Post by Casual on Feb 8, 2010 23:56:04 GMT -5
Faction: Mandalorian
Department: Special Operations
Rank: Sergeant
Name: Trassk Gragorick
Race: Trandoshan
Age: 29
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 185 lb
Appearance:
Dark green with a blend of brown, Tras is not imposing in stature. His strength is moderate for his species and his muscles more lean than large. He has a slim appearance, preferring to be a quick scrappy and technical brawler rather than a brute who can take hits. He regenerates his limbs slightly faster than the rest of his species, though, not at a truly noteworthy or surprising rate. He's got a few scars, but they're hidden under his dark complexion.
(The lightsaber obviously excluded)Armor has been crafted by Trassk himself, and is built light and strong. It is for being quick and maneuverable. He constructed it green to signify the duty he upholds with the Mandalorians, though, in a twist of irony, does things his own way.
Personality:
Tras is crass, rude, and speaks his mind. He doesn't bother with feelings, he calls 'em like he sees 'em. He's had a rough life, and with each blow, it's made him tougher and tougher. He's a quick learner and that's probably what's allowed him to survive so long. He's brutal on the battlefield, and to those who haven't dealt with him long enough, would say he's reckless. But there is always method to the madness when it comes to Trassk. Unpredictable at times, he can find a friendship, if one could call it that, within the Mandos, but has little tolerance for those outside them. His pride to the Mandalorian cause is high, and no matter what would remain loyal to them. Not much exists beyond the next battle with Trassk, though it should be known that while this is true, that does not mean he lives for them.
Birth place: Enceri ,Mandalore
Skills:
Piloting
Regeneration (Racial)
Infrared Vision (Racial)
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 7
Leadership: 3
Unarmed: 8
Melee Weapons: 6
Ranged Weapons: 7
Alignment: -2
Bio:
Trassk Gragorick was born the firstborn to Maylik and Byggarl Gragorick in the small town of Enceri. His family was known among Mandalorians as the least exceptional of fighters, to put it lightly. Though they were no pushovers by military standards, the Gragoricks had the reputation of simply being the least successful in the field of combat. The family lived on by sheer dumb luck, long enough to keep their names. It's even possible that the fact that they were durable Trandos, regeneration and strength being a possible key to this. Regardless, before Trassk was born he would have difficulties in the society he was born to. Life progressed normally for this family of merchants who dealt in whatever business of sale they could when they weren't out fighting.
When Trassk turned three, both his parents began training him, as all the Gragoricks had done. This was, in large part, due to the ridicule they would receive. When both parents taught, there was a better chance of the child to learn to do better and do more. He was an amazing learner, eating up whatever training his parents had in store. With him, they were proud, they even believed that he may be the hope their family had been looking for, maybe he would be an excellent warrior. They would soon find out just what kind of warrior he would be.
Trassk absorbed everything he could from his parents, his promise as a quick and critical learner and thinker kept him up to pace, and even faster than expected. He took particular interest in hand-to-hand combat, growing more and more proficient with each day. His next best skill was with weaponry, taking up blasters over pistols, which he seemed to despise, though he became acceptably skilled with them, regardless. Blaster rifles on the other hand, he loved. The feel of them since his first shot struck a chord with him. His clumsy clawed hands however, kept him from becoming as skilled as he wished, and he chose to stick with hand to hand ability.
When it came to melee weapons, he was about as skilled as the rest of his family before him. He was almost clumsy with the things, and seemed to be the only weapon that would trip him up. Whatever else his parents had to teach him, he clung to in his mind, battle tactics, history, duty, glory, honor and any other academia was like candy to him. For this his parents were exceedingly proud.
When he turned eight, his parents gave birth to his sister, who they named Finx Gragorick. His training proceeded as normal, however, the only difference now was that his mother was no longer involved. In this, he sought some new influences in his life. He began to talk and play with other mandalorian children of his age. At his age "play" consisted of skirmishes and sparring. He found that no matter how much his parents had taught him, he could only ever compare to the other children, finding that there were many much more skilled than he. He started to fight them as often as possible in light of this discovery, in play of course. When he wasn't training, sleeping or eating, he was looking for other children to fight/play with. Soon the time had come for Trassk to take on the verd'goten, and his entire world would kick off for the first time.
Now, it was three months before Trassk's 13th birthday, and the time of his maturity was close at hand. His parents, however, had better prospects on Dxun, and three months before his birthday, left behind Mandalore and Trassk's friends for the rough and tough jungle moon Dxun. There Trassk's father had prospects working as quartermaster. His sister would continue her training with him, while Trassk would begin the task of taking on the verd'goten.
By the time he had turned 13, he had not made any new friends, since some of them had heard of the Gragoricks, that he was new, and too old to really settle in with them, and that he found it difficult to make new friends at this stage in life. This didn't really bother him just yet, as he had reached the age of maturity. He wouldn't be seeing them, he'd be too busy hanging out with the mature guys. He needed something to prove his worth and honor, though, and the best thing on Dxun for that was to slay some intimidating creature. Trassk knew that his best bet was a boma.
At the age of 13 and one month, Trassk headed into the jungles to slay a boma, armed only with a vibroblade, a standard blaster rifle and a blaster pistol. He hoped he wouldn't be in over his head, but he was a warrior, trained well and ready for anything. He was a mandalorian, and as such, he could not be defeated. Within no time he had found three maalraas, one cannok, and what he thought to be zakkeg tracks. Needless to say he steered clear of the zakkeg, but had killed two of the maalraas and avoided the cannok as best he could. It was then that he had found the young-adult boma. It was a sizable beast, and would prove quite the challenge.
Trassk began by firing at its legs, causing it to become shocked at first, then enraged. He proceeded to circle the outside of the clearing, taking shots at it, and then at the ground, disconcerting it. When it was confused, he unleashed hell. He fired as much as he could before the creature spotted and charged him. Trassk threw down his blaster rifle, and drew his vibroblade and blaster pistol, one in each hand. He dodged the boma's charge just barely, and fired two shots at its head. Following the attack, he ran after it as it passed. The boma must not have expected this, as the now smoking creature turned ready to charge again towards where it would expect Trassk to have stayed. Instead, he was now upon the rage-drunk beast and thrust the vibroblade into its head, the vibrating death plunging deep and killing it instantly.
As he made his way back, he found it difficult, being that he now had a large gash in his side. When he had attempted to dodge the boma, he had actually gotten caught by its teeth. In the heat of the moment, however, and with the adrenaline pumping, he hadn't noticed it at the time. He had the blaster rifle slung by its strap on his back, the pistol at his him, the blade in his hand and a chunk of the boma's head in his other as he bled his way back to camp, lucky to have not come across any other malevolent forces. He was met by his sister, who took him to the camp's medic. He was just fine the next day, and ready to receive his recognition. He did, but in a way that felt simply forced, as if they did not desire it for him.
The next few years would progress painfully for Trassk, the only highlight being the crafting of his beskar'gam. He crafted it green, signifying that though some mandos were not so quick to include him, he would never stop in fulfilling his duties. He was a mando through and through and had something to prove. He worked to keep it durable, but light, asking many questions from the armor smith. In the end, they produced a strong and light suit tailored well with Trassk's claws and form, a few spines protruding in odd places, in hopes to make Trassk's hand to hand combat that much more lethal. He was still held in the upper-moderate ranks for hand to hand here on Dxun, and still had plenty of training ahead of him, but he was sure he could become exactly the raw and effective warrior he hoped to be. His sister, now at the age of ten, seemed to exude the same mind as her brother. A quick and learning one, but her's was much faster, but slower to learn than he. The two would soon be training with and alongside each other, drawing from the other's strengths and thus accelerating their skills as a whole.
The next two years progresses this way, training with the other Mandalorians near his age and gaining whatever instruction he could from those older than him. He kept his particular interest in the quick and efficient martial arts. He continued to make no friends, but people didn't necessarily look down on him as before. There was simply a mutual distaste for him in the atmosphere of wherever he went. His sister became his best friend over the years, and the two had a lot in store for them.
It was when he was 15 that Trassk went out on his first full-fledged military mission. It was a simple guerrilla attack on a Republic convoy. Attack and board their vessel, take what needs to be taken, and head home. It progressed well, and Trassk even got to shoot someone who otherwise would have shot him. In all, it was a good chance to show what he was made of, though they didn't see much combat.
In the meantime, Trassk kept himself busy, taking on as many opponents as would fight him hand to hand in the ring. He found that he was clearly not the best, but because of their ridicule, which they had taken on afresh once they found him to train with his sister and only his sister, as well as the fact that he didn't stack up to anyone his age in anything but close combat, and even then was he moderately capable. So it was here he chose to refine himself. To make himself better. Through his numerous fights, he received his fair share of bumps and bruises, none of which deterred him. He even began to fight so much, just to fall back down and get up again, that they would have to ask him to leave, to which he would refuse. In these cases, he was set up to fight the toughest mando they could find. His name was Brozk Zezzak (In this instance, I'm estimating this camp's best, Brozk, with being at about an 8 in unarmed) . He was the camp's best at hand to hand combat, and when he fought, Trassk found that he only lasted two minutes. Those two minutes were all that he needed. He would watch how Brozk fought, how every one of his opponents fought, and in so doing, slowly but surely grew better and better. To everyone else, it may seem he was a glutton for punishment, his species' natural resilience keeping him going, and his stubborn attitude bringing him to his feet every time he was knocked down. But for him, he was learning, and learning well.
Through these he began to rise through the ranks, becoming among the camp's top fighters. He was not yet a match for Brozk, but he had gained much promise. With this newfound rise in skill, Trassk discovered he had become better respected, and thus, more confident. He began to excel at things he hadn't been skilled in before. His prowess with blasters and slugthrowers improved. His melee weapons skills had improved. And he was slowly becoming an overall better warrior for it.
He reached the age of twenty within what felt like days. He was now enrolled in the military, that being his sole occupation. Long gone were the simple child-missions like the one he had received at the age of 15. No, he was in whatever front-line combat he could get his fists on. Pistols being second to fists, and vibroblades third, Trassk was found to be a critically thinking, hardened and rough warrior, even for a mando. He continued his tactics of presumed recklessness, only to be found to have had a plan all along. It was this skill that was recognized by some of his commanding officers which led to his eventual promotion to Sergeant at the age of 22. Those were his roughest of days. Not only were those who were ever under his command hesitant to follow through with what strategies and orders he gave to them, such as leaving a wild-firing team of three mandos where the group had once been, while sending 3/4ths of his force in a double flank, surrounding the enemy. Most of his group and individual strategies proceeded to move on borderline wild and careless, and kept his men wary of him at all times, but they seemed to work in the situations at hand. Though, his men rarely noticed this. This, and the fact that they were under the command of a Gragorick kept them in a very upset mood. He was 22 years old, had been the among the worst of them a mere seven years ago, and had a family history that revealed just why his initial skill and training had been so poor. They didn't trust him, and for that, he didn't trust them.
Life wore on like poison, but a bittersweet one. Here on the battlefield, his officers felt more inclined to give him small task groups, so that if he ever did slip up, the casualties would be limited. He never did though, at least never to such a degree. At the same time however, he found he loved battle, that it was like candy to him. He couldn't get enough of it and he didn't know why. Perhaps he felt that with each one, he knew he was getting better. Better at understanding his enemy, better at understanding himself. He never made any lasting friendships, his sending such friends to do such seemingly careless and reckless tasks as he himself took on put an end to that. His combat skills improved with each fight, that was until the day came that would set off most, if not all of his dormant vices.
By the time Trassk was 25, his sister Finx had reached the age of 20, and was also enrolled in the mandalorian military. Even with that, after the five years she had been in, they had never even shared the same battlefield. Until now.
She was sent to be under his command in a two-fold operation. A battle against the Republic, and then a bombing of their facilities. Trassk intended to bomb them early on in the battle to give the Republic a distraction while they moved in. He reasoned that if they bombed it before the battle even started, they would become aware of an attack and sound the alarm, and at the end would just be a waste of good explosives. The best choice was a distraction and collateral combat damage. The men didn't seem to like the idea. Two teams were made, a clandestine "bomb squad" and a fighting force. His sister was put with the bomb squad, a clever and fiery girl, she would be able to handle herself in the small group. The plan was set into motion. Things were going well, Trassk's mando force was taking no losses and hitting the Republic soldiers hard. It was when the building when up that things got out of control. Just before it went up, his sister came over his comm. It was a garbled and worried voice, unintelligible mando'a. Then it cut off to the explosion of the target building. Trassk couldn't take it. He knew what had happened, but the denial was too strong. He leaped over their fortifications and charged straight to the dilapidated building.
The Republic was indeed caught up in the confusion, as he was only shot about ten times, each a glancing blow, with the exception of one in his right shoulder and one at his arm. The armor sustained the wild shots made at him. He made it to the structure to find that the rubble had covered everything, and that his sister was not in sight. Standing atop the rubble, he fired shot after shot until the rifle was depleted, and then ran towards the ever increasing troops that had come to inspect their downed building, hoping to save those who they had lost. If Trassk could not save his own sister, they did not deserve to save anyone. He then forgoed all thought in a reckless rage on those around him of Republic persuasion. He snapped necks and broke bone, neglecting all sense in so doing. He survived, as well as his attack force, the only casualties suffered were those of the bomb squad. They left the planet, their mission accomplished, but for Trassk, his heart was crushed.
Over the next four years, Trassk would give up on the intellect he and his sister once shared and trained together, and keep his careless and reckless nature, causing him to be sent on such missions that did not cause him to put the lives of others in jeopardy. His armor would be run through numerous trials, having to be repaired almost constantly for his rashness. The body inside the shell of armor that signified duty would weather most of the damage that the light and resilient beskar'gam would not. He would put himself through his own rigorous training, becoming quick and agile, but also strong and resilient, like the best of hand to hand warriors. He even defeated the man who once held the title of his camp, Brozk Zezzak. Every day was brutal to himself, but never permanently destructive. He was not suicidal, rather, he simply didn't care enough to think as he had once done. This led to multiple close calls in terms of his discharge and other reprimands, but they could never seem to get rid of him, he was too effective, to valuable to have sent to live the life of a farmer or quartermaster like his still-devastated parents, who did not blame him like he blamed himself. They needed somewhere to put him, as he was becoming a danger to himself and possibly others, which included the Republic. The solution? He would be sent to the Special Operations group known as the Blood Pack.
The decision resonated in Trassk, he knew this was opportunity. He could get back to the old Trassk Gragorick and avenge his sister, rather than mourn for her in such a painful way. He could be constructive here, allowed to be the warrior he had always been looked down on for being. He would take this chance, and prove that he was a force to be reckoned with. Trassk Gragorick was going to reclaim his honor and do the Mandalorians proud, without having to lose himself in the process.
RP Sample:
I couldn't give an ass's rat about just how many excess holes I put in that guy, he's alive and that's all that gorram matters!
Trassk said of his handiwork. How much did it matter if the guy had a few black eyes and some smoldering limbs, at least he could answer the questions the interrogators had.
It was simple snatch and go mission, Sergeant Gragorick! You get the guy, you bring him back! There was no need to shoot him or anyone else for that matter!
Sir, with all due respect, you ordered me to get the guy and I got him.
The officer put his hand to his face and slid it down, exasperated.
So I did.
Well then, sir, may I be excused?
Fine, yes, yes. There's no point in taking this any further, you're on thin ice, Trassk, you should know that it wouldn't be wise to skate on it.
Duly noted, sir.
With that, Trassk left the office. He knew he was on thin ice, but he also knew he could get the job done. Even the slightest mishap could destroy his career. He would have to tread carefully. That was if he ever got the chance.
(Yea, it ain't the prettiest RP, but, meh, it gets the job done)
Password:Kylah
Department: Special Operations
Rank: Sergeant
Name: Trassk Gragorick
Race: Trandoshan
Age: 29
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 185 lb
Appearance:
Dark green with a blend of brown, Tras is not imposing in stature. His strength is moderate for his species and his muscles more lean than large. He has a slim appearance, preferring to be a quick scrappy and technical brawler rather than a brute who can take hits. He regenerates his limbs slightly faster than the rest of his species, though, not at a truly noteworthy or surprising rate. He's got a few scars, but they're hidden under his dark complexion.
(The lightsaber obviously excluded)Armor has been crafted by Trassk himself, and is built light and strong. It is for being quick and maneuverable. He constructed it green to signify the duty he upholds with the Mandalorians, though, in a twist of irony, does things his own way.
Personality:
Tras is crass, rude, and speaks his mind. He doesn't bother with feelings, he calls 'em like he sees 'em. He's had a rough life, and with each blow, it's made him tougher and tougher. He's a quick learner and that's probably what's allowed him to survive so long. He's brutal on the battlefield, and to those who haven't dealt with him long enough, would say he's reckless. But there is always method to the madness when it comes to Trassk. Unpredictable at times, he can find a friendship, if one could call it that, within the Mandos, but has little tolerance for those outside them. His pride to the Mandalorian cause is high, and no matter what would remain loyal to them. Not much exists beyond the next battle with Trassk, though it should be known that while this is true, that does not mean he lives for them.
Birth place: Enceri ,Mandalore
Skills:
Piloting
Regeneration (Racial)
Infrared Vision (Racial)
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 7
Leadership: 3
Unarmed: 8
Melee Weapons: 6
Ranged Weapons: 7
Alignment: -2
Bio:
Birth to Age 3
Trassk Gragorick was born the firstborn to Maylik and Byggarl Gragorick in the small town of Enceri. His family was known among Mandalorians as the least exceptional of fighters, to put it lightly. Though they were no pushovers by military standards, the Gragoricks had the reputation of simply being the least successful in the field of combat. The family lived on by sheer dumb luck, long enough to keep their names. It's even possible that the fact that they were durable Trandos, regeneration and strength being a possible key to this. Regardless, before Trassk was born he would have difficulties in the society he was born to. Life progressed normally for this family of merchants who dealt in whatever business of sale they could when they weren't out fighting.
When Trassk turned three, both his parents began training him, as all the Gragoricks had done. This was, in large part, due to the ridicule they would receive. When both parents taught, there was a better chance of the child to learn to do better and do more. He was an amazing learner, eating up whatever training his parents had in store. With him, they were proud, they even believed that he may be the hope their family had been looking for, maybe he would be an excellent warrior. They would soon find out just what kind of warrior he would be.
Ages 3 to 13
Trassk absorbed everything he could from his parents, his promise as a quick and critical learner and thinker kept him up to pace, and even faster than expected. He took particular interest in hand-to-hand combat, growing more and more proficient with each day. His next best skill was with weaponry, taking up blasters over pistols, which he seemed to despise, though he became acceptably skilled with them, regardless. Blaster rifles on the other hand, he loved. The feel of them since his first shot struck a chord with him. His clumsy clawed hands however, kept him from becoming as skilled as he wished, and he chose to stick with hand to hand ability.
When it came to melee weapons, he was about as skilled as the rest of his family before him. He was almost clumsy with the things, and seemed to be the only weapon that would trip him up. Whatever else his parents had to teach him, he clung to in his mind, battle tactics, history, duty, glory, honor and any other academia was like candy to him. For this his parents were exceedingly proud.
When he turned eight, his parents gave birth to his sister, who they named Finx Gragorick. His training proceeded as normal, however, the only difference now was that his mother was no longer involved. In this, he sought some new influences in his life. He began to talk and play with other mandalorian children of his age. At his age "play" consisted of skirmishes and sparring. He found that no matter how much his parents had taught him, he could only ever compare to the other children, finding that there were many much more skilled than he. He started to fight them as often as possible in light of this discovery, in play of course. When he wasn't training, sleeping or eating, he was looking for other children to fight/play with. Soon the time had come for Trassk to take on the verd'goten, and his entire world would kick off for the first time.
Ages 13 to 15
Now, it was three months before Trassk's 13th birthday, and the time of his maturity was close at hand. His parents, however, had better prospects on Dxun, and three months before his birthday, left behind Mandalore and Trassk's friends for the rough and tough jungle moon Dxun. There Trassk's father had prospects working as quartermaster. His sister would continue her training with him, while Trassk would begin the task of taking on the verd'goten.
By the time he had turned 13, he had not made any new friends, since some of them had heard of the Gragoricks, that he was new, and too old to really settle in with them, and that he found it difficult to make new friends at this stage in life. This didn't really bother him just yet, as he had reached the age of maturity. He wouldn't be seeing them, he'd be too busy hanging out with the mature guys. He needed something to prove his worth and honor, though, and the best thing on Dxun for that was to slay some intimidating creature. Trassk knew that his best bet was a boma.
At the age of 13 and one month, Trassk headed into the jungles to slay a boma, armed only with a vibroblade, a standard blaster rifle and a blaster pistol. He hoped he wouldn't be in over his head, but he was a warrior, trained well and ready for anything. He was a mandalorian, and as such, he could not be defeated. Within no time he had found three maalraas, one cannok, and what he thought to be zakkeg tracks. Needless to say he steered clear of the zakkeg, but had killed two of the maalraas and avoided the cannok as best he could. It was then that he had found the young-adult boma. It was a sizable beast, and would prove quite the challenge.
Trassk began by firing at its legs, causing it to become shocked at first, then enraged. He proceeded to circle the outside of the clearing, taking shots at it, and then at the ground, disconcerting it. When it was confused, he unleashed hell. He fired as much as he could before the creature spotted and charged him. Trassk threw down his blaster rifle, and drew his vibroblade and blaster pistol, one in each hand. He dodged the boma's charge just barely, and fired two shots at its head. Following the attack, he ran after it as it passed. The boma must not have expected this, as the now smoking creature turned ready to charge again towards where it would expect Trassk to have stayed. Instead, he was now upon the rage-drunk beast and thrust the vibroblade into its head, the vibrating death plunging deep and killing it instantly.
As he made his way back, he found it difficult, being that he now had a large gash in his side. When he had attempted to dodge the boma, he had actually gotten caught by its teeth. In the heat of the moment, however, and with the adrenaline pumping, he hadn't noticed it at the time. He had the blaster rifle slung by its strap on his back, the pistol at his him, the blade in his hand and a chunk of the boma's head in his other as he bled his way back to camp, lucky to have not come across any other malevolent forces. He was met by his sister, who took him to the camp's medic. He was just fine the next day, and ready to receive his recognition. He did, but in a way that felt simply forced, as if they did not desire it for him.
The next few years would progress painfully for Trassk, the only highlight being the crafting of his beskar'gam. He crafted it green, signifying that though some mandos were not so quick to include him, he would never stop in fulfilling his duties. He was a mando through and through and had something to prove. He worked to keep it durable, but light, asking many questions from the armor smith. In the end, they produced a strong and light suit tailored well with Trassk's claws and form, a few spines protruding in odd places, in hopes to make Trassk's hand to hand combat that much more lethal. He was still held in the upper-moderate ranks for hand to hand here on Dxun, and still had plenty of training ahead of him, but he was sure he could become exactly the raw and effective warrior he hoped to be. His sister, now at the age of ten, seemed to exude the same mind as her brother. A quick and learning one, but her's was much faster, but slower to learn than he. The two would soon be training with and alongside each other, drawing from the other's strengths and thus accelerating their skills as a whole.
The next two years progresses this way, training with the other Mandalorians near his age and gaining whatever instruction he could from those older than him. He kept his particular interest in the quick and efficient martial arts. He continued to make no friends, but people didn't necessarily look down on him as before. There was simply a mutual distaste for him in the atmosphere of wherever he went. His sister became his best friend over the years, and the two had a lot in store for them.
Ages 15 to 25
It was when he was 15 that Trassk went out on his first full-fledged military mission. It was a simple guerrilla attack on a Republic convoy. Attack and board their vessel, take what needs to be taken, and head home. It progressed well, and Trassk even got to shoot someone who otherwise would have shot him. In all, it was a good chance to show what he was made of, though they didn't see much combat.
In the meantime, Trassk kept himself busy, taking on as many opponents as would fight him hand to hand in the ring. He found that he was clearly not the best, but because of their ridicule, which they had taken on afresh once they found him to train with his sister and only his sister, as well as the fact that he didn't stack up to anyone his age in anything but close combat, and even then was he moderately capable. So it was here he chose to refine himself. To make himself better. Through his numerous fights, he received his fair share of bumps and bruises, none of which deterred him. He even began to fight so much, just to fall back down and get up again, that they would have to ask him to leave, to which he would refuse. In these cases, he was set up to fight the toughest mando they could find. His name was Brozk Zezzak (In this instance, I'm estimating this camp's best, Brozk, with being at about an 8 in unarmed) . He was the camp's best at hand to hand combat, and when he fought, Trassk found that he only lasted two minutes. Those two minutes were all that he needed. He would watch how Brozk fought, how every one of his opponents fought, and in so doing, slowly but surely grew better and better. To everyone else, it may seem he was a glutton for punishment, his species' natural resilience keeping him going, and his stubborn attitude bringing him to his feet every time he was knocked down. But for him, he was learning, and learning well.
Through these he began to rise through the ranks, becoming among the camp's top fighters. He was not yet a match for Brozk, but he had gained much promise. With this newfound rise in skill, Trassk discovered he had become better respected, and thus, more confident. He began to excel at things he hadn't been skilled in before. His prowess with blasters and slugthrowers improved. His melee weapons skills had improved. And he was slowly becoming an overall better warrior for it.
He reached the age of twenty within what felt like days. He was now enrolled in the military, that being his sole occupation. Long gone were the simple child-missions like the one he had received at the age of 15. No, he was in whatever front-line combat he could get his fists on. Pistols being second to fists, and vibroblades third, Trassk was found to be a critically thinking, hardened and rough warrior, even for a mando. He continued his tactics of presumed recklessness, only to be found to have had a plan all along. It was this skill that was recognized by some of his commanding officers which led to his eventual promotion to Sergeant at the age of 22. Those were his roughest of days. Not only were those who were ever under his command hesitant to follow through with what strategies and orders he gave to them, such as leaving a wild-firing team of three mandos where the group had once been, while sending 3/4ths of his force in a double flank, surrounding the enemy. Most of his group and individual strategies proceeded to move on borderline wild and careless, and kept his men wary of him at all times, but they seemed to work in the situations at hand. Though, his men rarely noticed this. This, and the fact that they were under the command of a Gragorick kept them in a very upset mood. He was 22 years old, had been the among the worst of them a mere seven years ago, and had a family history that revealed just why his initial skill and training had been so poor. They didn't trust him, and for that, he didn't trust them.
Life wore on like poison, but a bittersweet one. Here on the battlefield, his officers felt more inclined to give him small task groups, so that if he ever did slip up, the casualties would be limited. He never did though, at least never to such a degree. At the same time however, he found he loved battle, that it was like candy to him. He couldn't get enough of it and he didn't know why. Perhaps he felt that with each one, he knew he was getting better. Better at understanding his enemy, better at understanding himself. He never made any lasting friendships, his sending such friends to do such seemingly careless and reckless tasks as he himself took on put an end to that. His combat skills improved with each fight, that was until the day came that would set off most, if not all of his dormant vices.
Ages 25 to 29
By the time Trassk was 25, his sister Finx had reached the age of 20, and was also enrolled in the mandalorian military. Even with that, after the five years she had been in, they had never even shared the same battlefield. Until now.
She was sent to be under his command in a two-fold operation. A battle against the Republic, and then a bombing of their facilities. Trassk intended to bomb them early on in the battle to give the Republic a distraction while they moved in. He reasoned that if they bombed it before the battle even started, they would become aware of an attack and sound the alarm, and at the end would just be a waste of good explosives. The best choice was a distraction and collateral combat damage. The men didn't seem to like the idea. Two teams were made, a clandestine "bomb squad" and a fighting force. His sister was put with the bomb squad, a clever and fiery girl, she would be able to handle herself in the small group. The plan was set into motion. Things were going well, Trassk's mando force was taking no losses and hitting the Republic soldiers hard. It was when the building when up that things got out of control. Just before it went up, his sister came over his comm. It was a garbled and worried voice, unintelligible mando'a. Then it cut off to the explosion of the target building. Trassk couldn't take it. He knew what had happened, but the denial was too strong. He leaped over their fortifications and charged straight to the dilapidated building.
The Republic was indeed caught up in the confusion, as he was only shot about ten times, each a glancing blow, with the exception of one in his right shoulder and one at his arm. The armor sustained the wild shots made at him. He made it to the structure to find that the rubble had covered everything, and that his sister was not in sight. Standing atop the rubble, he fired shot after shot until the rifle was depleted, and then ran towards the ever increasing troops that had come to inspect their downed building, hoping to save those who they had lost. If Trassk could not save his own sister, they did not deserve to save anyone. He then forgoed all thought in a reckless rage on those around him of Republic persuasion. He snapped necks and broke bone, neglecting all sense in so doing. He survived, as well as his attack force, the only casualties suffered were those of the bomb squad. They left the planet, their mission accomplished, but for Trassk, his heart was crushed.
Over the next four years, Trassk would give up on the intellect he and his sister once shared and trained together, and keep his careless and reckless nature, causing him to be sent on such missions that did not cause him to put the lives of others in jeopardy. His armor would be run through numerous trials, having to be repaired almost constantly for his rashness. The body inside the shell of armor that signified duty would weather most of the damage that the light and resilient beskar'gam would not. He would put himself through his own rigorous training, becoming quick and agile, but also strong and resilient, like the best of hand to hand warriors. He even defeated the man who once held the title of his camp, Brozk Zezzak. Every day was brutal to himself, but never permanently destructive. He was not suicidal, rather, he simply didn't care enough to think as he had once done. This led to multiple close calls in terms of his discharge and other reprimands, but they could never seem to get rid of him, he was too effective, to valuable to have sent to live the life of a farmer or quartermaster like his still-devastated parents, who did not blame him like he blamed himself. They needed somewhere to put him, as he was becoming a danger to himself and possibly others, which included the Republic. The solution? He would be sent to the Special Operations group known as the Blood Pack.
The decision resonated in Trassk, he knew this was opportunity. He could get back to the old Trassk Gragorick and avenge his sister, rather than mourn for her in such a painful way. He could be constructive here, allowed to be the warrior he had always been looked down on for being. He would take this chance, and prove that he was a force to be reckoned with. Trassk Gragorick was going to reclaim his honor and do the Mandalorians proud, without having to lose himself in the process.
RP Sample:
I couldn't give an ass's rat about just how many excess holes I put in that guy, he's alive and that's all that gorram matters!
Trassk said of his handiwork. How much did it matter if the guy had a few black eyes and some smoldering limbs, at least he could answer the questions the interrogators had.
It was simple snatch and go mission, Sergeant Gragorick! You get the guy, you bring him back! There was no need to shoot him or anyone else for that matter!
Sir, with all due respect, you ordered me to get the guy and I got him.
The officer put his hand to his face and slid it down, exasperated.
So I did.
Well then, sir, may I be excused?
Fine, yes, yes. There's no point in taking this any further, you're on thin ice, Trassk, you should know that it wouldn't be wise to skate on it.
Duly noted, sir.
With that, Trassk left the office. He knew he was on thin ice, but he also knew he could get the job done. Even the slightest mishap could destroy his career. He would have to tread carefully. That was if he ever got the chance.
(Yea, it ain't the prettiest RP, but, meh, it gets the job done)
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