful breeding.

Ahk's carapace is mottled with light and dark browns, reds, and greys. Scarring across her thick carapace from multiple sources she does not discuss shines like the inside of an abalone shell, from minerals deposits that cause its growth, and give her a grizzled appearance. Unusual for her species, there are no clan markings painted onto her sides or armoured legs, and she wears no crest at all, leaving the top of her head bare except for the ridged carapace plates there.

The Zkz'Karnis are a caste system society, mostly based on logic and merit. However, Ahk was unfortunate enough to be hatched to the lowest class on the planet, those that are sand-coloured. While originally because food was scare and their colouring made it difficult to hunt well in the jungles, the stigma has stuck with this particular caste so much that they are actually being bred out slowly, as it is rare that they find a mate with their normally green brethren.

Seeing no opportunity for a mate nor a good life on her homeworld, Ahk studied hard at university, in topics as diverse as engineering, art, sociology, and archaeology, once she found out that her university was one of the best for xenobiology, and offered a transfer program to other systems, she knew she had found her answer. Thirty years later, she is a very accomplished xenobiologist and surgeon, capable of performing life saving techniques and stopping virulent plagues in most of the known system. However, no hospital has so far been willing to hire a giant, flesh-eating insect for their medical programs, and she had to do her entire residencies by virtual reality interfaces. To pay for the extremely costly education, Ahk has had to rely on her other well-developed skillset, programming. She is capable of developing tools for several of the most universal languages, and has developed her own assistant AI for dealing with diagnoses and day-to-day problems encountered with communications. The species is not capable of naturally speaking Humanitas, and must rely on translators, something the Empire has used as an economic dampener on their growth by making them prohibitively expensive. Ahk has gotten around this by making her own.

But programming is not allowing her to catch up on her bills, and criminal activity is not in nature. The Empire would make her a grunt were she to try and join the military, as no other species seems to recognise that the Zkz'Karnis are actually smarter than the beasts they look like. So she has put out her name into the mercenary circles, hoping that some enterprising leader will take a chance on one of the more accomplished doctors in the sector. Others were swift to point her to the planet of Taenarum, and seeing no other option, she has added to her already considerable debt to make it there and set herself up in the tiniest possible rooms while awaiting with trepidation for someone to hire her despite her lack of combat experience.

Name Pronounciation: awk-CRAYT-raj tank-izj-RAJ

Actual physical dimensions for Ahk, for easy reference
Height: 8'4", capable of lowering her head down to 6'10" to fit through human sized passages with difficulty.
Length: 13'
width: 9' 6", legs can squeeze in to fit corridors as small as 6'6" with difficulty.
Forelimbs have six digits with four joints each, that fold up into pockets on the carapace for protection.
Ends of legs are blunt, but capable of driving into wood for climbing purposes, though too heavy to climb very high. The two foremost legs are thicker to allow for burrowing.
The mouth is framed by four mandibles with a light carapace plating, capable of finger-like manipulation. Tipped with tooth-ish protrusions.
The head is very much like a Tyrannosaurus, though plated with carapace.
The species evolved on a high gravity planet, so low-grav environs tend to be extremely uncomfortable.


Closest image I could find.

To the Confederacy, Raigar 7 was a backwater world only good for providing food in the forms of cattle and farmland for the sparse, neighboring systems. To Virgil Bartholomew, it was his hearth & home for much of his life. To say it was a quiet upbringing would be an underestimation of just how serene a agri-world is. Most folks who showed up 'round Raigar were either on their last legs with no better job prospects than the farmlife, or they were fleeing the law. Or, of course, they were natives.

Virgil grew up the oldest son of Nicholas Bartholomew, a restless man who seemed to pick up himself and his family and move on, whenever he felt his last job had lost its use to him. He got Virgil to help him with the chores and the moving, but Virgil himself got his own job at age 16 as a teamster for a wagon train. His robust mustache that made him instantly recognizable to his comrades was still a decade away, the young man fit and lean with a steely eyed gaze. His physique would help him well with his official job, however abruptly Virgil realized that his main concern on the wagon was guarding his and his team's life from raider attacks that frequented the roads. His poor living as a teamster turned out to be his side job, because his main source of income, he discovered, was the bounty's from the guns/equipment he would take off the dead raiders and travelers that were killed on road.

He'd keep a few for himself, learning the mechanisms and ammunition, how to reload and reassemble each type of firearm. Most were auto weapons, with a few lasrifles. Some explosives here and there. Stinger Grenades and Frags were the most common. By age 24, he decided to settle in a trading town called Saraceno where his father took the role of constable and he, along with his brothers, became the deputies. Already in the habit of it, he was additionally tasked with maintaining and keeping stock of the weapons and gears, confiscated or no. Laser weapons, plasma weapons once in a blue moon, more exotic explosives, as well as belt and rebreather gear. You name it.

Three years later, his father would step down and appoint Virgil constable. However the towns and roads had become so wild, Virgil took the mantle of Sheriff instead to give him a more localized role in keeping the peace. It would be five more years of patrol, jailing criminals, and when it was called for, gunfights, before the Valuar Empire decided to take a backdoor approach to the Confederacy of Man. An approach that sent them right into Raigar 7.

The first thing Virgil recalls when he thinks back to the invasion were the distant ships in the vast blue sky, and the approaching dropships filled with Valuar troops. Virgil and his brothers organized the defense of Saraceno and the connected cliffs and roads, conscripting many criminals whom he gave lenient sentences for in exchange for bolstering the militia forces. For three weeks the town fought back, Virgil receiving word the rest of the planet fought just as stubbornly. The Valuar Emnpire must have assumed an agri-world would be an easy take, but this was Raigar. It would take more than a skeleton force to conquer it.

Apparently deciding occupation was more costly than decimation, the Valuar eventually decided bombarded the planet from the Orbit. For an entire day, lasers the size of city blocks and nuclear devices detonated across the surface of Valuar. Virgil had led his survivors to the bunkers beneath the cliff the city nestled atop, and when they emerged, they were met with a blasted wasteland that could bear no cattle and grow no crops.

After taking months to ferry what citizens that didn't die from disease and exposure offworld, Virgil joined the Confederacy military, swiftly gaining the rank of Sergeant and serving with distinction until the war was over. Once it was, he had no more home and very little in the way of marketable skills besides weapons, law enforcement, and on-hands work. He decided for the former, because it not only allowed him to travel enough to keep his mind off the horrors he'd witnessed, but maybe he'd have another shot at killing some more Valuar as well. He joined up as the Quartermaster of a Merc crew.

“Our homeworld may be bad now, but if you lived here 630 cycles (1000 Earth years) or so ago, and looked at our world today, you’d think it was some sort of paradise.” ~ Unknown Tylon Microbiologist

The past 5 generations of Tylons are a psionically awakened race born of unbridled violence and destruction. Their world having been turned into a nuclear wasteland, a parting gift from their ancestors, whose vast, intergalactic Empire turned on itself, and collapsed within a measly span of 6 Earth hours. While the Tilonan Imporiakt are long gone, their descendants have survived and endured the harsh and deadly environment of Altonoch, their homeworld placed within the Atrix system deep within the Andromeda Galaxy.

Upon the destruction of the ancient Tilonan Imporiakt, and the loss of 99,9% of the Tylon population across the stars, those that survived, hid in vast underground cities in the tens of thousands just before the Petracite Bombs fell 1500 years prior.

The survivors underwent massive genetic manipulation in preparation of what the new world that they would resurface on would throw upon them, making them faster and stronger than what they were before. This preparation proved paramount, as there shelters had long started to lose power, and wouldn’t have been able to sustain their inhabitants for much longer, as they were only built to sustain life for 200 years.

The world that greeted then was far more dangerous than they they had anticipated. Mutated monstrosities and plant life ruled the lands, radiation filled the land, the oceans, and the skies, and mutated survivors who couldn’t make it to the shelters, slaughtered each other for resources and sport.

As the reemergence of the new, reengineered Tylons came to light, it was as if the entire planet turned against them. During these trying times, a Tylon rose from the ranks of settlers and wastelanders by the name of Kronos Gurik, who quickly, and violently, made a name for himself as a gun for hire. And as his reputation reached across the lands from one village to the next, more and more people began to follow him. It wasn’t long before he founded his own settlement from the remnants of MegaCity 7, an ancient city, filled with old world technology.

It was from then on, from the soil of MegaCity 7, the Tylon Confederation would be founded, under the rule of Supreme Commander Kronos Gurik.

“For every Tylon that was killed on the field of battle, we would lose 50 of our own. At first, we wondered if it was our technology, or our strategy that was our downfall. But we realized too late, that it was our resolve. Unlike them, we feared death…” ~ Draconian General Ro´Volt De´Harvt - 25th Ceremonial Army

Founded on the hostile world of Altonoch, the TCF are a vast Militaristic Faction and Federal Member of the Andromedan Federation, as it is known by the Milky Way community, which is an interstellar (soon to be intergalactic with the advent of the Quanta Drive) alliance of empires and factions based in the Andromeda Galaxy. The TCF form a vital part of the AF military, specifically in ground and naval forces (with some help from the Draconians when it comes to the navy).

They are the go to military force when certain conflicts or interstellar wars arise, but that reputation and trust came with a massive price.

Their history is rich in tales of gruesome battle, from their earliest on their own homeworld, to the latest interstellar conflicts. The most well known and bloodiest of their wars, was the First Contact war, or as their former enemies, now closest allies the Draconians refer to it as, The Tylonian Conflict.

The Tylonian Conflict spanned approximately 4 Earth years, some 500 years ago, soon after the Tylon’s rediscovery of Hyperspace Travel. It was spurred on soon after Draconian exploration vessels discovered a Tylon Dreadnaught battling against a fleet of Tylon Pirate Vessels, followed by several weeks of long distance observation.

There was no first diplomatic contact, no negotiations. The Draconians began an hit and run campaign, threatened by the histories of the Tylon from a loose educational text that they intercepted from a Tylon transmission. They targeted Tylon cargo vessels and isolated outpost stations, attempting to halt Tylon expansion and instil fear.

“One of my greatest regrets as Primarch was making the decision to initiate that campaign. We bit the Devil in the ass.” ~ Draconian Primarch of the Green

“The only beings that have the right to kill a Tylon, are the Tylons themselves…” ~ Supreme Commander of the TCF, Kronos Gurik

The Tylons, angered by the the loss of life to the unknown xenos, retaliated with a massive conquest campaign. 24 Draconian worlds, were under siege within one earth week, and 18 of those worlds, were conquered within the month. The Draconians, who have seen a Golden Age of peace that lasted 100 years, have not seen conflict in a long time. They’re ground forces were quickly and mercilessly decimated, one battle after the other, as the Draconian Generals only obtained the rank through ceremony, rather than experience. And their weapons, were made intimidate, not kill. Tylon weapons, were weapons of war. Something that the Draconians later realised.

As the inexperienced Draconian armies crumbled to the marching of the Tylon War Machine, new fresh faces emerged from the rubble to take the fight back to the Tylons, and turn the tide of the war.

After a year of countless losses, both naval and terrestrial, the tide had turned, and the war came to a stand still. Out of desperation, a Draconian Garrison Commander, who’s peers attempted to tarnish his reputation, was promoted to Admiral. His tactical genius was needed to counter the multitude of Tylon fleets that orbited their worlds. New Generals took the place of the old, pampered medal wearers. And new military technologies were invented to bring the Tylons to their knees. But it was all fruitless in the end.

The war had stagnated, and had it continued any longer, it would have ended in the genocide of an entire species.

The war ended with the help of Alma Gurik, Kronos’ heir, and most prized child. After defeating her father in a grueling duel, she took the mantle of Supreme Commander, and immediately called for negotiations with the Draconians.

The First Contact War is important, because it was the very foundation of the Andromedan Federation. The War had cost the lives of 12 billion beings, Tylon and Draconian combined. Both races vowed to make sure that nothing like that happened ever again.

But in regards to the War, like any species, the TCF thrived from it, and became far more advanced than before as they raced the Draconians to build the better guns and better ships. The battles that were waged within that war had garnered much respect for the Tylon Armies, as the premium ground forces to call upon.

---

The TCF as a whole was born from the war torn ruins of the old Tylonian Empire, and continues to thrive in battle to this day. But what are they like culturally?

Let's start with their form of government.

The TCF are an Imperial Autocracy, where the Supreme Commander can be selected from heirdom, military promotion, or a Right of Challenge. The Supreme Commander is surrounded by a Council of individuals that provide advice on all fields, from the military, to agriculture, science, and even xeno diplomacy. But regardless of that, the SC always has the final say.

And what about the people?

Tylons are a patriotic people with a strange idea of freedom. To them freedom is earned through duty, whether it be military, scientific, or civil. Everyone must earn their freedom through conscripted service. Freedom isn’t something to be given to the useless. As such, Tylon children are raised in military academies, where they spend their youth studying useful subjects based on a profession of their choosing, and training to be competent combatants. Once they are of age, they are thrusted into their professions, and begin their 100 year service to the TCF. Because of this particular attitude, Tylons tend to struggle with civilian family life, and quickly grow bored as they start to search for new ventures within their experienced professions, be it soldiers or scientists and engineers. Tylon mercenaries are extremely common outside of TCF territories

Another interesting aspect of the TCF as a whole, is their lack of currency. They trade in material items instead of virtual credits or some form of physical money. Such objects to them have no value, and prefer tit-for-tat, even on diplomatic scales, rather than currency. As it’s easier to determine the value of the items on the table, than a piece of plastic that states some arbitrary number. Because of this, Tylons outside of TCF territory, tend to be either really confused, or offended when offered money in exchange for an item.

“Get that plastic thing out of my face! If you want to trade, bring me something of actual value.”

Another important aspect, is ceremonial suicide. Their patriotism reaches its extreme here, as Tylons commit suicide when they begin to grow too old and grow weak, as to not be a burden to the future generation. Some do it when alone, out of the public eye. But others perform what is known as the Parting, a massive festival of death, as Tylons who have grown too old kill themselves in public squares in front of the new generation. Unlike what you’d think to yourself, this is a highly rejoiced event.

But there are those that go out of their way to avoid dying alone in their home or alongside others with everyone watching, they go about the mercenary life, searching for opponents worthy enough to end their lives. They’d rather die in battle, than put a gun in their mouth.

The Tylons, officially refered to as Tylonians are a genetically engineered humanoid mammal-amphibian species that hails from a now destroyed Waterworld known as Altonoch in the Atrix Dual-Star system. They stand at approximately from 7 to 9 feet tall, with their skin pigmentation varying between blue, yellow, and green hues, with some rare albino cases. They have noseless faces that are replaced with a hard nasal bone that channels the nasal canals just below the corners of the eyes. The eyes themselves are entirely just large black pupils. Their hands have 3 fingers and a thumb each, while each foot has 4 toes.

Due to the current, radioactively volatile nature of their home planet, the Tylons have and engineered genome that provides them with a natural resistance to radiation of up to 10 Sv (which is fatal for a human in between 30 minutes to 14 Earth days).

The heavy gravitational pull of Altonoch (which is 2.5 times larger than Earth) should have made the Tylonians shorter, instead, they made themselves taller during the early years since the destruction of Altonoch, with a significantly higher muscle density, as their growth hormones are significantly more active than that of other races, however, better managed, as the strength of their internal organs are well maintained by the increasing blood levels of a growing Tylon. And due to them being well proportioned for their vast height, their muscular structure is evenly built, giving them a massive advantage in physical strength.

Tylons are conceived through a mammal equivalent version of intercourse. However, unlike other mammals who give birth to 1 child on average, Tylon females give birth to at least 5, who leave the walls of the womb at around 4 months, at which point their growth drastically slows down. It takes 50 years before a Tylon is considered an adult, and they will live up to 300-320 years before they commit ritualistic suicide to make way for the next generation, an old cultural norm dating back to the Tylon Empire.

Tylons have minor Telepathic capabilities, or what they refer to as, Psi, making them capable of communicating with each other through direct, immediate thoughts rather than speech, though such form of communication is only used for private conversations that the involved parties don't want to be heard. It is also used in the Tylon military as a form of comms during Communication Silence. More Psionically powerful individuals are capable of moving objects, mind control, and in extreme cases, create miniature singularities.

Because of their large size, Tylon tend to have issues finding decent full cover in combat in environments built or designed for smaller xenos, as well finding small corridors to be claustrophobic and difficult to navigate. To them, a human high ceiling, is quite low also, forcing to arch their back in a hunchback-esque manner.

Age: 162 Earth Years, or 102 Tylon Cycles
Height: 8 feet 3 Inches or 251.46 cm
Weight: 547 lbs or 248,11 kg, Muscular.

Hestal has the common blue skin pigmentation that many Tylons are born with. He has a harsh, hardened face which when relaxed, has an emotionless expression with a constantly distant look in his black eyes, probably a sign of emotional numbness, a common symptom of PTSD among humans, also known as Combat Stress by the Tylons. His face is lined with various scars, most are small shrapnel cuts, but one in particular is a deep gash that runs from his left eye (his POV right) down to the right side of his upper lip.

It has been several years since the end of the Valnaur conflict that left the vast majority of the known systems of the galaxy in tatters. Though the Empire itself has turned inwards and isolationist the long sought after peace feels somewhat hollow and empty to most.

In the void left by the now decimated forces of the Valnauri and Confederated systems there have risen a great many mercenary groups and factions that now thrive. Initially these groups were created and swelled by large numbers of defectors from all sides of the conflict as it drew to a close, further augmented by those with a desire for wealth or a lust for battle. It seems the denizens of the stars have traded one evil for another as the issue continues to grow and both experienced and inexperienced warriors of all kinds flock together and fight for anyone with the wealth or desire for conquest they choose.

One such man has found his place in this new world, having himself ‘defected’ from those he once called master. Sinval Drossili was born on a distant world known as Tolok Mathiti – a colony belonging to the Galen-Ti worlds, a vassal system itself unto one of the leading members of the confederated alliance.
Unfortunately for him the world of Tolok Mathiti was not a pleasant one. Between the blisteringly hot days and the freezing cold nights there was also the vast array of hideously deadly creatures that called the large and somewhat barren planet home. If that were not bad enough, the ‘society’ on the remote colony comprised of what could easily have been called a very advanced heavily bureaucratic caste-slavery system, one to which Sinval was born towards bottom of. A child labourer as soon as he was deemed old enough to work, he was ‘conscripted’ and branded as child soldier before he even hit the years of puberty (unfortunately the Galen-Ti worlds have always suffered from heavy civil unrest as well as a sizable piracy problems, which they would frequently attempt to solve through force and militarised campaigns), young life was far from what most would call pleasant for the young man.

His life comprised of rigorous drilling and training, brutal conflicts and simply trying to survive the many obstacles that presented themselves in his day to day life. He became hard and strong as was demanded of him, and through that and a great deal of fortune he found himself surviving to the earliest stages of adulthood with only several minor injuries before everything changed. The conflict against the Valnaur Empire was growing dire at this stage, and though considered primitive in terms of technology compared to the other confederated systems the Galen-Ti worlds were drawn heavily into the raging war as losses mounted. The colony of Tolok Mathiti was completely abandoned, it’s ‘citizens’ being either conscripted or relocated as their entire way of life was torn asunder. Sinval and the rest of the Galen-Ti forces he was a part of were incorporated into a much larger battlegroup that was then sent to be ‘modernized’ and re-trained as quickly as possible. He was sent to the very core systems of the confederation, to a highly militarised system for only one week of training before they were then sent into the heart of the conflict.

Suffice to say the war was not pleasant and the Galen-Tiese forces took heavy casualties as they adjusted from their ‘primitive’ ways of war and were dragged into the realms of much more modern warfare. Sinval somehow survived mostly unscathed (A plasma burn here, few broken bones there, but nothing too serious) before being incorporated into a different force altogether. After several years more of fighting, it seemed his fortune had expired as he was hit by part of a flechette charge – though he survived he was severely wounded and unable to continue the fight without major treatment as he lost his right arm elbow down as well as gaining himself a torso full of shrapnel. Once more sent back towards the core-worlds he was given the most state of the art care available (a gesture towards one of the few surviving Galen-Tiese– the Galen-Ti worlds had since been decimated and ravished by the Valnauri forces) as he slowly recovered.

By this point in his life Sinval Drossili was an extremely different man from the one that had left Tolok Mathiti. He had seen worlds and cities beyond his imagining, sights and places he could not have dreamed of. He had lived with people from countless places more, many of them he would have considered friends before they had died or shipped off elsewhere one way or another. He once had practically no education and could not even read or write, but now he spoke several languages and knew many customs, though he still lacked any formal teaching he had become a man of the stars in more ways than one as he took any opportunity he could to learn more or better himself.

He was now an experienced soldier who had served extensively through the later years of the Valnauri conflict and lived to tell the tale. He had scouted and fought in terrain of all kinds, and though the conditions of his ‘servitude’ had improved somewhat throughout the course of his life he still felt like he was a slave. Once he had recovered he took his opportunity and fled, using what little ‘pay’ he accumulated from his time under the confederate forces to smuggle his way on a freighter as far away as he could afford.

His life since then and the end of the war has unfortunately not been quite as different as he would have hoped. With any real employment in short supply and after a few short stints under several rather backbreaking and mediocre works he quickly found his way into the life of a mercenary– after all, what else could he really do. He spent what little resources he had left to purchase more modern weaponry and donned his now somewhat dated protective Ferbosium-weave combat suit and set out to find a company.

He worked for several months under the “Siros Legion”, a group that was primarily composed of other confederate deserters – but soon that felt too much like ‘old times’ and so he moved on before things got worse –at least now he had enough wealth to get himself to the planet of Taenarum. A hub for mercenaries of all sorts Sinval is taking a small opportunity to enjoy some rest and relaxation, or at least he would do if his finances were not already beginning to expire.

In terms of his equipment Sinval owns two personal firearms – the first his old Galentiese sidearm, a kinetic pistol loaded with Draxentine hollow-point rounds. It once had his Tolok Mathiti service number branded onto it though he long ago scratched it off. Though considered very ‘low-tech’ as far as weaponry goes it has saved his life countless times and he is loath to part with it.

He also now owns a much more ‘modern’ long-rangeTangenti heavy calibre pulse rifle. This heavy duty firearm has fantastic long range performance and is capable of inflicting much destruction upon both personal and more lightly armoured targets. The only downside would be the relative expense and rarity of Tangenti pulse rounds – though on the planet of Taenarum this is far from an issue it may cause logistical issues in more remote systems.

He also still owns his service blade, issued to him on his homeworld of Tolok Mathiti the reliable blade is still as sharp and strong as the day it was forged. The mid-sized blade is generally practical and lightweight – it is constructed from a steel-durat alloy which is incredibly hardy and light. Savagely sharp this blade can deal with all but the most armoured of infantry personnel. Again forged with his service number on the hilt, now little remains where he has removed it.

Though a man of only twenty-seven he has seen as much combat as any grizzled veteran is expected too – from brutal low tech warfare up to the most cutting edge ways to annihilate your enemy Sinval has likely witnessed it. His deep green eyes are offset by the dark rings and somewhat haggard appearance that come with being a killer who is disheartened, apathetic and becoming somewhat adverse to unnecessary death. Despite this on a daily basis he puts up quite an appropriate front, is straight to the point and follows orders to the letter. A trained and experienced solider he knows exactly how to war, though he now attempts to stay as far away from the frontline of any fight as he knows only too well the horrors that can unfold. He is much more at ease delivering death from as far away as possible with ranged weaponry.

The Calesian Republic – or Calesia – is a medium-sized human nation encompassing a handful of different systems. The Calesians are well known, especially among other human states, for their strong emphasis on individual freedom yet collective discipline. From an early age Calesians are taught to value themselves and others, that respect and dignity is paramount to personal and societal development and that the most important aspect of an individual is that of being trustworthy. Trust is as such paramount to the Calesian way of life, as one of the more common Calesian sayings make clear; “to be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved”.

Similar to that saying is the strong discipline of Calesians. Their society has strong traditions and societal codes to which one must adhere, yet they’re there to support and encourage the freedom of choice. Favoritism and, especially, nepotism is not just frowned upon but outright illegal, those being found guilty of it facing harsh sentences. Children are not raised in a family but in a school. At the age of twelve every Calesian must pick their primary Aspect. This will be their guiding principle in life and something of great importance to their personal development. The Aspects are twenty different collections of positive (to the Calesians) traits and mindsets worthy of cultivating. By choosing one you decide to live your life by the standards set by the Aspect, as well as taking said Aspect as your surname. Typically, children will choose an Aspect that either corresponds to their own personality, or to their childhood dream of who they want to be.

Upon reaching the age of twenty, when their basic education is over, Calesians must choose their secondary Aspect as well as their trade. Throughout childhood Calesians are given plenty of opportunity to take apprenticeships in various trades, finding something they enjoy. Any Calesian may pick any trade – personal skill will decide how far you come in any given trade, but regardless you will always find work within your chosen trade and thus be able to provide for yourself and your family. Working as a teacher is seen as the most distinguished position a Calesian can be in – you are directly responsible for the personal development of your countrymen and helping them to choose the right Aspect. Serving in the military is seen as the second most distinguished position a Calesian can be in, despite the nation being a relatively peaceful one. As a member of the military, you are trusted with the most important of tasks there is – that of protecting your fellow countrymen.

Poverty is all but eliminated in Calesian society, and crime with it. “Classes” are extinct – every Calesian is given the same opportunity to succeed in life. This has led to Calesia being a very, very sought-after nation to immigrate to. Yet while the Calesians may emphasize trust amongst their own, they – perhaps rightly so – are inherently distrustful towards foreigners. It is therefore hard to permanently relocate to Calesia, and only accomplished and affluent individuals tend to pass the immigration process.

All in all, depending on where in the galaxy you are and who you speak to, the opinions on the Calesian Republic have traditionally varied greatly. Some admired their freedom, others envied their prosperity, some were mistrustful of a society lacking “true” parenthood and even more likely greatly disliked the prudence, arrogance and ignorance Calesians were often perceived to inhabit. Either way, you would have been hard pressed to find those with no opinion at all. With the Valnaur Invasion that all changed, however. Despite not being one of the states under attack by the Valnaur Empire (the Calesian Republic is placed rather far away from the sites of the conflict), Calesia opted to send substantial military support to the confederacy of human states defending against the Valnaur menace under the argument that if those human states fell, Calesia would eventually be targeted as well. The Calesian troops where more disciplined and better trained than most other human nations and performed admirably, thus considerably improving the reputation of Calesia following the war.

Caladin is one of the billions of souls born on Vhahimmar – a small but incredibly densely populated moon as well as the capital of Calesia. Nearly the entirety of the hot, arid moon is covered in urban sprawl, and it is the commercial, cultural and political center of the Calesian Republic. Caladin distinguished himself at an early age for his passion, ability to focus and, unfortunately, proneness to violence. In order to cope with his abundance of energy and the physical exertion of it, Caladin’s teachers encouraged him to pick an aspect to help not only control his energy, but channel it. Given Caladin’s popularity in school, despite his violent tendencies, they specifically encouraged him to take a particular Aspect. Caladin followed his teachers’ advice and chose Mhol – the Aspect of drive, authority, rationality and resolve, a common pick amongst leaders, whether civilian or military.

As Caladin grew up he also managed to grow into his chosen Aspect, even moreso than his teachers anticipated. When it was time to choose his secondary Aspect, friends and teachers alike thought Caladin would choose that of Khovin, the Aspect of fortitude, bravery, compassion and respect, the by far most popular and acknowledged pick by those wishing to lead. Instead Caladin picked Avanar – the Aspect of intractability, preservation, precaution and analysis. His friends were somewhat dismayed by his choice, but Caladin’s teachers were very approving. By choosing Avanar, Caladin had made it clear that he had fully learned to control his emotions and fully appreciated the responsibility of the natural drive he had – the drive required to not just succeed but excel in life. By choosing Avanar, Caladin proved that he could think beyond glory and honor, instead picking something more serving, if perhaps less virtuous. As such, Caladin finished his education and received his full name: Caladin Mohl’Avanar.

As for Caladin’s choice of trade, there was little surprise; Caladin chose that of the Soldier (not to be confused with being a soldier. Picking the trade “the Soldier” means you pick a life in the Army, regardless of which practical occupation you will perform there). Thus, he was promptly enlisted in the Army. Like every other youngster choosing to work in the armed forces, Caladin had to go through a number of trials and tests to determine his capabilities and by extent which vocation would fit him the best. Even so, Caladin remained the one to choose which trade he would actually pick up, as Calesian laws dictate.

Throughout the tests, Caladin proved to perform particularly well in those of Marksmanship and Leadership. He was recommended the trade of Squad Leader, an entry level trade in the management branch of the Army. He chose accordingly, and thus started his five years long basic training which would make him an actual Squad Leader.

Fast forward fifteen years, and he is now serving in the army under the rank of Captain. Caladin is at this point 41 years of age. As Captain he is responsible of a hundred squads, meaning that a thousand men serves under his command. During his time in the army, Caladin had continuously impressed his superiors by, as far as they were concerned, not just taking to his Aspects but encompassing them. While the nation had remained in peace, Calesia had on several occasions sent military aid to various allies throughout the years, whether to quell rebellions, aid in defensive wars or simply to serve as peacekeepers. During these missions, Caladin had shown an aptitude for military command – as in tactical and strategical analysis and planning. Simply put, Caladin knew when, what and how to engage enemy combatants and win.

Yet Caladin was far from content with his lot. He had realized that although he had certainly learned how to control his ludicrous energy levels, it was when he channeled them into live combat that he felt good. Not just good, but great. Alive. While it was hardly something fitting a Calesian, Caladin found that he enjoyed combat. He enjoyed the thrill of it, and he enjoyed outsmarting and defeating his enemies. And now he would get to throw himself into it fully for the first time – the powerful Valnaur Empire had recently declared a war of conquest on its neighboring human states, and Calesia had opted to aid its brethren.

As the war raged on, Caladin proved to be not just a good commander, but a great one. His vectant (as is what the one thousand man strong company serving under every Captain is called) performed amicably, defeating the Valnaur at most occasions and holding them off when faced against difficult, sometimes overwhelming, odds. Because of his success, Caladin was sent to increasingly difficult missions, aiding fringe colonies and poorly armed civilians against enemy troops.

During the last days of the war, everything took a very bad turn. Despite the human confederacy seemingly being able to hold off the Valnaur onslaught, Caladin and his men was sent to a battle graded Black by the army along with four other vectants – Black roughly equating to “impossible”. The battle was fought on the planet of Moovir, located in a fringe system belonging to the eponymous planet-state. The Moovirians where outnumbered 1:3 by the Valnaur force and severely outgunned. Neighboring states had opted not to aid Moovir as the battle was deemed lost anyhow, seeming as the Valnaur were bringing in more forces to the sector. The great success of Caladin’s vectant, now known as “Vectant Vanuria” (“Vanuria” roughly translates as unassailable, insurmountable or unconquerable) had prompted the higher ups in the military command to see an opportunity – a win at Moovir would greatly improve Calesias esteem as well as foreign relations.

The result was another, however. While Caladin and his men did what they could, the battle was unwinnable, at least to them. They opted for a retreat, yet were cut off by Valnaur reinforcements before they could leave the site. Instead of engaging the vectant head on (perhaps the reputation of Caladin and his men made the Valnaur think better of it, or perhaps they had different reasons entirely) the Valnaur forces decided to bomb the Calesian troops from orbit, thus forgoing any chance of taking a reasonable amount of captives. Subsequently, nearly the entire vectant was lost in the fire that rained down upon them. Caladin himself barely survived the bombing and was left in a fatal condition, suffering third degree burns on most of his body, yet the Calesian Command had thankfully (though how thankful Caladin was of the Calesian strategy is best left unsaid) sent a secondary force to intercept the Valnaur reinforcements. The battle that ensued left the Valnaur in shambles, and Caladin along with the few survivors of his vectant were evacuated.

Fast forward another three years, and Caladin is now 46. He managed to survive his injuries, though even with the cutting-edge technology available in this age he remains visibly severely scarred. The failure of Vectant Vanuria was a sensationally publicized one, and rather than facing the embarrassment of the truth (having sent their best men to a hopeless battle in hopes of gaining favor with others), the military command of Calesia opted to throw Caladin and the captains of the other four vectants in the assault under the bus. As such, Caladin’s trust of his superiors had vanished, and though he would only face a punishment in the form of demotion to Squad Leader (perhaps a leniency from someone high up knowing Caladin was not at fault), Caladin decided to leave both the army and Calesia entirely. He had been taught the value of trust, and it had now been broken. He had to leave. At least, that was his official reason.

After leaving Calesia, Caladin took up the one trade he knew – that of fighting. He became a freelance mercenary working for the highest bidder, and it wasn’t long before he formed his own team of discerning mercenaries. Today, Caladin remains true to his chosen Aspects, and is viewed as a serious, disciplined but well-meaning commander, reluctant to send neither himself nor his men into missions where the odds are stacked against them. He is nearing his fifties, though thanks to genetic modifications and modern medicine he hardly appears as if. Even so, he certainly appears scarred, with the right side of his face showing large burns despite the considerable surgery Caladin underwent to reconstruct his face. He is, and has always been, a heavily built man standing at roughly 6" 6' and weighing in at 200 pounds, though he remains dwarfed by more than a couple of the sentient alien races known to man. All in all, most people hardly consider Caladin a pretty man, but they do find him an intimidating one.