Athol

Star Wars Chapter 0: KNIGHTFALL

_@Theyra

He simply nodded as Talnel was a bit vague about his exact reasons for being on Mandalore; everyone was entitled to their secrets and it wasn’t Elam’s place to pry…at least when he wasn’t ‘on the clock’ as it were.

”I’ve been living here on Mandalore for about a decade now, and this place always finds a way to keep you on your toes; even more so on Founding Day.” Taking a mouthful of ne'tra gal, he then poured the last bit of mando papuur'gal from his one cup and into the other before taking a drink. By this point he was starting to get TOX warnings as his various cybernetics noticed the increasing alcohol. A mental command shut down his filters temporarily so he could actually get drunk, though he was careful to make sure they’d automatically reactivate in at least twelve hours.

”Honestly forgot it was Founding Day though; I’m an ‘independent contractor’ and just wrapped up a long term job that turned to sithspit at the last moment so I decided I deserved a few days off…” Shifting in his seat, he laughed a bit and shook his head. ”Though after those Argies, I’m thinking I should take the whole month.”

Star Wars Chapter 0: KNIGHTFALL

_@Theyra

Elam couldn’t help but chuckle at Talnel’s comment. ”Well fights are pretty standard here…I’m pretty sure Mandalorians fight as a way to say hi.” A man at one of the nearby table’s must’ve heard him, because the Mando laughed and raised his drink in a salute. “Talyc pirusti staabi!” He laughed. ”Munit oyacyir te verda!” Elam replied, returning the salute with his own drink.

Turning back to Talnel, he smiled and shook his head. ”Usually it’s not that bad here though; I just hit some kark luck and you got dragged into it.” Sitting back a bit more, he nodded a ‘thanks’ to the bartender who’d just arrived with the ne’tra gal; once the drinks were delivered and the bartender was gone, he took a sip. ”So, what brings you to Mandalore if you don’t mind me asking? You uh, don’t exactly strike me as a Founding Day tourist.”

Star Wars Chapter 0: KNIGHTFALL

_@Theyra

Leading his new found compatriot away from their encounter, Elam stuck to side streets and back alleys to avoid the crowds of half-alert tourists that swarmed over Mandalore, and Keldabe City in particular, during Founding Day.

After ten or so minutes, and a couple brief pauses to make sure he had his bearings right, he brought them to one of the innumerable little drinking dens that dotted the side streets; this one in particular was called the ‘Rusty Nut’. Over the door was mounted the battered head of a B1 and as they pushed inside that theme seemed to continue with B1s, or at least parts of them, making up everything from the light fixtures to the legs of the tables and chairs.

There were only a few customers, and judging by the fact that they were all armed and armoured, all locals. He could feel the two of them being scrutinized, but ignored it. Heading up to the bar where an unhelmeted Mandalorian woman was cleaning some glasses, he nodded and placed a sum of credits on the bar. ”When you’ve got a moment, I’ll take a bottle of decent mando papuur'gal if you’ve got it, two ne'tra gal if you don’t…or all three if you’ve got both.”

The bartender laughed as she set down the glass she was cleaning and took the credits. “Ori'jate! One of those days eh?” Reaching below the bar, she brought up a bottle of mandalorian wine and two cups, setting them in front of Elam. “Be over with the ne’tr gal in a moment.” ”Vor entye.” He replied, grabbing the bottle and cups before joining Talnel at a table. Pouring two drinks he toasted the other man. ”Barely planetside and it’s already been one of ‘those’ days...”

Star Wars Chapter 0: KNIGHTFALL

Stepping away from his landing pad and into the crowds it felt like all of the GRM and two thirds of the rest of the galaxy had descended on Mandalore. Much of the crowd was dressed in traditional Mndalorian fashion; a full set of durasteel or beskar armour and a blaster or two, along with any innumerable more hidden implements tucked away on their bodies. The rest of the cacophony were either at least armoured as much as Elam was, or in a dizzying variety of cuts and colours from various worlds. The ones that stood out the most in their uniformity were the shoals of young Imperials, some of them almost looked like they were young enough to be one of his!

Moving in groups, the younger ones seemed to be trying to take in everything all at once, while many of the slightly older Imps seemed to already be intoxicated. Weaving his way through the masses he simply let his feet, and the flow, carry him; he had nowhere pressing to be, and anyone he knew planet-side was likely to be caught up in Founding Day stuff for a while. Eventually he did catch something on the wind as he neared an open plaza dotted with stalls of various types; spices that made his nose twitch and sweet wafting that made his mouth water. Must be hungrier than I thought…

Largely following his nose through the crowds he eventually made his way to the source of the spices, a collection of vendors selling all manner of traditional Mando foods. A couple of the busier stalls had the look of corporate beige with a ‘Mandalorian’ skin painted over it to appeal to the non-Mandos…unsurprisingly the only customers weren’t locals; he kept moving. A little further back he found what he was looking for, a stall made out of repurposed materials, the air rich with the smell of tiingilar, and several off-duty Deathwatch sitting nearby eating heartily.

Making his way forward, he nodded to the man running the stall. Though like many, he was in full armour and helmeted, he build suggested he was an older fellow…and that he took his cooking seriously; as the old saying went ‘Never trust a skinny cook.’ “What’ll y’ ‘ave?” The Mando asked with a bit of a chuckle. “We got tiingilar an’ tiingilar.” Elam laughed and replied in Mando’a. <”Well that’s a tough choice…I’ll have the tiingilar.”> The fellow paused for a moment, surprised. <”My name is Elam…I’ve been coming and going from Keldabe for a few years now.”> He said by way of introduction.

<”Tell me, is TRUE tiingilar, or that ‘safe’ stuff being pawned off to the off-worlders.”> <“Cets,”> The fellow replied with a laugh. <“An’ that mass produc’d crap I wouldn’ feed t’ my massifs! This,”> He said, scooping a serving into a bowl. <”Is a Clan Twyr recipe tha’ goes back to the days of the Uniter hisself.”> The smell washed over Elam. After paying he took a mouthful and let out a satisfied sigh even as the sweat began to bead in his hairline. <”Cets, this is exactly what I was hoping for.”> He said between bites; he was about to ask about finding a drink when a female Mando with the same Clan markings as Cets waved to Elam. <”Y’ be want’n a drink wi’ that?”> She called out from a stall across from the tiigilar seller. <”My sister, Uvo.”> Cets said. Elam nodded a thanks and turned around. <”Just so happens that’s exactly what I was looking for.”> He replied with a bright smile before eating another mouthful. <”You wouldn’t happen to have any ne'tra gal would you?”> Uvo laughed much like her brother as she reached under the simple counter of her stall and brought up a bottle and a cup. <”Oh I like y’ Elam, y’ know th’ real stuff.”> Shea said, laughing once more as she poured. Paying for his drink, he nodded to the Clan Twyr siblings before moving off the sticky sweet of the ne’tra gal doing what it could to counter the heat of the tiigilar.

Fed and with a pleasant alcoholic buzz forming he set off once more into the crowds.

Star Wars Chapter 0: KNIGHTFALL

[Several Days Earlier]

The Tuk’ata settled into the cliff side hanger with a thump, while various readouts flickered in Elam’s eyes as the computers reported a successful landing and shut down. Climbing out of the pilot’s seat he yawned and stretched before stepping into the Captain's Quarters, which were just off the bridge, to retrieve his helmet and cloak.

Gathering up his gear he headed for the stairs down to the main deck, but he wasn’t exactly hurrying. His ‘mission’, really a bit of slicing and thievery, had gone decently and the payout was going to be pretty good…assuming things went well; Since he’d dropped in system he’d had a nagging feeling that this was all going to go sideways, and he’d learned from a young age to trust that instinct; especially at a time like now when his ‘client’ was one of the Galaxys innumerable wannabe warlords masquerading as a ‘loyal and stalwart leader of the Confederacy’. Locking his helmet in place, he dropped the boarding ramp and walked down to the hanger floor.

Reaching the foot of the ramp, he was greeted by a B1 battle droid. From a distance it looked clean and ready to go, but with his mix of enhanced optics he could see crude welds where it’d been inexpertly repaired and then heavily re-painted to try and hide said repairs.

”His Supreme Magnificence, The Benevolent and Undefeated Grand High Protector Halleto Thi, The restorer of Order and Democracy, Lord Archduke Marshal of the Confederacy, First and Only Grand-Warden of the Asuktal Sea, Liberator and Supreme Administrator of Katarr requires your presence.”

Sweet karking krik…must’ve spent the time I was doing the job thinking up new titles for himself. Outwardly, he simply nodded to the B1 who simply turned about and headed towards a set of side doors, while inwardly he started to do the math on the chances of this meeting ending badly; the odds seemed to be worsening exponentially. And here I was thinking this’d be a nice little payday before I took some time to just relax…

To less wary observers, the show being put on by Thi was impressive and intimidating as intended. Dozens of Vulture and Hyena droid fighters hung from ready racks, a flight of Porax-38 fighters with suited pilots stood by on alert and an immaculate Sheathipede Type B, guarded by a pair of menacing looking B2s. To Elam however, it was much less daunting. The sensor suite in his helmet was tied into the passive sensors of his ship, and through them he could tell none of the hanging droid fighters were even on ‘standby’, and some of the racks showed heavy corrosion. While the ‘38s were at least powered most of the ‘alert’ crews were anything but, many showing signs of various types of intoxication; the only legitimately threatening things in the hanger looked to be the B2s and as he looked at them, they seemed to be as patchwork as his B1 guide. Only the shuttle seemed to actually be regularly maintained.

Leaving the hanger, the wafer thin veneer of intimidation continued; he’d been through here before down the corridor to the ‘Throne Room’. Last time it’d simply been a tall but well lit utilitarian hallway, indistinguishable for any other CIS facility he’d been into; now every second light had been disabled, probably in an attempt to make things more menacing, and under each light stood another B2. Unlike the two on guard in the hanger, these seemed to have more in common with the fighters he realised as he walked passed. Most showed rough repairs poorly hidden under layers of paint and none of them actually appeared to be working.

Finally reaching the end of the corridor where another B1 stood off to the left of the door, his escort stopped and turned to face him. ”The Undefeated Grand High Protector will see you know. Any hostile actions will be met with lethal and overwhelming force, this is your only warning.” It said before turning and taking up position on the right side of the door. Give me strength, He thought to himself. I’ve seen more intimidating primary schools. Stepping into the throne room, it was exactly what he was expecting. Slovenly thugs who preyed only on those much weaker than themselves lounged about in stupor while a pair of very young and terrified looking twi’leks ‘danced’ to the music from a holo in the corner. At the centre of the room a fat weequay fondled a pantoran woman who looked only slightly older than the twi’leks. Seeing Elam, the weequay pushed the pantoran aside and heaved himself upright in his seat. “AH! Elam my boy, good to see you! I take it that since you’re here, things went well?”

”Well enough Grand High Protector Thi,” He replied, loathing the fact that he needed to pander to the fat karks ego. The man was everything Elam detested, but it wasn’t his place to take sides. ”There were a few complications, but nothing that couldn’t be managed.” Reaching down, Thi slapped the pantoran in the back of her head and then pointed to Elam.

“I take it then you have something for me.” ”I do,” He replied much more calmly than he felt, slowly reaching under his cloak and retrieving a datadisc and handing it to the slave girl before she turned it over to her master. ”So,” Thi said, twisting the datadisc back and forth in the light over his seat. ”This is all of it?” ”Yes Grand High Protector Thi,” Elam replied. ”A full map of Burras the Hutts smuggling network as well as access to three of their major accounts.”

”Excellent, excellent!” Thi exclaimed, while several of his more lucid ‘retainers’ laughed and congratulated their boss. ”Now, grab yourself a drink and a girl. We’ll load up the gunship in an hour and go claim what is mine.” Elam sighed to himself. I knew he was greedy and stupid…but not this bad…kark it, here we go. A murmur rippled through the room; he’d been dismissed by the Grand High Portector, but he was still standing in front of him. ”I don’t think so.” The room went still, the only noise from holo recording, and the mood rapidly turning foul; at the edge of his perception he saw the two dancers scurry for cover under a table while the pantoran got behind the throne. ”What was that?” Thi growled. ”I thought it was clear. I’m not one of your jumped up gutter scrapping, and my ship is not yours. Now pay me so I can leave and scrub the filth of this cesspit off.” Rage flared in Thi’s eyes as Elam smiled behind his featureless faceplate.

”KILL HI-”

A message floated in the corner of Elam’s vision.

Protocol GREEN: ACTIVE

Elam hit Thi with a Force throw that launched him out of his seat before he could finish his order. Launching himself away from where he was standing, Elam drew his pistol as he rolled, opening fire as he came to his feet and blasting two of the vaguely more with it thugs before Thi had even hit the wall. The explosion of violence actually managed to rouse the most comatose ones, which did leave him out numbered about eight to one…if one were to ignore the fact that they were vastly out classed.

The room itself wasn’t overly large, and being conscious that there were in fact non-combatants in there as well, he dropped his blaster as he dodged the first wild return fire, losing his cape as well in the process. Pulling the two wickedly curved fighting knives from his belt he let his emotions flow while focusing his connection to the Force into his blade. All of this happened in the span of a few heartbeats, before he launched into a true attack. Between his Force powers and augmentation he was faster than the third rate muscle could comprehend and his blades tore through durasteel with minimal effort. This was a more one-sided fight than a nexu versus a pack of sleeping bark rats.

None of them had time to run…most didn’t even have time to scream before he was tearing into them, a Force augmented blade ripping through armour, muscle and bone with ease, leaving behind nothing more than so many kilos of rapidly cooling meat. As the last mad died the main door finally opened as the pair of B1 ‘door guards’ finally reacted. While they were across the room, giving them the range advantage, especially considering his knives would be all but useless for deflecting blaster fire; but he had plenty of other tricks up his sleeve. Raising his right hand, he let the knife in that hand dangle off his index finger, before closing said hand in a tight fist while selecting one of the droids.

The droid in question managed a surprised squwak before it was compacted into a mass roughly the size of a humanoid's head in a shower of sparks and smoke. The second droid actually jumped at the sight, distracting it just long enough for Elam to pull its crushed companion to him before launching it back fast enough to smash the second droid to ruin. Like that the fight was over; somewhere in the confusion the holo emitters were damaged and the band silenced, the only sounds now the occasional sparking from said emitters and the terrified sobs of the slaves.

Sheathing his knives, and retrieving his blaster, Elam went to check the hall. As he suspected, the B2s were entirely decorative as none of them had moved…except one that appeared to have fallen over after the crushed B1 slammed into it. With no further signs of threat at the moment, he made his way back to where Halleto Thi was still laying in a dazed pile after getting tossed. Reaching out with the Force he picked up Halleto and slammed him against the wall just hard enough to wake him up.

”You DA-urrkk” His indignation was cut short by Force pressure on his windpipe.

Protocol GREEN: INACTIVE

”Be silent, you disgusting waste of matter.” Elam took a deep breath, letting out slowly. ”Despite my distaste for you, I was content to leave you be; take my pay and then go about my business…but you just couldn’t keep your greasy karking mitts to yourself.”

Holding Halleto with one hand, he pulled his communicator out with the other and placed a call. A few moments later a hutt appeared, who immediately became livid upon seeing Elam. <”You have some nerve THIEF! My men WILL find you and you WILL pay for daring to steal from the Great Burras the Hutt!>” Once the hutt stopped, Elam bowed his head. ”Peace Great Burras. I know I wronged you, but I bring you an offering…to at least bring us to neutral ground.” Burras glared at him through the holo. <”Peace? Offering? You have the guts to say such things El-Rud, especially after what you did..but speak.”> ”Thank you Great Burras. I offer you the one who hired me, living and whole; as well as what was stolen and how it was done to prevent such matters again.”

Silence dragged on while Burras thought, occasionally punctuated by muted gasps and gurgles from one increasingly frantic Halleto Thi. <”Very well,”> Elam’s comm chimed with an incoming message. <”My agent will meet you at those coordinates so you may return what is mine.”> The call ended before Elam could reply. Though unable to speak at the moment, Halleto’s eyes pleaded with Elam, he knew what horrors awaited him at the hands of an angry hutt; Elam simply drew his blaster once more, set it to a heavy stun and shot Halleto before letting him crumple to the ground once more.

Sighing, he rolled his neck before turning to face the closest of the slaves, the pantoran woman. He could see she’d been tethered to the throne, and while he’d been dealing with Halleto and Burras, she’d moved once again to put it between him and herself. Reaching up to his helmet he released the seals with a small hiss and ‘pop’ as it disconnected from his suit. Immediately he was struck by just how badly the room stunk, though surprisingly it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Setting his helmet on the floor, he regarded the woman. ”My name is Elam, Elam El-Rud.” She shied away for a moment, or at least as much as she could. ”K-Kele Seki.” ”Okay Kele,” He said calmly; understandably she and the two twi’leks were extremely on edge, especially after what he’d done to everyone else in the room. ”I’d like to come over to you and see if I can get that collar off. Is it okay if I touch you?” Kele was still eyeing warily, but after a few moments she nodded. Kneeling beside where Kele was still crouched, he could see marks from the casual brutality of her former captors, and he had to take a moment to re-center himself. The restraint itself was almost laughably simple, a heavy leather collar that closed over a D-ring and a physical lock that held the collar closed and connected the collar to a length of durasteel cable. No shock compliance regulator, no anti-tamper sensors, none of it; the set up was so simple it was almost baffling.

”Okay Kele, the simplest way is for me to simply cut this.” He could sense her heart rate start to rapidly spike. ”Please Kele,” He said softly, deliberately slowing his own breathing. ”I need you to stay calm. I know you have no real reason to trust me yet, but I will get you all free…okay.” It took a bit but eventually after she took a few deep breaths Kele had calmed enough for Elam to work. Drawing one of his knives he carefully hooked the tip under the leather and slid the blade forward, the madog steel alone being more than up to the task. As soon as the collar was cut Kele’s hand went to her neck, just to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. As he stepped back, Kele stood and immediately went to the two twi’leks who were still huddled behind what was left of the holo emitter.

All three of them hugged each other fiercely. As he got over to them, he could see the twi’leks and realised two things, one from the looks of things they were likely sisters and two he’d probably overestimated their ages. ”This is Zi’ki and Ozri.” Kele said, still holding them tight. ”Hello Zi’ki, Ozri, my name is Elam. I’m going to do what I did with Kele and get those collars off. Alright?” Zi’ki, the older of the two nodded. ”Alright, just be a moment.” A little bit of knife work later and all three were free.

”Kele,” Elam said, standing and heading back over to the unconscious Halleto; she was the oldest of the three, he figured about ten or so years younger than himself. ”Do you know how to fly a ship?” ”Y-yes.” She said hesitantly. ”I used to crew on a freighter be-befo...” She took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped the tears from her eyes, and nodded to Elam. ”Perfect, there’s a ship out in the hanger and he’s not going to need it anymore.” As he spoke, Elam was rifling through Halleto’s pockets, retrieving the datadisc that started this whole mess, as well as a small controller.

A few button pushes showed that they simply controlled the lights and audio in the room, while the last one he pushed opened a hidden doorway in a corner of the room. As the door opened all three women shuddered. ”I’ll be back in a moment.” He said, pulling his helmet to him and putting it on. Stepping through the door, it was exactly what he’d figured and made his new companions' reactions understandable. Stepping into Halleto’s ‘bedroom’, he used the Force to pull the place apart, eventually exposing the hidden security safe. Another laughably primitive thing, he had it open in moments. Inside he found what he wanted, a master controller that was linked to the Sheathipede in the hanger. A simple reformatting slice reset the ship’s systems to default and awaiting the authorization of its new owner; as well as that the safe had a sizable stack of credits. Pocketing what Halleto had owed him, he returned to the trio and handed the controller to Kele and told her to add her thumb print. After some reassurances to the sisters they all set off back to the hanger, Halleto slung over his shoulder. Reaching the door he dumped the weequay and then told the others to stay where they were until he called, with that he stepped into the hanger.

Rushing the two functional B2s with his lightsaber, he made short work of them, while simultaneously he remote activated the defences on the Tuk’ata, the beam turrets and laser cannons wiping out the ‘alert’ craft and their crews before they realised they were under attack. Once that was done he gathered up his bounty and the ex-slave and pointed them to the shuttle, handing Kele the rest of the credit.

”The ship is yours, go where you will, though if I may make a recommendation, make for Mandalore. The GRM and the Jedi have good programs in place to help folks like yourself.” Kele looked at him for a moment before enveloping him in a hug that was surprisingly strong given the state she was in. ”Thank you.” She said quietly as she pressed her face against his chest; moments later both Zi’ki and Ozri latched onto him from either side. ”Will we see you again?” ”Maybe, I come and go from Keldabe City somewhat regularly…we should really be going.” While the sisters let go, Kele actually gave a small chuckle. It was a bit hollow and sad, but a good sign. ”Thank you again Elam.”

With that the three ran past the hacked apart B2s and up the ramp of the shuttle, the ship taking flight after a minute or two. Elam had done the same with the Tuk’ata, tossing Halleto into his holding cell as he went. He was airborne right behind the Sheathipede, just on the off chance that there might have been ground fire. With the shuttle jumping to hyper, he did the same, heading to meet with Burras’ agent to turn over the datadisc and one very unfortunate Halleto Thi.

---

[Founding Day]

Dropping out of hyper, Elam almost did a double take at the sensor readings in front of him. What in the ‘verse is going on here? The Mandalore system always had its fair share of traffic, but this was getting a little ridiculous; it almost looked like you could walk from Concordia to Mandalore with the amount of shipping he was seeing. On top of that his sensors highlighted a few unusual sightings like a whole flotilla of Imps, including one of their Star Destroyers, holding station mid-system and Hapes of all things. He continued to be baffled, right up until he thought to check the local extranet. Founding Day…of course...great Keldabe is going to be PACKED…

Eventually he connected with astro control and got clearance to land at the private pad he rented. Once down, he did a bit of clean up and had a shower before donning his gear; he took his helmet with him but used a built in carry strap to attach it to his belt. Walking down the ramp, he headed into the city to see what this year's Founding Day had to offer.

Star Wars Chapter 0: KNIGHTFALL

Elam El-Rud

Elam

| {Full Name} |

Elam El-Rud

| {Age} |

35

| {Species} |

Human hybrid

| {Gender} |

Male

---

| {Force Sensitive/Alignment} |

Yes - “Don’t let anything hold you back...but don’t be a dick about it.”

| {Appearance} |

Most people assume Elam is at least part Zeltros thanks to his ochre skin, though all he can really do is shrug, as his parents died when he was very young. Physically, he’s fit but otherwise average in terms of height or build. A practical sort, he keeps his black hair quite short, which also tends to make the scars on his head stand out; and for scars, he has plenty. Some are old wounds, others are from rather extensive cybernetic augmentations and both kinds go from head to toe. Often he’s been told that a few good bacta treatments could get rid of them, but he likes his scars; to him they tell the story of his life, even if he's the only one that can read it.

The most noticeable augmentation is his eyes, which are a featureless matte silver. These interface with several of his other implants to allow for things such as a HUD display or full spectrum viewing even without his helmet, as well as an impressive built in macro and micro zoom capacity. The rest of his cybernetics are all premium tier and as such, despite the amount of hardware he sports he still looks organic, simply ‘upgraded’.

Clothing-wise, he generally wears a custom armorweave body glove under a set of simple overalls and a cloak. While the overalls and cloak are made from lighter weight armorweave, his body glove contains a cortosis/Maddog steel weave construction; making it extremely resistant to energy weapons…to a point. While the cortosis can dissipate the energy and the Madog steel helps with kinetic blows, none of it is really intended to simply take the full impact the way say Mandalorian armour is; its real intention is to provide greater protection from glancing hits and shrapnel.

His helmet contains a significant sensor system for its size and seals with his body glove to allow for up to an hour in hard vacuum; made from Madog steel, he commissioned it as custom piece from Mandalorian armourer he’s struck up a friendship with over the few years he’s been basing out of Keldabe. While much tougher than a Durasteel helmet of the same weight, it still falls short of the legendary durability of bekar.

Although he does his best to not draw attention to it, his manner of speech and/or the way he carries himself will sometimes betray the fact that he comes from what many consider a planets ‘high society’; his preference however is to interact with folks from less ‘lofty’ backgrounds, in his own words ‘they generally know how to have fun’...that and a burning desire to avoid the sycophancy of ‘court politics’.

| {Equipment and Personal Belongings} |

• Corporate Sector Authority Shipyards WU-50 Devastator-class Assault/Patrol vessel (Customized)
• Madog steel reinforced cortosis-weave armoured body glove.
• Madog steel helmet.

Weapons

• Westar-20 blaster carbine
• Seresnik C-51 blaster pistol
• Morellian MWC-35c heavy repeater
• Lightsaber (Synth Crystal)
• Madog steel fighting knives x 2

Cybernetics

• Advanced Alacrity Implant
• Advanced Bio-stabilizer Implant
• Advanced Combat Implant
• Armoured subdermal hide
• Biocomputer
• Biofeedback Regulator
• Cybernetic Avionics Interface
• Electrostatic Neuro-wiring
• Mental Boost Implant
• Physical Boost Implant
• Optical Implants
• Skeletal Reinforcement Package

| {Physical Abilities} |

• Starship pilot (Advanced)
• Starship/droid mechanic (Average)
• Slicer (Average)
• Non-Force reliant hand-to-hand combat training (Expert)
• Blaster marksman/combat training (High Average)

| {Force Abilities} |

• Art of Movement
• Combat Sense
• Reduce Injury
• Instinctive Astrogation
• Comprehend Speech
• Force Blinding
• Force Convection
• Force Combustion
• Force Deflection
• Force Weapon
• Force Telekinesis
• Force Barrier
• Force Suppression

| {Limitations} |

Thanks to his extensive cybernetics he can’t float in water without external aids and is rather vulnerable to electro-magnetic disruptions especially if he is out of his armour. Growing up his adoptive father taught him that if has significant power or a high station it was their duty to use such advantages for more than just personal gain; as a result he has an exceptionally low tolerance to indolence and arrogance in those who hold such positions in the wider galaxy. This, along with a shorter temper, makes him a very poor diplomat.

---

| {Personality} |

Despite the assumptions plenty of folks have made about him, because of his admitted ‘noble’ birth, Elam does his best to remain a grounded individual. Travelling the galaxy, either for work or his own interest, has led him to many places and peoples and while not every experience has been good it’s shown him the whole spectrum of sentient life, good and bad.

| {Place of Origin} |

Outer Rim (Prefers to keep his actual home-world to himself)

| {Background} |

His earliest life started out with tragedy as his mother died in childbirth despite the best medical care his home-world could provide; and before his fourth birthday he lost his father. His father had been Marshal and close friend to one of the major nobles of his home-world. He sacrificed himself to buy time for the team he was leading to escape after their mission went wrong, a mission that was crucial to the very survival of their world; his sacrifice brought victory. His father’s lord and master, a man who’d already been like an uncle to the small boy, adopted Elam into his family without hesitation and took him as his son; though he would make sure that Elam would always remember both of his real parents.

Despite these early tragedies, his later life was much brighter. He grew up happy and well cared for, when his new father had children of his own a young Elam found himself as the much loved older brother. When he began to show signs of Force Sensitivity he was introduced to Kelsash Matrout, a woman he would come to see as an older sister or favoured aunt, as she taught him the ways and dangers of the Force as well as the intricacies of lightsaber combat and other more esoteric fighting styles. Largely however, he tries to avoid talking about his early childhood, as while there are good memories there, he specifically left to avoid growing up in some looming shadows of ‘expectation’.

Leaving his home system at 21, he’s spent the past fourteen years travelling across the galaxy, doing everything from being a courier to a mercenary/bounty hunter to a farm hand on a newly settled colony; there’s always so much to see and do that he’s rarely in one place for too long, though lately he’s found himself spending more time around Mandalor as he’s made a few friends among the Mandalorians…and even though they’re a tad wary of him, the Jedi of the Enclave seem much more rational and level-headed compared to some of the other splinter groups.

Over the years, while he’s managed to be well paid for his work, he’s sunk most of his credits into extensive cybernetic augmentations, largely with the intentions of both making him more resilient and to at least some degree replicate what he can do with the Force; an early incident saw his connection to the Force temporarily blocked, his survival coming down to a bit of skill and a lot of luck…not something he wants to rely on if such a thing happens again.

The past few years have been relatively normal…or as ‘normal’ as it can be considering the state of the Galaxy; his most recent adventure of note being a less than fun trip to Raxus Prime at the behest of a rather wealthy client. While not somewhere he’d ever care to go again, his job there ended up being more profitable than he’d expected. On top of successfully completing the job he’d been sent there to do (and the sizable payout that entailed), while clambering through a millennia of wreckage he found something amazing.

Buried in what was once an XS light freighter, he found several metal bars in a crate along with a holocron that turned out to have been made by the Je’daii Master Tem Madog. After several attempts to unlock it, it turned out it was a detailed overview on how to make ‘Madog Steel’, an ancient alloy that stood as a near rival to the legendary toughness of Mandalorian beskar, though sadly the Je’daii Master did leave out the exact ratios that made up the alloy. As fate would have it he would have plenty of time to study the holocron as the noxious nature of Raxus Prime damaged a number of systems in the rundown YT-2000 he owned, forcing short hyperjumps with long cool-downs between each one, and several EVAs while at sub-light to ‘fix’ engine issues; while landing may have allowed him to make better repairs, given the state to his ship he had his doubts as to whether or not it would take off again.

Eventually making back to Mandalore, and finding himself unceremoniously escorted to a landing par well away from population or industrial centres due to the state of his ship upon hitting atmosphere, he landed and set about contacting a Mandalorian armourer he knew to ask a favour. Having contacted his initial client and informing them of his original mission's success, he took his rather substantial pay for the job, sold the YT to a ship-breaker and bought himself a brand new ship.

While that was getting kitted out, he saw to that favour he’d asked; commissioning ‘Madog’ enhanced armour. Helping his friend to translate the ancient Master’s words and notes about the nature of the metal, he then waited as the armoured made him his helmet, armour and knives. Paying his friend well for both his services and his willingness to use his beskar forge for another metal, he set off to collect his new ship. It’s been a few years since then and Elam and his ship are a semi-regular sight around Mandalorian Space.

Star Wars Chapter 0: KNIGHTFALL

Elam El-Rud

Elam

| {Full Name} |

Elam El-Rud

| {Age} |

35

| {Species} |

Human hybrid

| {Gender} |

Male

---

| {Force Sensitive/Alignment} |

Yes - “Don’t let anything hold you back...but don’t be a dick about it.”

| {Appearance} |

Most people assume Elam is at least part Zeltros thanks to his ochre skin, though all he can really do is shrug, as his parents died when he was very young. Physically, he’s fit but otherwise average in terms of height or build. A practical sort, he keeps his black hair quite short, which also tends to make the scars on his head stand out; and for scars, he has plenty. Some are old wounds, others are from rather extensive cybernetic augmentations and both kinds go from head to toe. Often he’s been told that a few good bacta treatments could get rid of them, but he likes his scars; to him they tell the story of his life, even if he's the only one that can read it.

The most noticeable augmentation is his eyes, which are a featureless matte silver. These interface with several of his other implants to allow for things such as a HUD display or full spectrum viewing even without his helmet, as well as an impressive built in macro and micro zoom capacity. The rest of his cybernetics are all premium tier and as such, despite the amount of hardware he sports he still looks organic, simply ‘upgraded’.

Clothing-wise, he generally wears a custom armorweave body glove under a set of simple overalls and a cloak. While the overalls and cloak are made from lighter weight armorweave, his body glove contains a cortosis/Maddog steel weave construction; making it extremely resistant to energy weapons…to a point. While the cortosis can dissipate the energy and the Madog steel helps with kinetic blows, none of it is really intended to simply take the full impact the way say Mandalorian armour is; its real intention is to provide greater protection from glancing hits and shrapnel.

His helmet contains a significant sensor system for its size and seals with his body glove to allow for up to an hour in hard vacuum; made from Madog steel, he commissioned it as custom piece from Mandalorian armourer he’s struck up a friendship with over the few years he’s been basing out of Keldabe. While much tougher than a Durasteel helmet of the same weight, it still falls short of the legendary durability of bekar.

Although he does his best to not draw attention to it, his manner of speech and/or the way he carries himself will sometimes betray the fact that he comes from what many consider a planets ‘high society’; his preference however is to interact with folks from less ‘lofty’ backgrounds, in his own words ‘they generally know how to have fun’...that and a burning desire to avoid the sycophancy of ‘court politics’.

| {Equipment and Personal Belongings} |

• Corporate Sector Authority WU-50 Devastator Assault/Patrol vessel (custom)
• Madog steel reinforced cortosis-weave armoured body glove.
• Madog steel helmet.

Weapons

• Westar-20 blaster carbine
• C-51 blaster pistol
• Morellian MWC-35c repeater
• Lightsaber (Synth Crystal)
• Madog fighting knives x 2

Cybernetics

• Advanced Alacrity Implant
• Advanced Bio-stabilizer Implant
• Advanced Combat Implant
• Armoured subdermal hide
• Biocomputer
• Biofeedback Regulator
• Cybernetic Avionics Interface
• Electrostatic Neuro-wiring
• Mental Boost Implant
• Physical Boost Implant
• Optical Implants
• Skeletal Reinforcement Package

| {Physical Abilities} |

• Starship pilot (Advanced)
• Starship/droid mechanic (Average)
• Slicer (Average)
• Non-Force reliant hand-to-hand combat training (Expert)

| {Force Abilities} |

• Art of Movement
• Force Deflection
• Reduce Injury
• Instinctive Astrogation
• Comprehend Speech
• Force Blinding
• Convection
• Combustion
• Combat Sense
• Force Weapon
• Force Telekinesis
• Force Barrier

| {Limitations} |

Thanks to his extensive cybernetics he can’t float in water without external aids and is rather vulnerable to electro-magnetic disruptions especially if he is out of his armour. Growing up his adoptive father taught him that if has significant power or a high station it was their duty to use such advantages for more than just personal gain; as a result he has an exceptionally low tolerance to indolence and arrogance in those who hold such positions in the wider galaxy. This, along with a shorter temper, makes him a very poor diplomat.

---

| {Personality} |

Despite the assumptions plenty of folks have made about him, because of his admitted ‘noble’ birth, Elam does his best to remain a grounded individual. Travelling the galaxy, either for work or his own interest, has led him to many places and peoples and while not every experience has been good it’s shown him the whole spectrum of sentient life, good and bad.

| {Place of Origin} |

Outer Rim (Prefers to keep his actual homeworld to himself)

| {Background} |

His earliest life started out with tragedy as his mother died in childbirth despite the best medical care his homeworld could provide; and before his fourth birthday he lost his father. His father had been Marshal and close friend to one of the major nobles of his homeworld. He sacrificed himself to buy time for the team he was leading to escape after their mission went wrong, a mission that was crucial to the very survival of their world; his sacrifice brought victory. His father’s lord and master, a man who’d already been like an uncle to the small boy, adopted Elam into his family without hesitation and took him as his son; though he would make sure that Elam would always remember both of his real parents.

Despite these early tragedies, his later life was much brighter. He grew up happy and well cared for, when his new father had children of his own a young Elam found himself as the much loved older brother. When he began to show signs of Force Sensitivity he was introduced to Kelsash Matrout, a woman he would come to see as an older sister or favoured aunt, as she taught him the ways and dangers of the Force as well as the intricacies of lightsaber combat and other more esoteric fighting styles. Largely however, he tries to avoid talking about his early childhood, as while there are good memories there, he specifically left to avoid growing up in some looming shadows of ‘expectation’.

Leaving his home system at 21, he’s spent the past fourteen years travelling across the galaxy, doing everything from being a courier to a mercenary/bounty hunter to a farm hand on a newly settled colony; there’s always so much to see and do that he’s rarely in one place for too long, though lately he’s found himself spending more time around Mandalor as he’s made a few friends among the Mandalorians…and even though they’re a tad wary of him, the Jedi of the Enclave seem much more rational and level-headed compared to some of the other splinter groups.

Over the years, while he’s managed to be well paid for his work, he’s sunk most of his credits into extensive cybernetic augmentations, largely with the intentions of both making him more resilient and to at least some degree replicate what he can do with the Force; an early incident saw his connection to the Force temporarily blocked, his survival coming down to a bit of skill and a lot of luck…not something he wants to rely on if such a thing happens again.

The past few years have been relatively normal…or as ‘normal’ as it can be considering the state of the Galaxy; his most recent adventure of note being a less than fun trip to Raxus Prime at the behest of a rather wealthy client. While not somewhere he’d ever care to go again, his job there ended up being more profitable than he’d expected. On top of successfully completing the job he’d been sent there to do (and the sizable payout that entailed), while clambering through a millennia of wreckage he found something amazing.

Buried in what was once an XS light freighter, he found several metal bars in a crate along with a holocron that turned out to have been made by the Je’daii Master Tem Madog. After several attempts to unlock it, it turned out it was a detailed overview on how to make ‘Madog Steel’, an ancient alloy that stood as a near rival to the legendary toughness of Mandalorian beskar, though sadly the Je’daii Master did leave out the exact ratios that made up the alloy. As fate would have it he would have plenty of time to study the holocron as the noxious nature of Raxus Prime damaged a number of systems in the rundown YT-2000 he owned, forcing short hyperjumps with long cooldowns between each one, and several EVAs while at sub-light to ‘fix’ engine issues; while landing may have allowed him to make better repairs, given the state to his ship he had his doubts as to whether or not it would take off again.

Eventually making back to Mandalore, and finding himself unceremoniously escorted to a landing par well away from population or industrial centres due to the state of his ship upon hitting atmo, he landed and set about contacting a Mandalorain armourer he knew to ask a favour. Having contacted his initial client and informing them of his original mission's success, he took his rather substantial pay for the job, sold the YT to a shipbreaker and bought himself a brand new ship.

While that was getting kitted out, he saw to that favour he’d asked; commissioning ‘Madog’ enhanced armour. Helping his friend to translate the ancient Master’s words and notes about the nature of the metal, he then waited as the armoured made him his helmet, armour and knives. Paying his friend well for both his services and his willingness to use his beskar forge for another metal, he set off to collect his new ship. It’s been a few years since then and Elam and his ship are a semi-regular sight around Mandalorian Space.

Star Wars: Knightfall, an interest check

+1

Fallout: The Vegas Affair

He did really know how long he’d knelt there, or how many shots he took, only that now the Legion had broken and were fleeing. Pushing himself back up with a groan he spotted one last fleeing figure, the ragged plume on his helmet bobbing and dancing through the scrub.

Heat shimmers radiated off the lensing ‘barrel’ of his weapon as he took aim once more, and one last flash tore across the desert. Chance alone saved the runner; the fellow stumbled as Sam fired and thus instead of the shot catching him square in the back, it instead hit his right shoulder. The man screamed in pain as he dropped out of sight, probably into one of the innumerable crevasse that crossed the landscape. ”Dumb bastard,” He muttered to himself, lowering his weapon. "Gonna take a while to die now..."

With the camp seeming to be secure, he started to pick his way back to where he’d dropped his gear. Slinging the still hot laser, he unplugged the belt pack and made a face as he checked its charge. Forty percent…shit. Have to try and find a new FC soon. Getting down wasn’t nearly as easy as going up had been, especially at his age, but after a bit of trying and a rather undignified slide on his backend, he dropped back down to the same level as his stuff.

Taking off and stowing his power pack, he pocketed a fusion cell before shouldering his pack and heading for the camp, deciding to let his weapon cool a bit before recharging it. Approaching the camp he saw a few folks gathered around, a couple of them he knew at least enough to give a nod to as he passed, but the others were new, especially the bots.

”Hey kid!” He called out once he spotted Albert. ”Good to see the bull botherers didn’t get ya’.” Reaching the group, he pulled out his flask and took a long pull before swapping it for his pipe. A moment's work had it drawing nicely and he exhaled a cloud of smoke upwards before turning his attention to those he didn’t recognize. ”Sam.” He said by way of introduction.

Fallout: The Vegas Affair

Now

He approached Camp Foxtrot cautiously and off the main paths to it, keeping eyes and ears out for local wildlife; he came and went from the NCR outposts somewhat regularly, trading on his ‘friendly’ reputation with the NCR to use them as safe spots to rest. That said, it’d been some time since he’d stopped at Foxtrot and given the state of the Mojave at the moment he couldn’t say for certain whether or not the station was still under NCR control.

His musings were interrupted two fold in a matter of moments; first was the distant sound of a verti-bird of all things, something he hadn’t heard in years, but the second and much more troubling was the much closer ‘cough’ and explosion of a missile launcher being fired. A large outcropping of rock still blocking his line of sight to the camp, he rushed forwards to get a clear view.

”Fan-fucking-tastic..” He growled, finally getting eyes on the scene. A Legion Remnant was hitting the camp hard, the earlier explosion must have been them blowing the gate open. Part of him was really tempted to just take a knee where he was and start shooting; the range was not too long and he was a good enough shot that missing would be tough…but there were enough asshole that getting all of them before he got rushed wasn’t a given, and while he was tough in a a close up fight, those weren’t odds he wanted to test.

Overhead the sound of the vertibird got louder, punctuated rifle fire; whoever was up top was trying to provide air cover. Watching the aircraft start to circle, he heard another missile fire and flinched as the smoke trail converged on it, only to let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as the shot managed to sail clean through the ‘birds open doors.

Looking back along its path, he saw that the shot had actually come from the top of the outcropping he was up against. From there he set to work; dropping his pack, he pulled out his FC adapter and strapped it to his waist before popping out the seated MFC and plugging in the adapter. Weapon ready, he started to climb, banking on the sounds of the fighting covering the noise of his assent. Now was a time for speed, not stealth.

Pre-War he’d never been one for rock climbing, it seemed like a damned foolish way to die, but since then circumstances had forced his hands (and feet) into accepting such a necessity. Now he scrambled up the rocks and through the brush, dried branches and thorns picking at him, but he was too busy to pay them much mind.

Reaching the top, he spotted the backs of two legionaries’ heads, obviously crouched down and from what he could tell by their body language and movement, they were having trouble with the launcher. Standing for a clearer shot, he shot the one actually holding the launcher in the back of his head. At this close a range it was an easy target and he fired a couple shots in quick succession, to burn through the first man’s helmet. As he pitched forwards, dead, the second leapt to his feet in surprise, he spun towards Sam; but before he could do much else, Sam burned him down with three to the chest.

With the pair dead, Sam took up their position, and after a moment of getting him bearings on the camp below, he opened fire. Tracking across the camp he started to target anyone of authority or those with significant weapons.