Zekha [+]

Age: 28
Class: Bounty Hunter
Home Planet: Malastare

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Appearance:

Zekha, like all Dug, is a small individual standing on his muscular leg-like arms to the top of his head at around 1.08m, and he sports a smaller pair of leg-like arms on the lower torso that end in a pair of hands with long, powerful fingers that are extremely dexterous, giving the deceptively diminutive alien an impressive reach and strange gait that doesn’t exactly make him a quick individual, gives him a unique and somewhat acrobatic method of locomotion as all four of his limbs can be used as arms or legs interchangeably. It is not uncommon to see him balancing on one leg while the other three are performing a number of different tasks. Sporting cool and hairless reddish-brown skin, an elongated snout with a pair of fleshy tendrils looking like a wispy mustache, and a pair of narrow yellow eyes, Zekha sports a very distinctive profile.

His face is narrow and lean, giving him a somewhat gaunt appearance that made him less jowly looking than other Dug. Surprisingly, Zekha is vain enough to have ensured his dental health was perfect, giving him a shining smile that transcends the species barrier for what constitutes as attractive. His fingers and arms are usually wrapped in some kind of bandage due to infrequent incidents on the job, which he usually covers up with some sort of sleeve to conceal these injuries and to offer some kind of barrier against stupid accidents.

Apparel wise, Zekha prefers browns and greys with orange or green highlights, and usually of robust construction that can handle the rigors of his work, or the frequent scraps he tends to find himself getting into. Tool belts and holsters alike adorn his frame, and his ever present polarizing goggles are a frequent fixture on his head, along with a black scarf tied loosely about his neck that doubles as a bandana and to protect his lungs from particles in the poorly ventilated work areas.
Personality:

Carrying something of a chip on his shoulder and an air of confident arrogance that usually comes from being both a Dug and talented in one’s field of expertise, Zekha is never the kind of man who seeks approval or even to make himself liked. Often doing things without asking, and easily irritated by others struggling with things that seem to have an obvious solution, Zekha prefers to work largely by himself when it comes to tinkering and keeping engines from dying spectacularly from neglect or abuse. It’s for that reason that Zekha has always had a fascination with droids, as they combine his innate talent for mechanical aptitude with designing something that is only as flawed as the person building it.

Collecting spare parts like a bounty hunter amasses an arsenal, Zekha enjoys assembling droids and programming them to take up the slack for even the most menial of tasks, going so far as preparing meals or even turning on or off lights. Things that outlive their usefulness are quickly sold off at port for a few extra credits, and the few people Zekha doesn’t think he can take in a scrap have been known to find themselves confronted with a very aggressive and spiteful grappling droid that like a missile, is programmed to beat down its target as it is left behind when Zekha’s ship takes off. Spiteful and petty, it doesn’t take much for the Dug to find a reason to hold a grudge and always being on the move all but ensures that he doesn’t consider the lasting consequences of going off half-cocked. He likes to get the final word in, and nothing is sweeter than retaliation that cannot possibly be responded to.

Despite his deliberately abrasive personality, he tends to limit himself to verbal barbs and not-at-all veiled insults to his crew in an almost affectionate manner. So long as others trust him to hold up his end of a bargain or to know what he’s doing, he’s more than happy to extend the same courtesy, even if he thinks that Force users are lazy cheats… something that an individual who has been known to program droids to butter toast because he couldn’t be bothered to get up and do it himself is incapable of seeing the irony of.

While not holding his team quite to the same esteem he holds himself, the only thing he despises more than someone inconveniencing himself is someone going after his crew; he operates under the mentality of, “They might be idiots, but they’re my idiots.” Zekha, like most Dugs, is a rather aggressive and scrappy fighter, quick to throw around four fists to settle disputes, or draw from two blaster pistols strapped to his walking-legs, having a reputation as something of a skilled gunslinger. Also ever present are an arm-mounted control for his ever-amassing contraptions and an Ion blaster in case something decides to ignore its programming in favour of maiming him. Life for Zekha is always an adventure, and while he might be an arrogant and irresponsible sort, his dependable traits and expertise keeps him mostly in the good graces of a crew.

Mostly.
History:

Born on Malastare in a heavily forested region on the outskirts of the 3rd largest city on the planet, Zekha grew up in the shadow of a heavy Malastarian Fuel refinery, the toxic but highly energetic fuel being a major export for the Dug species and the lifeblood of their civilization. While it made the Dug pretty fabulously wealthy and influential on the Mid-Rim, there was always the risk of off-worlders coming with blasters rather than credits to obtain the fuel. As such, Malastare fielded a fairly large active military for defending the planet, and given the species’ typically aggressive disposition, the planet was largely more peaceful than not.

Finding from a young age that he had a knack for mechanical tinkering after taking apart and reassembling the family service droid a number of times until his parents forced him to get a job to pay off the damage and voided warranty the young Dug was responsible for inflicting on the family finances, Zekha found himself working in a factory that specialized in civilian recreational vehicles, which only inflamed his sense of curiosity in the mechanical world and after a few years, Zekha became a programming specialist for the assembly lines, and eventually the droid component of the workforce, quickly grasping the limitations and capabilities of AI. He was fascinated in how it all went together and soon temptation made him begin to lift spare and scrap parts from the factory in secret, a ruse that couldn’t last forever. Caught with a box of processors under his arm on one of his overnight shifts, Zekha was promptly fired from the factory, leading him to immediately follow the next logical step of his career and start work as a member of the pit crew of a local Hanno speeder (a rough predecessor to podracers) race team; he knew the ins and outs of the vehicles he’d helped build and program for the past several years and after a quick demonstration proving he was rather capable, Zekha was now a proud race crew team member that made sure to brick his former employer’s personal vehicle’s engine before heading off to the first qualifiers at the capital.

Zekha was in his element, quickly able to get his team’s speeder in and out of the pits with extremely proficient efficiency. Still taking time to collect droid parts in his spare time as a hobby, it soon grew to be something far more productive as he began to program smaller droid frames to be able to analyze and do small services on the speeders, something that for a while was done outside of races in an effort to increase speed without interfering with the rest of the crew before eventually honing his craft to the point that droid assistance was banned from the pits as it was giving something of an unfair advantage. However, his achievements caught the eye of an Xexto smuggler named Tepiway that was looking for a replacement engineer on his vessel, the Star Song that could handle the automated programs and internal systems, as well as chip in for working on the engine and hyperdrive when the human head engineer couldn’t be in two places at once. Noticing Zekha’s droids causing a disruption in the Hanno circuits, Tepiway decided that was exactly what was going to give the Star Song an edge at concealing its cargo and getting it safely through Republic space and to Nar Shadda in Hutt territory. Tepiway’s hunch was right, and after recruiting Zekha for 1/6 of the profit, the crew managed to cruise the hyperspace lanes and pass routine inspections at fuel depots along the way, the Star Song reached Nar Shadda and its mysterious client a full fortnight before schedule.

Zekha didn’t bother asking what was in the containers he’d craftily helped conceal as a part of the bulkhead; from the fact that each container had its own power source and appeared to be some kind of carbonite vessel, the Dug assumed they were organs or illegal substances that needed to be kept in stasis until they were delivered. The containers were too small for most species, so it did much to reassure Zekha that they weren’t smuggling slaves. He found himself surprised that morality didn’t come into play in his mind if there was a big enough stack of credits waved in front of him, he’d never been a criminal after all, but the thought of transporting people against their will to some sort of horrible fate sat like a heavy lump in his gut. He was for self-determination and people making their own choices, as dumb as they tended to be, so long as the choice was theirs. The fact that planets like Zygerria were booming off of a sprawling slave empire got under Zekha’s skin. When Tepiway took a contract to go to Zygerria two months after taking Zekha on, the Dug parted ways, drawing one of the very few lines in the sand that he refused to cross.

Now having a taste for the wealth the seedier side of life could bring, Zekha became something of a regular across the Outer and Mid Rim, and occasionally making his way out to Wild Space. Honing his craft with the droids and learning fast that the only thing you had standing between you and a coffin was being quick with a blaster, Zekha had amassed a number of close calls with law enforcement and criminal elements alike, but never enough to earn himself any particular infamy; it was simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Keeping on the move as much as possible and finding more crews than not that he simply couldn’t tolerate or vice versa, the tech-savvy Dug has since been ever searching for the next big haul, his next project, and a crew that lets him do things his way.

In more recent years, Zekha’s found himself dabbling in the bounty hunter’s trade, finding himself tagging along with crews that are after lucrative contracts who could make use of a tech-savvy tinkerer with a bad attitude and flexible ethics. Being a Dug has its advantages, namely that he’s got four arm-like limbs that enable him to be a surprisingly strong grappler and unlike those with less flexible limbs, he always seems to have a hand free to draw a gun or slap on a pair of cuffs on a target. His preferred targets are droids, however; a simple restraining bolt keeps them in line and it’s easy to skim parts off of targets for his own designs. For that reason, blaster pistols and ion carbines go hand in hand with the Dug and he’s always looking for tech advantages over his rivals and competitors.

While Zekha tries to keep out of the galactic civil war as much as possible between the Republic and Sith Empire, he’s been known to take contracts for either side so long as the pay is good. So long as his clients offer more than their enemies, he’s more than happy to stay loyal to the flow of credits and get his hands dirty. With the way the galaxy’s going, it’s hard to imagine any of his hands staying clean for long.

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Equipment:

-
2x M305 “Rancor X Enforcer” blaster pistols

-

Ion Carbine Concept [+]

Ion carbine

-Droid Control Device (wrist mounted device with several tactile buttons and onboard PLC and wireless signal that transmits and receives data to command and control droids)

-Toolbelt and spare parts
-Restraining bolts, beskar restraining cuffs
-Shock stick
-Dioxis grenades
-Thermal detonators
-Probe droid style interrogation and protocol droid assistant

Skills:

-Droid tinkerer
-Expert in blaster pistols
-Hand to hand brawling
-High agility and dexterity
-Piloting and ship engineering
-Hanno speeder and swoop bike pilot

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Misc:
N/A

Woorah Sha [+]

Name:

Woorah Sha

Age:

30

Class:

Bounty Hunter / Mercenary / Arsenal

Home Planet:

Ryloth

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Appearance:

Woorah stands out in a crowd, not just a a turquoise colored twi'lek, but also because she is an inch shy of being seven feet tall. Despite the tendency for female twi'leks to be sexually objectified, and she certainly could invest in her appearance if she tried, people are usually taken aback when they see her. She's not like most twi'leks; built like some kind of amazonian warrior, her arms, back, abs, and shoulders broad with what must have been a lifetime worth of strength training. Her features are striking, with high pronounce cheekbones creating a sort of shadow over cheeks and giving her face an angular appearance on an otherwise squared shape. A single claw-shaped scar stretches from the bottom of the right side of her jaw to the middle of her cheek. Her eyes contrasts her skin with an intense orange hue and violet colored make up or warpaint covering the whole ocular socket and winging off a little bit down her nose, but far off to the sides of her head by her temple. A similar shade paints her upper lip, but her bottom lip is barren of makeup except for a single stripe running down the center. Woorah's lekku have wavy stripes going down from base to tip, but that is as complex as the pattern goes.

Her demeanor and how she carries herself is rather unusual for the type of image the above description would evoke, though. Her eyelids are usually drooped over her eyes, in a rather bored, uninterested, unimpressed, or apathetic fashion. This does not suggest that she does not feel, though some people might come to think that, but rather she does not wear her emotions on her face and instead has adopted a boring persona. This impeccable poker face is often root of many a hilarious dead-pan remarks and comments at the expense of others, and sometimes her bored, uncaring countenance will be interrupted by an immature smirk once in a while, but usually she just gives the impression that she'd rather not devote too much energy to any particular task and would rather spend her time lazing around. Though the perceptive ones among us would take note that the lazy do not have the build of an alpha kath hound. This goes to tell you that this display of passiveness is a show of deception, and luring the people around her into a false sense of security. Even while she's lazing around, she carries and positions herself carefully like she's expecting trouble – it's the relaxed, disguised poise of a hunter.

Her casual wares is telling, wearing a “keeping it simple” fashion sense with a v-necked white shirt, though a closer inspection reveals that the fabric is duranex, making it lightweight yet cut-resistant. This shirt is tucked into some snug-fitting, padded, synthleather pants. By the time you meet the high-cut boots, it becomes clear that she dresses for practicality, because nobody would take her for a person with a fashion-sense. The only accessories she wears with this outfit is a utility belt, a holster that is strapped to her right thigh, and she wears on her left wrist a wrist link.

When she's wearing her gear, she's a completely different sight. She's decked out in Flex Heavy Armor and a personalized Mandalorian styled helmet, complete with the T-shaped visor, but with two rounded slots in the back to compensate for her lekku. To clarify, this helmet slides right onto her face – she doesn't have to thread her lekku through a couple of holes. To go into detail about what she carries with her besides her two micro-pulse blasters would be a long list of technobabble, but it suffices to say that it comes equipped with a JT-9 jetpack, an adrenaline stimulator belt that acts as a home for grenades and mines, a retractable blade underneath her right wrist, a wrist rocket launcher on both arms, a miniature rail-cannon right behind the launcher on her left arm, and all of the ammunition she needs to make use of her gadgets. She has at her disposal a huge arsenal, and she can't wait to show you what it looks like.

Personality:

Woorah is a little peculiar all things considered, because she doesn't carry herself in a way that would be expected of someone her size, shape, and age. She has mastered her poker face, carrying herself in a rather bored, uncaring, and even lazy manner. Indeed, she comes off to others as a very nonchalant individual and that things will usually work themselves out in the end, and perhaps not the whole presentation is a complete and utter facade and part of her might actually believe that not everything is worth putting all of her energy into. This apparent complacency does not equate to her being hospitable though. Instead, the delivery of the abrasive or blunt nature of her snark comes off as rather deadpan, since emotion is mostly filtered out of her casual everyday interactions. She mostly seems interested in chewing bubblegum and tinkering around.

That makes it especially hard to notice the other aspects of her personality. Her bluntness, for instance, is far more ingrained in her personality than her stoic presentation is. It's symptomatic of half a life lived while being raised and nurtured by Mandalorians. She speaks her mind and says what she means, always looking others in the eye, but her disposition sometimes makes others wonder if she's just being sarcastic or implying at something else. Wich is fine by her, because as far as she cares, she did her job. She spoke her mind and how the other person receives that message isn't her problem. This devil may care attitude serves her well, as it keeps the other person guessing. A stranger being able to predict her is more unsettling than anything else, because she likes having the edge that being hard to read gives her over other people. Whether its one way or another, Woorah likes being in control even if the other party doesn't realize it. Having access to information or munitions unavailable to the other party makes her feel secure just in case she needs make an explosive exit or put the fear of Woorah into some poor bantha fodder.

Naturally, there is a side to her that she keeps to herself and doesn't ever show to anyone who isn't a part of her clan. She has proven to be intensely loyal to those she has devoted herself to protecting. Whether it's her sister or the other Mandalorians, they are her family, and to slight them is to slight Woorah. Though the years of discipline and number of firefights she has been in has steeled her nerves, tempered her resolve, and stoked her tenacity, she is not beyond losing her cool and tossing aside her poker face if it's in the name of survival or the absolute annihilation of her enemies. This telling emotional intensity can be counter-productive, making her easily readable and possibly manipulated, so she keeps this vulnerability under wraps as best she can. She rationalizes that if she can keep her emotions hidden, the enemy can't control them, which means to her that she's the one in control. Though it isn't readily apparent, love has actually been one of her greatest motivators in life.

Her relationship with the Mandalorians, and their multi-ethnic culture, means that she mostly doesn't suffer from racial prejudices – mostly. She still finds herself filled with hatred when she sees a Gamorrean or a Hutt, or any slaver, and heedful with Trandoshans at best. While there were one or two of the latter among their ranks, and they were the exception – not the rule. Her life philosophies reflect the philosophies taught in the Resol'nare and Canons of Honor. To live honestly and with honor, to seek glory in battle, and to be Mandalorian meant to readily die in the stead of a loved one. Though recently she has come in conflict with her code of honor; she is not sure if she could truly answer the Mandalore's call to arms if it meant potentially meeting her sister on the battlefield. She also wondered what it meant to be a leader. If the Mandalore did indeed lose to Exar Kun or whomever else, would they be a leader worth following if they dishonored themselves and all Mandalorians by dedicating the entire clan to another man's cause? A man who was not even Mandalorian?

Woorah, might not show it, but she has grown to be insightful, cunning, and acutely aware of her surroundings even if she might feign ignorance. She's intelligent enough to understand complex tactics and the construction and chemistry behind high-tech explosives and propulsion technology, and is a decent enough mechanic to perform some simple maintenance on her small freighter. At her best, Woorah is devoted and honest, but at her worst, she can be callous and volatile.

History:

The Makings of a Warrior [+]

The Outer Rim planet of Ryloth was not home to many of the same luxuries that were afforded to the Core worlds, and given it's inhospitable environment of ripe volcanic activity and thick jungles filled with dangerous predators, it was also a risky investment for Imperial activity. With no major government keeping a close eye on the twi'lek home planet, this left it available to those who would exploit its resources and its people: the Hutts. Though it has been a target for so long, the Sha family stayed safe in the damp underground and never thought that it would ever happen to them. Unga'rasha and Ani'sha, her father and mother, cultivated edible fungi and made textiles to provide for their clan. There wasn't much time in her childhood for their parenting style or their philosophies to leave a mark on Woo'rasha and her younger sister, Allu'rasha, before they were dragged from their homes by Hutt cartel slavers with their mother. Trandoshans and Gamorreans sacked their home and when their father tried to defend them, a blaster bolt sent him dropping to the floor like a sack of bricks. Combined with brute force, they had broken their mother's fighting spirit and she allowed not just herself to be taken, but her children too. Woo'rasha was old enough to understand what was happening, and when she saw her mother give up, she felt betrayed.

Ani'sha was separated from her children and was probably sent to some backwater planet to act as some Hutt's trophy. It's difficult to say exactly where – Woo'rasha never saw her since then. She never committed herself to trying to get her back, accepting her fate like her mother did theirs when the three were first abducted from Ryloth, but that was also all the time she had to think on the matter. The cartel was keen on breaking the children to become subservient to their new Hutt master, Kabbura, on Nar Shaddaa. They knew better than to beat or whip them – you can't leave lasting marks on the merchandise after all... especially with the Cultural Exchange Festival coming soon. It was a series of days that came every couple of years where the merchants and traders would come to Nar Shaddaa to trade in exotic materials and products with one another, and there was a market for everything. Kaburra was of the mind that he would rent out some of his slaves for a night, and two young Ryloth-born twi'leks were bound to be popular with the other unlawful types. They were both above the average height – that must have meant that they were passable.

So instead they poked and prodded them with force pikes. Woo'rasha was the one between the two who gave them the most trouble, helplessly trying to defend her younger sister. It is entirely possible that her sister would have broken and succumbed were it not for her trying her damnedest to keep her together, but her younger sister was always the insightful and intuitive one. She was the one to tell her when she shouldn't fight back, as though she could see something Woo'rasha couldn't. The they were both too young and not matured enough for most people to try taking advantage of them, but that didn't stop Kabbura from parading two young twi'lek girls around like they were trophies.

Despite Woo'rasha's fighting spirit, she still felt afraid, and meeting Kabbura for the first time had put the fear of God in her. Whatever she did to the guards before, she never tried laying a single finger on the Hutt. Woo'rasha and Allu'rasha spent years grovelling underneath Kabbura's slimy thumb. While the older sister spent every waking moment she could wracking her mind to come up with a way to escape (that is, when the Hutt's enforcers weren't trying to beat her and make an example of her), the younger one had just about given up.

When the Cultural Exchange Festival finally arrived, Woo was 14 years old and Allu was 10, and though Woo was older, her temperament discouraged anyone who would be interested in renting her from Kaburra for a night. Allu, on the other hand, was far more... submissive. Thus began the most frightening and fury-filled night of Woo'rasha's life. She spat and fought, bit and raged against her captors, and was prodded and stunned by force pikes only to start fighting again as soon as she finally regained consciousness. It was beginning to anger Kaburra. One of the most important events of the decade, and one of his products was beginning to cost him! Who knows what he would have done to her, if a particular group of men in suits of armor hadn't come to watch her fight and spit. They were amused, watching her like it was some kind of show. When the spit came flying their way, one of the dissatisfied men violently kicked her down to the ground, but it wasn't enough to stop someone who was already hardened by years of abuse. Another person entering the fray was exactly the type of distraction she needed, for while she was on the ground, she used her feet to pull the bottom of a Gamorrean's force pike towards her and kicked it into the bruiser's face.

With the pike still on its stun setting, it was enough send the Gamorrean falling over and convulsing for a few moments. Woo'rasha scrambled to try wrapping her chains around its neck until the other Gamorrean at her side yanked harshly on them from behind and sent her flying back. The guard promptly set its foot on top of her to keep her from moving while it prodded her with its own force pike over and over again on a lower setting. The armored men's amusement were replaced with surprised satisfaction, as though they were impressed – they agreed to ask for the Gamorrean to stop and to lead them to Kaburra. Woo'rasha, still chained, was dragged with them to meet her Hutt master. There, the men introduced themselves as Mandalorians, and the senior among them was named Garter Oai, who offered to buy the young twi'lek's freedom. It wasn't a hard trade on Kaburra's part at all, for it was either to hold onto a slave girl that couldn't be easily controlled or make him any money, or to make some profit now and cut his losses. The two parties agreed on a price, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt her shackles come off.

It didn't stop Woo'rasha from fighting, however. As far as she was concerned she was trading one master for another, and more importantly, they were going to leave her sister behind. She kicked and screamed, refusing to be taken again, believing that the freedom they bought her was an illusion. Finally, they relented. They asked, “Who's your sister, girl?”

“Allu'rasha.” She answered. “I'm Woo'rasha.”

They allowed her to lead them to where they were usually kept, and it took some time for her sister to return. When she did, she was escorted by a single Gamorrean, and shuffled along the ground. Her eyes were aimed the ground, dispirited, and avoided eye contact. She was more submissive, yes, but this? This was different. It looked like she lost any hope of fighting back, even while presented with the opportunity to leave. Woo had no idea what she suffered while she was gone, but whatever it was, it must have been terrible. The Mandalorians looked on with pity.

They told her they couldn't take her. Naturally, they were met with indignation, but they explained; it was because they were Mandalorians that they could not take her. They were a culture of warriors, and someone whose spirit was already so broken could never hope to survive their way of life. In addition, she was wrapped around Kaburra the Hutt's finger, and he would not be so keen on losing her too. It costed them enough to get one of them out of slavery as it was. Though she was still angry, it was the prodding of Allu'rasha that convinced her. Woo's younger sister told her to leave while she had the chance, and when she was stronger, Woo could come back for her. They shared a heartfelt goodbye and a hug, and Woo'rasha found herself stepping onto a G-Type light shuttle and flew off world for the first time in what felt like... forever. Garter Oai tried to ease the tension on board by half-halfheartedly offering her a chewstim.

The life ahead of her would be rough grueling – she would become acquainted with the best and the worst the Mandalorians had to offer her, but the one who had saved her, Garter Oai, would be the one that would teach her all of life's basics, especially including survival and combat. This new life began as soon as her feet touched the ground on world of Mandalore. The planet was varied in its different environments, with white-sand deserts near the equator and massive forests to the north, and when Mandalore couldn't provide, she would be shipped to the orbiting moon of Concordia, covered in thick forests – though some spots were stripped down for mining at this point of time, it was still dangerous enough with the local fauna that she would get a nice scar on the right side of her face from a maalraas.

The trials ahead of her consisted of being forced to fend for herself in the wilderness, being thrown into intense obstacle courses, enduring the elements, strength and endurance training, weapon training, computer usage, repair, first aid, and so on. Some training exercises required her to react almost instantly, conditioning the instinct to draw her weapon or parry an attack at a moment's notice, even if you've no reason to suspect it. She was rated on how quickly she could draw her beskar blade – Mandalorian iron – at the sound of a force pike or other similar weapon being activated behind her back at random times. The sound was a familiar one to her, and it often evoked a quick reaction from her, but it's true purpose was to simulate a fight with a Sith or Jedi, who were regarded to be one of the strongest opponents.

Some exercises were especially brutal. Not just physically, but mentally. They sought to condition her in almost every way.

“What's your name?!” Garter yelled at her while she exercised in the midst of a tropical storm.

“Woo'rasha!” She'd yell back.

“Wrong!” He'd shout, kicking her in the ribs. She couldn't tell if the crack came from her ribs or the distant thunder. When she fell over, they'd tell her to get back up. The hutts and slavers never wanted her to get back up, they didn't encourage perseverance. They would then continue, “Your father died shamefully and your mother left you for dead! Why do you cling to your old clan? Your clan is nothing! You owe nothing! You're a Mandalorian now! What's your name?!”

“Woorah! Sha!” She'd answer.

“What's your name?!”

“Woorah! Sha!”

The conjoining of a twi'lek's personal and clan name was meant to signify unity. To break them apart was to be dishonored or exiled. While she was not exiled or dishonored in the truest sense, she was dishonored by her own family, and to be left for dead could be a form of exile. This way, Woorah severed her own connection to her former clan. She was in the Mandalorian clan now – that's all that mattered. They drilled her on the Canons of Honor and rules of battle, what it meant to be strong and what it meant to be a Mandalorian; the Six Actions. She spoke the language, wore the armor, and acted for the sake of the clan. Though she soon found herself at home here, she was told to never reveal to an enemy or potential enemy what you're thinking. If you keep them guessing, they won't be able to predict what your next move will be. So she began practicing her poker face. She wasn't very good at it.

She even learned from weapon smiths, and found her talent in the chemistry of demolition. They volatile reactions and how to control or provoke them came naturally to her, and she found herself helping them make everything from fireworks to land mines and jump packs. There were some close calls, but she dedicated enough time with the weapon smiths to build a small usable arsenal from dumb rockets to the higher tech remotely-detonated magnetic darts, becoming one of the clan's demolition experts. Over the course of five years of dedicated every day training, she was, for all intents and purposes, a Mandalorian.

Her first mission would be at the age of 19, and her first mission would be at the historical Battle of Iskadrell. The Mandalorian Crusaders raided the cyborg slavers, and leading their ranks was Mandalore the Indomitable himself, piloting their personal basilisk war droid. His power and prowess in battle was unmatched, cutting down swathes of the enemy forces single-handedly in an unparalleled display of martial prowess. If the zealotry of the crusaders weren't enough, the Mandalore leading the spearhead was bolstered their spirits even further. To them, the battle was nothing more but an exercise. To some, a statement. Others found nothing but honor in the glory of combat, and while Woorah too found herself caught up in the exhilaration of the fight – ripping holes through all of her enemies with her repeating heavy blaster, blasting and tearing them apart with her vibroblade and home-cooked explosives – it was the liberation and conversion of thousands of slaves that she found most worthwhile. Not only did it give the battle a purpose, to her it also felt like a taste of revenge against those who would practice slavery. In her eyes, it made the honor and spilled blood of their glorious victory taste even sweeter.

Hell, she even wanted a tattoo to commemorate the occasion, which most if not all Mandalorians respect, but Garter was a fussy adoptive dad of sorts. He pressed to minimize the number of permanent markers as much as possible. Woorah reluctantly conceded.

The many following years of her life would be filled with such battles, triumphs and defeats alike, but they never cowed in the faced of adversity and that's what kept their battles from being true defeats. It was shortly after the Battle of Iskadrell, now a blooded Mandalorian, did she ship out to return to Nar Shaddaa five years after she had initially left. She had two Mandalorians at her back in case things went south: Suna and Rayton, Mandalorians of her generations. The clan as a whole did not seek an all-out war between the trade planet and the many different cartels of Hutts that called it their home, but Woorah was following one of the Six Actions in defending her family, even if that family member was not one of the Mandalorians. Technically, there was no strict rule against it. If he were to fail here, it meant that the clan was obligated to back her up, and that meant war with all the Hutt cartels allied with Nar Shaddaa.

When she finally arrived and came face to face with Kaburra the Hutt once more, it took everything she had to keep herself from trying to kill him as he condescended to her. Mocked and belittled her as the same scared child that left him that day, and sarcastically commented on how glad he was to see her so grown up and strong, and that it was like watching his own children come of age. He continued to give her the run around when all she wanted to know was where her little sister was, until he was finally satisfied with exacting the kind of emotional response he wanted to get out of Woorah.

“She left me,” he said, “shortly after you did. Some men in robes asked for her, proposed a gamble I couldn't refuse.”

Though there was a look of desolation on her face, there was also a spark of hope. She wasn't here, but that wasn't a bad thing. Anywhere would be better than being a slave on this garbage planet.

Kaburra continued, “I don't like cheaters, so worry not Woo'rasha, I do intend on taking her back.”

Her hand immediately reached for the blaster pistol at her side, prompting all of the bodyguards in the room to draw their own weapons – and one of the Mandalorians at her side, Rayton, set his hand on hers, keeping her from drawing her weapon.

“That's all we came for.” He calmly reminded her. The twi'lek sighed out her frustration and nodded, leaving Kaburra alone in his chamber. He heard him call out after her, “If you ever come back here again, know that you'll never leave.”

The most she could hope for her sister from that moment was that wherever she was now, she was living a better life or that her suffering had ended. The brutal life of being a Mandalorian had her come to acknowledge and appreciate the brevity of life, and death was simply one part of it. She moved forward with her sister in mind, and though she was prepared for the worst, hoped that she may once again see her in the future. After seven years of many trials and hardships and stories to tell, fighting everything from beasts to battles and raids, she would get her wish at the age of 26.

Preceding the events that ignited the Great Sith War were years of boiling tension and preparations – the actions of Exar Kun and Ulric-Qel Droma were inciting unrest among countless factions across the galaxy. Some societies, like the Mandalorians, could practically smell war coming. It was a like a fog rolling across the stars, or a smoke billowing from a small handful of kindling. There were preparations to be made on their part as well if they were to play a part in the events to come. One such place where they could possibly use one of the Sith's ancient weapons against them was Malachor V, mythed to be one of the locations for the originating Sith temples. They sought to be the ones to prove the fact, and Woorah was one of the ones who volunteered to find them. They were warned to come fully geared just in case, so she did just that. Covered in Flex Heavy Armor, sporting her jet-pack, armed to the teeth with wrist launches and home-made demolitions, a couple of blaster pistols, and so on. There was a reason she was famed in the clan for being a walking arsenal.

Unexpectedly, the fertile planet was lush, hospitable, and surprisingly devoid of any “crazy, unsettling, Dark-side voodoo magic” as the Mandalorians called it. No sign of civilization. There wasn't even a large abundance of predators, and their comlinks weren't suffering any interference, which was enough to convince the warriors that it was safe enough to split up to cover more ground. Woorah went ahead on her own to search the forest floor for any sign of an ancient civilization. She felt the tip of her boot hit a rock and she looked down –

The electrical sound of a weapon ignited nearby, and instantly, Woorah reacted with a retractable beskar blade ejecting from the underarm of her armor. She spun around and the blade immediately came into contact with a brilliant blue beam of light. Sparks flew between her blade and a lightsaber. Woorah had no time to get a visual on her assailant before they leaped away, but they were obviously a Jedi of some sort, and judging by the distance they put between them, they must have been alarmed by the fact that their weapon didn't immediately slice her in twain. It was that distance that helped her attacker to avoid an energy bolt that came screaming from the blaster in Woorah's other hand. The Jedi was swift and nimble, far more than Woorah was while covered in all of her armor and gear. They came flying at Woorah's back, so she activated her jetpack to send a rush of blistering hot fire and exhaust towards the Jedi's face, causing them to rear back just long enough for the propulsion to turn Woorah around while she was in the air so that she could face them directly –

That face... she'd know that deep ocean-blue face and elaborate lekku pattern anywhere.

Her moment of hesitation was enough to allow the Jedi to close the gap and swing an upward swipe towards Woorah as she landed, who only came to her senses just fast enough to narrowly avoid the lightsaber – but her helmet was scored up the center. The armor fell apart, revealing her face to Woorah's attacker. Revealing her face to Allu'rasha. Her face was stunned and speechless, her mouth agape, and Allu'rasha met her with an expression that was none too different.

“Allu'rasha...” Woorah said breathlessly, still not believing her eyes.

“Woo...” Her sister replied. Her body was covered in the iconic coarseweave tunic, but were dark brown in color and was lacking the tunic. Her pants were tucked into some black boots, and she wore a dark colored tunic. Woorah wasn't quite sure what she was seeing. Based on the illustrations she has seen, the way she dressed resembled both Jedi and Sith, but her lightsaber was definitively blue. The lightsaber itself was then suddenly deactivated. Alarmingly, the tone of Allu'rasha's voice suddenly sounded harsh as she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I... ought to ask the same of you.” Woorah answered with some confusion. There was a sort of serenity in her sister's voice that she never remembered hearing before, although it almost sounded strained, as if she wasn't accustomed to using it. “What are you? A Jedi?”

“Yes...” She answered with some reluctance. Then she pointed towards the rock that Woorah had stepped on earlier. “And I came for that.”

Upon closer inspection, the partially buried rock had engravings upon the surface. Before Woorah had any time to even contemplate the discovery, the lightsaber ignited once again, and burned a hole straight into the ground. When the lightsaber turned off, the stone was destroyed and whatever script that was on it before was either gone or illegible.

“What was that for?” Woorah demanded. “And for a Jedi, you were awfully quick to try killing me.”

“I didn't know it was you!” Allu'rasha refuted. “The Jedi has its need for shadows, and Sith relics like these and those who seek to use them must be destroyed. The real question is why are you looking for them?”

“To fight the Sith, of course. Rumor has it there's a war brewing, haven't you heard?”

“Oh, Woo'rasha...” Her sister sighed.

“It's Woorah now.” She corrected.

“...What?” Allu'rasha spat, looking insulted. “Have you lost your senses?”

“Have you?” Woorah shot back. “Father died like a coward. Mother gave up on us. Why would you want to hold onto that? That sorry excuse of a clan did nothing for you or me, but the Mandalorians did everything.”

“Not for me.” Allu'rasha said. “But you did. That's why I kept it.”

“But Allura has such a pretty ring to it.”

“Don't... call me that.” Her sister said gravely at first, but then she sighed. Shaking her head, she took a few steps back. From that moment, a voice from Woorah's wristcom crackled to life.

“Sol`yc Ver`alor Woorah Sha, this is Alor`ad Garter Oai reporting in – nothing here to the west. What's your status? Over.”

Allu'rasha's voice called out to Woorah before she could answer, “I can't... let you do this to me. I can't allow myself to be compromised, but I need you to listen to me: there are events unfolding that you can't foresee. When the time for your battle does come, your Mandalore will not be able to defeat Exar Kun. The Mandalorians – your... people are already fetishizing the dark side's power. Whatever you do... just please promise me that you won't pick the wrong side.”

Woorah hesitated for a few seconds, wondering if she should be honest to her captain or if she should lie to him for her sister's sake. It was an excruciating few seconds until she made her decision.

“Negative, nothing to report. This place is a dump.”

“Ten-four, we'll rally back to the rendezvous point and try to find another location. Over and out.”

Following the exchange on the comlinks, there was a few awkward moments of silence shared between the two sisters. A few off glances, especially for Woorah, who was so used to looking every one of her clan members in the eye and speaking her mind directly. Finally, their eyes locked together.

“Nice moves.” Woorah commented dryly.

“You too.”

“Where'd you get them?”

“My master. Temple instructors. They found me not even a year after you left. You?”

“Right... Mandalorians. Battles. Fist fighting wild animals.”

“Right...”

“Freed some slaves on Iskadrell, too.” Woo added.

“I wondered if you were there. Sounds like something you'd do.”

“Allu... rasha...” Woorah began, “...will I see you again?”

Her sister took a deep breath and pondered the question for a moment before saying, “That will depend on you.”

Allu'rasha suddenly disappeared, as if vanishing into thin air, but the rustle of the grass gave her away. To think that her sister had been adopted by the Jedi after all this time, and now she had her cool new weapons and crazy space magic. It would take some time to get used to, but so would her new disposition. She was never the type to fight, let alone make a first strike. She was never the type to sound so confident... or so wise... and it got Woorah thinking about the warning her sister made about picking the wrong side. She wasn't sure if she meant the wrong side for herself or simply the side that was the opposite of her sister. It would require some extensive thought. She didn't feel like she could just leave the clan on a whim, but it was surprising how her sister was able to make her doubt everything so easily.

She wasn't wrong, though. The clan seemed convinced that this power was their answer to winning.

Woorah returned to the rendezvous point and they eventually returned home with no results. They questioned why she was missing her helmet, but she shrugged them off by saying the damn thing hasn't been fitting her right for a while and she got frustrated with it; but if there was ever a Sith temple on this planet, they couldn't find it. They thought that it had to be invisible or long gone by now, but the guilt of lying ate at her a little bit. She hid her feelings with a stoic poker face, mastered over many years of practice, and went back to business as usual. Except it wasn't business as usual. The next two years were spent critically analyzing her clan with the echoes of her sister's warning ringing in her head.

She watched and listened, payed attention to the politics of Mandalorian leadership that she payed no heed to before – so many of them talked about the honor it would be to fight with a “Not Jedi”; a Sith. A Jedi too, perhaps, but the Sith were closer to their way of life. Seeking power to fulfill victory, and what a grand duel it would be... but Woorah realized that if any of the Sith were any stronger with their Force powers and lightsaber skills than her sister was, then none of them stood a chance. Exar Kun? Allura was convinced that even Mandalore the Indomitable couldn't beat them. What would that mean for Woorah? Would she have to fight her sister? If she joined her side, she'd have to fight her clan, and that wasn't an option either. She never thought about the consequences of losing or fighting a battle like this before. There seemed to be so few choice available and the time remaining until the impending war boiled over was running short.

When she was 28, she finally talked to her clan. She explained that after spending fourteen long years learning all she could about how to be a proper Mandalorian and finding glory in the name of the clan, she thought that it finally came time for her to see more of the galaxy. See new planets and the kind of people they offered her. It may be her last chance to see it before the next big war spills over and destroys all of it. She was surprised to find out that her clan was supportive of her decision. Individuality was important after all, and the only condition was to answer the Mandalore's call when the time comes. Right. The Resol'nare. She accepted, not sure if she be true to her word, and bid her goodbyes before taking to the stars with her clan's parting gift: a Plug-6 heavy fighter. Although it was small and somewhat cramped if holding more than a few people, it packed a bunch firepower in its small size and was still a suitable freighter for storing the belongings of a nuclear family.

The past two years have been spent exploring the galaxy, getting into trouble, and working odd jobs until she got into bounty hunting. It was the kind of work that put her skill-set to good use and was able to give her a reputation, though muddied it may be. She's not clean, but she guarantees that she can get the job done. Now 30 years old, she has left her mark from the Outer Rim to Core Worlds, done work on remote worlds like Kashyyk and Malastare, and has made contact with some interesting friends. Among her recent associations is an old wookie matron probably gone senile and a sardonic dug engineer with a god complex. She was curious to see what kind of people that galaxy had to show her, and oh boy, did the galaxy not disappoint.

---

Equipment:

Flex heavy armor with retractable beskar blade, green and orange color motif, 15 kg
2 M-113 Micro-pulse blasters, 1 kg each
JT-9 jet pack, 9.1 kg
2 Wrist rocket launcher, 2 kg each
4 Dumb wrist rockets, .25 kg each
3 Homing wrist rockets, .25 kg each
3 Magnetic detonator darts, .25 kg each
2 Hollow-tip wrist rockets, .25 kg
1 Fusion missile, 3 kg
Miniature rail cannon, .5 kg
1 Flashbang grenade, .5 kg
2 Thermal detonators, .5 kg each
1 Ion grenade, .5 kg
Adrenaline stimulator belt, .5 kg
Total Weight: 95 lbs/43 kg

Skills:

Over the course of many years spent with the Mandalorians, Woorah had essentially mastered the art of warfare thanks to the tutelage of the artisans of war themselves. Tactically minded, gun savvy, physically capable, and one hell of a shot, she had honed her martial talent like a fine blade. Her strength and reflexes are fine tuned after years of intense conditioning. She also spent a lot of time with her clan's weapon builders, designing her own weapons her gear and building them from scratch. She has a mind for chemistry and mechanics judging from her ability to build, rebuild, and wire homemade demolitions and repulsor equipment, and make minor repairs on her freighter.

Like most soldiers, she has some basic first-aid training. While she's no battlefield surgeon, she knows how to use a medpac and how to inject stim-shots, and while she's no crack pilot, she's good enough at computers and vehicle operation to bring her from place to place and employ some evasive and combat maneuvers. She has been exposed to enough languages over the years to be fluent in a few of them. Aside from Galactic Basic, she can communicate in Ryl, Huttese, Mando'a, and can understand a little bit of Shyriiwook without a translater, and only knows how to speak back in one or two different gargles.

After a few years of bounty hunting, she was able to easily adapt the knowledge of hunting the Mandalorians armed her with and applied it to hunting people across an entire galaxy. Indeed, most of it pertains to extensive information gathering and computer operation, and with it, has once found a smuggler hiding in the Core Worlds all the way from the Outer Rim.

---

Misc:

Bubblegum in the Star Wars universe is called a chewstim and it's one of Woorah's favorites.

Talija [+]

“I will recite the Jedi Code until I die, I refuse to be broken by the machinations of these masters of darkness.”

Personal Dossier

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_Name

Talija

_Age

16

_Gender

Female

_{Species & Homeworld}

Sephi, Thustra

_{Classifcation}

Jedi Sentinel

Characterization

---

_{Physical Description}

Standing at 1.7 meters, Talija is not particularly tall for her species though she is still quite young and has not reached the apex of her adult growth. Her body is particularly modest and toned with soft peach skin and dulled brown eyes that compliment her flowing cerulean hair. If not for her outward pointed ears she could easily pass for a human female. Her attire tends to be a synthesis of her Sephi culture and her Jedi religion.​

_Personality

A quiet girl known for her diligence in the defense of the faith and the ideals it stands for, Talija stands much like others of the faith with her devout beliefs and unmoving ideology. Despite her ineptitude with greater social interactions the Sephi girl refuses to falter where others shake and it was with that stubborn resilience that she impressed greater Jedi than she and perhaps even a few Sith. Her pride and loyalty to her family and her faith have become walls of strength and despite the dangers of arrogance she struggles with humility though she knows full well the path arrogance takes one down. Talija has been taught to put the needs of others above her own, to have an open mind to the suffering of others, and to tread carefully to not become corrupt; it is in that caution to the dark side that she recites the code of the Jedi several times a day and that was prior to being captured.

With all of her strengths and resilience in her ideals, Talija is hardly ‘perfect’. As a social introvert she has trouble understanding conventions of conversation despite her attempts to do so. She is not inherently robotic and has a great deal of sympathy and sincerity for others thus when she finds herself in situations where she appears cynical or ‘too pragmatic’ she has trouble taking it in stride and not being emotionally offended by the notion. The Jedi Code has of course helped her cope but she finds at best proving to people that she sympathizes with them and is an ally of great character; perhaps this is where her inherent selflessness descends from.

_{Personal History}

Talija was born to a noble family on Thustra on sixteen solar cycles ago, the fourth daughter in her dynastic generation. However it would become evident relatively early in her childhood that she had inherent abilities that led to the belief she was a force sensitive. Such thoughts made her father confused on the proper right of action but eventually folded on the matter of calling out to the Jedi Order to investigate the legitimacy of her force abilities; she was only six galactic standard years old. A sequence of tests were given to the young Sephi girl to which they discovered that her father’s findings were correct and started delicate diplomatic discussions with him about inducting his daughter into the Jedi Order as an initiate. Eventually he agreed that it was the best course of action thus beginning her life as an initiate.

For many years following she found the academy on Telos IV to be a more somber home and found peace there despite being whisked away from the only home she had ever known. But her parents had told her it had been very important to not only the family but the galaxy to follow and listen to the Jedi who took her to Telos. She took solace in the instructions as a “youngling” within her initiatehood. This could be one of the many reasons she would adopt a introverted and studious personality that would become part of her character many years later. Driven to live well to her family and culture’s expectations she found herself planting her face in the lessons she was given. In time, Talija became engrossed in the jedi code and the knowledge of her instructor’s teachings as an initiate which led to her strong confidence in passing the initiate trials. As she took the aforementioned trials her diligence caught an eye of a Jedi Master named Laureli Xchal, the Jedi who would later become her mentor and teacher in the ways of the force when she passed from initiatehood to the role of a padawan.

As a Padawan during wartime, Talija was one of many students of the Jedi Order that found themselves dealing with situations that tested their body, mind, and spirit. As her master was a skilled combatant and duelist Talija found herself in the thicket of battles up until the end of her time with her master during the Skirmish on Cyrillia where she and her master faced a twi’lek who happened to be a skilled user of the dark side of the force named Imij’turutu — a Sith. By the end of the battle Talija witnessed her master taking a critical injury before critically damaging the Sith they were facing. If not for the Sith’s injury or overconfidence fighting a Padawan Talija probably would’ve joined her master in her fate… but thankfully it turned out rather the opposite and the planet of Cyrillia was ‘saved’ from the Sith insurrection.

After the death of Master Laureli Xchal it seemed the fate of Talija as a Palawan was in two straits: she would either be reassigned a new master after her master’s own death in the skirmish on Cyrillia or tested by the Jedi Council for her knighthood. Being distraught and emotionally exhausted from the skirmish against the Sith that they had discovered was not sure herself if she was even up to the task of Knighthood considering what she had just gone through and tested with.

Her humility in her “failure” was noted by the council and for a time she was reassigned to Jedi Master Ilar Qwik. Qwik was decidedly different given his older and less combat oriented approach. Whereas Master Xchal was a Jedi Guardian her new Jedi Master was known as a diplomatic Jedi Consular who would go on to take a less demanding instruction of Talija but still was very dedicated to instructing her in the ways of the force. He taught her diplomacy, encouraged her reading of the archives, taught her various languages & dialects, and strengthened her knowledge of the force beyond simple lightsaber forms though he did strengthen her ability to wield Form VI a.k.a. “Niman”. As time went on so did the war and eventually Talija decided to take the Knighthood Trials with encouragement from Master Qwik. The trials seemed to flash before her eyes as the Telos IV trials tested her courage, resilience, faith, body, and mind quite rigidly. Upon passing and advancing into knighthood she reflected back on her time as a Padawan and strived to do better as well as to live by both her Jedi Master’s teachings with great dedication. She had made it. ​

Attributes

---

_{Character Focus & Skillset}

Lightsaber Combat: As trained and conditioned by Master Laureli Xchal, Talija is skilled in a modified form of Djem-So. Excluding this modified style Talija is also skilled in basic fundamentals of Ataru, Soresu, and Shii-Cho, but she feels most at home with her master's style for obvious reasons. She is also adept in Niman due to her time with her second master.

Perceptive: Heightened by Master Laureli Xchal’s training, Talija is skilled at perceiving her environment as well as things or individuals in that environment. This can lend to a good deductive mind that can investigate situations clearly and inquisitively. This was particularly helpful in previous missions assigned to her by the Jedi Council.

Archival Study: Talija was a dedicated student sense her initiatehood. With devoted study of Jedi history, culture, and combat she has proven herself as one of the more committed students of the order despite her being a bit more reserved and introverted for such behavior. Said study also allows her a perspective into galactic culture, trade, and politics; considering many Jedi are seen as more arbiters than warriors she knows these are important knowledges to have.

Resilient: Talija is particularly stalwart in her ideals and morals. This is particularly helpful under psychological duress.

Piloting & Navigation: Talija is a competent pilot in small vessels and adept with galactic maps.

_Equipment

As a member of the Jedi Order, Talija travels light with very little outside of necessities, her lightsaber, and her robes.

I ought to fix her bio a bit, but at the moment she seems workable. Going to add equipment and class in a hot second.

Aisa [+]

Name: Aisa (eye-EE-sah) Trevale
Age: 19
Class: Jedi Knight
Home Planet: Mirial
Race: Mirialan

_________________

Appearance:
Aisa stands at around 1.66 m tall, or around 5'4", with skin the colour of jade and eyes of icy blue. She is clearly young and is fairly petite in build, but possessing the beginnings of a wiry strength. Her hair is naturally jet black but is shaved off save for a braided strip of hair perhaps 2 inches/5 cm wide that slides its way down the back of her head and usually ends in a long braid or braids. Her traditional Mirialan face tattoos are fairly sparse, being as young as she is. That said she is not lacking them entirely; on her left cheek she has an intricate design in the form of a rectangle with the inner side pointing up towards her eye in black ink. She typically does not wear makeup aside from dark eyeliner which she flourishes with a streak from the bottom of her eye that makes it look like she is crying, except black and from the middle of her eye. The helix of both of her ears is pierced with three rings of silver each.

She prefers to wear the darker coloured robes and tunic of her people, as opposed to the lighter, more natural coloured robes favoured by most Jedi. Although she is not that picky and will take whatever colours are available to her.

Her face resembles an upside down tear drop, with a pointed chin and rounded head. Aisa possess the fullness of lips that is common her in her species and large, clear eyes that often indicate her emotions better than her words. Her nose is somewhat small, and slightly upturned. Her eyebrows slant upwards somewhat, giving her an almost predatory look.

Personality:
Aisa is almost everything a Jedi should strive not to be. She is impetuous, hot-headed, and has trouble controlling her emotions. That being said, she is still young and has many positive qualities as well; she is caring and loyal, as well as determined and passionate. She is friendly and easy to get along with most times, but can be very prickly when she perceives something as attacking or insulting her. She tends to be blunt at times, not bothering to cloak her opinions in flowery language or euphemism. Her old master constantly cautioned her to temper her pride, anger, and hubris. It is still something she struggles with, learning to trust her instincts but not reacting merely on impulse and feeling.

Like many of her species, Aisa is deeply religious and feels that her actions do not merely shape her own destiny, but the destiny of the Mirialans as a whole. To this end she feels heavily burdened by doubts that her recklessness (of which she is keenly aware) could bring some doom upon her kind.

In matters of conflict she prefers straightforward and headlong tactics, much to almost everyone else's chagrin. To her, there is no greater victory than meeting your opponent on equal footing and besting them. She hates to lose, and loves to win, although paradoxically she views winning through deception or subterfuge as a sort of hollow victory. This is not to say she is incapable of thought or any advanced tactics, she just refuses to use them if she can avoid it. Her aforementioned hatred of losing is usually enough to push her to use any means of victory (even ones she would normally view as 'underhanded') if she feels she is outmatched physically. Some of these traits cause some small amount of alarm for the other Jedi, who view her as too martial for a peacekeeping order and view her as vulnerable to seduction by the Dark Side of the Force.

She has absorbed the ideals of the Jedi thoroughly and views wanton violence and cruelty as repugnant, though her own passion is something of a trouble spot for her, knowing that it can lead to the Dark Side. In many ways she is the opposite of the stereotypical Mirialan. She is not a controlled, measured, efficient warrior. She is wild and bold and flashy and aggressive. But she is also graceful and agile and cares deeply for her kind.

History:
Aisa does not remember her parents, only that she was an orphan and that she felt a connection to the force from a young age. Like many force-sensitive children, Aisa was adopted by the Jedi Order when she reached the age of a youngling. From there she became an initiate and learned to control her powers. Though she was rather gifted in the force, it was the lightsabers that truly entranced her. She dreamt of one day becoming a great Jedi blademaster. Once her lightsaber training proper began she threw herself into it passionately and developed quite the aptitude for the aggressive tactics of Ataru, though she also studied the more defensive dueling of Djem So.

Though the Council saw great promise in the young Mirialan, they also were concerned for her. She wore her emotions on her sleeve and hurled herself at any task set upon with great passion. They were harmless now, even good for her. But they knew that if she did not learn to control her emotions she would be easy prey for the Dark Side. They would need to find a master, one who could at least set her on the proper path to control, if not totally tame her wild nature.

Eventually she was made a Padawan to the Master Thastus Halloran, a wise diplomat and powerful force user who the Council hoped would help temper young Aisa's free-flowing emotions. Affectionately calling her his young Eyas (a unfledged hawk or falcon) the two traveled the galaxy, solving problems and exploring planets and their issues. And although Thastus' influence did somewhat stop her from becoming totally consumed by her emotions, it was ultimately up to her to gain control over them, something she has still struggled with to this day. After years of galactic planet hopping and missions, her Master finally felt she was ready for her trials.

Landing on a small and remote planetoid that housed only a small mining colony, Thastus set her trial into motion. Supposedly they were there to solve some problems with the local Hutt Cartel that was harassing the destitute mining colony. Before they had even begun to investigate the Hutts, Master Halloran faked his own accidental death at the hands of the miners in an explosion. Enraged and blinded by grief, Aisa carved a bloody path of revenge through the colony and it was only after she had killed everyone did she realise what she had done. However it was all an illusion. The miners were only droids. Thastus had tricked her mind into believing they were people and had faked his death to see if she could control her emotions. She could not and so she had failed her trial.

It would be another year before Aisa was given another chance at Knighthood. Following a brief separation from her Master, Aisa was captured by a team of bounty hunters on Nar Shaddaa. Following a fierce battle and two-day chase in the Undercity, the three hunters had drugged her and she woke up imprisoned on their ship. Using the force, she fashioned a jagged knife from a loose piece of durasteel she had wrenched off of the ship. Pretending to be asleep she cut the throat of the first hunter to check on her and retrieved her lightsaber, which she used to cut down the second hunter. The third was a skilled vibroswordsman and the two had a running duel throughout the modified freighter for hours. Hiding, chasing, and having furious skirmishes among the piles of metal and darkened corridors. The only light coming from the blade of Aisa's saber. The ship drifted aimlessly in orbit as the two combatants wrecked the interior of the ship with various clashes. Finally, exhausted, the two fought themselves to a standstill on the bridge and, with grudging respect the last hunter let the young Jedi go free on Nar Shaddaa once again.

From there she made her way back to the Jedi temple and explained why she had become separated from her worried Master. Though he had his doubts about her control over her emotions, at the urging of the Council, Aisa was granted her long sought-after Knighthood. Tearfully, and with a promise to keep her emotions in check, she parted with her old Master, now a newly-made Knight and ready to make her mark on the Universe.

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Equipment:
-Her lightsaber is a matte silver tube with bronze inlays along the handle and a bronze ring around the blade emitter. Its blade is a deep, deep blue, almost indigo.
-Jedi tunic of black fabric and a black artificial leather
-Brown Jedi cloak, a replacement of her original one which was lost in her escape from Nar Shaddaa
-Small and lightweight survival rations, designed to provide necessary nutrients in the smallest package possible

Skills:
-Aisa is a skilled melee combatant, utilising her natural mirialan agility in tandem with her extensive study of Ataru to dance around her opponents and wear them down with blows from seemingly every direction like a rainstorm. She is not the most technically adept fencer, being so young, but she is ferocious.

-For more defensive situations, she has also studied Djem So, though not nearly as much as she has studied Ataru. Aisa fairly adept at counter-attacks and reflecting blasterfire, although it's never her first choice.

-She has also begun a cursory study of Jar'kai, intrigued at the idea of two lightsabers. She has yet to formally acquire a second blade and her skill is only in its infancy as of now.

-Her melee skills also extend to unarmed combat. Aisa's natural speed and agility have led to many brawls ending with the other side beaten into submission by a flurry of well-aimed blows at blinding speed.

-Aisa is also a Jedi after all, so she possesses many powers over the Force. Some she has yet to discover. Other minor skills that warrant minor mentions include average piloting skills for someone who has traveled extensively and being a passable shot with a blaster (though she secretly views them as inferior and dishonourable.) Overall she is a very direct person with very direct skills. Though she may not be the most creative fighter, she is very skilled.

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Misc: Added some stuff to bio

Hopefully the "race" I decided to go with is fine.

R5-T1 [+]

Name: R5-T1, though its creator and those it gives permission call it "Rusty".
Age: Has been active for 5 galactic standard years
Class: Smuggler
Home Planet: Coruscant, Jaren Kell's Workshop

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Appearance: R5's chassis was built in a manner reminiscent of a human skeleton, with as little bulk and as sleek as possible. Its full frame is colored with a mix of black and brown hues, and is built from lightweight yet sturdy materials, designed to resist blaster fire as well as mimick a nearly full range of human articulation. R5's head structure is the most unique thing about its design, however. Instead of a humanoid face donning its vaguely human head shape, R5 has a series of 4 optical sensors mounted in the general eye area, three smaller ones on the left, and one large one on the right. Instead of a mouth-shaped speaker, R5 has a large, plated speaker jutting out slightly from its head. In place of ears, R5 has a single antenna mounted to the right side of its head structure, which it uses to receive both analog sound as well as comms traffic.

Personality: R5-T1 is an odd sort, even for a droid. While most humanoid droids are preprogrammed with a unique personality that emulates a human, R5 was built differently. Installed in its personality matrix are the mental scans, memories, and history of its elderly creator, Jaren Kell. However, R5 currently lacks the ability to perfectly emulate its creator, and although it speaks with an accurate modulation of Kell's voice as a young man, R5's speech patterns are cold and specifically devoid of emotion. R5 refers to itself in the 3rd person as "this unit", and its vocabulator intentionally chooses words to convey no sense of personal emotion. This leaves R5 sounding more like a computer or more basic model of droid, though it does possess the ability to think and act independently.

History: Jaren Kell was an aging droidsmith and retired first mate of the Queen of Krayt, a smuggling ship that had won him his fortune and retirement. In his workshop in the upper levels of Coruscant, Kell was crafting what he considered to be his life's work: a droid, loaded with all his memories and mental acumen, but still capable of being its own individual. After over 5 years of work and devotion to this project, Kell was finally ready to activate the droid. Christening it "R5-T1" or "Rusty" as his old crewmates had called Kell, he flipped the switch.

The project was a remarkable success, despite some intentional inhibitors that limited R5's emotion emulation and vocabulator. Kell managed to get R5 to receive nearly his entire life story in a matter of moments. After roughly a year of tests and trials and even simple conversation, Kell was ready to release R5 out into the world, though the droid itself was hesitant. After being asked about the emotion inhibitors, Kell explained to R5 that in order for the inhibitors to release, R5 would have to accumulate knowledge and experience beyond what Kell had programmed into him. R5 would have to become someone new.

Now 4 years later, R5 has become a decent smuggler and engineer in its own right, and although it doesn't know it yet, the inhibitors have slowly begun their process of shutting down.

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Equipment: R5 carries a heavy blaster pistol and a light belt of grenades for inevitable firefights, while also carrying an assortment of engineering and mechanic tools for both self-repair and fixing external objects. R5's chassis is sturdy enough to fill the role of light body armor, though R5 much prefers to use personal shielding when it can get its hands on it.

Skills: R5 contains all the knowledge and memories of its creator, and as such is an excellent mechanic and engineer when it comes to droids. Though Kell wasn't the best crack shot out there, he was no slouch in a firefight, and neither is R5. However, R5's inhibited emotion emulation restricts its abilities in social situations, despite Kell himself having a reputation as a bit of a smooth-talker.

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Misc: Although R5 can't explain it, R5 has a habit of mimicking Kell's twitches and body language, often leaning against things, flipping a credit chit in its hand or even picking at its "teeth".

Harsk [+]

Name: Harsk

Age: 40

Class: Bounty Hunter

Home Planet: Trandosha (or Dosha)

Species: Trandoshan

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Appearance: Standing at 7 feet even, Harsk is tall for a Trandoshan, on average having a few inches on his fellows. Having recently shed, his scales are free of any marks and scars from a life of slaving, bounty hunting, and mercenary work. He moves with the cautious gait of a predator, footfalls almost instinctively being quieter, and each move with careful purpose, ready to explode into action at a moments notice. The confidence of someone who has survived against the odds time and time again is etched into his bearing, and he is proud of it. He is a survivor and a warrior, and he will do nothing to hide that fact. When he still had scars in his scales, he would eagerly tell their stories to anyone who would listen.

He is almost never seen without his solid black armor, years of hunting in the shadowlands and wandering through some of the more dangerous 'civilized' places the galaxy had to offer making him put prudent caution over personal comfort. His sensitive dark orange eyes, covered by protective googles to prevent things like flash bangs or sudden bright lights from damaging them, are almost constantly scanning an area in an attempt to prevent himself from being surprised.

He has modified pieces of mesh armor so that they can fit over his hands and feet, leaving his claws still visible. While his scales are normally more than enough for walking around, Harks has found himself in one to many cold places, wishing for something to keep his hands and feet warm. Thus, he improvised these 'gloves' and 'shoes' to serve that purpose.

Personality: Harsk is an odd Trandoshan, compared to most. His natural aggression and eagerness for violence is tempered by discipline and caution. He has lived a long time by Trandoshan standards, and has learned many lessons, often taught by the harsh teacher of pain and near death experiences. And so, as he has grown, his eagerness to run into things has been leashed by caution. His tendency to reach for his blaster and solve most problems with violence has been calmed with discipline. He is still an ultimately selfish creature, his primary goal in life to gather enough Jagganth points to be put into the upper echelons of the Scorekeeper's halls, but he has lived long enough to know that there are many ways to gain Jagganth points, and that attempting to murder everything you met was the least effective of those ways. Too that end, Harsk is capable of putting aside his hatreds and his prejudices in the cause of working with others to accomplish a goal, even going so far as to work with the hated (and respected) Wookies from time to time.

In his search for Jagganth points, Harsk also desires to find opponents who will test him and force him to improve or die. Opponents that are either his equals or betters, forcing him to learn in the middle of combat. He believes that you earn more Jagganth points the more challenging the hunt was, and that to die battling a worthy foe is the best death one can hope for. This is mostly why he likes hunting Jedi and Sith so much. They provide a unique challenge every time he faces one, and all are very dangerous. If he succeeds against them, he gets a large increase in Jagganth points. If he dies, he dies a good death at the hands of a worthy enemy. In Harsk's eyes, there is nothing that describes a win-win situation better than that.

A staunch follower of Trandoshan traditions, Harsk believes heavily in the ways that have governed Trandoshan life for millennia. Things like life debts, word of honor, and respecting elders all have great importance to Harsk. He takes these beliefs and follows them even when outside of Trandosha, putting great faith in his loyalty to whomever has his word, and showing reverence to those who have reached the elderly age of their respective species. Perhaps it is just because Trandoshans tend to die before reaching that age more often than not, but he believes all elders are venerable and deserve respect simply for living that long with the galaxy being as harsh as it is. He is also a devout follower of the Scorekeeper, offering praise and prayers to her regularly.

A unscrupulous and accepting person, which is unsurprising given the company he keeps and the jobs he has taken, the only thing Harsk truly detests in others is weakness. He hates the Wookies out of learned experience, having fought and hunted them for five years on their home planet, but he respects them for their strength and power. Being a bounty hunter earned him similar experiences across the galaxy with a variety of species. Every species has strength, whether it be in their bodies, their minds, or other powers. To see a creature wasting that strength by being weak and doing nothing to change it disgusts Harsk. Beggars who won't drag themselves out of their poverty, fallen opponents begging for mercy, creatures giving up when there is the slightest hint of difficulty, these all disgust and aggravate Harsk. The galaxy will only respect strength, and expecting the kindness of others to cover for your weakness will only hurt you in the long run.

Tying in with that detestation of weakness, Harsk hates having his success or failure depending on others. He would rather fail on his own strength than succeed on someone else's, and hates the feeling that he cannot affect or control a situation.

History: Most of Harsk's life has been one of violence. His earliest memories are of fighting and killing, whether it be play-fighting against his three clutch mates, hunting the local fauna of his home, or battling against other hatchling groups. He and his siblings grew rapidly, in typical Trandoshan fashion, reaching adulthood by the time they were fifteen. That same year they would join their first slaving ship, helping their captain pursue a lucrative contract for slaves with Czerka on Kashyyyk. Within the first two years, Harsk would lose all three of his clutch mates to the dark lands of Kashyyyk, and the Wookies who inhabited it.

Their first year began simply, as the Wookies hadn't retreated to the Shadowlands yet. Harsk and his siblings would charge into the village with their crew mates, Slave master carbines blasting first the warriors, then the non-combatants. They would take all they could prisoner, and then burn the village to force the others to either give themselves up or risk the dangers of the Shadowlands. The prisoners would then be secured, collared, and taken back to Trandosha to be sold and recorded as Jagganth points for the crew. One of his siblings would die doing this, catching a bowcaster bolt in the head as they charged into another village. Harsk and his remaining siblings gutted the Wookie responsible, and then burned their fallen family with the village.

As the year wore on, the Wookies grew smart and desperate. They figured they knew the Shadowlands better than the slavers did, and that the beasts would help do their work for them. They were right. Once they were down into the Shadowlands, the hunt became more difficult. Shadows would move just out of their peripheral vision, at times being nothing, at others being a beast moving in for the kill. They would find the Wookies and then lose most them in the darkness, unable to track them through the shadows, and the few they did catch unwilling to sell them out. Often times the slavers would find themselves lost, wandering the Shadowlands until they ran into a Wookie ambush, or stumbled upon a marker back to their camp. This was where Harsk lost the second of his clutch mates, unable to stop a Wookie from cutting his sibling down in the middle of an ambush. There was no time for a burial, a forest beast dragging the corpse off into the darkness before Harsk and his remaining sibling could do anything.

He would lose his last sibling in the middle of the second year, the Wookies launching a surprise attack upon the slavers' camp in an attempt to drive them off or kill them. It failed, but Harsk's sibling would die in the fight to repel them. The body was almost unrecognizable, torn apart by a grenade thrown back at the slavers. Harsk gave his sibling the best burial he could, hoping the Scorekeeper would be generous.

Left alone, with little resources till the ship returned for fresh slaves, and the only choice left before him being to adapt or die, Harsk decided to change tactics and learn from the hated wookies. He didn't hate the Wookies for killing his siblings. They had all died good deaths, in battle, and the Scorekeeper would look kindly upon them. He hated them for making him feel weak. For making him feel like he couldn't do anything but wait and hoped he survived. So Harsk set out to change that, to reclaim control of the situation. With the help of a translator he started learning from the Wookie prisoners they had, offering them freedom in return for lessons on how to survive in the shadowlands.

The Wookies were uncooperative at first, but he eventually found one willing to risk the chance. Upon verifying that what he was told was accurate and helpful, Harsk honored his word and let the Wookie go. Seeing this, and that he hadn't killed or dragged their fellow back into slavery, the other Wookies began to open up more, offering advice and lessons in return for their own freedom. Harsk used this to his full advantage, quickly learning how to survive in the shadowlands. He would let each Wookie go after he had learned what they had to offer, as was his word.

He didn't tell any of them that they had a tracker on them, implanted while they were unconscious. When the ship arrived, over half of their stock had been released back into the shadowlands. The captain was understandably upset, but Harsk assured him they could get all of the lost slaves back, and more. Armed with his newfound knowledge and the trackers, Harsk set out through the Shadowlands. They moved through them far more quickly than they had before, guided by the trackers and prepared for the dangers the shadows hid. They were able to get the drop on entire tribes, surrounding and capturing all its inhabitants. Eventually, as more and more tribes were captured, the Wookies caught on. Those who had returned were carefully examined, the trackers found and ripped out of their bodies.

For the next three years Harsk would hunt the Wookies on Kashyyyk, reveling in the challenge they offered. While he would never see the success he had in his second year, his Jagganth points would steadily increase until he was one of the highest members on his ship. When the fifth year on Kashyyyk finally ended, the contract with Czerka was over and the Trandoshans were replaced by the Sith. They would return home to Trandosha, satisfied with their trophies and the slaves they got to keep. The captain retired, having reached the age of 50 through luck, strength, and cunning. With his slaving run at an end, and still filled with a need to hunt and kill, Harsk would turn to bounty hunting.

For the next 15 years, Harsk would travel across the galaxy, taking any contracts that were offered to him. He would hunt fugitives across dozens of planets. Through the crowded streets of Nar Shadda, the deserts of Tatooine, and the icy plains of Hoth, Harsk would hunt down his prey with a single minded determination, capturing or eliminating them as the Bounty required. His Jagganth points and credits swelled with each successful hunt, to the point where he was able to buy his own X10-D droid and ship (rather than chartering passage, or joining forces with another bounty hunter with a ship), respectively. He earned a reputation as one of the bounty hunter to go to for jobs that no reasonable contractor would take, jobs that were more likely to end with the death of the hunter rather than the prey. It was because of this reputation that Harsk would take on the greatest, and last, hunt of his career; a jedi and his padawn.

The duo had gone to Nar Shadda on some mission for the Council. In the process of completing said mission, they angered the Hutts. They put a size able bounty on the pair, dead or alive, and Harsk eagerly took it. He didn't particularly care about the credits. They would be a nice addition, but were ultimately unimportant. What was important was the hunt. The challenge of killing two Jedi, and the Jagganth points they would provide.

Harsk tracked them down to Harix, a forest world in the Colonies. It was a simple matter to follow their tracks through the forests, rapidly gaining ground on them. They were Jedi, confident in their ability to handle anything that was thrown at them. Creeping through the woods, he spotted the Jedi Knight. His padawan wasn't in sight, but that was no matter. He could kill her later. Raising his blaster, Harsk prepared to fire when a confusion overcame him. His mind grew heavy, his thoughts clouded. Distantly, he recognized this as a mind trick. He heard a branch snap behind him, and panic shot through the fog in his mind. If he didn't move soon, he was going to be captured by the padawan and all his Jagganth points null and void.

Through supreme effort, Harsk managed to turn around to look at the padawan. The human girl waved her hand again, and Harsk flew backwards and crashed into a tree. His head cracked against the back and he fell unconscious. Waking up on unknown time later he found himself tied to the same tree, the padawan and knight long gone, their trail cold. A fact which paled in comparison to the crushing knowledge that he had been captured. His Jagganth points, fought for and claimed through brutal combat, all gone. He was worthless in the eyes of the Scorekeeper.

Shame filled him, and he returned to Trandosha a failure and an outcast. His Jagganth points were recorded as zeroed, and he was derided and mocked as a failure. His X10-D droid was forfeit, and his life was a disgrace. As the consequences of his shame grew and fell upon him, fury began to grow. His shame at being captured warped into a hate filled obsession. There was only one way to fix this. He had to kill the one who captured him. He would kill that padawan and reclaim his Jagganth points, and then he would kill the Jedi Knight and claim his credits from the Hutt. But first he needed to learn how to best them, and avoid their tricks.

To that end, he turned to the ones who were the best at killing Jedi: The Sith. He searched the galaxy until he found one, and made a deal. He would aid them in their quest to destroy the republic, and they would teach him how to best kill a jedi with no force powers of his own. Some of the lessons were shamefully obvious. Don't use blasters. Don't get in close. Don't directly fight them. Harsk scolded himself for being so foolish, or arrogant, as to think he could challenge a Jedi with nothing more than his own skills.

Others were harsh lessons that had to be learned through the old familiar teacher of pain. Don't think about how you're going to kill them, you'll only warn them. Minimize your mind's presence. Project emotions to hide your intentions and thoughts. It was hard for Harsk to learn such lessons. He was used to focusing on his targets with ruthless intent, and had never needed to hide his presence from anyone or anything. He was a Trandoshan, a warrior race of killers who knew no fear. He shouldn't have ever needed to hide. Still, the shame and fury of losing his Jagganth points drove him on, and he unlearned old habits in favor of new ones.

When he had finally learned the lessons, he gave his word to return, and set about finding the Jedi Knight and his padawan again, to enact his revenge and regain his honor. It took a long time, as finding a pair of Jedi in the growing chaos the galaxy was hard, especially when they had an annoying tendency to keep moving around. But he managed to do it, tracking them down to the ice planet of Atoa. There, Harsk made his plan and prepared to reclaim his Jagganth points.

Laying on an icy hill, he saw the two through the scope of the slugthrower sniper rifle he had bought, he had only had enough credits for one shot after buying the gun. His targets seemed to be arguing about something. All the better for him. Harsk focused on the Jedi Knight. He would be the threat, the true problem. The girl's inexperience made her weak, easier to kill. All of Harsk's thoughts focused on killing the Jedi Knight. The man paused mid sentence, straightening to look around, as if sensing something. At the last second, as Harsk was about to squeeze the trigger, he turned, aimed, and fired at the padawan.

The icy plains echoed with the crack of the slugthrower as the bullet flew across the frozen land and crashed through the padawan's neck. Messy. Harsk had meant to hit her in the head, but the job was done. He could almost feel all of his Jagganth points returning, his honor, his prestige, the Scorekeeper's love, all of it. Harsk laughed aloud in pure joy and threw the sniper rifle to the side and drew his blaster rifle, firing a few shots at the Knight as he cradled his dying padawan in one arm. Blocked instinctively by the man's lightsaber.

Harsk's voice, mocking and hateful, echoed across the plains of Atoa. "Sensed something too late Jedi! She was such a pretty thing too, so much potential! Nothing more than meat now! After I'm done with you, I might have a snack!" He could practically see the rage boiling in the man's body as he gently placed his padawan down, and charged at Harsk, the Force fueling his limbs. "Come and get me, Jedi!" Harsk crowed, taking off down the hill.

The knight caught up quickly, as expected, his lightsaber slicing off one of Harsk's legs as he tried to run. The pain was excruciating, but Harsk laughed through it. He had been redeemed, and what happened now meant nothing. He laughed as the Jedi screamed something at him. Perhaps a question. He couldn't tell through the elation at being redeemed, and the agony at being crippled. As the Jedi seemed to give up on getting an answer, walking towards him with lightsaber raised for a final blow, Harsk chuckled again, pulling his detonator out of his pocket. "May the Scorekeeper judge us both fairly, Jedi."

Pressing the trigger, Harsk was thrown by the explosion of the mines around them. The last thing he saw before blackness overcame him was the Jedi Knight, illuminated by the flames of the explosions all around them, anguish in his eyes. Harsk thought it was a good image to die to.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Harsk survived the explosions. He woke up feeling somehow even worse than before, but alive. He had some burns, at least a few broken bones, and was missing a leg, but he had done it. He had killed two Jedi, and survived. Dragging himself to each of their corpses, he collected their lightsabers as proof of the kills. The Knight's was ruined, warped and blackened by the explosions. The padawan's, however, was in perfect condition. He resisted the urge to ignite it and swing it around a few times, dragging himself towards where his ship was. He needed rest, and food. Then he would have to rejoin the Sith, and hold up his end of the bargain. After all, it was only through the lessons of the Sith that he had had the ability to kill them at all, and only cowards went back on their words.

When he had finally regrown his leg to the point where he could walk and fight again, Harsk joined the Sith's side, following him across the galaxy and killing those who opposed him. He has been there ever since, his debt long repaid. The Jagganth points the sith provided access to were far to plentiful to turn aside, and the credits were too steady to ignore. Besides, Harsk was having fun, working to take down the Republic with the Sith. Surely the Scorekeeper would look down upon him with even more love if he killed a Republic before he died.
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Equipment:
-Slave Master Stun Carbine
-Sonic Rifle
-Trandoshan Assault Blaster Rifle (same design as the normal, only changed to better suit Trandoshan hands)
-Powered Heavy Battle Armor (augmented to increase his speed in the event of direct combat with Jedi. Can only be done for a short period of time before overheating)
-Energy Shield
-Gatling gauntlets (2)

Ammo Types: Large metal spikes, micro-grenades (Stun and plasma), small metal projectiles.

-Land Mines (5)
-Laser Trip Mines (3)
-3HX3 Timer mines (5)
-Sonic Mines (3)
-Thermal Detonators (5)
-Sonic Grenades (3)

Skills:

Life Long Warrior: Harsk has been fighting almost since he was born. Unlike most warriors, Harsk received no formal training in combat. He learned from fighting almost his entire life, be it against his fellow Trandoshans or against his prey. Harsk became a skilled killer out of pure necessity, as the only other option to him was to die. While his fighting style lacks finesse, he makes up for it in ferocity.

Tracker: Harsk is a skilled hunter and tracker, capable of chasing prey through almost any environment, be it the crowded slums of Nar Shadda, the jungles of Dxun, or the snow of Hoth.

Jedi Killer: Since his humiliation (and subsequent revenge) upon the first Jedi he killed, and his partnership with the Sith, Harsk has been learning and training all he can to best combat Force users with no power of his own and has become very skilled at it. He is resistant to mind tricks, having trained against (Morty's sith name here) to hone his mind to a steel trap, can hide his presence and intentions from Force users (by projecting a strong emotion and thinking about something else), and knows just how much to plan for his traps. While far from being able to take on a Jedi by himself, if given time, the appropriate resources, and the advantage of surprise, Harsk has a very good chance at killing them.

Abilities granted by being Trandoshan
-Great Strength, only bested by Wookies
-Capability of seeing into the Infrared Spectrum
-Strong sense of smell
-Limb and skin regeneration (Slow, takes weeks or longer depending on how much has to be regrown)
-Durable scales (capable of resisting claws, glancing blows from swords, etc etc)
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Misc: Harsk is a member of a sect of Trandoshans who believe that surrendering is different from being captured. If Harsk surrenders, he believes will merely receive a drop in Jagganth points (the number depending on how many times he's surrendered and how close to one another they are) rather than his points being null and void.