Post by Vex on Apr 25, 2010 20:00:39 GMT -5
Name: Rizzen Xan
Race: Falleen
Age: 44
Height: 1.82 Meters (71.6 in)
Weight: 87.1 Kilograms (192 lbs)
Birth place: Falleen, Falleen
Appearance:
Rizzen is a paragon for his race. Standing just shy of six feet in height, he is built lean and powerfully from the physical training regimen and daily training in Teräs Käsi that he uses to keep himself fit for fighting. He is a predatorially handsome member of his race, with power features that are accented by that reptilian look. For the most part, his skin looks smooth, though small scales can be seen along the line of his brow, edge of his jaw, and down along his spine. They spread out along his back before tapering into an arrowhead as they travel further down along his spinal ridges. Like all members of his species, he has slightly clawed fingers. He keeps his deep, midnight black hair in a top-knot from the back of his skull, rarely letting it get past his shoulder blades due to the interference it would cause with his helmet. There is one scar of note…the mark of a blaster bolt that traced his ribcage along the side, under his left arm.
Rizzen has very vivid violet eyes that seem to darken if his mood grows sour. Most often, his complexion is of a pale gray-green, though in certain circumstances he’ll shift it to a vibrant blood red to make himself more imposing….or if his temper flares out of his control. More often than not, he refrains from wearing his armor, though it is always kept in meticulous care. It is most often worn when he knows conflict will be inevitable or when the natural intimidation that the armor can bring is advantageous. Outside of the armor, he prefers clothing of good quality, generally being more conscious of how he looks, believing it to be as potent a weapon as his blasters or his fists. Usually he prefers dark colors such as black and maroon, with brighter accent colors to complement the skin tone he decides to have.
Personality:
Cold: Rizzen has a very detached air about him, cultivated from his upbringing as a minor Falleen noble. He prides himself on self-control and that can often be seen as imposing and frigid for those that do not know him. Unless he is dealing with a fellow Falleen or a fellow Mandalorian, he tends to look down upon them due to that natural sense of Falleen superiority, which is only exacerbated by his belief in the Mandalorian culture. This outer emotional armor was rarely lowered in public, and generally only due to moments of extreme anger or surprise.
Smooth: Despite that detached attitude, he spent enough time dealing with Falleen politics that he can maneuver mental battlefields as adeptly as he can physical ones. He is well-versed in etiquette and manners and employes them judiciously when it is to his advantage. This particular gift also extended to his dealings with those of the opposite sex. His upbringing gave him a healthy appetite for them and that physical appearance and noble blood gave him more than ample opportunity to sate it. All of this has helped allow him to be very persuasive and turn things to his advantage…especially if a woman is involved.
Professional: A consummate businessman, his word is his bond. His reputation is paramount to him, as it would be for any Falleen noble. The Mando’ade sense of honor found a synergetic co-existence with his ingrained nobility.
Vindictive: Slights are never forgotten and rarely forgiven. He is patient enough to wait for the perfect opportunity to enact retribution for anything done against him. He was willing to wait years and let foes be lulled into complacency to allow for maximum impact.
Proud: He is Noble. He is Fallen. He is Mandalorian. There can be no one greater in his eyes, and only few equals.
Profession: Mandalorian Mercenary (Infiltration Specialist)
Skills:
Gunslinger - 5
Dueling - 5
Quick Draw - 3
Teräs Käsi - 7
Persuasion 6
Infiltration - 7
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 6
Intelligence: 7
Speed: 6
Leadership: 4
Unarmed: 7
Melee Weapons: 5
Ranged Weapons: 6
Alignment: 0
Ship Name: TBD
Bio:
Rizzen was borne into House Xan, a minor house of Falleen nobility. Though they had not yet managed to cultivate great political power on the planet, they had strong footholds in the financial and legal areas, providing them with excellent fiscal resources and positioning to deal with their more prominent rival houses. Given this, Rizzen grew up in a world wanting for nothing…borne with the proverbial platinum spoon in his mouth. Early on in life he showed a sharp and curious intellect and drive. He wasn’t content with crawling; he began walking three months sooner than the average Falleen child. He began to speak six months before the average Falleen. He was never content with things the way they were, always wanting more and more often than not finding himself indulged. When he was six years of age, he began to show an interest in the HNN martial arts vids had his father, Paxal Xan, hiring a private tutor for him in Teräs Käsi. Rizzen enjoyed the challenge, taking to it readily and with ardor.
That was just the beginning of his learning, however, for other tutors were brought in to begin teach him everything he would need to know as a noble. From Mathematics to Etiquette, Politics to History, he was ensconced in learning, which he found every bit as invigorating as his physical training. He was being carefully groomed to eventually take over as head for the House…to help see it to greater glory and prestige in the future when it was time to pass the mantle from father to son. When he turned thirteen, his father also began to teach him how to use a blaster. Nobility was hinged upon honor, after all, and those that attempted to infringe upon that honor were expected to be dealt with. Teräs Käsi was fine when dealing with rabble, but dispute amongst nobles required a more refined touch. Duel by blaster was the method of choice…only rarely resulting in death but assuaging pride and standing satisfactorily. By the time he’d become seventeen, he was comfortably versed in unarmed combat, more than capable of holding his own in most confrontations and engaged in close to a dozen duels of honor, always having come out the victor. He was quick, thanks to a natural talent honed by his physical training and the reactions bred into him via his pistol training. That quickness continued to develop mentally as well. He found himself with a head for numbers and logic, making him a natural for the ventures that House Xan excelled in. This was only to be expected, however, as Rizzen had been put into the finest boarding school credits could buy, where those of noble birth were cultivated to carry on their heritage.
After an early graduation, he was quickly enrolled in higher education, focusing on both financial and legal degrees. He was, after all, expected to understand every finite nuance of his House’s power base. Failure to do so was not an option, as it would put their standing at risk. The discipline honed into him through training, coupled with his pride in House and blood, had him well-focused. His rapacious ability to learn did the rest. After five years, he achieved the dual-degree. He’d continued to focus on his martial talents as well, taking part in competitions to test himself and further honor his House. He’d partaken in another four duels during this time, the last having a regrettable pall to it and occuring shortly after his graduation.
The youngest son of House Zorn (the Xan’s primary financial rival), had chosen to incite anger in Rizzen by defiling his House’s good name, hoping to goad Rizzen into a duel. It had, of course, worked. The young Zorn, however, had sought to help take out a promising rival and had managed to get associates to rig the weapons that were to be used in the duel. Instead of simply being painful and humiliating to be shot with, one of the weapons had been modified to fire at full power. When the duel commenced, the Zorn male fired quickly, being a bit too eager to rid himself of Rizzen. His shot was not true, scorching Rizzen’s side. Surprised by the pain and realizing the treachery, Rizzen responded by firing back at his opponent’s face. Such an action was considered dishonorable, as even with the lower power settings, such a shot could prove fatal. As luck would have it, this would be the case. Rizzen’s shot caught his foe in the eye, killing him instantly. Many had thought Rizzen to be cold-blooded murderer and railed against him and House Xan until Rizzen’s injury came to light and the proof of treachery was provided by informants bought by Paxal. Despite his name being cleared, the Xan patriarch figured it best for his son to take time away…to allow the situation to fade into the distant memories of the nobility. As it was, the time for Rizzen to take his tour of the galaxy and be reminded of the superiority of the Falleen race was coming up shortly. Once he was healed (save for that one, irrevocable reminder on his side), his father presented him with a ship and sent him off to learn the galactic culture first hand.
Paxal bequeathed a prototype ship he’d been given thanks to some rather generous donations. The Xan’s Honor was a swift ship, almost one of its kind…fitting given the new owner of it. With that, a galactic account with credits, and his father’s well-wishes, Rizzen set off into space. Truth be told, he looked forward to this. Much as he may have been getting conditioned to take over in his father’s stead, he wasn’t yet ready for that role. He still wanted to learn more, to experience. He believed that, given this opportunity, he would learn more and choose to come back. Everyone else in the House did as well. The galaxy was filled with scum, after all…a noble Falleen would see this, learn from the experiences, and then return. It was just the way things worked. His first stop was Druckenwell. After all, it was run by corporate guilds and, while he did not desire to take his father’s place any time soon, he was pragmatic enough to realize that understanding how corporations and financial processes worked in the Republic would prove invaluable. He was aware of how his father was attempting to extend out their financial reach…he wanted to help that process occur. The sheer amount of other species in that overpopulated world was rather overwhelming, expecially when coupled with the lack of courtesy and respect that he simply took as a given back on his home world. After four different brawls in as many hours, he realized that the unclean, uncivilized masses of the galaxy most likely did not understand the need to supplicate to their superiors. While he’d taken care of himself, it only took one lucky blow to hurt him, cripple him, or kill him. Certainly a few had tried…their weapons now in lifeless fingers. He was very happy for the martial arts he’d been trained in since he was young. The experience was enough to make him more cautious, realizing that most simply did not understand how to respond to their betters here. They were little more than savages, it seemed.
Eventually, he found his way to a decent enough establishment, where the moderately affluent members of the community stayed. It was still not ideal, but he was practical enough to realize that he could hardly expect any place here to match the cultural refinement of his home. At least they were civilized enough to have weapon scanners at the door and a man to enforce the policy at the door. He managed to settle himself down with a wine that seemed of only marginally-dubious vintage. He considered this a sacrifice in his attempt to learn more about galactic culture. Perhaps, if he was very lucky, he might manage to give some real culture back to the galaxy and make it a slightly better place. He’d spent the better part of an hour nursing the drink and pondering his next action when there was a disturbance outside. Moments later, several thugs that clearly didn’t belong in this particular part of Druckenwell. The quad came in, brandishing blasters. The doorman received two bolts to the chest before he could finish drawing his own weapon. Two of the interlopers moved, slamming the doors closed before moving over to one table. When the two patrons occupying the table didn’t move quick enough, they were forcibly thrown to the ground and kicked to get the point across before the table was dragged over and pushed on its side to act as a barrier against the doors. The third had moved, shooting into the ceiling, screaming at everyone to get down. The last stood there, apparently overseeing everything and directing this controlled chaos.
Rizzen was rather beside himself…having gone for his own weapon, only to remember that it was currently secured there by the door that had been so recently barricaded. While he was comfortable enough in hand to hand that he felt he could disarm one of them, that did him little good when the other two would be able to blast him before he could even be properly proud of the accomplishment. So…he found himself in the very unenviable position of being helpless. All he could do, for the moment, was follow the directions of those with the advantage and wait for the situation to change. It happened sooner than he anticipated.
Once the men gained control of the room, they began herding most of the patrons and employees into two groups. One was put near the front door in order to act as blaster shields against any that happened to try and force their way in. The others were brought near the back to the secondary exit and made to bar it. Each group had one of the gunmen watching over them and to ensure that they remained docile. The last group included all of those who seemed the most well-off. Rizzen was part of that group. He’d noticed during this all that the men kept looking at squat, low windows of the room nervously and had made a point of getting them closed once the groups were split. This was more than a simple job against the establishment. If he’d had to fathom a guess, he’d think that these men were running from someone and had come into this establishment out of desperation. Now they were merely taking advantage of it while they attempted to figure another way out. This was only expounded by the fact that, as the one that seemed in control and his gunman were going through the belongings of Rizzen and his compatriots began to interrogate them about political pull. By the questioning, it began to be clear that they were looking for someone they could leverage to get them out of whatever had lead them to this point in their life.
Once it was Rizzen’s turn for questioning, they quickly realized that they might have what they were looking for. His House certainly had the money to influence significant factors, even here on Druckenwell. The idea of giving into such vagabonds however, was not only disgusting, but demeaning. That these dogs would attempt to extort such from him and expecting his family to acquiesce to those demands was preposterous and insulting. Nevertheless, he remained as cool as possible when he informed him that House Xan would never give in to demands such as those. They did not deal with terrorists. The leader pursed his lips at this, livid at Rizzen’s arrogance. A nod of his head had the butt of a blaster slammed against the Falleen’s temple before he could react. He dropped to the ground, dazed and only barely understanding as he heard the man tell his associate to take him into the refreshers and “encourage him to reconsider his stance on the matter.” The next thing he knew, he was being dragged away and the doors to the male refreshers closing. This began a beating as a boot connected with his temple, followed up by kicks to the ribs that had him curled up and attempting to defend himself against while the room spun. While he was skilled in unarmed combat, the ferocity and underhanded manner of this beating and the one before it had him stunned. All of his other unarmed combat situations had been expected…something he’d been able to at least minimally prepare for. He’d been caught off-guard by this one and was still reeling.
Somewhere during that, he vaguely managed to make out something in the reflection of the refresher mirrors. One of the ceiling tiles was being lifted. He saw this for a moment before that boot took up his vision and he brought his arms up to blunt the blow. As his head came back forward after it, he caught the blurred view of a lithe form dropping down with barely a sound from rubber booted feet. It was enough, however, to warn the thug, who began to turn. Survival instinct finally kicked in for Rizzen at that point as he wrapped himself up in the man’s legs, stalling him and diverting his attention. It was enough.
The unexpected arrival was a woman. She wore a black, form-fitting padded under suit. It seemed to be made to be worn under more durable armor, but for ease of movement, limited space, and stealth, the rest had been left behind, save for her boots and a utility belt that held a vibro blade. She had ice blue eyes, like the wrath of a Hoth winter and hair so pale a blonde it almost seemed made of snow. You couldn’t say she was beautiful, her features were too severe, too unorthodox, to be classically beautiful. She was, however, very striking. Her body was lean and toned, a body made for and honed by battle. She came up from the crouch she’d dropped into and drove forward, not hesitating a moment to take advantage of Rizzen’s distraction. Her strikes were lightning quick and laser precise. The first had her fingers bent, second knuckles forward to spear into the man’s throat and crush his windpipe before he could call out an alarm. Even in his current state, Rizzen could hear the sound of the cartilage cracking while the man gurgled and wheezed. He tried to flail a punch at her, but she was already moving. She slid to the side, ducking under the blow, that vibroblade seeming to leap into her hand unbidden before it found itself embedded into the man’s back, along his side and driving deep into his kidney’s, further paralyzing him with pain. The vicious weapon was drawn out and slammed home twice more as she kept moving, stepping over Rizzen as though he was not there and acting like a dervish of death. That blade found the man’s other side as she ducked around once more, dragging the blade out and hit with that third strike, the weapon twisting in her palm to a reversed grip as it hit the man’s throat and all but cleanly severed the spinal cord. Two and a half heartbeats, maybe three, and she’d struck three lethal blows. Rizzen pulled away as the man toppled, already dead. His head was starting to clear.
The woman dropped to a crouch, wiping off that blade on the man’s clothes while she looked him over. He wanted to ask her who she was….what she was, but she held up her other hand to silence him when his lips began to move. It then moved to her throat, where he now saw that a throat mike was adhered. She spoke in subvocal tones, inclined her head to listen, then nodded and provided a response. She began asking him questions about the group….what was going on in the next room…anything of tactical advantage. Although he was in pain, Rizzen was all too willing to provide her with all the information that he could. While she listened to his accounting, she took the man’s blaster from his belt and inspected it. All of the information he relayed to her, she in turn relayed to whoever was on the other end, to include the locations of the thugs and their hostages.Listening again, she nodded and would move to the door. Rizzen, feeling a bit better and more stable, got up to follow her. Nothing seemed broken, but he would be bruised and sore.
In the main room, two of the windows blew open…the windows picked specifically because they weren’t close to the hostages. The explosion hadn’t even died before grenades flew in, filling the room with light, noise, and smoke as the flash bangs went off, adding to the confusion. In the midst of that chaos, the woman stepped out. The blaster fired off, three quick, staccato shots that took the far thug, near the front entrance and its hostages, twice in the chest and once in the head. She pivoted, the blaster tracking toward the other man holding hostages near the rear exit. He had time enough to bring up his blaster and turn toward her. He fired, but hadn’t really aimed. The bolts streaked past her, inches from her, but she didn’t move…taking the extra heartbeat to aim before letting those three blasts take him down too. That left only the leader. He’d ducked down at the blasts, lost amongst the tables and out of sight when she’d come out. As she stood there now, taking out the second man, it left her back exposed to his direction now that he was getting up, his own blaster now in hand. Seeing her, back exposed, he began to take aim.
Rizzen, not currently involved in killing men with cool efficiency, saw this occurring and reacted. The rush of adrenaline managed to blunt the pain of his beating as he sprinted forward. The leader saw him and tried to adjust his fire, but it was too late. The Falleen was able to get inside and within arm’s reach. That was all he needed now, training taking over as he struck the man’s wrist first. The weapon went flying and then Rizzen was on him. All the pain caused by the beating, the insult to the integrity of his family, he fed it all into his anger as he attacked the man. He didn’t realize the man was dead until the woman came and pulled him off.
He learned after the fact that the woman was Mandalorian. A mercenary, she’d been hired out by several of the corporate guilds of Druckenwell to deal with delicate situations such as this one. Her name was Liera Sol. He’d impressed her with his cognizance during the beating, when he reacted to slow the man so that she could kill him in the refresher. He’d further impressed her by acting to defend her while she was involved with the other two and the ferocity with which he’d taken down the man. While he’d heard of the Mandalorians…they had never been colored quite as vividly as they were now with her as an example. He had never considered the potential nobility of the culture, but the professionalism…the way she’d coolly and calmly acted to take out the threats and how she’d acted afterward, in the aftermath with him and the others, impressed him. He had found a facet of galactic culture that had resonated with him.
When he asked her to allow him to learn from her…to learn more about what she did, where she came from, she agreed.
Over the next five years, Rizzen Xan became a very apt pupil for Liera Solvut. His quick mind and martial arts training allowed him to pick up skills and techniques that she used as an infiltration specialist. She taught him close range melee. She taught him how to move while controlling the sounds he made. He learned the intricacies of breaking into a building: He became apt at looking at it and see weak points, places he could use to climb, to enter, to subvert. She taught him about bypassing security, both physical and electronic. She was not exactly the most pleasant teacher either. To her mind, you either rose above adversity or let yourself drown in it. She made it clear that, in this respect, his noble background meant nothing to her. Nobility was a characteristic of self for her, not birth. She was demanding and exacting and did not accept anything other than his very best.He had to relearn many things…how to not enter a room and expect it to revolve around him…how at times it was best for one not to be noticed or stand out at all. The shift of mindset took a little more work, though she did not want him to lose the ability to deal with the upperclass. That was a talent that was also very useful. She taught him everything she knew.
This included everything about her culture, the Mando’ade. Her mindset…the strength and honor of her, fascinated him. Through her, he learned about the culture, from the advent of it by the Taung to what it had become under the rule of the current Republic. Through her he learned the tenets that she lived by, the Resol’nare. The more he learned, the more he was surprised and the more he came to respect the culture and the people that lived by it. It was not noble in the way that his people, his family were. They did not care about blood the same way or expect it to inherit nobility. That was up to the person themselves. The more he learned, the more involved he became. He could fully understand putting family, putting clan, first…it was a tenet that he himself had lived by since a very early age. The importance of such in a culture was not lost on him…but he’d seen it become lost in more than a few cultures. That this warrior culture put it as part of the critical core of who they are only added to the respect that he felt for them. From the importance of teaching the future generations, to the protection of clan, to coming together at the will of their unifying leader, it all resonated with him and his own ideals heavily.
It, of course, wasn’t difficult for him to understand their feelings about outsiders…about keeping them at arm’s length and not easily allowing them within if they weren’t to become part of that culture. His people were little different…but while one could choose to take the Mandalorian culture and make it a part of themselves, no one could just make themselves Falleen.
Time progressed and they continued to work well as a team. She never allowed him to lead a mission, however. If they were working on something together, he was always there as a backup role. He would help her coordinate, provide her the latest information…even follow in with her as backup, but she never allowed him to work solely on his own or be in charge. Six years had passed and they’d made a good name for themselves on Druckenwell. The name was enough that they were getting corporate account requests from larger clients that required discreet entry and data removal or delicate situation handling. They were quite the pair, but he was still not allowed to operate on his own. He was only ever allowed to be in a support role, running the systems behind the scenes to monitor security systems, detect potential threats, or to verify if the local authorities were after them. He spent the entire time with her there on Druckenwell, completing contract after contract. As patient as he was, however, with five years gone by, he was beginning to chafe about the fact that she never allowed him to actively participate, despite all the training that she demanded of him.
Things finally came to a head when he confronted her outright. He was ready. He knew he was. It had gotten to the point where she did not even correct him during training. He knew the facets of the profession she’d taught him, but was held back from employing them fully…and he called her on it. He was ready to be there, in her face, and to argue about this…but she stopped him. Liera cocked her head at him, one of those rare smiles quirking on her lips as she responded to the interrogation about why she did not trust him to actively participate with her. Her tone was simple, the way one might speak to a particularly dull child.
“Because you are adiik, Rizzen. You are not Mando’ade. It would be irresponsible for me to allow you out of your birikad,,,.”
That had him stunned for a long moment before he could finally sputter out in disbelief. “Adiik? Adiik? I am only five years younger…trained just as well…noble. I am far from adiik! I’ve been living with you…sharing in your culture, every day for the last five years. I am no less Mando’ade at this point than you are!” He was heated…positively livid to the point that his skin had gone a vibrant shade of red. This only seemed to amuse her further.
“Ah…so…you think you are Mando’ade...? Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you are now, Rizzen. Still, you are adiik. You have not passed into being a man…you are ge’verd. This is work for verd…”
“Then let me be one! I’ll show you that I am far more than just ge’verd!”
“Are you sure that is what you want, Rizzen?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Come…we must take a trip.”
Truth be told…this had been part of Liera’s plan the entire time…but she had to let the decision be his own to make (with a little prodding). There was a contract for data exfiltration that had come up…something that she felt was perfect for him to use to prove his skills and abilities as a warrior that she had taught him. The job was complicated with the data server located in a Druckenwell high rise with the latest in corporate security innovations. She gave him the location…the information that she had about the timeline…the known security threats…the target data…and stepped back. She would give him no further information or assistance other than the basic dossier of information. All of the planning, preparation, and execution were up to him. To say that he was nervous would be an understatement…but there was no pity to be had from her. He would either prove himself a warrior…or prove that she had wasted her time. He wasn’t about to allow the latter.
Two weeks after that conversation, he found himself in a data storage room eighty three floors up from the ground level, watching the data transfer bar scroll across the GUI screen on his datapad. He’d slipped in during the day with a shipment of goods, left in the building’s janitorial storage until the main offices closed that night. Only once his chronometer had read 23:00 on local time did he risk breaking the seal on his storage crate and getting out. From there, he’d enacted his plan. The Janitorial lock was simple enough and easily bypassed. He’d used schedules of the guard shifts on the various floor and, with stolen blue prints, mapped out his movement up through the building to take advantage of holes within them. He wouldn’t try to use the elevators…it was too easy to track and too much of a pain to get out of if they were stopped.
Access to the server room had been tricky, requiring voice recognition and print verification. Fortunately enough for him, the head security manager was a Selonian matriarch with only a few grays in her fur. It hadn’t been particularly difficult to wine her and dine her. The more she drank, the more gregarious she became, easily giving him enough data for a voice spoof. After a night of wining and dining her (and a night that was “fuzzy” to say the least), he left the next morning with a glass that had all the prints he required. That led him to now…with the data pad beeping that the download was complete.
Disconnecting, he had prepared to leave, checking his chronometer. The security sweep on this floor should have just passed. A quick check outside made it apparent that this was the case…he could hear the footsteps and see the flashlight sweeping fading down the hallway. Moving the opposite direction, he was stopped when someone came out of the bathroom, almost running directly into him. One of the two guards on the sweep had apparently stopped to answer the call and left the other to continue the sweep. He and Rizzen stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them expecting the other and being completely flat-footed. It was fortunate that Rizzen had a full suit and mask on…there weren’t very many Falleen on planet after all and he’d somewhat stick out. Finally, they both reacted at the same time…the guard hitting his mike to call an alert and draw his sidearm with the other hand. Rizzen moved forward, removing the distance between them and striking out, punching the man in throat to stop him from being able to speak. All that was heard over the radio was the sound of an “urk!” and gurgle before Rizzen pulled him into a clench and gave him three quick and successive knees. The first two further knocked the wind out from the guard while the third caught him in the jaw and finished sending him into unconsciousness. That was about the time that the alarms began to sound.
Apparently the man’s partner had gotten alarmed by the strange sounds he’d heard over the radio.
Rizzen took off down the hall. The original plan was to move back down through the building and extract through the more lightly guarded service entrance. With that now out of the picture, he was defaulting to the backup plan. He had to get to the roof where Liera would pick him up with an airspeeder. Security partitions were beginning to come down as he neared the emergency entrance to the roof. Taking a leap of faith, he dove beneath it, barely clearing it as it sealed…and not a moment too soon. When he got up, he saw the other guard rounding the corner in the hallway and come towards him. Luck was in his favor again. Screwing subtlety, he shot out the lock and barreled through the door, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the roof and repeated his actions with that lock.
Getting out onto the top of the building, he saw the lights of Liera’s airspeeder coming in. Pulling out his datapad, he ran an emergency protocol that he’d set up in the system while he’d waited for the download to finish. It began taking down the targeting systems for the anti-air defenses that had been put up on the top to prevent just this sort of infiltration/exfiltration. He was relieved when he began seeing the status lights on the systems going out. He didn’t have long to wait as Liera swooped in. Diving inside, they tore off through the Druckenwell night.
It wasn’t the flawless execution that he’d hoped for…but the mission was a success and Liera dubbed him successful in this, his verd’goten. She took him back to Concord Dawn and formally introduced him to her clan. It was there that he allowed himself to enter the Mandalorian fold completely, taking an oath and pledging himself to the culture and its people and becoming a part of her clan. That night he was gifted Beskar from Liera, something she’d hoarded in order for this moment. It was gifted to him…so that he might make his own armor and fulfill all his tenets as a new Mando’ade. That night was also the first night that Liera shared his bed. The simmering possibility between them had been there, evident to them both since the day she had entered his life in a blur of blood and violence. He had made attempts with her before, but she’d always refuted his advances. Given the respect he had for her because of her actions in that bar and the magnification of that respect he felt for her precluded him from using his natural pheromones to help entice her. She made it very clear that she would never allow herself to be with someone not Mandalorian. Now it was no longer a concern.
Fully [i[Verd[/i] now…the two of them spent the better part of a decade traveling the galaxy and plying their profession with quite professionalism. Her contract on Druckenwell had ended and, truth be told, her nomadic nature had made the concept of staying any longer on that planet to be highly unenjoyable. Therefore, they simply went to work, sharing their particular skill set with the galaxy. Business was good, life was good. When he was 37 years of age, his father contacted him. He wanted to know when his son would be returning. Rizzen told his patriarch everything, of course…it was expected amongst his kin. His father simply laughed it off…telling him that he would grow out of this phase soon enough and that, once he did, he should return home. His father said he would soon be feeling his age and did not want to spend the entirety of his retirement years reteaching how to expand their empire. The fortunes of House Xan, after all, had brightened considerably while Rizzen had been away. They ended the conversation amiably enough; Rizzen allowed his father to believe as he wished.
The next year Liera left. She was still full of vitality, but now, in her early forties, she wished to settle down. She wished to have children…to pass on their heritage as the Resol’nare demanded. Rizzen did not. They’d spoken of it several times over the last few years and while they had bonded greatly…they both understood that their paths would eventually part. This was that juncture…and though regrettable, they both parted their separate ways.
Now Rizzen operates alone…a freelance mercenary for any that need a delicate and experienced touch to get in, get what they want, and get out again.
RP Sample:
Rizzen looked behind him, assuring himself that there was no one in the hallway, then checked the monitor on his wrist-mounted data pad. The guards were not due to return through this section of the building for fifteen minutes, far more time than he needed to get what he came after and get out again. The screen showed the continuous loop video of this section of hall that was even now being pumped through the building’s security system through its hacked carrier signal. Taking a knife, he slid it in between the sealed halves of the turbolift door, putting his weight upon it to make the doors edge apart just an inch or two. That was all he needed. Keeping the pressure with one hand and his body weight, he reached behind him, pulling out the small, rectangular box found there on his left hip. Holding one end, he flipped it open, the box revealing itself to be a length of connected rectangles. As the rectangles straightened out, they locked together, end to end, and gave him a half-meter’s length of strip just under an inch wide.
He slide that strip so it was wedged vertically between the two doors, easing tension on the blade to allow the halves to pin the strip between them. The bottom of the strip was roughly three feet above the floor. Moving himself back, he keyed a sequence into that datapad. Recessed LEDs blinked on the strip…red….yellow…green. With a muffled “whump” the side of the strip shot out, forcing the doors apart and keeping them there with an energy field. A counter on his datapad began to tick. The field would last ten minutes before collapsing. Slapping a magnetized pad with a ring to the floor. A depress of a button shot a small anchor into the floor for added security. From the small of his back, he drew out fiber wire with a carbineer clip, locking it onto the ring. Crouching now by the door, he checked the time. 9:42…9:41….9:40. Sliding beneath the door wedge, he twisted onto his belly and let himself slip back until he was holding on by his fingertips and then released. The wire twisted him about so he was facing the interior of the elevator as the winch on his back lowered him.
Curling his legs behind himself, he let them contact the wall and grip, working himself until he was now walking down it, following the speed of the fiberwire winch. Tapping on that pad once more, he increased the speed of the descent until he was jogging.
After all, he was on the clock….
Password: Vornskr
Race: Falleen
Age: 44
Height: 1.82 Meters (71.6 in)
Weight: 87.1 Kilograms (192 lbs)
Birth place: Falleen, Falleen
Appearance:
Rizzen is a paragon for his race. Standing just shy of six feet in height, he is built lean and powerfully from the physical training regimen and daily training in Teräs Käsi that he uses to keep himself fit for fighting. He is a predatorially handsome member of his race, with power features that are accented by that reptilian look. For the most part, his skin looks smooth, though small scales can be seen along the line of his brow, edge of his jaw, and down along his spine. They spread out along his back before tapering into an arrowhead as they travel further down along his spinal ridges. Like all members of his species, he has slightly clawed fingers. He keeps his deep, midnight black hair in a top-knot from the back of his skull, rarely letting it get past his shoulder blades due to the interference it would cause with his helmet. There is one scar of note…the mark of a blaster bolt that traced his ribcage along the side, under his left arm.
Rizzen has very vivid violet eyes that seem to darken if his mood grows sour. Most often, his complexion is of a pale gray-green, though in certain circumstances he’ll shift it to a vibrant blood red to make himself more imposing….or if his temper flares out of his control. More often than not, he refrains from wearing his armor, though it is always kept in meticulous care. It is most often worn when he knows conflict will be inevitable or when the natural intimidation that the armor can bring is advantageous. Outside of the armor, he prefers clothing of good quality, generally being more conscious of how he looks, believing it to be as potent a weapon as his blasters or his fists. Usually he prefers dark colors such as black and maroon, with brighter accent colors to complement the skin tone he decides to have.
Personality:
Cold: Rizzen has a very detached air about him, cultivated from his upbringing as a minor Falleen noble. He prides himself on self-control and that can often be seen as imposing and frigid for those that do not know him. Unless he is dealing with a fellow Falleen or a fellow Mandalorian, he tends to look down upon them due to that natural sense of Falleen superiority, which is only exacerbated by his belief in the Mandalorian culture. This outer emotional armor was rarely lowered in public, and generally only due to moments of extreme anger or surprise.
Smooth: Despite that detached attitude, he spent enough time dealing with Falleen politics that he can maneuver mental battlefields as adeptly as he can physical ones. He is well-versed in etiquette and manners and employes them judiciously when it is to his advantage. This particular gift also extended to his dealings with those of the opposite sex. His upbringing gave him a healthy appetite for them and that physical appearance and noble blood gave him more than ample opportunity to sate it. All of this has helped allow him to be very persuasive and turn things to his advantage…especially if a woman is involved.
Professional: A consummate businessman, his word is his bond. His reputation is paramount to him, as it would be for any Falleen noble. The Mando’ade sense of honor found a synergetic co-existence with his ingrained nobility.
Vindictive: Slights are never forgotten and rarely forgiven. He is patient enough to wait for the perfect opportunity to enact retribution for anything done against him. He was willing to wait years and let foes be lulled into complacency to allow for maximum impact.
Proud: He is Noble. He is Fallen. He is Mandalorian. There can be no one greater in his eyes, and only few equals.
Profession: Mandalorian Mercenary (Infiltration Specialist)
Skills:
Gunslinger - 5
Dueling - 5
Quick Draw - 3
Teräs Käsi - 7
Persuasion 6
Infiltration - 7
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 6
Intelligence: 7
Speed: 6
Leadership: 4
Unarmed: 7
Melee Weapons: 5
Ranged Weapons: 6
Alignment: 0
Ship Name: TBD
Bio:
Blue Blood (Birth to Age 22)
Rizzen was borne into House Xan, a minor house of Falleen nobility. Though they had not yet managed to cultivate great political power on the planet, they had strong footholds in the financial and legal areas, providing them with excellent fiscal resources and positioning to deal with their more prominent rival houses. Given this, Rizzen grew up in a world wanting for nothing…borne with the proverbial platinum spoon in his mouth. Early on in life he showed a sharp and curious intellect and drive. He wasn’t content with crawling; he began walking three months sooner than the average Falleen child. He began to speak six months before the average Falleen. He was never content with things the way they were, always wanting more and more often than not finding himself indulged. When he was six years of age, he began to show an interest in the HNN martial arts vids had his father, Paxal Xan, hiring a private tutor for him in Teräs Käsi. Rizzen enjoyed the challenge, taking to it readily and with ardor.
That was just the beginning of his learning, however, for other tutors were brought in to begin teach him everything he would need to know as a noble. From Mathematics to Etiquette, Politics to History, he was ensconced in learning, which he found every bit as invigorating as his physical training. He was being carefully groomed to eventually take over as head for the House…to help see it to greater glory and prestige in the future when it was time to pass the mantle from father to son. When he turned thirteen, his father also began to teach him how to use a blaster. Nobility was hinged upon honor, after all, and those that attempted to infringe upon that honor were expected to be dealt with. Teräs Käsi was fine when dealing with rabble, but dispute amongst nobles required a more refined touch. Duel by blaster was the method of choice…only rarely resulting in death but assuaging pride and standing satisfactorily. By the time he’d become seventeen, he was comfortably versed in unarmed combat, more than capable of holding his own in most confrontations and engaged in close to a dozen duels of honor, always having come out the victor. He was quick, thanks to a natural talent honed by his physical training and the reactions bred into him via his pistol training. That quickness continued to develop mentally as well. He found himself with a head for numbers and logic, making him a natural for the ventures that House Xan excelled in. This was only to be expected, however, as Rizzen had been put into the finest boarding school credits could buy, where those of noble birth were cultivated to carry on their heritage.
After an early graduation, he was quickly enrolled in higher education, focusing on both financial and legal degrees. He was, after all, expected to understand every finite nuance of his House’s power base. Failure to do so was not an option, as it would put their standing at risk. The discipline honed into him through training, coupled with his pride in House and blood, had him well-focused. His rapacious ability to learn did the rest. After five years, he achieved the dual-degree. He’d continued to focus on his martial talents as well, taking part in competitions to test himself and further honor his House. He’d partaken in another four duels during this time, the last having a regrettable pall to it and occuring shortly after his graduation.
The youngest son of House Zorn (the Xan’s primary financial rival), had chosen to incite anger in Rizzen by defiling his House’s good name, hoping to goad Rizzen into a duel. It had, of course, worked. The young Zorn, however, had sought to help take out a promising rival and had managed to get associates to rig the weapons that were to be used in the duel. Instead of simply being painful and humiliating to be shot with, one of the weapons had been modified to fire at full power. When the duel commenced, the Zorn male fired quickly, being a bit too eager to rid himself of Rizzen. His shot was not true, scorching Rizzen’s side. Surprised by the pain and realizing the treachery, Rizzen responded by firing back at his opponent’s face. Such an action was considered dishonorable, as even with the lower power settings, such a shot could prove fatal. As luck would have it, this would be the case. Rizzen’s shot caught his foe in the eye, killing him instantly. Many had thought Rizzen to be cold-blooded murderer and railed against him and House Xan until Rizzen’s injury came to light and the proof of treachery was provided by informants bought by Paxal. Despite his name being cleared, the Xan patriarch figured it best for his son to take time away…to allow the situation to fade into the distant memories of the nobility. As it was, the time for Rizzen to take his tour of the galaxy and be reminded of the superiority of the Falleen race was coming up shortly. Once he was healed (save for that one, irrevocable reminder on his side), his father presented him with a ship and sent him off to learn the galactic culture first hand.
A Brush with Honor
Paxal bequeathed a prototype ship he’d been given thanks to some rather generous donations. The Xan’s Honor was a swift ship, almost one of its kind…fitting given the new owner of it. With that, a galactic account with credits, and his father’s well-wishes, Rizzen set off into space. Truth be told, he looked forward to this. Much as he may have been getting conditioned to take over in his father’s stead, he wasn’t yet ready for that role. He still wanted to learn more, to experience. He believed that, given this opportunity, he would learn more and choose to come back. Everyone else in the House did as well. The galaxy was filled with scum, after all…a noble Falleen would see this, learn from the experiences, and then return. It was just the way things worked. His first stop was Druckenwell. After all, it was run by corporate guilds and, while he did not desire to take his father’s place any time soon, he was pragmatic enough to realize that understanding how corporations and financial processes worked in the Republic would prove invaluable. He was aware of how his father was attempting to extend out their financial reach…he wanted to help that process occur. The sheer amount of other species in that overpopulated world was rather overwhelming, expecially when coupled with the lack of courtesy and respect that he simply took as a given back on his home world. After four different brawls in as many hours, he realized that the unclean, uncivilized masses of the galaxy most likely did not understand the need to supplicate to their superiors. While he’d taken care of himself, it only took one lucky blow to hurt him, cripple him, or kill him. Certainly a few had tried…their weapons now in lifeless fingers. He was very happy for the martial arts he’d been trained in since he was young. The experience was enough to make him more cautious, realizing that most simply did not understand how to respond to their betters here. They were little more than savages, it seemed.
Eventually, he found his way to a decent enough establishment, where the moderately affluent members of the community stayed. It was still not ideal, but he was practical enough to realize that he could hardly expect any place here to match the cultural refinement of his home. At least they were civilized enough to have weapon scanners at the door and a man to enforce the policy at the door. He managed to settle himself down with a wine that seemed of only marginally-dubious vintage. He considered this a sacrifice in his attempt to learn more about galactic culture. Perhaps, if he was very lucky, he might manage to give some real culture back to the galaxy and make it a slightly better place. He’d spent the better part of an hour nursing the drink and pondering his next action when there was a disturbance outside. Moments later, several thugs that clearly didn’t belong in this particular part of Druckenwell. The quad came in, brandishing blasters. The doorman received two bolts to the chest before he could finish drawing his own weapon. Two of the interlopers moved, slamming the doors closed before moving over to one table. When the two patrons occupying the table didn’t move quick enough, they were forcibly thrown to the ground and kicked to get the point across before the table was dragged over and pushed on its side to act as a barrier against the doors. The third had moved, shooting into the ceiling, screaming at everyone to get down. The last stood there, apparently overseeing everything and directing this controlled chaos.
Rizzen was rather beside himself…having gone for his own weapon, only to remember that it was currently secured there by the door that had been so recently barricaded. While he was comfortable enough in hand to hand that he felt he could disarm one of them, that did him little good when the other two would be able to blast him before he could even be properly proud of the accomplishment. So…he found himself in the very unenviable position of being helpless. All he could do, for the moment, was follow the directions of those with the advantage and wait for the situation to change. It happened sooner than he anticipated.
Once the men gained control of the room, they began herding most of the patrons and employees into two groups. One was put near the front door in order to act as blaster shields against any that happened to try and force their way in. The others were brought near the back to the secondary exit and made to bar it. Each group had one of the gunmen watching over them and to ensure that they remained docile. The last group included all of those who seemed the most well-off. Rizzen was part of that group. He’d noticed during this all that the men kept looking at squat, low windows of the room nervously and had made a point of getting them closed once the groups were split. This was more than a simple job against the establishment. If he’d had to fathom a guess, he’d think that these men were running from someone and had come into this establishment out of desperation. Now they were merely taking advantage of it while they attempted to figure another way out. This was only expounded by the fact that, as the one that seemed in control and his gunman were going through the belongings of Rizzen and his compatriots began to interrogate them about political pull. By the questioning, it began to be clear that they were looking for someone they could leverage to get them out of whatever had lead them to this point in their life.
Once it was Rizzen’s turn for questioning, they quickly realized that they might have what they were looking for. His House certainly had the money to influence significant factors, even here on Druckenwell. The idea of giving into such vagabonds however, was not only disgusting, but demeaning. That these dogs would attempt to extort such from him and expecting his family to acquiesce to those demands was preposterous and insulting. Nevertheless, he remained as cool as possible when he informed him that House Xan would never give in to demands such as those. They did not deal with terrorists. The leader pursed his lips at this, livid at Rizzen’s arrogance. A nod of his head had the butt of a blaster slammed against the Falleen’s temple before he could react. He dropped to the ground, dazed and only barely understanding as he heard the man tell his associate to take him into the refreshers and “encourage him to reconsider his stance on the matter.” The next thing he knew, he was being dragged away and the doors to the male refreshers closing. This began a beating as a boot connected with his temple, followed up by kicks to the ribs that had him curled up and attempting to defend himself against while the room spun. While he was skilled in unarmed combat, the ferocity and underhanded manner of this beating and the one before it had him stunned. All of his other unarmed combat situations had been expected…something he’d been able to at least minimally prepare for. He’d been caught off-guard by this one and was still reeling.
Somewhere during that, he vaguely managed to make out something in the reflection of the refresher mirrors. One of the ceiling tiles was being lifted. He saw this for a moment before that boot took up his vision and he brought his arms up to blunt the blow. As his head came back forward after it, he caught the blurred view of a lithe form dropping down with barely a sound from rubber booted feet. It was enough, however, to warn the thug, who began to turn. Survival instinct finally kicked in for Rizzen at that point as he wrapped himself up in the man’s legs, stalling him and diverting his attention. It was enough.
The unexpected arrival was a woman. She wore a black, form-fitting padded under suit. It seemed to be made to be worn under more durable armor, but for ease of movement, limited space, and stealth, the rest had been left behind, save for her boots and a utility belt that held a vibro blade. She had ice blue eyes, like the wrath of a Hoth winter and hair so pale a blonde it almost seemed made of snow. You couldn’t say she was beautiful, her features were too severe, too unorthodox, to be classically beautiful. She was, however, very striking. Her body was lean and toned, a body made for and honed by battle. She came up from the crouch she’d dropped into and drove forward, not hesitating a moment to take advantage of Rizzen’s distraction. Her strikes were lightning quick and laser precise. The first had her fingers bent, second knuckles forward to spear into the man’s throat and crush his windpipe before he could call out an alarm. Even in his current state, Rizzen could hear the sound of the cartilage cracking while the man gurgled and wheezed. He tried to flail a punch at her, but she was already moving. She slid to the side, ducking under the blow, that vibroblade seeming to leap into her hand unbidden before it found itself embedded into the man’s back, along his side and driving deep into his kidney’s, further paralyzing him with pain. The vicious weapon was drawn out and slammed home twice more as she kept moving, stepping over Rizzen as though he was not there and acting like a dervish of death. That blade found the man’s other side as she ducked around once more, dragging the blade out and hit with that third strike, the weapon twisting in her palm to a reversed grip as it hit the man’s throat and all but cleanly severed the spinal cord. Two and a half heartbeats, maybe three, and she’d struck three lethal blows. Rizzen pulled away as the man toppled, already dead. His head was starting to clear.
The woman dropped to a crouch, wiping off that blade on the man’s clothes while she looked him over. He wanted to ask her who she was….what she was, but she held up her other hand to silence him when his lips began to move. It then moved to her throat, where he now saw that a throat mike was adhered. She spoke in subvocal tones, inclined her head to listen, then nodded and provided a response. She began asking him questions about the group….what was going on in the next room…anything of tactical advantage. Although he was in pain, Rizzen was all too willing to provide her with all the information that he could. While she listened to his accounting, she took the man’s blaster from his belt and inspected it. All of the information he relayed to her, she in turn relayed to whoever was on the other end, to include the locations of the thugs and their hostages.Listening again, she nodded and would move to the door. Rizzen, feeling a bit better and more stable, got up to follow her. Nothing seemed broken, but he would be bruised and sore.
In the main room, two of the windows blew open…the windows picked specifically because they weren’t close to the hostages. The explosion hadn’t even died before grenades flew in, filling the room with light, noise, and smoke as the flash bangs went off, adding to the confusion. In the midst of that chaos, the woman stepped out. The blaster fired off, three quick, staccato shots that took the far thug, near the front entrance and its hostages, twice in the chest and once in the head. She pivoted, the blaster tracking toward the other man holding hostages near the rear exit. He had time enough to bring up his blaster and turn toward her. He fired, but hadn’t really aimed. The bolts streaked past her, inches from her, but she didn’t move…taking the extra heartbeat to aim before letting those three blasts take him down too. That left only the leader. He’d ducked down at the blasts, lost amongst the tables and out of sight when she’d come out. As she stood there now, taking out the second man, it left her back exposed to his direction now that he was getting up, his own blaster now in hand. Seeing her, back exposed, he began to take aim.
Rizzen, not currently involved in killing men with cool efficiency, saw this occurring and reacted. The rush of adrenaline managed to blunt the pain of his beating as he sprinted forward. The leader saw him and tried to adjust his fire, but it was too late. The Falleen was able to get inside and within arm’s reach. That was all he needed now, training taking over as he struck the man’s wrist first. The weapon went flying and then Rizzen was on him. All the pain caused by the beating, the insult to the integrity of his family, he fed it all into his anger as he attacked the man. He didn’t realize the man was dead until the woman came and pulled him off.
He learned after the fact that the woman was Mandalorian. A mercenary, she’d been hired out by several of the corporate guilds of Druckenwell to deal with delicate situations such as this one. Her name was Liera Sol. He’d impressed her with his cognizance during the beating, when he reacted to slow the man so that she could kill him in the refresher. He’d further impressed her by acting to defend her while she was involved with the other two and the ferocity with which he’d taken down the man. While he’d heard of the Mandalorians…they had never been colored quite as vividly as they were now with her as an example. He had never considered the potential nobility of the culture, but the professionalism…the way she’d coolly and calmly acted to take out the threats and how she’d acted afterward, in the aftermath with him and the others, impressed him. He had found a facet of galactic culture that had resonated with him.
When he asked her to allow him to learn from her…to learn more about what she did, where she came from, she agreed.
Shadows of Life (Age 23 - 28)
Over the next five years, Rizzen Xan became a very apt pupil for Liera Solvut. His quick mind and martial arts training allowed him to pick up skills and techniques that she used as an infiltration specialist. She taught him close range melee. She taught him how to move while controlling the sounds he made. He learned the intricacies of breaking into a building: He became apt at looking at it and see weak points, places he could use to climb, to enter, to subvert. She taught him about bypassing security, both physical and electronic. She was not exactly the most pleasant teacher either. To her mind, you either rose above adversity or let yourself drown in it. She made it clear that, in this respect, his noble background meant nothing to her. Nobility was a characteristic of self for her, not birth. She was demanding and exacting and did not accept anything other than his very best.He had to relearn many things…how to not enter a room and expect it to revolve around him…how at times it was best for one not to be noticed or stand out at all. The shift of mindset took a little more work, though she did not want him to lose the ability to deal with the upperclass. That was a talent that was also very useful. She taught him everything she knew.
This included everything about her culture, the Mando’ade. Her mindset…the strength and honor of her, fascinated him. Through her, he learned about the culture, from the advent of it by the Taung to what it had become under the rule of the current Republic. Through her he learned the tenets that she lived by, the Resol’nare. The more he learned, the more he was surprised and the more he came to respect the culture and the people that lived by it. It was not noble in the way that his people, his family were. They did not care about blood the same way or expect it to inherit nobility. That was up to the person themselves. The more he learned, the more involved he became. He could fully understand putting family, putting clan, first…it was a tenet that he himself had lived by since a very early age. The importance of such in a culture was not lost on him…but he’d seen it become lost in more than a few cultures. That this warrior culture put it as part of the critical core of who they are only added to the respect that he felt for them. From the importance of teaching the future generations, to the protection of clan, to coming together at the will of their unifying leader, it all resonated with him and his own ideals heavily.
It, of course, wasn’t difficult for him to understand their feelings about outsiders…about keeping them at arm’s length and not easily allowing them within if they weren’t to become part of that culture. His people were little different…but while one could choose to take the Mandalorian culture and make it a part of themselves, no one could just make themselves Falleen.
Time progressed and they continued to work well as a team. She never allowed him to lead a mission, however. If they were working on something together, he was always there as a backup role. He would help her coordinate, provide her the latest information…even follow in with her as backup, but she never allowed him to work solely on his own or be in charge. Six years had passed and they’d made a good name for themselves on Druckenwell. The name was enough that they were getting corporate account requests from larger clients that required discreet entry and data removal or delicate situation handling. They were quite the pair, but he was still not allowed to operate on his own. He was only ever allowed to be in a support role, running the systems behind the scenes to monitor security systems, detect potential threats, or to verify if the local authorities were after them. He spent the entire time with her there on Druckenwell, completing contract after contract. As patient as he was, however, with five years gone by, he was beginning to chafe about the fact that she never allowed him to actively participate, despite all the training that she demanded of him.
Cultural Shock and Awe (Age 28 to 38)
Things finally came to a head when he confronted her outright. He was ready. He knew he was. It had gotten to the point where she did not even correct him during training. He knew the facets of the profession she’d taught him, but was held back from employing them fully…and he called her on it. He was ready to be there, in her face, and to argue about this…but she stopped him. Liera cocked her head at him, one of those rare smiles quirking on her lips as she responded to the interrogation about why she did not trust him to actively participate with her. Her tone was simple, the way one might speak to a particularly dull child.
“Because you are adiik, Rizzen. You are not Mando’ade. It would be irresponsible for me to allow you out of your birikad,,,.”
That had him stunned for a long moment before he could finally sputter out in disbelief. “Adiik? Adiik? I am only five years younger…trained just as well…noble. I am far from adiik! I’ve been living with you…sharing in your culture, every day for the last five years. I am no less Mando’ade at this point than you are!” He was heated…positively livid to the point that his skin had gone a vibrant shade of red. This only seemed to amuse her further.
“Ah…so…you think you are Mando’ade...? Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you are now, Rizzen. Still, you are adiik. You have not passed into being a man…you are ge’verd. This is work for verd…”
“Then let me be one! I’ll show you that I am far more than just ge’verd!”
“Are you sure that is what you want, Rizzen?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Come…we must take a trip.”
Truth be told…this had been part of Liera’s plan the entire time…but she had to let the decision be his own to make (with a little prodding). There was a contract for data exfiltration that had come up…something that she felt was perfect for him to use to prove his skills and abilities as a warrior that she had taught him. The job was complicated with the data server located in a Druckenwell high rise with the latest in corporate security innovations. She gave him the location…the information that she had about the timeline…the known security threats…the target data…and stepped back. She would give him no further information or assistance other than the basic dossier of information. All of the planning, preparation, and execution were up to him. To say that he was nervous would be an understatement…but there was no pity to be had from her. He would either prove himself a warrior…or prove that she had wasted her time. He wasn’t about to allow the latter.
Two weeks after that conversation, he found himself in a data storage room eighty three floors up from the ground level, watching the data transfer bar scroll across the GUI screen on his datapad. He’d slipped in during the day with a shipment of goods, left in the building’s janitorial storage until the main offices closed that night. Only once his chronometer had read 23:00 on local time did he risk breaking the seal on his storage crate and getting out. From there, he’d enacted his plan. The Janitorial lock was simple enough and easily bypassed. He’d used schedules of the guard shifts on the various floor and, with stolen blue prints, mapped out his movement up through the building to take advantage of holes within them. He wouldn’t try to use the elevators…it was too easy to track and too much of a pain to get out of if they were stopped.
Access to the server room had been tricky, requiring voice recognition and print verification. Fortunately enough for him, the head security manager was a Selonian matriarch with only a few grays in her fur. It hadn’t been particularly difficult to wine her and dine her. The more she drank, the more gregarious she became, easily giving him enough data for a voice spoof. After a night of wining and dining her (and a night that was “fuzzy” to say the least), he left the next morning with a glass that had all the prints he required. That led him to now…with the data pad beeping that the download was complete.
Disconnecting, he had prepared to leave, checking his chronometer. The security sweep on this floor should have just passed. A quick check outside made it apparent that this was the case…he could hear the footsteps and see the flashlight sweeping fading down the hallway. Moving the opposite direction, he was stopped when someone came out of the bathroom, almost running directly into him. One of the two guards on the sweep had apparently stopped to answer the call and left the other to continue the sweep. He and Rizzen stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them expecting the other and being completely flat-footed. It was fortunate that Rizzen had a full suit and mask on…there weren’t very many Falleen on planet after all and he’d somewhat stick out. Finally, they both reacted at the same time…the guard hitting his mike to call an alert and draw his sidearm with the other hand. Rizzen moved forward, removing the distance between them and striking out, punching the man in throat to stop him from being able to speak. All that was heard over the radio was the sound of an “urk!” and gurgle before Rizzen pulled him into a clench and gave him three quick and successive knees. The first two further knocked the wind out from the guard while the third caught him in the jaw and finished sending him into unconsciousness. That was about the time that the alarms began to sound.
Apparently the man’s partner had gotten alarmed by the strange sounds he’d heard over the radio.
Rizzen took off down the hall. The original plan was to move back down through the building and extract through the more lightly guarded service entrance. With that now out of the picture, he was defaulting to the backup plan. He had to get to the roof where Liera would pick him up with an airspeeder. Security partitions were beginning to come down as he neared the emergency entrance to the roof. Taking a leap of faith, he dove beneath it, barely clearing it as it sealed…and not a moment too soon. When he got up, he saw the other guard rounding the corner in the hallway and come towards him. Luck was in his favor again. Screwing subtlety, he shot out the lock and barreled through the door, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the roof and repeated his actions with that lock.
Getting out onto the top of the building, he saw the lights of Liera’s airspeeder coming in. Pulling out his datapad, he ran an emergency protocol that he’d set up in the system while he’d waited for the download to finish. It began taking down the targeting systems for the anti-air defenses that had been put up on the top to prevent just this sort of infiltration/exfiltration. He was relieved when he began seeing the status lights on the systems going out. He didn’t have long to wait as Liera swooped in. Diving inside, they tore off through the Druckenwell night.
It wasn’t the flawless execution that he’d hoped for…but the mission was a success and Liera dubbed him successful in this, his verd’goten. She took him back to Concord Dawn and formally introduced him to her clan. It was there that he allowed himself to enter the Mandalorian fold completely, taking an oath and pledging himself to the culture and its people and becoming a part of her clan. That night he was gifted Beskar from Liera, something she’d hoarded in order for this moment. It was gifted to him…so that he might make his own armor and fulfill all his tenets as a new Mando’ade. That night was also the first night that Liera shared his bed. The simmering possibility between them had been there, evident to them both since the day she had entered his life in a blur of blood and violence. He had made attempts with her before, but she’d always refuted his advances. Given the respect he had for her because of her actions in that bar and the magnification of that respect he felt for her precluded him from using his natural pheromones to help entice her. She made it very clear that she would never allow herself to be with someone not Mandalorian. Now it was no longer a concern.
Fully [i[Verd[/i] now…the two of them spent the better part of a decade traveling the galaxy and plying their profession with quite professionalism. Her contract on Druckenwell had ended and, truth be told, her nomadic nature had made the concept of staying any longer on that planet to be highly unenjoyable. Therefore, they simply went to work, sharing their particular skill set with the galaxy. Business was good, life was good. When he was 37 years of age, his father contacted him. He wanted to know when his son would be returning. Rizzen told his patriarch everything, of course…it was expected amongst his kin. His father simply laughed it off…telling him that he would grow out of this phase soon enough and that, once he did, he should return home. His father said he would soon be feeling his age and did not want to spend the entirety of his retirement years reteaching how to expand their empire. The fortunes of House Xan, after all, had brightened considerably while Rizzen had been away. They ended the conversation amiably enough; Rizzen allowed his father to believe as he wished.
The next year Liera left. She was still full of vitality, but now, in her early forties, she wished to settle down. She wished to have children…to pass on their heritage as the Resol’nare demanded. Rizzen did not. They’d spoken of it several times over the last few years and while they had bonded greatly…they both understood that their paths would eventually part. This was that juncture…and though regrettable, they both parted their separate ways.
Solo Act (Age 38 to Present)
Now Rizzen operates alone…a freelance mercenary for any that need a delicate and experienced touch to get in, get what they want, and get out again.
RP Sample:
Rizzen looked behind him, assuring himself that there was no one in the hallway, then checked the monitor on his wrist-mounted data pad. The guards were not due to return through this section of the building for fifteen minutes, far more time than he needed to get what he came after and get out again. The screen showed the continuous loop video of this section of hall that was even now being pumped through the building’s security system through its hacked carrier signal. Taking a knife, he slid it in between the sealed halves of the turbolift door, putting his weight upon it to make the doors edge apart just an inch or two. That was all he needed. Keeping the pressure with one hand and his body weight, he reached behind him, pulling out the small, rectangular box found there on his left hip. Holding one end, he flipped it open, the box revealing itself to be a length of connected rectangles. As the rectangles straightened out, they locked together, end to end, and gave him a half-meter’s length of strip just under an inch wide.
He slide that strip so it was wedged vertically between the two doors, easing tension on the blade to allow the halves to pin the strip between them. The bottom of the strip was roughly three feet above the floor. Moving himself back, he keyed a sequence into that datapad. Recessed LEDs blinked on the strip…red….yellow…green. With a muffled “whump” the side of the strip shot out, forcing the doors apart and keeping them there with an energy field. A counter on his datapad began to tick. The field would last ten minutes before collapsing. Slapping a magnetized pad with a ring to the floor. A depress of a button shot a small anchor into the floor for added security. From the small of his back, he drew out fiber wire with a carbineer clip, locking it onto the ring. Crouching now by the door, he checked the time. 9:42…9:41….9:40. Sliding beneath the door wedge, he twisted onto his belly and let himself slip back until he was holding on by his fingertips and then released. The wire twisted him about so he was facing the interior of the elevator as the winch on his back lowered him.
Curling his legs behind himself, he let them contact the wall and grip, working himself until he was now walking down it, following the speed of the fiberwire winch. Tapping on that pad once more, he increased the speed of the descent until he was jogging.
After all, he was on the clock….
Password: Vornskr
