Just throwing up a WIP to show I haven't been procrastinating this whole time.

Edit: DONE!

Toryn Dral [+]

Toryn Dral

(Have some mood music)

Species:

Human

Gender:

Male

Age:

23

Appearance:

In true Mandalorian fashion (according to almost every Coruscanti holo-vid ever made at least), the most striking thing about Toryn looks is... well, how little most know about it, what with how downright shy the Mandalorian is to be seen outside of his armour. Though a brief glance at the report drafted up by the Academy's medical examiner upon his arrival may provide some insight into exactly why this is; the dispassionate, clinical record noting the presence of scarring from blaster fire, shrapnel and vibro-weaponry throughout much of his body, with a not-insignificant amount of metal fragments still lodged in the Mando's torso in areas where they'd be risky to remove surgically. Additionally, the good Doctor describes at length a series a chemical burns traveling up Toryn's right arm into his shoulder— the apparent legacy of an inopportune breach in his armourweave in the middle of an Imperial gas attack during the Mandalorian Revolt— and that his left eye is, in fact, a cloned replacement; a procedure of questionable legality at best owing to it's chances of unforeseen complication.

What most do know, however, is that Toryn stands at around 5'9" and though not shaped like a bodybuilder or powerlifter, must be built with incredibly dense, potent musculature with how he carries himself and what can be gleaned through the shifting and flexing of his apparent uniform— that being his usual combination of armourweave, Jedi robes and beskar'gam. And, of course the sight of his scarred, sometimes stubbly mouth and chin on those occasions where he tilts his helmet up slightly to eat something. Often with a wry little smirk if he catches someone staring as he does so.

Rank:

Apprentice

Personality:

Reserved, extraordinarily clever and strong-willed, Toryn at first comes across as a consummate— if dispassionate— professional. That's not to say he's in anyway cold or unfriendly, mind you, and can in fact be almost charming in his own fashion, in spite of how he wields his bone-dry wit like a weapon. More that the man in question is an extraordinarily private person; rarely talking about himself nor sharing what he's thinking or showing what he's really feeling at any given moment and responding to any questions about any of the above with either a well-timed joke to change the topic or as laconic a response as possible to end the conversation right there. Seemingly preferring instead to focus on whatever task he has at hand in the moment and generally treating his (albeit, brief) time at the Order up to this point as just another job and wanting to keep some measure of professional distance himself and his peers.

...Though that doesn't quite tell the whole story.

For while he rarely shares much of himself, Toryn never disparages others for doing so and is always willing to listen patiently and, more importantly, help if needed. Asking nothing in return and more often than not, without actually being asked. Then there's his service history to consider, both during the war and what little record exists of his mercenary activities thereafter; the former, where he'd developed a reputation for nigh-suicidal charges into harm's way to save his comrades— Mandalorian or not— and the latter, where he became known for only taking on very certain kinds of jobs, often for less pay (or none at all) to put some mad warlord or depraved crimeboss into the dirt.

These things speak to a deeper well of compassion than Toryn will likely ever admit. And provide vital context to how, even if he never asks or is ever asked to be, he always seems to know his role— as the unbreakable rock that can always be relied upon to do what needs to be done. Or die trying.

...Even if people like Kada Vaa would note with concern that he was a much happier and less closed-off man when they first met two years ago.

Also a whole lot less shy about taking off his helmet.

Lightsaber:

Standard single-hilt with an orange kyber crytal. Though he has at least drawn up some blueprints for a crossguard design in his free time.

Skills:

Veteran Supercommando: Trained since the day he could walk in armour and hold a blaster like all good Mando boys and girls, Toryn was— to put it bluntly— extremely, alarmingly, damn-well terrifyingly good at his old job. Which, though his career has taken a rather drastic turn recently, still grants him a unique well of experience and talents to draw from amongst the majority of Luke's New Jedi Order.

(Slightly Modified) Form VI Niman: During his short time at the Academy, Toryn's main focus in regards to lightsaber training has been in the Way of the Rancor, valuing it for it's versatility and flexibility over the more rote and automatic movements of the more 'aggressive' styles. He's also found it to be more open than others to some level of adaptation, and has been quietly experimenting with incorporating techniques from Mandalorian swordplay into it to truly make it his own.

Efficient Armourer/Weaponsmith: "A Mando that doesn't know how to take care of his own kit is a Mando that ain't gonna live very long."; a lesson Toryn took to heart at a very young age. Being not only skilled at taking care of his own gear, but also being capable of something approaching Mandalorian Murder Sorcery if left alone at a workbench with rudimentary tools, half his weight in coffee and of course, malicious intent.

That's not to say this talent of his exists exclusively in the confines of a workshop, however. For Toryn does have a bit of a reputation for improvising in the field; being known for shenanigans ranging from jury-rigging an improvised thermal detonator from a half-dozen tibanna gas cylinders, a wooden stick and some duct tape to things like blowing out a mainframe on the other side of a building by ripping the fuse out of an ion grenade and shoving it into the right place inside a wall panel.

Decent Pilot: Having grown up on and around starships most of his life, Toryn's not too bad behind the controls of most craft. Though, he'll be the first to admit that there's better pilots out there.

Ad-Hoc Ship Mechanic: As the note above, Toryn has a pretty good handle on how to keep most starships up and running or, failing that, knows enough that he can figure it out most of the time through some brief trial and error and just a liiiitle bit of redneckery. Though if someone comes along who's an actual mechanic by trade, he's more than happy to let them take the lead and just be the extra set of hands or the guy holding the light.

Sketch Artist: A talent picked up over the war years when there was an excess of 'Hurry up and wait'. Honestly, he's actually pretty good at it; not just with blueprints for weapons, but people and especially scenery and architecture. Though he hasn't really had the spark to do it in a while.

Culinary Skill: Among his own people, considered a pretty good cook. Though it's also worth bearing in mind that the Mandalorian flavour palette can fall anywhere between 'Very Spicy' to 'HELP ME I AM MELTING', so Toryn's cooking might also count as just a bit of a warcrime when served among the wider galaxy.

Equipment:

Beskar'gam: Toryn's signature armour. Passed down unto him from his grandfather, who in turn had received from his own in a chain of hand-me-down going back generations, to which it owes it's somewhat 'vintage' appearance. Still, includes all the necessities for modern operations; a visor with multiple vision modes, a comms suite built into the helmet, the ability to seal itself atmospherically to protect against hostile environments or the void of space, magnetic hook-ups on the back for a jet-pack and on the soles of the boots to latch onto a hull or deck in the void if the need arises, etc...

Vintage Mandalorian Pistol: Another relic from his grandpa's day— a blaster pistol made for killing other Mandalorians. Hits like a damned truck, though the recoil takes some getting used to...

Lightsaber: Exactly what it says on the tin, a good ol' trusty lasersword.

Kal: Mandalorian fighting knife. Usually hidden in a boot.

Red Scarf: Hand-woven from a comfortable, fire-proof armourweave-based fabric by his mum. He's very rarely seen without it.

Personal Effects:

The Beskar'Ham: A cute little plushie of an anthropomorphic pig wearing Mandalorian armour; a gift from a little twi'lek girl he encountered during the Liberation of Taris. Has a place of honour on the desk in Toryn's quarters.

Bes'bev'ika: Traditional woodwind instrument among his people, similar to an ocarina. A memento from Toryn's childhood, it sits next to the Beskar'Ham on his desk.

Assorted Others: A few photos on his desk of Toryn's family and Aliit'ika. A few more featuring some other wartime friends (often in the middle of doing some silly shit) either on the desk or hanging on the wall. A few sketchbooks he's been doodling in since he was a boy, stuff like that.

Box o' Memories: Where Toryn keeps mementos from the war, including but not limited to; a tattered, stained Imperial banner stolen half out of spite and half to make an improvised field-dressing. Some bits of shrapnel that tried and failed to kill him, a few medals from the New Republic he's still not entirely sure how to feel about and a war-journal. Kept under his bed, out of sight and out of mind.

Weakness:

Mandalorian Complications: As a Mandalorian, Toryn already stands out almost immediately in any given crowd. Couple that with the reputation his people have developed over the course of a few thousand years and the post-war friction between Coruscant and Mandalore and he will most assuredly at best be incredibly unwelcome in most parts of the Core Worlds and the subject of constant suspicion, even amongst his fellow Jedi.

Old Wounds: One doesn't spend almost half their life at war and come out completely unscathed, and Toryn is no exception. From the grievous scars cover much of his body, the painful (and loud) cracking of his bones in the morning and a few times throughout the day and the occasional migraine brought about by his transplanted eye, it's pretty easy to surmise that the man is almost always in some kind of physical pain.

This does not tell the entire story however, as the Academy's medical staff have discretely noted down and passed on to the Knights and Master Skywalker that— even with all that Toryn has been through— much of this pain appears to be psychosomatic in nature. Coupled with frequent nightmares and the relatively recent appearance of an intermittent tremor in his hands whenever he's idle or left to let his mind wander (yet curiously vanishes when he's under stress or given something to do) which point to a much more alarming problem, one that is only compounded by his outright refusal to talk about it, if he's even aware of it at all.

Background:

Born to a House of Mandalorians that chose exile to the stars in the years after the Civil War as opposed to sharing a broken moon with the Death Watch— whom they viewed with a special kind of disgust— or throwing down their weapons and armour and joining the so-called 'New Mandalorians' in Sundari, who had preached and screamed about peace the entire conflict but hadn't lifted a finger to help anyone that didn't immediately buy into their ideals. Toryn's childhood was... actually kinda normal for a Mando kid, all things considered; despite growing up on a nomadic flotilla of Clan ships instead of anywhere in the Home Sector, him and his Aliit'ika (lit: 'Little Clan', his closest friends growing up) still went through the same beats as just about any other would— albeit, probably with a bit more intensity given the circumstances and the need of the Clans to have as many many hands working as they could.

About thirty seconds after he could walk, talk and hold a blaster (just enough time for mum and dad to stop cheering and his big sister to stop hugging him) he began to learn how to fight. By the age of six, he was apprenticed to an Armourer, repairing and maintaining gear for the teams that'd be sent out on Merc Detail to earn the House money and supplies in addition to his regular training. By twelve, he and his Aliit'ika were finally put out into the field on Recon Duty to 'Learn the Ancient Art of Sneak-and-Peak' as his grandpa put it and by sixteen him and the whole lot of his friends were finally inducted into the Ori'ramikad; The Supercommandos.

Juuuust in time for the rise of the woman who'd become known as Mandalore the Liberator. Who, enraged by the state of her homeworld— ruled by a brutal Imperial Collaborationist regime under the remnants of the Death Watch, disarmed and enslaved by Zygerrian slavers given free reign to drag anyone they pleased out of their homes to work until dead in the mines to fuel the Imperial war-machine or off-world to Zygerria itself where an even worse fate awaited them— would rally the disparate Nomadic clans scattered across the galaxy (those of Toryn's House included) and come home with sword in hand and wrath in her heart. Where she and the Nomads would link up with Fenn Shysa and his insurgent Mandalorian Protectors, and together form the nucleus of an organized Mandalorian Army.

Thus began the The Great Mandalorian Revolt.

A short, but brutal affair that would see not just the homeworld, but the entire Mandalore Sector erupt in flames. Where the Imperials (still reeling from the loss at Yavin), the Collaborator Regime and the Zygerrians would go blind with absolute panic trying to quell the uprising. Even resorting to terror-bombing and gas attacks on their labour camps, mines and whole cities. Only to find that not only did that not work— in fact, it only seemed to make the Mandos fight harder— but that it also caught the attention of the wider Rebel Alliance who were more than happy to run all kinds of guns into the sector, raiding any Imperial shipping going in and out of it and watch with all kinds of glee as the Empire suffered all kinds of consequences for sticking their proverbial schlongs in the Mother of all Hornet Nests.

This would be Toryn's trial by fire. Well, one of many as Mandalore— now free and very heavily armed thanks to smugglers from the Alliance, the seizure of all the arms and armour previously confiscated by the Death Watch and the discovery of a colossal vein of Beskar— aligned itself to the Rebel cause, joining the left flank of the Hydian-Perlemian campaign; both to tie up Imperial resources in the Galactic North and away from the Rebellion advances further south but also to relieve pressure on the vital shipyards of Mon Calamari. So, for the next two years, Toryn and his Aliit'ika would be constantly on the move and constantly fighting; in places like Taris, which rapidly devolved into a close quarters, three-dimensional slog as they took the city-planet room by room by blasting through walls and floors, or the dense forested highlands of Serenno or the open plains of Telos.

Or Mirial, which our boy remembers quite fondly for the fact that by the time they all got there, the Imps had already bugged the hell out. Allowing him to spend basically an entire week just napping and another after that acquainting himself with two of what would become some of his favourite words in the entire Galactic Dictionary: Mirialan Barbeque.

He'd need that reprieve before his next destination—

Zygerria. Where the Imps he had meant to be fighting on Mirial, and most other Imperial forces in the region had pulled back to, rather alarmed at the idea of all those slaves on the planet— who had more than enough reason to hate the Empire— suddenly getting free on the literal doorstep of the factory planets of the deeper corporate sector. And so, with the remnants of the Empire's northern forces digging in for one last stand, both prongs of the New Republic campaign converging on the system with an army drawn from across the Galactic Northeast and beyond, brand new warships straight from the driveyards on Mon Calamari and the Mandalore herself assuming overall command in the absence of someone like Ackbar— who was busy fighting his way into the core— the stage was now set for the final, bloody climax of the entire Rimward Front.

If Toryn rarely speaks about the war, then he very specifically speaks of the Burning of Zygerria even less. The savage fighting, the decision of the Imps to begin 'Liquidating Living Assets' across the world and the subsequent reprisals by outraged Mandalorian and New Republic soldiers leaving a bitter taste in his mouth for the rest of his days. It also made the medal they stuffed into his hands afterward feel like a slap in the face... but he managed to stomach it at the time as he knew that after a slog like that, he was likely to be on leave for a while as their forces reorganized and resupplied. And by the way things were going, it was entirely likely that the whole damned war'd be over by then.

...That was right up until Toryn, now an Alor'ad (the rough equivalent of a Captain) in charge of a Company was called up by the Mandalore directly who informed the young man that she was voluntelling him and his commandos to grab their shit and get ready to move; as a New Republic Admiral by the name of Renkar had been asking for them by name for operations in the coming Battle of Jakku.

Within a week, they'd be linking up with elements of the 10th Mountain Division from Corellia, the Tarisian 2nd Airborne and a unit of SpecForce shocktroopers, most of them Alderaanian. The batshit plan the Admiral had gathered them all together for? To be inserted into the atmosphere while the Imperial Fleet was busy duking it out with Ackbar in orbit, ride low and fast to within a mile of the Kiras Plateau— a huge rock formation absolutely bristling with AA and orbital defense batteries, sneak up to it, climb a sheer rock wall for a few kilometers, seize the base and then hold it while every AT-AT, Stormtrooper and Imperial army grunt in the same timezone started saturating them from all sides. And also start taking pot-shots at the Imperial Fleet above with their own damned guns, if they had the time.

'Operation: Mynock' the Mirialan Madman had called it. And hoooo boy, was it a helluva time; with the facility itself falling quickly, but their expected relief being delayed by the dogged Imperial resistance above. Leaving them all— a few hundred effectively trapped there on the surface— trading fire from all sides and repelling whole divisions of the Stormtrooper Corps and Imperial Army coming up the gentler slope up the one side of the plateau they'd specifically avoided on the way there because they knew the Imps'd be watching it like hawks.

But on they held— despite a casualty rate approaching ninety percent. Until finally, the New Republic fleet managed to break through and without the batteries on the Kiras Plateau to worry about, had free reign to deploy fighter squadrons and landingcraft en masse for miles around it. Finally bringing relief to the beleaguered defenders, who were cycled out on the first available ship.

Fighting would continue for months afterward, of course. But for Toryn and those on the plateau? The war was effectively over. Toryn and his Aliit'ika (what was left of them, anyway) would largely begin to part ways over the months following the official peace treaty, some staying, most of them going into civilian jobs, a few of them into teaching or private contracting and one or two just seeming to vanish altogether. Toryn for his part, would stay on with the Mandalorian Army— as, by that point, it was damn near the only thing he knew— eventually reaching the rank of Al'verde (Major) and spending much of the next three years either operating in Mandalorian Space itself, loaned out to the New Republic as a mercenary to 'Solve Problems' when they came up and every once in a while popping down to Anaxes with a few Supercommandos to play OpFor during military exercises; traumatizing an entire generation of New Republic recruits as the 'Scary Guy in the Woods' despite being not that much older than most of them and actually younger than a few.

Honestly? It was a life that suited him. He was out there actually helping the damned Galaxy, in his own little way and, despite a cooling of relations between Coruscant and Mandalore caused by some Senators from the former calling for the annexation of the latter and not being particularly impressed by the Mandalore's official reply of an actual paper note with the words "Fuck Off." written upon it in cursive High Galactic text, actually felt pretty damned good about it.

...But then one day, Toryn simply vanished. Him and his team seemingly dropping off the radar completely for nearly two years, until he was found— alone— at a bar on Terminus of all places by a Jedi recruiter chasing a funny feeling in the Force. Now a much colder and more reserved man than he'd been before his absence and not at all forthcoming about where he'd been, where his team was or what he'd been doing all this time.

He did, however, agree to follow said recruiter back to D'Qar. But only on the condition that he be allowed to travel home first to see his folks, to let them know he was alive, to pick up some of his things and also to make his report to the Mandalore.

In the months since, he's lived as an Apprentice among the Order. Studious, hard working and with a whole lot less incident than many thought would be the case with a Mandalorian enrolled in the academy, but still very closed off about where he'd gone and why they'd found him at the very edge of the Unknown Regions of all things.

Padawan Vel Aath [+]

Airus Vel Aath

Species

Miraluka

Gender

Male

Age

28

Appearance

Airus stands roughly two meters tall, with a muscular build that reflects his own constant training, his weight is around ninety kilograms thanks to his rather dedicated psychical training. Tufts of red hair often poke out from under his hood and the bandages that are wrapped around his head. Scars mostly healed along his chest, while usually wrapped in traditional Jedi robes Airus does favor bolder color choices closer to home or when traveling on trips that involve less crawling through the dirt.

With pale skinned tanned from field work and days spent looking for items or gathering information scholars within the temple requested. At a distance with his hood up, many assume Airus is much older than he appears upon lowering it the Miraluka's rather unblemished skin, with a strong jawline his usual clothes looking more akin to traveling pilgrim or settler as he assists in dig sites, archive recovery, and taking younglings on tours of Jedi heritage sites. He also keeps a small military locker with extra robes, tools, and equipment on board his ship so he can change clothes changing out equipment between missions.

Rank

Padawan

Personality

Once serving as member of the Lukasene Airus training as a force capable individual saw him learn a great deal. Yet his hunger for knowledge drove him towards wanting to leave his homeworld, however under Imperial quarantine Alpheridies was the only place Miraluka were legally allowed to live. As such this fueled his curiosity for the wider galaxy and his desire to travel even more, as well pushed him to read more in to the stories an tales of the Jedi who them had closely worked with before the Empire. A peaceful person at heart Airus believes in the stories and will often put protecting others before himself, though slow choose violence his teaching from the Lukasene make him more of a danger than most realize to his foes. With force training and natural command of sense abilities it is hard to get the drop on a Miraluka.

Lightsaber

Two sabers, one in blue curved other one straight in green.

Skills

Form III Soresu: A defensive style at heart Airus prefers endurance to aggression, mixing in strikes once an opponent begins to give ground. Taking naturally to the form as it reminds him of staff training he had under the Lukasene, focusing more on keeping preserving ones self over harming the enemy. Airus's talent as an empath means he can understand those around him and prefers to try and use the time stalling to talk with an opponent Dun Moch a principle of combat to make one unsure of their intentions to increase your chances of victory.

Rebel Interrogator and officer: Being a Miraluka and raised on Alpheridies by the Lukasene Airus is more adept at the force and it's more common aspects, though his ability is above most members he was not overly talented in the force. His time serving in Alliance Special Forces gave him time to hone combat skills, command, and tactics in concert with his natural sensory power. Best at using sense powers such as his naturally empathy and force sight combined together he can read most people like a book. He was invaluable to the rebellion in learning the secrets of captured Imperials.

Brilliant scholar: Airus was raised on stories from his family on the Jedi order and the great heroes of old. While Miraluka treat their entire people as one family, Airus grand parents were caretakers at the Jedi temple long ago. As such he eagerly devours books, stories, and more his family records even state that their have been several Jedi who were part of his family, as the Vel Aath name comes from his father who was a human. He would love to discover the stories of the great Vel Aath's who came before him.

Equipment

A set of traveling robes, his lightsabers, a wooden staff, datapad, commbead, and Jedi utility belt.

Weakness

Overly curious: Airus can't help but want to learn and absorb knowledge, he can't leave a stone unturned or a lever unpulled when it comes to delving into temples and libraries. It is as much as hindrance as it is a help ancient traps and puzzles have been set off and solved by his impressive mind.

Special Operations: Airus has seen the worst the Imperial government has done and been to the worst places where he could not help everyone. It colors his opinions on the old Imperial government especially any former officers or soldiers who could have participated in the Empire's horrible works. Due to his people being forcefully relocated and trapped on their homeworld and colonies for perceived loyalty to the Jedi justified or not.

It's not gambling if you always win: During his time in the rebellion Airus found a fondness for card sharking his unique form of sight and sensory skills allowed him to read people. He put this to use making credits off of other individuals especially in Hutt space, where he is now banned from several casino and some individuals even have a bounty on him.

Book smart, not street smart: Airus lacks the upbringing of those that participated or at least were able to live under Imperial control. Alpheridies was completely cut off from the wider galaxy news, sports, culture, and technology almost never appeared. Only the most daring attempted to slip the blockade, while Airus did escape joining the rebellion and special operations he has never truly had the time to live among people and to get an understand of the culture of the wider galaxy others than the snippets of living with elite grunts he served with in Alliance special operations.

Background

Born on Coruscant, his mother the daughter of two Jedi temple staff. The family would travel to Alpheridies just before the attack on the Jedi Temple. Airus's Zeltron father hailing from a well known inner rim family was cut off from seeing his children when the Empire declared all Miraluka allies of the Jedi and seditious. Airus and Varina Vel Aath were twins given a last name to help give them some connection to their now distant father, though Miraluka custom usually means they do not have one. The twins were quickly found to be far more talented than many of their school mates and were moved into learning with the Lukasene. Ashla was strong in the pair, while Airus's mind hungered for knowledge Varina being born resembling a Zeltron more adored taking inspiration in the world around here, though completely colorblind she painted with what she felt hoping to find people to tell her if they were good one day.

Airus began training to go down the path of a Seneseeker, yearning to go further while Varina would eventually follow many wondered why they would choose such a path when the Miraluka were trapped within their home. It was because as they grew older and the Lukasene had less to teach the more the pair craved to wander further into the galaxy. The only way out of the system however would be either volunteering to help the rebellion or paying one of the handful of smugglers brave enough to run the blockades. So Airus and Varina at seventeen offered their services to the rebel cell exchange for their escape. Two talented force using individuals were always of use to the rebel alliance.

Serving for years to come Varina would take a position within the rebel fleet, while Airus for his outstanding skill and dedication found a new home in Alliance Special Operations. Pulling stormtroopers out of cover, sensing foes behind walls, and putting his melee skills to use against his units enemies Airus found himself not only a valuable soldiers but a confident to many. His skill as a empath meant he could easily bond to others and sense their turmoil. He could talk with others and help them face their issues going forward. It had him useful in finding targets, sensing out the truth in Imperials, and avoiding enemy patrols.

Though in the later parts of the war Airus main service was gaining information from unwilling Imperial Officers and officials. By reading their emotional states and aura as they were placed under duress and asked questions, psychological and physical distress were methods the rebellion employed on Imperials when need be and sometimes Airus had to apply these himself if not one else could in a given situation.

After the battle of Endor Airus's service moved more into scouting and reclamation, though he was called back a number of times he preferred to spend his time sifting through ruins and reading through libraries once denied to him because of his species. When the new Jedi Order formed, Airus and Varina were eagerly brought in to learn from the Knights. Both had previous training and knowledge of the old order thanks to their ties to the Jedi Orders old allies. As such both were already aware of paths they wish to tread, though Airus shows remarkable affinity for saber combat for someone more interested in scholarly pursuits, showing casing his more violent past with the Rebellion.

Still working on that background, but figured I would toss up what I've got completed so far as most of the mechanical stuff is there.

Edit: CS Complete

The Hypervelocity Gremlin, Nova! [+]

-Racing into the Night at hypervelocity- // -An eternal Summertime-

Species

Human

Gender

Female

Age

18

Appearance

A shock of blonde hair against bronzed olive skin, the distinct vibrantly violet eyes and a resting idle expression that never quite leans too far into any particular emotion, Nova seems at first glance not quite the hot-shot fighter pilot one might imagine. She's got that aloof kind of bearing sure, and maybe even inching towards boredom on occasion but all it takes is that slightest bit of interest and all of a sudden there's a girl who has all the energy and positivity of someone with a startling indifference to the darker years of the galaxy she grew up in. There's that smile that holds more firm than an Imperial battleline, the enduring curiosity in her eyes and the intelligence there to actually make use of what she learns. And it all holds up even under the pressure of those with less enthusiasm, something which never seems to bother Nova. Even if she may be among the more slight and smaller of the group.

Which has always been the case in fairness, as Nova never was the tallest or biggest in her group of cadets, then fellow graduates, and even among the ragtag rebels turned soldiers of the New Republic. Barely topping out at five foot, she has in fact been mistaken for a sassy lost child on more than one occasion, especially for her penchant for less socially acceptable behaviour. Like her tendency to eschew shoes, or her rather distinct lack of wardrobe diversity leading to her wearing one of three flightsuits or her old cadet uniform even in places not quite appropriate for such things. That said, she is at least responsible enough to take care of herself, and aside from her rather striking eyes the only distinct mark she bears is the scar along her cheek where she decided to go just a little too fast one time.

Rank

Initiate?

Personality

All at once a bundle of endless energy and an incredibly serious woman, Nova is someone of simplicity on the surface but beneath each layer more and more complications that show a troubled girl incapable of showing even the slightest hint of such. At her core she is always fairly upbeat and optimistic even in the most dire situations, able to offer up words of encouragement and proving a rock to those struggling around her. She can find that silver lining no matter what and even as some in the New Republic doubted her loyalties and called her Imperial, Nova still held firm and with that same smile as always, deflating some antagonism but only fueling others. And it has always been like that for her, that sunny personality that has endured despite losing the home she grew up in, despite never knowing her parents or why she grew up in an orphanage, and into her joining a Republic that seemed wary and outright distrustful of her. She simply met their distrust with her earnest intentions, a forthright attitude and never once rising to even the hint of anger, even when some resorted to abuse.

That comes though, as with even cursory evaluations Nova is simply incapable of feeling anger. Rage, anger, envy and jealousy are sensations that she understands but can't feel for herself even as others have purposefully attempted to inspire them. All she can do when any normal person would lash out is stand there in confusion wondering why, her mind turning curious instead and trying to rationalize the behaviour of others. And just the same as even when she does understand, when others decide to be all the worse, she can't even feel sadness or despair either. Even as her classmates and those from the orphanage vanished from her life one by one, there was that same idle expression every time. At each point where she should have felt the grief of that loss, it has simply washed away and she has moved on as if nothing at all happened. Yet while that in itself can be a cause for concern and has been noted by New Republic medical staff, what did end up coming back to bench her was her complete lack of fear. Her inability to feel anger or grief never once actually put her into harm's way, but it was the very same actions that earned her that Ace badge that almost killed her due to a complete lack of self-preservation instincts.

Lightsaber

N/A

Skills

Accomplished Pilot - As her primary skill it should come as no surprise that life in the cockpit is almost primary nature for Nova. While her custom R22 is of course highly modified to her preferences, she's been in and out of starfighters for almost half her life, since scoring top of her class in the Imperial Academy. She's able to intuitively understand the intricacies of most mainline starships, oftentimes able to simply jump into the pilot seat and go, but for more outlier craft only a few moments necessary to familiarize herself with the craft. And that's nothing to say of her natural instinct when it comes to piloting in actuality. She has shown many times to the New Republic her ability to intuitively push a fighter and her own body to the absolute limit, and even sometimes beyond.

Close Quarters Specialist - Aside from the standard basic combat training expected of both former Imperial Navy and the current New Republic, there has been a focus of sorts to try and make the best of what she has. Rather than needlessly work on strength-training or attempt to meet it head on, Nova has adopted less traditional martial arts that work to utilize momentum and an opponent's strength against them. This combined with her agility and reflexes has melded into a combat style that focuses more on avoiding direct hits and rolling off what can't be avoided, then striking back with opportunistic attacks. But if anything, she prefers to be armed rather than resort to unarmed attacks and grapples, and preferably with knives which allow her to work in close but also take advantage of her abilities. If all else fails though, she is rather adept with a throwing knife to keep someone from getting that close.

Adept Mechanic - It should come as no surprise that someone as adept at piloting small craft as her, would also understand the intricate workings or at least make the effort to. For Nova it was an expectation of hers that a pilot should know what they are flying, as they would be relying entirely upon that machine. So she put in just as much effort in learning mechanics as she did on the sims during her time in the academy. This has paid off manyfold in not just her work on Matarisvan, but also in being of use to the New Republic when not in the pilot's seat. From the most mundane of just simple maintenance to hyperdrive tuning, Nova has the mind of a skilled starfighter engineer able to disassemble and reassemble almost anything she gets her hands on. Usually without extra parts as well.

Equipment

Verpine Prototype Flightsuit - A gift from Moff Renkar, her personal flightsuit is one of small-scale series that was being produced in order to lessen the stresses of high-intensity starfighter combat. Just like any normal flightsuit, once sealed it has limited void-hardening allowing a pilot to survive for a limited time outside a starfighter's atmosphere. Where it differs is not just in who made it, but also in the additional comforts and protections it provides. At the most base level this includes more advanced internal atmosphere regulation, heating or cooling the body as necessary to normalize temperatures within the suit. But by far the most useful feature is the reactive viscoelastic compounds between the outer and inner layers. Created as a way to lessen the impact of g forces on a pilot, these RVCs are located in key areas along the body and specifically designed to harden in response to higher than normal pressures, reinforcing and blunting the stresses of intense combat maneuvers.

R-22 Spearhead "Matarisvan" - Initially just a hand-me-down from the New Republic when newer craft were unavailable, Nova has made the best out of this aging fighter with a combination of determination, skill and strategic use of spare parts. Featuring a six-handed figure aflame across the fuselage, it strikes the image of a proper Ace's starfighter complete with the tally marks below the cockpit. But it's not just the custom paintwork that marks it out as unique even among the precursors to the A-Wing. Most obvious on that would be the extended frame allowing a third tuned J-77 Event Horizon engine. Without the characteristic fins of the other two engines, this one was designed solely for raw output, giving the Matarisvan the kind of straight-line speeds that inspire ratings like plaid and mach-turkey. Speed alone doesn't win dogfights though, and Nova knows this better than anyone, which leads to the completely redesigned cockpit, pulling the bucket seat and more analog control panels for a reclined seat and haptic inputs for maximum control over the craft.

Personal Effects

Imperial Academy Cadet Uniform - Simply put, her old uniform from when she graduated the Imperial Academy. Considering she's still quite petite, she fits into the uniform quite easily and it still hangs around in her luggage as something to wear when one of her flightsuits isn't appropriate.

Spare Flightsuits - Two of which being the verpine suit tailored to her body shape and rather taut at that, with another two consisting of an Imperial and a New Republic standard. Though she does prefer the Verpine suits due to their better fit and comfort, for casual wear she'll most often use one of the other two. Depending of course on the current company.

Republic Rangers Definitive Ultrachrome Collectors Edition - Supposedly made of actual Ultrachrome this datapad contains all 367 volumes of the Republic Rangers manga series, the limited 78 volume run of Imperial Knights, the entire thirty year run of the animated series up to the 30 year anniversary arc, and all 17 movies. The Republic Rangers series has always been Nova's favorite thing of all time and for her 16th birthday the Admiral gave her this particular set as a birthday present. Ask about it at your own peril.

Assorted Technical Documents - While sure she's for the most part memorized all of them and can practically disassemble and reassemble her R-22 blindfolded, it does always help to have the manuals hanging around just in case. There's a smattering of various short technical documents on specific hardware she's had installed, the complete J-77 technical manual, three on the R-22 for not just Matarisvan's production year but also the retrofit model and one annotated by Nova herself.

Crate of Choco-Bombs - An actual crate of an obscure regionally specific brand of Alsakani cereal. Apparently the last actual review of nutritional content was done almost a hundred years ago and at the time the product might have actually been healthy-ish. But as it stands they are almost entirely sugar and chocolate flavoring, to the point where the box they come in might be more nutritionally beneficial. Briefly banned by the Empire due to box-art featuring Darth Vader destroying Alderaan with laser-eyes, but unbanned once a correction was issued regarding his helmet. More important than their obscurity, the questionable box art or the complete lack of nutritional value though… They're explosively delicious.

Weakness

Limited Psychopathy - While not fully incapable of feeling emotions, Imperial and New Republic clinicians both have found that Nova is unable to express certain ones, but rather unlike most diagnosed as such still retains a large degree of empathy. This stems from the curious nature of her psychopathy in that it is only the negative emotions which are affected, leaving her still more than capable of feeling joy, trust, anticipation and surprise. Under testing by Imperial doctors it was found that even under the most stressful situations she seemed unable to understand why it was she should be angry or afraid, but in contrast their New Republic peers saw that she was more than eager to share in the accomplishments of her fellows. It is a condition that has merited further study, though attempts to do so have been stonewalled by her custodian, Jira Renkar.

Pilot Physique - Under most circumstances Nova is considered to be in peak physical condition, meeting all the requirements and exceeding them for both governments she has lived under. Yet, it should be said that even if she is remarkably fit for someone of her age and size, there are still quite notable weaknesses. That is primarily in that she is as said, built like a pilot, for all that entails. Compared to other cadets from her Imperial Academy days and especially to the New Republic pilots she is quite a bit smaller, barely under five feet in height, and no matter how hard she trains her body that will provide a disadvantage when it comes to contests of strength.

Adherence to Authority - In the military it can be seen as a rare thing and greatly lauded for how well she works within the chain of command, but in an environment where such a thing is missing or at the very least nebulous at best, it can be a hindrance. Nova has an unquestioning adherence to what she views as, or what has been presented to her as a command structure. This leaves her to simply follow through without hesitation, and oftentimes without thinking for herself as to potential risks or consequences of such orders. Though perhaps the Jedi Order will be a little more careful around this.

Socially Awkward - As previously detailed, Nova for all her enthusiasm at times can be a bit awkward and socially inept. For the same reasons as to her being unable to feel anger or grief herself, she can sometimes not understand why others would feel that way towards her for her actions. That and more directly, growing up in military schools and living in barracks for almost her entire life has left her severely lacking in experiences that others would have had. Things learned from interacting with other children especially, and the kinds of social cues that could only be picked up in more civilian settings. So basically, she will get all up in someone's face and not understand why that's a bad thing. There is also something to be said about living in communal environments for her entire life…

Background

"Daughter of the Empire"
Eight years before the Battle of Yavin an infant was delivered to the Imperial Orphanage of District CW-A/TB-38. Though there was no information with the small bundle, nor any persons found to be in connection to the child, later blood testing would find her to be a native of the Tír Briste region on Alsakan with a disputed bloodline. So without known parentage, without any kind of information on where she came from, the child was to be designated merely a Daughter of the Empire and given the number 38/3308.

Her earliest memory remains the strongest, of looking out across the artificial shrubland and the swaying of unending olive trees vibrant and green in the gentle summer heat. She had been just a young child when she started to learn about the history of her world in the Empire, and how the people of this land had a long and proud tradition of falling before greater powers. Three-Eight as she had often been called by the administrators, was always curious even at an age where all she had was the freedom and whims of someone with no responsibilities. There was the artificial landscape that fascinated her, of how many times it had been rebuilt since the first settling of Alsakan. The way the people endured under countless regimes, and still kept their pride. Others in her group growing alongside her tried often to play with her, but she found her eyes ever drawn to the workings of the world and skyward, yearning to feel what it was to spread her wings so to speak and fly like those who came to visit and take away the other orphans.

Such was the fate of her earliest friends and companions, who seemed to find it easy to socialize with each other and the prospective adoptive parents. One by one they found their homes as the years passed and she started to look towards leaving the orphanage in her own way. But for her, instead of playing the part of just a child looking for parents to accept her, she quietly did her studies and applied to the Imperial Boarding Academy of Archais, Alsakan. At six she knew enough of what she wanted to do and was deemed old enough to make that choice after the administrators counseled her appropriately and so she was off to start a life that many within the Empire chose. It was the promise of a better life for one and their family, and for many across the galaxy the only way to leave their world. For Three-Eight though, it was just the start of a journey, and a way to see the stars that had always been so out of reach.

Life in the Academy was of course, not an easy one for one as young as her. Though boarded with children of a similar age she found it harder to socialize with them as very few came from the orphanages, and often when it came time for the holidays she was one of the only ones remaining. But that was alright enough with her, taking that time to continue her studies and scoring the highest grades in all her classes year by year. It wasn't always so lonely though, as often enough the Academy hosted regiments on leave through their extended facilities and that's how she met the man who would end up changing her life forever. Already Moff Jira Renkar was well regarded by the Academy and those who attended, the Mirialan taking time to help train new cadets on boarding actions for the older classes and basic military history for the younger ones. That was at first how she ended up meeting with him and his Nova Corps, her fascination for military history and starfighter combat in particular earning her some time with the command staff of his marines and soon enough becoming a bit of a mascot among them.

Every few months when the Moff came about there was the young Three-Eight awaiting them, ready to tell about how she was doing in her classes and hear about new actions across the galaxy and the new worlds. From fighting separatist holdouts still clinging on after the Clone Wars, to the new Rebel threat growing in the shadows of the Galactic Empire, she heard it all and listened intently as Renkar himself spoke of the honor and duty of keeping order. Moff Renkar knew that personally, as he had fought during the Clone Wars as just a marine in the Judicials, eventually rising to command staff in the 21st Nova Corps and pledging his support to the nascent Empire. It was an inspiration to the young girl who saw him and his marines as something to strive for, even going so far as to make her intent known to join the Galactic Marines as a pilot when her time in the Academy was over. The claim was enough to give the older vets a bit of a chuckle, some of the former clone troopers going as far as to name their mascot, since as they said even clones gained names for themselves when it was the right time. And yet though times became tense between when she made that promise and when she fulfilled it, what with the destruction of Alderaan, the Rebel victory at Yavin and the increasing violence across the galaxy… She would soon graduate early from the Academy with high enough scores to choose her station. So it was that the girl called "Nova" by the Galactic Marines joined into their Cadet Corps under the Moff's personal Serpent Command…

"In the Shadow of the Empire"
Though Summer had come to Tir Samraidh, the winds of Winter began to blow in from the south and the drums of war started to beat. An arrow had arced across the sky and called to all who had seen its path across the stars to take up the mantle of Ard-Righ and lead Alsakan into a new dawn. The Prionnsa knew that a shadow loomed over not just him, but his entire people…

- The Archiad

It had been just two years since the destruction of the Death Star in Yavin, the battle dealing a blow against the Empire in such a way that the aftershocks had led to an unprecedented rise in seditionist activity across the galaxy. Imperial efforts to stem the tide of rebellion only fanned the flames and especially as the most prominent members seemed always just out of reach. And for Nova and the Galactic Marines it seemed all the more real that this was not just some minor rebellion, as they too began to rack up failures across the galaxy in seeking out the rebel bases. Yet the weight of it seemed to fall heaviest on Moff Renkar, who had to balance the command of his marines, coordination with other elements of the Imperial Army, the Navy and their demands, and the looming specter of the Inquisition with their own demands. All of this Nova took in as part of her lessons, going through basic alongside recruits six to ten years older than her yet performing at the same level. She owed it to her determination and ability to quickly pick up new things, though there was the doubt among her superiors and even though she passed every requirement she was still benched for lack of a better word. As Renkar himself put it, "Though the Rebellion is more than happy to put children on the battlefield, the Empire will not sacrifice our youth."

The words had held in her heart for a while after that, seeing the Moff as a representation of everything that the Empire stood for and doing her best to emulate that mindset. So she couldn't be a pilot just yet, that was okay with her as she still had the opportunities that she never had back on Alsakan. Here in the Galactic Marines and on the Moff's Gladiator Serpentis Rex there was always something to do that wasn't directly combat related. She helped out with running packages across ship, checking off manifests while at port, and eventually when her mechanical aptitude started to really shine the mechanics brought her in to help out with starfighter maintenance. Though a Gladiator didn't carry nearly the number of TIEs as an ISD, every fighter was essential for their mission and maintenance was a daily operation. So she started her days with running the checklists on her assigned wing, going over seals, making sure fluid levels were appropriate, brushing off the solar panels to ensure adequate charging surfaces and handing off to the assigned pilots. Though it was such a minor thing, even if essential, she felt as though she was getting ever closer to her goal. And when she wasn't helping out the maintenance staff she was putting in all the time she had into either studying starfighter engineering, or working the sims.

That was her life for a good few months, and though some days were great for the Galactic Marines and they felt as though they made some progress, other days they came back fewer than they left and Nova felt that twinge of an emotion she should be feeling but couldn't. She had felt it before a few times, like the ghost of a sensation that she felt as though she should be feeling, but couldn't describe it. Others looked solemn as they watched the wounded come aboard and set to work patching them up as best they could, but she wasn't sure why she didn't feel more than just an idle indifference. It wasn't as if it had ever been an issue, sure in the orphanage maybe it was why she was never adopted out as some people found a child that didn't get sad kind of weird. But for Nova she had lived a decent enough life so far without knowing sadness, and she could say with confidence that she had never once gotten angry over anything, which actually did give her decent marks in the Academy. So why now? Things were going pretty well for her and each day brought her closer to a more ideal life of traveling the stars as a pilot and experiencing that true freedom for herself. Every so often she had felt strange sensations alongside those ghost emotions, but she had set all that aside and just pressed on indifferent as always.

But then she felt something strange again one day, something like a shadow across the back of her mind, a chill against her spine and sensations that she was quite unfamiliar with. Another cadet who had joined into the Galactic Marines with her had confessed similar things, the two coming from the Academy in the same year and both graduating early leading them to often talk during their free hours. The Corellian boy was much like her in many ways, but Var as he was called seemed a little more interested in becoming a Marine than a pilot. That was something that looking back, she doubted very much in whether he managed to achieve, as just as her first year among the Galactic Marines was coming to an end that chill came once more and she came face to face with something that challenged her view of the Empire.

It was a shadow wearing the face of a man, dressed in the black of night and glowering down at the young girl before him as if she had trespassed upon his domain. No name was attached to the robes, no identifiers on the durasteel armor that made it clear this was someone who expected combat at any moment. Whoever this was, they walked as if the ship belonged to him, but she knew this was not the Moff and there had been no updates on the status of fleet organization, so who was this. When he spoke it was with a gruff and commanding tone that very nearly had her listen when he addressed her. "Girl. Follow." Two words as simple as that, no introduction, no explanation, nothing else aside from Var behind him looking pale as if having seen his own ghost. Her hesitation had been enough to set the man into motion, reaching into his robes and pulling out a strange silver rod whose purpose was lost on her, but she wouldn't find out what it was on that day for the intervention of another.

Looming behind the shadow-man was another far larger, and with a single hand pressing into his shoulder, the Moff made his presence known. Now, while most former marines tended to be rather imposing for many reasons, Jira Renkar was one who didn't stop living the lifestyle. Black tattoos pattern across his forearms denoting his deeds in the Mirialan fashion leading up underneath his neatly pressed uniform and along his neck and face. And that was where Nova felt immediately that there was something very distinctly wrong with this outsider. Normally the Moff was always showing his best side to his crew, if not professionally indifferent then pleasant and with the start of a smile. This was not how the Moff looked down upon the shadow-man. For the first time in her life she saw rage within the man's eyes, his hand tensing enough into the shoulder he gripped to strain the durasteel and cause the man to pull away. There was indignation and outrage in the shadow-man's voice, declaring himself something called an Inquisitor and making all sorts of demands, gesturing with that rod at not just Moff Renkar but the growing mob of displeased Marines come to see what the disturbance was. According to the "Inquisitor" both her and Var were required to come with him to something called the Inquisitorius and to be evaluated, but for what she didn't know, nor would she as the man once more made a move to grab her and Var but was stopped.

"Not this one, Inquisitor."

And the malice behind the voice of her Moff made it clear he was not willing to entertain any arguments to the contrary. It was enough to give the Inquisitor pause, sizing up the 8'7" Mirialan former-Marine before him and the dozen or so armed Marines in the corridor. Obviously despite his statements before, he seemed to reassess his chances there, spitting on the floor before the Moff and declaring that Vader would hear of this. And just as soon as the shadow-man had appeared, he was gone in the shuttle he came in on along with Cadet Var.

Days passed into weeks, then into months and just on the cusp of the fourth year after the Battle of Yavin it seemed to her that the shadow-man wasn't returning. Perhaps he had simply moved on, maybe he was told to leave it be, or maybe Darth Vader didn't respond to his demands as expected. Whatever the case it wasn't her concern and she let it slip away into the back of her mind, especially as far more significant events would be coming to pass in the very near future, and one that would change her life forever…

"On the Wings of the Starbird"
The desolation had ravaged Alsakan and all her lands for those long years, with the lands of summer becoming Tir Briste "The Broken Lands" forever more, and with entire lineages buried in the Battle of the Ten Valleys. Yet still Archais in their triumph held to their oaths. Not one Alsakani would be left behind as they looked to the stars as one people now and reached for the arrow…

- The Archiad

The Emperor was dead.

It was a shockwave rippling across the Empire even as the question was being asked more and more if there was such a thing anymore. Without the ISB acting upon Palpatine's will there was no concerted effort to control information and all the darkest secrets of the Empire were writhing about for everyone to see. The Tarkin Doctrine at the lower end of the spectrum and how the Death Star(s) had been intended to be the culmination of that, as well as the barest hints of what the Inquisitors had done and all the varied secret projects coming to light. It was, in a word, chaos. Within days Imperial formations were drawing weapons on each other and Moffs either declaring for the New Republic rising up from the ashes, or proclaiming themselves inheritors of Palpatine's will. And all around her Nova could see the despair settling in for those who had only known the Empire and truly believed. The kind of despair born from finding out that everything they believed in was a lie, and that they had been on the wrong side of history. She felt that strange pang in her chest as she listened, wondering if this was the ghost of something she couldn't feel, or the genuine manifestation, but all she had to do was look towards the Moff and know her path forward.

Jira Renkar had seen the start of the Clone Wars, the fall of the Republic, the Rise of the Empire and the sparks of Rebellion turning into the flames of a new rising Republic. In those moments he stood resolute and firm, quick to act and reassure his command and all those in his service of their duty. It was not what many expected, and he understood that, making it clear that his decision did not have to be theirs, but he would follow his sense of purpose and honor forward regardless. That was all Nova had to hear, and along with almost half of the Galactic Marines under Renkar's command, they formally petitioned the New Republic for service.

As one of those initial defectors, they were of course looked upon with significant skepticism, though Renkar's service record seemed to speak well enough for him to be given an Admiralship over the fleet assets that defected with him and nominal charge over some Outer Rim sectors. With the significant swathe of territory now afforded to the nascent power, they knew that they could not hold onto it through ideals alone and that there would not just be challengers in the form of Imperial Remnants but every pirate and marauder looking to carve a slice for themselves. So it was that life went on almost as normal and unchanged for the now Admiral of New Republic Starfighter Command, Task Force Serpentis. Partially it was a way to show the former Moff that his expertise was valued enough to command a task force of former Imperial vessels, but it was also a backwater posting and everyone knew it. Especially Renkar.

Yet that was well enough for him, as it was in a way returning to how things had been under more ideal and certain times. In the slow days of the aftermath and the adjustment to New Republic operations, Nova learned more and more of what the Old Republic had been and what it meant to be a Judicial. Back then there wasn't the constant threat of galactic wars, or putting down so-called separatists or seditionists, it was just doing what they could for the common people. This was something that she felt a bit of a draw towards, finding an ideal of sorts in simply patrolling the empty space lanes and keeping pirates and malicious forces at bay. It was… A simpler life, and one that became more and more real as the conflicts with the Imperial Remnants winded down. There was of course the Battle of Jakku which she watched from the command ship, and as the ship's adjutant she took every chance she could of learning proper military strategy and listening in as starfighter squadrons of the New Republic engaged Imperial forces. It was something very different from how the Empire operated, she found. Here among the New Republic mixed unit tactics seemed to be the phrase of the day, with it being far more common for adaptation to be implemented in the field than outright planned.

Yet that would be the only brief point of intensity in her new life among the New Republic. Once the Concordance was signed the war was over in earnest and now there was but the slight remnants of hardliners desperately keeping it going. Even then the major Imperial powers seemed content to have peace and either disavowed those elements or went right into war with each other. But that was not for Nova or her task force to concern themselves with, as with the closing of the fifth year after Yavin and a new era had dawned. All that was there now was the vague goings on of something called Jedi forming, of the New Republic trying their best to be a functioning government, and the Hutts being Hutts as it turned out. For her that meant doubling down on training and trying every few months to earn her pilot wings from the powers that be.

It ended up being a little more difficult than she expected, and a bit of an argument among the higher ups within her section of Starfighter Command. There were of course those who argued vehemently against a fourteen year old girl climbing into a cockpit, pointing to how that was one of the things that the Rebellion had fought hardest for, to keep their children out of war. Then there was the very direct counterpoint of how the New Republic had been earned by anyone and everyone stepping in to fight for it, and in the sixth year ABY they finally relented in the face of Nova's aptitude scores and six-thousand accumulative hours on the flight sims. It was in a sense, the best day of her life so far and especially when the Admiral and most of the crew came together to present her the New Republic pilot wings and a flightsuit made just for her. She hadn't asked at the time, but apparently a pot had been started when Renkar knew she was testing, and the entire Serpentis Task Force chipped in to get her that flightsuit and her own personal starfighter. Granted, the suit ended up being twice as expensive as the R-22 Spearhead, but Renkar had a feeling the kid could do a lot with a proper interceptor.

And that was the start of everything for Nova, for the first time settling into not just the cockpit of a starfighter, but her own like many of those she had looked up to over the years. Now she felt like a member of Rogue Squadron, like the Aces of the Empire and even like those Jedi Pilots of old. It was almost enough for her to feel the anxiety of first deployment, but like any other time it was just that strange ghost of a sensation that was put in the back of her mind and immediately she set out of the Marauder and on patrol. Each day saw her tighten up her routine as no longer was she the adjutant of the ship, but a proper flight officer and so almost as soon as all the celebrating was over she turned to waking up every day to start maintenance. In the New Republic and especially among the outer commands it was up to each pilot to do their own maintenance, something she was particularly eager for, making sure to hit her checklist without fail before clocking flight hours and as always, studying the engineering books.

But though she was a pilot now and she had that almost perfect sensation of being out on her own with just the stars above and below her, there was one more thing she wanted most of all. She had almost everything in her hands, everything a girl could want, but she still had those violet eyes set on becoming an Ace and the understanding that the New Republic could rely upon her with that designation...

"To Reap The Whirlwind"
In all their efforts to cool the fires of Samraidh they had instead driven the Prionnsa to madness. From the desolation of his homelands, Maol Chalium fell upon the Ten Valleys and for all that the Gheimridh had plotted and convinced the other powers to end the military might of the Summer lands first, now they would reap the whirlwind. The Wards of Samraidh donned the funeral masks of their people with their Prionnsa at their head, screaming the dirge as they would avenge their fallen people…

- The Archiad

A couple years had passed since earning her wings in the New Republic, and as she flew more sorties in the Outer Rim against pirates there was less and less reticence towards Nova regarding her age. Sure she was still a little young for a pilot in a professional military, but not only were her technical skills on point and that she was always advancing them any chance she had, but she turned out to be a damn good pilot. On the day to day she worked by the book on deployments, going off post orders for her patrols and checking in at the designated intervals without fail even when engaged. The only time she ever deviated off the playbook was during those rare moments when the pirates actually did rock up, and that was where the investment the New Republic made paid off in spades. It seemed the moment battle was joined and her blood was up she was almost a different person in the cockpit, executing more and more aggressive plays that kept her opponents constantly on the defensive and increasingly vulnerable to the rest of her formation until even those who could afford proper starfighters ended up as space dust.

One by one she put the tallies on her increasingly eclectic looking spearhead, the customizations coming in as she learned a little more with each sortie. The first few taught her to start small and work on making the cockpit easier to actually fly in, replace the seating for a more reclined flight position to displace g forces across her entire body rather than at breakpoints. Haptic relays came in as she managed to score a mangled pirate Z-ceptor and found the pilot had some Old Republic hardware from back in the Great Hyperspace war era, and with how hard that one had gone down she figured more tight controls could only be better. More and more her and the Serpentis Task Force cleaned the spacelanes one pirate outpost at a time, and from the concerningly new fighters to the aging relics, and especially the so-called uglies, she built upon her traditional knowledge to take advantage of the experience of surviving.

With the Admiral's support she had access to New Republic resources and connections, taking that aging Spearhead from a gently used hand me down to a modern interceptor that was rivaling even fresh off the line RZ-1As. That came with the help of using the very same engines of course, and her liberal use of "engineering magic" as she sometimes called it with tweaking the tolerances to near breaking point. Sacrifices had to be made for performance though, and with a quality flightsuit ensuring her probable survival against most odds she could skimp on heating, cooling, cabin pressure… That said, she did at least make sure the seat was comfy enough for those long patrols, and there were many. But of course there was only so much to do against pirates and their outposts. For every band her and the admiral took down, there always seemed to be three more popping up.

It was an increasing concern for the New Republic especially as the Hutts expanded into neutral space and contested them more and more. The Imperials were also starting to consolidate in places and rumors pointed to the potential of them sponsoring pirates to weaken the New Republic. All of this and more as there was some spots of unrest here and there, and it seemed as though the republic was inheriting more than just territory from the former Empire. This all left Renkar and his Serpentis Task Force in an awkward spot entering into the year 8ABY.

Now sixteen and with a couple years of experience under her belt, Nova was being relied upon more and more to run solo patrols just beyond range of the task force. They had shifted to aggressive recon as Renkar called it, using interceptors like Nova's with hyperdrives to scout isolated systems just off the hyperlanes and try to draw out pirates with what should have been very obvious bait. Yet it seemed to work more and more, with the fleet hitting aggressive numbers and starting to actually make a difference in their corridor. They were tuning down the response times to the point where an isolated pilot could get their support within minutes, and at most half an hour if the fleet wasn't otherwise engaged. That, though, was the key marker and all of their recon pilots understood that and continued to volunteer for the duties, even if Nova was quietly suggested to fall back into the main combat roster. Enter the Ash Worlds Campaign.

Just off the Triellus hyperlane, already considered a bit of a backwater route and rife with piracy, the Ash Worlds were a desolate region of space with few if any habitable worlds. Each system was as dead as the next, but as Serpentis Task Force diverged to hunt down rumored pirate bands, they ended up finding just what they were looking for. Among pirates it was rather rare in and of itself for more than one group to be working together, the fractious nature of their lifestyle making alliances rather short and ending violently. Rarer still were those who grew large enough to take on a name for themselves, and only the most dangerous were careful enough to keep just out of sight of the powers that be. The Ash Reapers were just such a band, taking advantage of the discord and chaos of the Galactic Civil War to reap a bloody toll upon shipping trying to avoid the major lanes, but never enough to become a serious threat. That alone made Renkar very wary of pushing the Ash Worlds, knowing that any dead rock could be an outpost, and it would be difficult at best to make progress against such a group. But word had come down, and Starfighter Command wanted these pirates dealt with, so with the Marauder and a flotilla of Raiders they pushed into the unknown regardless.

Each day was as rough as the last, this particular group of pirates far more clever and experienced than the average band. They learned from each engagement, measuring carefully the range at which the main fleet would engage from, how many fighters would respond, and patrol patterns. With each sortie their pilots started to feel more and more pressure, finding their opponents constantly testing them and adapting combat tactics that spoke of some nominal training from professional forces. Under any other circumstances, and with any other force that might have inspired a bit of despair or cause for concern, but to the veteran marines and pilots of Serpentis, it only inspired rage. These were fighting men and women who had abandoned their principles for wanton pillaging and murder, something that was anathema to everything Renkar and his people stood for.

So began the campaign in earnest, and within a few sorties Nova was earning her way towards that Ace designation, each day scoring a couple tallies before regrouping with the fleet or entering into yet another brawl. But just as it heated up for Renkar and his task force, so too it seemed for the pirates themselves. It was almost as if this was no mere skirmish between the military and a band of outlaws, but a deadly game of dejarik where one minor mistake could become fatal. They skirmished and brawled across the desolate systems of the Ash Worlds, leaving behind fresh wreckage to join the millenia old battlefields of the past. Small engagements often spiraled out into full on fleet battles, with Serpentis Rex slugging it out with plundered Imperial and Republic vessels, and even once engaging in a running battle with an ancient Kandosii dreadnought of all things.

But with each week of intense combat, their supplies dwindled and Renkar knew that in this battle of attrition his force would not come out superior. They did not have the lay of the land, they didn't have adequate reinforcement vectors, and fatigue was starting to set in among his people. Soon there would need to be a plan to either disengage and resupply, with the very distinct risk of constant assaults on their way back to Republic space, or to make a dangerous play. The choice was clear, and everyone knew it. They could not risk being hounded from behind all the way back to their supply point, and especially if the pirates gathered in number. A gambit had to be made, and while Renkar did not know who his opponent was, he happened to be a skilled dejarik player.

The plan relied most heavily on pilots like Nova, running their patrols just as before, keeping an eye out for the Ashen Reapers and avoiding engagements at all costs. For several days it went on with only light skirmishes, hounding at the pirates and starting to gain a more clear understanding of their tactics. Certain systems seemed less valuable than others, with some finding significant resistance as soon as a ship entered. Now it could have been a bluff, and Renkar was betting on it, but it was equally likely that these pirates didn't have a static base at all and were instead mobile, which was why the systems of importance seemed random. So it was that the plan went into action and Nova knew her duty.

Each recon pilot went out in an expanding circle from Serpentis Rex, scouting each system individually and carefully reporting back the moment they hit resistance. A few pirates here, a few more there, a couple holding a small battlegroup, and others seeming to be a hub of activity. But no matter what they encountered, each recon pilot reported back immediately and awaited their orders, careful to avoid direct engagement in the meantime. That was how it had gone for Nova in the system designated OHS3842-03, where a small group of a dozen pirate fighters apparently idling and lying in wait moved to intercept. She knew she had speed against them, having by this point installed a third J-77 engine into her Spearhead, something that the pirates seemed to find a little amusing as they mocked her over the open channel, making all the usual comments pirates did when they had all the confidence of thinking they had the advantage. Except in this instance, she knew that they held the advantage even as she moved to avoidance maneuvers.

All she needed was a few moments to receive the relay from the task force and find out if she needed to relocate, or if she needed to hold. In the meantime though her R-22 was faster than the pirates, they were starting to gain as they used their numbers to their advantage and were almost corralling her towards a direct confrontation. The shields would hold against a few direct shots, she knew that, but she also didn't know the specs on those fighters, only recognizing a TIE/IN and a couple of X-Wings among the pack with the rest being kitbashed between an assortment of fighters. If this wasn't a life or death scenario and a rather important battle, she would have actually loved to have a long conversation on those ships, but her focus was on the fight at hand and ensuring her duty was carried out. A thousand meters. The reading flashed across her screens as she noted the distance between herself and the closest. They were almost in engagement range and a couple even took ranging shots at her, the red bolts streaking off into space. Eight hundred meters. Their longer range weapons were now within striking distance, a few bolts screeching past her bow as she began to take more evasive maneuvers. Then she received the message that she was waiting for.

"Prize Sighted. Engage and Destroy."

The command was simple and direct, communicating that the main body of the task force had found the mobile base of the pirates and was engaging, and that each pilot was to keep their section engaged until they could be reinforced. She knew it was the most dangerous and risky part of the plan, expecting individual pilots to hold against unknown enemy forces and to keep them engaged so that the enemy could not respond. But it was the only play they had with an enemy like this, one that had used their tendency to withdraw and reinforce against them on multiple occasions. And now, it was her turn to keep them tied down and ensure victory for the fleet.

Her dozen fans had by now worked their way into a bracketing formation, keeping her between their faster interceptors and the slower, but more heavily armed ships still catching up. Meter by meter they were closing, and the ships at her flank were making sure she didn't do anything too bold by firing off shots to keep her from maneuvering outside of their killbox. It was a tactic that they had been more aggressively using as the campaign wore on, and before it had taken timely reinforcements to keep their pilots from falling victim to it. But here she would get no such relief until the pirate command ship was destroyed, knowing that even now there was likely a boarding action underway. So it was all up to her, her Spearhead and her own skill.

First she had to deal with the flankers, they didn't have the firepower individually to directly threaten her, but as a group they could punch through her shields and make her easy prey to the pursuers. Her missiles would be useless against them, noting the chaff canisters present, another annoying tactic these pirates seemed keen to use, but from what she had seen the fighters behind her didn't have any obvious countermeasures. Now that could have meant they had them stored internally, or this was a properly organized kill-squad. She would have to rely on the latter, and committed herself to the only plan she had. Without the pivoting guns of the RZ-1A she had to adapt herself to more unorthodox dogfighting techniques, one of which she set to immediately.

With a hard pull on the stick just as she cut the engines, her ship set into a flat spin, catching the flankers off guard as they only too late realized her intentions as the barrels of her laser cannons lit up. The first, a TIE/IN, was vaporized in a flurry of laser bolts that ripped through the solar panels and into the eye-ball cockpit only to pierce into the S-foils of an X-Wing on its flank. Splash one, and two in quick succession, with the third taking a series of hits on their shield and spiraling out towards one of the moons in system. She carried her spin through, but by now the other flanking group of three were aware and hurriedly tried to do their own maneuver to counter her, but it was what she was expecting and hoping for. In their confusion one of the pirates had kept their engines on and the intense force of the sudden maneuver ripped their ship apart and turned it into a hail of deadly material shredding their closest companion as Nova's cannons violently disassembled the third to make for a third confirmed kill.

The maneuver left her head spinning a little, vision narrowing as she knew it would from G-LOC since she had disabled the inertial dampeners. It was a tactical move and one she knew was necessary in order to pull off such a maneuver as ideally as she did. But she could feel her body straining under the intensity of such a high speed spin, something she put in the back of her mind as a non-issue and sought to solve the problem of her six remaining opponents. That was where they ended up surprising her in turn, sending a flurry of raking laser fire across her ship scoring the paint in a few places and popping her shields with that hard ionizing buzz that set her teeth against each other and had her disorientated just long enough to realize they were pushing forward a lot faster than they had before. "Cheeky fuckers" the first thing that came to mind as she understood they had played her. She had expected those pursuing ships to be slower because of the flanking ships, not thinking that they could have purposefully been throttling back to keep her at range.

It was such a clever play that she nearly thought they had pulled off a win on her, but she had more tricks under her sleeve that she felt confident they wouldn't be expecting. And this one was the most dangerous of all, one that she understood fully the risks of, but true to form, her blood was up and she was actually starting to enjoy this battle. They had pushed her, challenged her, and now she could prove just how good of a pilot she was. Without even thinking she put herself back into a hard spin, this time stopping to face her pursuers, laser cannons firing backwards as she maintained forward momentum just long enough to scatter all but one. And that was what she wanted, her vision narrowing once more so that she saw that battered RZ-1A gaining on her. And then she pulled hard on the throttle, engaging the engines to a full burn, including that monster of a central engine.

Almost immediately she felt the blood in her mouth from bursting blood vessels, the sheer force of the maneuver hitting her full in the chest like a wookie who had just lost their game of dejarik. Nova could feel her ribs cracking with the sudden strain of coming to a full stop from such a high speed and slamming through the wreckage of another ship. Flames wreathed the nose of her Spearhead, bring new life to the figure drawn across it even as damaged hull plating started to peel away. "Not yet!" She grit her teeth through the pain of the intense stress of the high-g maneuver, her helmet visor cracking as she flipped the ship around and fired the engines again and held them at continued burn this time to engage pursuit against the remaining five fighters. Matarisvan creaked and groaned at the abuse she had just put it through, the frame protesting greatly at such strain, but she had full confidence in her work on the ship and her skill as a pilot, using her narrowed focus to work through the panicked pirates one by one. Splash five, six, then seven in quick succession, using her higher speed and more aggressive piloting against their sudden lack of cohesion.

Everything hurt as she pushed harder, a warmth spreading across her cheek and down her neck as she pulled off the damaged flight helmet and put on a rebreather and visor in quick succession. She couldn't afford to hesitate, there could be no delay. These pirates needed to be dealt with here and now otherwise they would simply regroup and harass her and her fellow pilots another day. Shaking hands clenched at the haptic panels before her, firing off another burst for her eighth direct kill, and all that was left was that last pirate in their plundered x-wing. In their panic they had dumped their chaff, the sparkling material smearing across her cockpit as her shields came back up in time to deflect a couple desperate shots in passing, and then the missiles were away. The first missile slammed into their right side, exploding the s-foils from the main body in a streak of red and violet, but the other found a home in the empty astromech bay, finally ending the engagement with a puff of debris and quickly dwindling flame.

The adrenaline started to subside slowly as she assessed the battlefield. She had scored nine kills in a single battle, technically twelve total but she didn't personally count the two that had taken each other out or the third that was still spiraling out of control. It took a good moment for the fact that she had just earned her ace in a single battle to set in, at first feeling a little giddy at actually hitting that accomplishment, but then the adrenaline high wore off first and she felt the creeping fatigue of such an intense battle. Her body had been run ragged by those maneuvers, bruising starting to form just beneath the flightsuit and the pain with every breath making it clear she had broken more than a couple ribs in the process. It was almost enough for her to actually take pause for once, but she saw the flashing icon indicating the task force was transiting in system among the dozen warnings across her screens. Their gambit had paid off and the pirates were scattered, it was only her group that had been too busy in their engagement to actually retreat. A few pilots had died in the isolated systems, but already recovery crews were underway, but the priority for now was on the living and Nova looked up just in time to see Serpentis Rex steadily approaching. It was enough for her to know that her duty had been done, the pirates that had sown despair and chaos across this end of the Outer Rim finally reaped the whirlwind that was New Republic justice. So she finally relaxed, closing her eyes and slumping over in the cockpit...

"A New Summer Wind"
The embers had slowly exhausted themselves as Alsakan looked towards a new era and already the first explorers began to ply the stars and connect to the others of the arrow. Yet their world had been devastated by their unification and to many it seemed as though Archais stood as rulers of the ruin, in particular those of Tir Briste the former lands of summer. Together though, they looked to rebuild, to restore what they had lost and right the wrongs of the last few decades. Winter had come and gone, and in the chaos of a new spring, once more the gentle summer winds graced the plains of Tir Briste…

- The Archiad

She dreamed she was floating. An easy drift through warm sunny skies, and endless expanse of green beneath. It was… Strange at the very least, especially as last she recalled she had been in space, but there wasn't any unease. Instead she let herself be drawn slowly towards whatever this dream was guiding her. This was definitely something new for her, though she had been no stranger to some vivid dreams in the past and weird sensations just before significant moments. There was a feeling here and there during that last battle even where she swore she felt a pull towards certain actions, but it was something she had before even in the sims. It just felt like there was a feeling about the right calls and she figured it was her experience and skill as a pilot nothing more. Slowly she drifted in that dreamlike stupor and saw a strange building before her, a comforting presence there and knowing there were people within almost awaiting her, and that was when-

A few weeks had passed and once more Serpentis Task Force was comfortably in New Republic space. With their actions over the last few months Starfighter Command had cleared them for a generous leave before another tour. Most of the crew had already dispersed among the local sights of the system or headed back home until it would come time to return. Nova though, she had quite the prime view of the inside of a bacta tank, tubes and wires sticking out of her in various places where the panels displayed vital signs. From what she had gathered both upon waking up and once freed from her glass tube, her last action had been "a fair bit much" according to the medical officer of the Serpentis Rex, and the station chief made it out to be something a lot more significant. She had healed up pretty quickly though, as she always tended to bounce back better than most, and there was only a lingering pain in her chest from where she had broken a few ribs. Or, as the medic pointed out when she asked, all of them. Something about pulling a hard 230g twice in a row and how reckless such maneuvers were, not just for her but whatever she intended to fly. Almost as if the list of injuries sustained were for someone else entirely, the moment the lecturing turned to her ship, her attention shifted focus to ask about how it came out.

It took three marines to physically lift her off the ground and nearly put her back in the tube when she heard that it had been marked as a complete loss, mostly because she didn't believe them since she had to have flown it back into the hangar. When she did get to Matarisvan it was clear that they were really being conservative about the damage. The hull plating had sheared off in places from the hard burns, and much of the internals looked to have been fused together from pressure. But what really made it clear that she wouldn't be flying any time soon was the way the frame looked as if someone had just picked it up and twisted it back and forth and barely tried to return it to normal. That battle had very nearly gone a completely different way and once more she felt that strange ghost sensation in the back of her head, though this time similar in a way to when she had met the shadow-man. It didn't carry the same energy though, this time almost relaxing and carefree, her turning to regard a stranger on the deck and with Renkar behind him as if showing he was aware and permitted this.

As the man explained, he was something called a Jedi Knight, one among a growing number out in the galaxy and it was his charge to help someone called Luke Skywalker to rebuild the Jedi Order. She was familiar with that name at least, recognizing him as one of the heroes of the republic. What exactly he would want with her though was kind of lost on her until the man continued. He described what it was to be "force-sensitive" and what the force itself was, of how some people felt strange sensations, had intuitions about people they had never met, and even those who could literally see things before they happened. At first she wondered if the shadow-man was like him, but as he continued he made it clear that this was something she needed to decide for herself. "It's a new order, being a Jedi is a choice." he maintained, looking to Renkar who just solemnly nodded his head along, looking just about as lost as she was. Apparently the force was basically magic, though she was sure she might have misheard that as she had never done anything as cool as shoot a fireball from her hands like in the holoshows and he was pretty certain she was someone like him. Eventually he gave her a datacard with some of the things she would need to know before deciding, and said that her admiral would be able to give her the coordinates when she was ready.

Then just as quickly as he had arrived, the Jedi Knight had disappeared off to find others like them and give the same speech she imagined. Still, it had left her with a lot to think on, especially the very idea that she wasn't just a normal human like any other. She had space magic. The thought did excite her a little, feeling a little bit like one of her heroes from her shows and unable to help the idea of seeing herself as one of them. But then she looked to the admiral who didn't seem quite so sure and made her doubt a little bit the idea of becoming some kind of wizard. It took a few tries but eventually the two sat down and she got an idea as to what he was thinking. The man had basically become a parental figure of sorts to her for much of her life, and she hadn't quite thought it anything more serious than just him being the moff or the admiral. But watching her go off into the unknown seemed to weigh on him and that was when she thought a little harder and felt like perhaps that whole thing went both ways. He wouldn't speak much more on it though, simply insisting that she should choose her own path forward but that he would support her on it.

As it turned out though, a couple doctors from the New Republic took great offense at the idea of her getting back in the cockpit after the laundry list of physical injuries and dragging in psych evaluations that they said meant apparently she would just do it again. So, despite earning her Ace wings and getting the actually really cool pins for her uniform… The New Republic effectively grounded her until they could be sure she was physically capable of dogfighting again. Then there was Matarisvan, which needed a rather significant amount of work. So her choices were limited to returning to adjutant or becoming a space wizard… Which led her to get her discharge papers and officially become a civilian once again, after the big send off by the marines still hanging around Serpentis and the ones that came back just for it. She supposed it wasn't that bad of a run, spending a decent bit of time in the Imperial and then New Republic navy doing her best and earning a name for herself that she was sure not many would forget any time soon.

Ahead of her though was a solid bit of time to repair and retune her R-22, maybe even throw in some upgrades to keep it a little more together next time she chose to push it to the limit. She had all the time in the galaxy to do so now, after all, so why not? With a permanent bunk on Serpentis Rex she knew she always had a home to return to, and they let her take the better part of a year to repair her ship and get it prepped for a long flight. All the while Renkar seemed a bit distant even before the return to active duty. It wouldn't be until it was time to part when she got the coordinates to the Jedi Temple and felt that strange pull to stay there on the ship. That was a moment of difficulty for her, struggling with the sensation that she shouldn't leave. But the Admiral assured her that this path was hers and that she needed to follow it, and in the meantime he told her of what had kept him distant. As she worked on getting ready to leave over that long year, he had been digging through New Republic, Imperial and even some Old Republic records to see if he could find out anything he could on who she really was. The idea that she wasn't just "Nova" and that she came from somewhere in particular had never really stuck with her so she was caught a little off-guard by that, questioning why. All he would say is that she deserved to know, or at the very least to know that it was there if she ever wanted to know.

So just as the year turned once more, Nova set out to find herself in a way. Wondering if perhaps this was what she was meant to be, and what the admiral would find while she was on this new journey…

<Snipped quote by Alfhedil>

Accepted but one thing, the first mission involves making the apprentice's lightsabers. So you get one right off the bat and might as well list that.

@Theyra

Hey, sorry about disappearing. Personal stuff in my real life has completely messed me up the last month and a bit. I struggle with both depression and schizophrenia, both illnesses flaring up at random. One such instance happened recently and I entered a psychotic episode. This caused me to shut down, doing none of the things I like such as role-playing. This was then compounded on when a family member passed away.

For a few weeks I was not in a good place, not really functioning. However, that has start to pass as I have exited that episode and am dealing with my grief better. Also, to help with my mental health, I want to get back into role-playing, as writing really soothes me.

As such I was wondering if I could come back to play as Zelt. I’m craving to do something Star Wars related, and would love to come back if so allowed.