Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Taran Ge'Mav


Name: Taran Ge'Mav
Rank: Ver'verd-Mercenary
Alias: Ca'tra Tal
Age: 36
Sex: Male

Species: Human
Culture: Mando'ade
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Purpose: Redemption

Height: 6'1
Weight: 200lbs

Eyes: Dark Green
Hair: Brown
Skin: Caucasian

Force Sensitive: Yes
Languages: Galactic Basic, Mando'a


[Strong]: Taran is physically fit and sturdy, boasting a rather powerful physique.

Mirdala[Clever]: A sound mind allows Taran to make quick, snap-to, decisions in both critical and everyday situations.

Riyea'tracy'uur[Favors Blaster]: Though no stranger to CQC Taran fancies himself something of a gunslinger, and will not hesitate to show why.

Ramikadyc[Determined]: Once setting his mind to a goal, Taran will accomplish it at any cost.

Bajur de akaan[Trained For War]: Raised in the way of the Mando'ade, Taran was taught of warfare and survival.

Chaab be tra[Fear of Space]: Taran believes man should stay on solid ground as much as possible, leaving him with no piloting ability and caution of space travel.

Ures Aliit[Without Clan]: Both an internal and external problem, Taran's past caused a schism between he and his clan.


Unarmored or fettered with obstructing clothing, one would find the true visage of Taran. A tall and broad man, built strong and sturdy by a life of arduous preparation. Hair of dark chestnut adorning his head, cut close to the scalp. Green eyes framed under a heavy brooding brow, a touch of fierceness radiating from somewhere within. Light scars paint his body like a tapestry. Most only visible in the proper lighting. Beard trimmed neatly upon his face, at most times. The sigil of a mythosaur tattooed upon his right shoulder. Forever ingraining first allegiance for all to see. A man apart from most, yet still a man all the same.

Taran is a quite man, often coming off as cold or indifferent. In a polite manner one might say he is very task oriented. So much is surely true, his mind rarely fleeting when set to one thing or another. Yet that alone is a brief glimpse into a man with wealths more hidden from plain sight. Those that have come to know him over the years know well that Taran is a very loyal person, almost recklessly so. His oath of promise is something never broken no matter the circumstances when it is given or called upon. He has been ironically compared to the stoics of the universe by friends and confidants when making merry, and though this in itself is a fierce exaggeration, many would agree. That is not to say he is humorless or devoid of emotion, or anything of that like, though. Quite the opposite could be claimed as fact. Anger and fear, love and hate, joy and misery, these forces find themselves most present in Taran. It is only the individual's ability to hide his true self from the onlooker that differs from others. Getting close to a man of this sort is no easy feat, all would say so, yet those that do find a comrade of unflinching loyalty. With unwavering loyalty.

]"Aliit ori'shya tal'din." A whisper on the air. Low and coarse. "Family is more than blood." There is worry there, fear, but not anger. Words slowly dissipate into darkness as faint wavering light gives brief life to shadowy figures. "This you must remember." One speaks, the glow of flame revealing and aged face holding tired eyes. "It is the one truth above all others." The old man's hand falls to the head of a young boy, fingers tussling hair as he chokes back a hushed laugh. "Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad." The boy sitting next to the man begins to cry. The old man embraces him. "Hush now adiik. Verda do not so easily weep."
Taran's eyes flash open. The dull hum of the ship-core filling his ears and a weary hand drags across his face. Another dream, another memory. The come most nights. Assaulting his psyche in waves of scattered thought. Regrets bore into his heart in the waking moments that follow. The fetid reek of bile filling the air as knots twist into his stomach. "...Ratiin..." The words linger in his throat as Taran pulls himself to his feet. The lines on his face mark him a man apart from the child he was in the dream. He cried then. Tears of happiness, tears of acceptance. If that child could see the life that acceptance would bring, would he still weep. The static crackle of an intercom breaks into life overhead. "Ten minutes out Taran." It cries before going dead yet again. Walking towards the door he palms his rifle from the corner and shoulders it. "Aliit ori'shya tal'din." Taran offers one final time, before pressing the release and disappearing into the hall.

Taran was not born Mando'ade. His parents, if ever he had any before, were soft people. Aruetiise that would die before Taran had seen the dawn of his third living year. A story so familiar in these times yet true just the same. The oldest memories recalled by Taran are not of his parent's faces nor their touch, but that of their killer's. They had been slavers patrolling the Outer Rim for easy targets and fast credits. Taran cannot remember his life before they arrived, but so clear does he remember them.

For a year he served them. He knew not why. All others captured came quick and left just as fast. Whether due to his age or some other factor Taran remained. Not often does he think on those terrible days. Long has he tried to push back the thoughts that bring such remembrance on. Yet not even age nor long years can wipe such horror from one's mind. The pain wrought from those memories is an oil that stains those even of joyous occasion. How fortunate Taran is, that unlike most that find themselves in those dark places, he was delivered.

He had heard something after the affair about trespassing or the like. It would take years before he could fully comprehend why, but nearly a year after his capture the slaver's came under attack. Such wanton death was dealt that day that no annuls would dare recall it. The armored demons appearing on a wave of hellfire and damnation, punishing the wicked with no quarter offered. Taran does not remember the aftermath of the ordeal, only the spectacle of it unfolding. Nightmares came of it too.

Once again he was taken. Once again he felt the fear of what would come. Strange voices in alien tongues danced around him as he was shuttled through the inky void to places unknown. That was when he first laid eyes on Manda'yaim, what was to be his new home. Around him the armored men spoke harshly. For longer then than he can remember now they deliberated. Only after, when all left save for one, did Taran see him for the first time. Removing his helmet one of the men turned towards Taran and knelt, placing a hand on his head before rubbing it with a smile. "You shall come home with me, suvarir?"





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