Corrin Tal'verda
Character
All the best stories began with a boy in the woods. The tales of great heroes and even greater glories that the Mando'ade spoke of filled Corrin with wonder. They would tell the fabled by campfire, and each night, Corrin and Lord Cabur would scramble out to the pits and listen. He wanted to be a hero, just like the men in the stories.
He would be leading the Mandalorian armies to victory just like Canderous Ordo. He would fight off the monstrous Vong like the late Boba Fett. He would stop a war with a single act, just like his father and uncle.
A thousand stories, and one imaginative little mind to glorify them.
Such was the way all great stories began, here in the woods where Corrin stood, with the gateway of imagination leading him to other worlds told in the ancient fables.
In truth, the heir to the clan was only out hunting. He was draped in heavy furs much to large for his slim figure. The boy was muscled, but had yet to grow into his own body. His gloved hands clung tightly to the Verpine Sniper Rifle his father had given him.
An expensive tool, and one he would never part with, as the Chieftain instructed.
At his side strolled Lord Cabur. The old Strill had less trouble than the boy. It bounded through the snow as if it were solid ground. Corrin, on the other hand, was struggling.
His feet sunk with each step, and the constant daydreams that stole his mind kept him distracted. He'd already walked into two trees.
"Do you smell anything?" He asked the Strill.
Cabur stopped in its tracks, tilted its grotesque furry head toward Corrin, and shook its head.
The youth grumbled in reply.
"The Uxi are common here ad'ika."
His father rumbled from behind him. The Tal'verda chieftain was two meters tall and built like a star destroyer. To Corrin who barely made it to five feet, his father was larger than life.
The youth breathed a heavy sigh, and brought his rifle up to scan the snow drift.
"Why is it always snowing?" He asked quietly.
"That's the way of our land. The winter provides for us, it keeps us alive and kills our enemies. You've seen the people down south, you know how they are ad'ika."
Corrin smiled, and tore his eyes away from the scope to look at his father.
"Loud and stupid." He replied. "-and mean. Some are nice though. I like the Vizlas."
Calico reached up to remove his helmet, and grinned at the boy. The former Dreadguard was in his thirties now, but otherwise remained the same as he'd always been.
"And the Garons, and the Ordos, don't discount the Mando'ade."
"You mean the ones I've never met, because you never let us go to the city."
"Where is your sister?" Calico snapped, changing the subject. "I don't want her getting lost out here. Gods know she'll be invisible, she has your mother's hair."
[member="Rawnie Tal'verda"]