Character
ZAHRAN KHALDUN
| Age | 35 |
| Species | Human |
| Gender | Male |
| Height | 6'1" |
| Weight | 190lbs |
| Force Sensitive | NO |
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Zahran Khaldun stands like a figure carved from ivory and obsidian, his presence both regal and unnerving. Clad in immaculate white regalia trimmed with gold thread and desert lion fur, he carries himself with the quiet authority of a man who has never needed to shout to be obeyed. His dark eyes, sharp as falcon talons, gleam beneath the shadow of a jeweled turban, and his meticulously groomed beard frames a mouth accustomed to issuing commands and poetic threats with equal grace. Every aspect of his appearance speaks of wealth, heritage, and precision, from the polished medals pinned to his chest to the curved saber at his hip, its hilt encrusted with lapis and silver.
INVENTORY
Blaster Pistol
PERSONALITY AND BELIEFS
Zahran Khaldun carries himself with the confidence of a man born to command. He speaks in calm, deliberate tones, his voice rich with the cadence of nobility and old desert lilt. Every gesture, every word is measured, refined, as if he were forever performing before an unseen court. His charisma is undeniable, forged not only from natural charm but from a lifetime of navigating both salons and warships. He possesses the bearing of a courtly gentleman, yet his eyes betray the instincts of a predator, always calculating, always watching.
Zahran is as refined as he is ruthless. Despite his history of piracy and violence, he rarely raises his voice and seldom shows anger. His fury is cold, precise, and theatrical. His voice is calm, almost melodic, and his manner impeccable, laced with dry wit and a scholar's vocabulary. But beneath the polish lies iron. He believes in hierarchy as a sacred truth, ordained by birth and affirmed by power. To Zahran, slavery is not depravity but order. Slavery, to him, is not cruelty but the ultimate form of civilizational hierarchy.. He dresses it in ceremony and dignity, ensuring his captives are treated as valuable possessions, never as refuse. This mask of civility is his greatest weapon, turning his brutality into elegance and his ambition into providence.
STRENGTHS
1. Strategic Charisma:
Zahran possesses a commanding presence and an instinctive grasp of how to bend others to his will without brute force. He knows when to charm, when to threaten, and when to remain silent. His charisma is not merely social, it is tactical. Social scenes and gatherings are his expertise as much as naval engagements. He always acts as a gentleman rogue.
2. Ruthless Precision:
He is not a man of chaos, but of surgical violence. When he strikes, it is with careful planning, absolute confidence, and minimal waste. Zahran does not engage in drawn-out campaigns unless they serve a deeper purpose. His raids are elegant, his slaving operations efficient, and his enemies often destroyed before they realize they've been outmaneuvered.
WEAKNESSES
1. Vanity and Theatrics:
Zahran is deeply invested in the image he projects, the noble corsair, the cultured tyrant, the Corsair Lord among savages. He curates every detail of his appearance, his ship, and his public actions to reinforce this myth. But his vanity often clouds his judgment. He may choose spectacle over subtlety, refuse retreat to avoid appearing weak, or pursue vengeance not out of necessity, but to maintain his reputation. His need to be seen as legendary can lead him into unnecessary conflict or delay critical decisions.
2. Poor Combat Ability:
Despite his fearsome reputation, Zahran is no warrior. He was trained in military theory and command, not in the art of the blade or close-quarters combat. He avoids personal duels and melee engagements, as this was never an area of expertise or interest to him.
HISTORY
Zahran Khaldun was born the third son, into the carved stone splendor of House Khaldun's estate on Argai, a lineage steeped in ancient nobility and bound by gold to the commercial thrones of the Core. His family held vast interests in trade, shipping, and interstellar finance through entanglements with Jaminere's banking guilds and kinship ties to the Chandaar Kings, whose ancestral blood still flowed in his veins. But Zahran cared little for stocks and senate courts. While his brothers studied profit and diplomacy beneath marble columns, he wandered the palace's forgotten vaults, reading tales of Argai's raider-kings, warlords, and kings of old who once rode storm-winds and hunted along the rim of the old hyperspace routes. He saw in those faded legends not savagery, but purity.
After returning from Alderaan Academy, raiders from the frontier struck at the family's shipping lanes in a swift, brutal assault, testing the defenses of one of the most prominent noble houses in the sector. Though they were repelled, the damage to Khaldun's prestige was undeniable. Courtiers panicked. Merchants whispered. Zahran, still clad in the formal dress of his final convocation, demanded to lead the retaliatory force himself. His father hesitated, but the matriarch of the house saw something sharpened in him by the attack, something ancestral. With grudging blessings, they allowed it, outfitting him with a corvette and a retinue of Argaini officers, expecting the sortie to serve as a lesson in restraint or failure. Instead, Zahran hunted the raiders into the bone-dry systems of the Outer Rim and annihilated them with terrifying efficiency. He enslaved their survivors, seized their ships, and returned not with apology but with tribute.
There would be no going back. Recognizing the fire in their son and the myth he had begun to shape, House Khaldun did not restrain him. Through intermediaries and veiled investments, they secured him a ship, a crew drawn from broken militias and loyal outcasts, and a cruiser gifted in the name of enterprise, though everyone in the family understood what it was. He took to the stars not as a rogue, but as a scion unleashed. On the fringes of the Mid-Rim, he raided with precision, enslaved with ritual, and burned his name into the stars. His Cruiser, the Sword of the Wind, became a dread symbol, feared and respected. He called himself Korsan Beg, Corsair Lord of Argai.