Post by Dutch on Jan 29, 2010 22:20:01 GMT -5
Name: Cyar’ika Vevut
Race: Codru-Ji
Age: 32
Birthplace: Space- Zuir’s Blessing
Allegiance: The Mandalorians
Status: Reclaimer
Rank: Mandalore
Height/Weight: 5'4"/ 131 lbs
Appearance:
Played by Antje Traue
Mandalore’s stature is smaller than one would guess the leader of the Mandalorian people would stand. This alongside her pointed ears and second pair of arms reveal Cyar’ika to be one of the rare Codru-Ji. Since taking the position, Mandalore keeps her jet-black hair kept short for ease. Eyes a piercing blue, they watch everything with a keen and intense gaze. From the constant wearing of her armor, Mandalore’s skin is pale and hardly marked by any scars. With the exception of the one just to the left of her navel.
Physically average height by Codru-Ji standards, Cyar’ika has a toned and athletic body like many Mandalorians. Her body is lithe and flexible, allowing Mandalore to apply the quick and deadly strikes needed for a kill. She has a fast metabolism that both makes her burn calories quickly and leaves her with a seemingly constant appetite. It is not uncommon to see her snacking when not confined in her armor. A mythosaur skull is tattooed on the upper right side of her back, a mark for her people.
When not in public Cyar’ika prefers to wear the under-weave of her armor, in case it needs to be donned at a moment’s notice. Unless one lived with Cyar’ika, they’d never know that she has a cybernetic hand. Having lost her lower-left arm, it is usually covered and hidden by the under-weave. The cyborg part of the arm ends halfway up her forearm, and the metal is a blue-steel color. She prefers to keep this part of her anatomy hidden, a secret source of shame as the arm was taken by a Jedi.
Personality:
The one word that could describe the woman best would be driven. Mandalore holds herself to a high standard, even more so since taking the title. Prideful and confident in her abilities Cyar'ika can be prone to being cocky, usually kept to verbal comments over foolish actions. She can be obsessive-compulsive about maintaining her equipment, be it her armor, cybernetic hand or war droid Mandalore can work in seclusion for hours.
Fiercely loyal to her people, she would do anything for the Mandalorians and their cause. This extends beyond the racial pack-mentality of her species. Cyar'ika would die for her people, but would prefer to kill the assailants instead. The one thing she would ever disagree with a Mandalorian on would be battle strategy. Where most would charge in boldly for glory, Cyar'ika always prefers to look at a situation and analyze it before charging in and seizing victory. Though she prides herself on her intellect, Mandalore is equally ashamed of the more barbaric urges of her race. Like all predatorial species instincts are hard to overcome, and all too often the woman battles between feral animal and prodigal battle-maiden.
Cyar'ika tends to keep details about herself quiet, preferring to focus conversation on anything outside what she's feeling and thinking. This furthers the idea that Mandalore always knows more than she lets off. She wants to show she is every bit the warrior as any other Mandalorian despite her size, and can be overly competitive at times. The pressures of leadership do at times leave Mandalore anxious and stressed. Yet she doesn’t want to appear weak in any way, and thus does her best to hide these emotions.
Mandalore sees the necessity of the alliance with the Sith Empire, though is quite wary of any who carry a lightsaber. She sees them as a necessary- and formidable- evil, but despite her disagreements with some tenants of the Empire they are a means to an end. Jedi are met with much more prejudice, as she doesn’t buy the whole ‘noble peacekeeper’ face they try to show the galaxy. Though she won’t attack on sight, whenever someone that is obviously a Force adept is nearby she has at least two hands resting on her pistols.
Ships/Vehicles:
Par’jila
The Silk Specter
Equipment:
Basilisk War Droid: Kaysh’davaab’skira
4x Mandalorian Heavy Blasters (MHB)
2x 12” Beskar Woven Combat Knives
2x 10” Collapsible Beskar Woven Wasp Batons
5x Thermal Detonators
Stats:
Strength - Below Average
Agility - Above Average
Intelligence - Superior
Charisma – Average
Combat Training:
Mandalorian Wrestling- Journeyman
Gunslinger - Expert
Quadruple Wield (Racial Ability)- Expert
Other Training:
Heightened Hearing (Racial Ability) - Master
Piloting - Journeyman
Repair - Expert
Slicing- Expert
Biography:
Puppy Love
Twenty three years ago on the freighter Zuir’s Blessing a wyrwulf was born to two Codru-Ji. The pup’s father was Yin, and her mother Oloa. Unfortunately for them, neither parent would be the one to raise their child. Little did they know, but the ship they had bought charter on was more than a simple transport for those that had the credits. The captain had smuggled several illegal weapon modifications into the ship, and someone tipped the Republic off. Mere hours after their child’s birth, the Republic patrol hit them between hyperspace jumps.
A brief but deadly firefight was traded between the Republicans and the Zuir’s crew, but sadly, both Yin and Oloa were killed in the crossfire. Their nameless wyrwulf lay bundled in a blanket behind several cargo crates, far from the where the Republic searched for the weapon mods. They left her there accidently to die, what could a single lonely, newborn pup do? Zuir would indeed bestow her blessing upon the wyrwulf that day, as the ship was not alone. Hidden behind a small asteroid field, a group of Mandalorian scavengers waited to pick the bones of the raid. Among this group of Mandalorians, was Commander Devas Vevut, celebrated Nautolan hero of his clan.
When the team came aboard the Blessing, Devas removed his helm per routine. Almost immediately he picked up the presence of the wyrwulf with his tendrils, and moved right to the poor pup. He smiled down on the little bundle when he arrived, and picked her up. Though he had never seen a wyrwulf, he found the pup adorable nonetheless, and decided to keep her as a pet. Once the ship had been picked dry of all valuables and salvageable equipment, the team along with the newborn wyrwulf left Zuir’s Blessing to rot in space.
Back on Mandalore, Devas quickly found a midwife to help him with the pup, as she needed to feed. Formula mix was given to the man to feed the wyrwulf pup, whom he started to call “Cyar’ika”- or “darling” in the Mandalorian tongue. Once the pup was able to walk, she would follow Devas wherever he went in town, the two became synonymous with one another. The only times that Cyar’ika would be away from Devas was when the commander was on a mission. When he was gone, she’d stay with his sister, Eiri, who chose a life of a merchant over one on the front lines.
Whenever Cyar’ika and Devas had down time, the two enjoyed sitting with any other Mandalorians and listen to stories, Cyar’ika never left Devas’ feet. Her most common greeting for Devas was a lick at his fingertips and a happy tail wag. During her hours among Devas and other Mandalorians, she began to catch onto their languages of both Mando’a and Basic. Though, as a wyrwulf, she was unable to speak, but that didn’t stop her from understanding. Devas always found it uncanny how she always understood whatever he said it seemed. Eight years the two were side by side, a deep bond was forged between the two, one that would only get stronger. Luckily that bond was as strong as it was, as the morning Devas awoke to find a rubbery blue cocoon where Cyar’ika had fallen asleep, he would have panicked more than he did. After a quick diagnosis by one of the medics to determine if Cyar’ika was ok, all Devas was told to do was wait and be patient. And wait he did.
The Surprise Daughter
A few weeks later, three days after Cyar’ika’s ninth birthday, the cocoon broke. From it emerged a beautiful, young woman with black hair, and the same piercing blue eyes her wyrwulf form had. Devas was shocked, to say the least, but immediately covered her with a blanket, and was shocked to hear her say “Thanks, Dad.” After some research that afternoon while Cyar’ika slept, Devas discovered what had happened was completely natural, that his newly given daughter was Codru-Ji.
After a dinner together, Devas asked what he should call her. The woman only smiled and said to call her what he always has, Cyar’ika. Devas couldn’t get over what an odd occurrence that had just happened these past few weeks, but he got something the aged Nautolan feared he’d never have- a child. Cyar’ika was introduced to all close friends and family, and the woman was immediately welcomed into the fold. It was apparent to them that Cyar’ika had learned a lot of Devas’ behavior over their years together. She seemed to inherit both Devas ability to consume mass amounts of food without gaining a pound and the ability to work on machinery.
Not long after introductions and such were made, Devas began to induct Cyar’ika into the clan officially by teaching her how to fight. From the minute he saw that his daughter had four arms, he knew she could be a lethal warrior. He introduced her to guns of all sorts, tough she preferred to use pistols. That way she could wield four at once if she wanted, which would give her a huge advantage over others- she would almost always have at least two guns over a foe. Devas liked this idea, and used his influence and funds to get her a set of fine Mandalorian Heavy Blasters, which he modified of course.
Along with her intense lessons with using and maintaining her pistols, Devas began to teach her his specialty, close quarters combat using melee weapons, knives specifically. Devas also had an idea Cyar’ika found most interesting- the use of batons in unison with the knives in combat together. The Nautolan was renowned for his amazing speed with a short blade, and that was something he wished to pass onto Cyar’ika. And to his delight, it seemed that Cyar’ika was as adept with them as Devas was to water. The girl was very dexterous and quick witted, she proved to be not only smart, but a fast thinker- invaluable for a duelist. It wouldn’t be more than a few years before she could hold her own in mock duels with her father, she’d even win a few just from the fact that she had an arm- or two- up on him.
Around the time Cyar’ika turned seventeen, Devas decided it was finally time to fully induct her into the Mandalorians. Alongside one of Clan Vevut’s best armor smiths, Devas and Cyar’ika all worked to fit, smelt, and forge her armor. Once the shell of it was completed, Father and Daughter worked in unison to create the under weave and mesh of the armor, as well as paint it. Cyar’ika chose to match Devas’ armor in color, to the key. She told him it was important to her that everyone knew that she was his daughter. Her armor fit perfectly, and extra equipment and confections were added, the jetpack which she had learned to use during her training- but this time it had been upgraded by Devas, and the holsters and pockets for weaponry. Devas couldn’t be prouder, and Cyar’ika couldn’t be happier, she was ready to become Beskargam’verda- a Mandalorian Warrior.
Beskaryc’dala
A small ceremony which was more of a party was held for all of Clan Vevut to welcome Cyar’ika into their fold as a warrior after her last couple years of training in the Mandalorian Special Operations, she was now officially one of the people. Cyar’ika tried her first alcoholic drink that night, something she enjoyed a lot. So much so, that she barely remembers the night, only really remembering through the tales her clan mates told her. That next day, Cyar’ika would be sent on her first mission for the Mandalorians, hung-over or not.
Luckily for Cyar’ika, it would only be a simple scouting mission. But to her delight, Devas let her take his own personal sip, the Silk Spectre. She took the blockade runner to Ordo- a planet steeped deeply within the Mandalorian culture- to scout out the state of the Republic presence there. After getting the necessary data she needed, the young woman made her way back to Mandalore. Her first mission ever was successful, if not boring. She craved more action, more danger, more fight, something to truly test her skills. And she would get that chance, and then some.
Weeks later with another couple trivial missions under her belt, she would be chosen to go back to Ordo for another mission, but this time it was a sabotage mission. She landed the Spectre in a landing bay outside the target city. Her target was a Republic general’s personal craft, a highly regarded one. To take him out would be to take out one of their best. Little did she know that he had a full compliment of a Jedi and his padawan. However, Cyar’ika went off the plan. Why waste the explosives to blow up his ship when she could wait for him to arrive at it and just shoot him a few times? So she laid in wait for him.
Just as she saw him she rocketed out from her hiding spot to attack when the Jedi ignited their weapons. She rained plasma down at the general, but between the two Jedi they easy dispatched her barrage. Knowing that if the Jedi were quick enough to block her shots, that they’d be fast enough to either handle or kill her, so she landed and bolted to the nearest atmospheric skiff. She took it and began to speed away, but the padawan managed to jump onto it as she fled. Cyar’ika had set the skiff to cruise and turned to face the young jedi. He introduced himself as Ryn Sundar as his lightsaber collided with her wasps, and told her to surrender. Defiant as always, she told him to shove his lightsaber where the sun doesn’t shine.
She managed to knock his lightsaber out of his hand with a deft blow, but the lightsaber sliced the control panel of the skiff. It spiraled out of control and crashed, but Ryn used the Force to protect himself. Cyar’ika wasn’t as lucky. The girl’s lower left arm was pinned under some of the wreckage from the skiff, and she wasn’t strong enough to lift it. It was obvious that Ryn assumed her dead, as he never came to finish her off, but she still held some small hope that someone would help. Hours passed, and night fell, and it became obvious that no one would help. She needed to do something, or else lay there and die.
After she tried to get her arm free again, it was obvious that not only was it utterly stuck, but that all feeling in that hand was gone. She called upon her training under her father to stay cool, there was nothing she couldn’t do. A couple hours of debating with herself on what to do came to one conclusion. The arm had to go. Cyar’ika tried to find one of her knives, they would make it at least a little faster. But neither were anywhere near her, nor were her pistols. That left one option, and it was one she was far from happy about. The next sharpest thing near her, was her own teeth. An electric cord would act as a tourniquet, all that was needed, was for Cyar’ika to mentally prepare for what she was going to do.
It would take Cyar’ika a little over thirty one hours to do the deed. If there wasn’t a plate broken off and a hole torn in the mesh of her armor, she’d had never been able to get to the arm. She would work in intervals, about an hour of chewing and biting, then an hour of rest after she made sure the tourniquet was tight. She bled, a lot, and as the hours ticked by, she felt herself get weaker. But finally, she had chewed away enough flesh to see bone. All she needed to do now, was break the arm, and hopefully be free. Her arm had long gone numb from both pain and nerves, but Cyar’ika knew the break was going to hurt, a lot. With a sickening wet crack and a scream of agony she was freed from the wreckage. Cyar’ika knew she didn’t have long, she needed to get back to the Spectre in one piece as soon as possible.
Cyar’ika was extremely lucky that day that her father knew something was wrong, a simple bomb placement shouldn’t have taken as long as it did. A retrieval team found Cyar’ika pale and delusional as she stumbled back towards the city where the Spectre was, she wasn’t in good shape. She passed out in one of her Mandalorian brother’s arms, and awoke hours later as they arrived back at Mandalore. Her arm had been wrapped up and bathed in kolto, it would take a long time to heal if left alone. She was given the option to have a prosthetic fitted to her to replace the lost hand, and at first, she was hesitant. Cyar’ika had never trusted droids, she knew how easy it was to reprogram them if needed. But a cybernetic limb was different, she would be in control, even if she didn’t like the thing.
Cyar’ika agreed to having the arm put on, and would begin training with it as soon as she could to get used to it. At first she found it difficult, but as weeks passed, she got more and more dexterous from it. Despite being able to have all her hands back again, Cyar’ika hid it from everyone with gloves or her own armor. It was a good thing Devas taught her everything he knew about working with machinery, with her extra limbs, maintenance was easy. Even after the years she’s had with the limb, only one person as seen it so far besides the medical staff that applied it: her father.
Unfortunately, months after Cyar’ika was promoted to Sergeant in the Spec Ops, Devas succumbed to a deadly virus. Cyar’ika was hit horribly hard by this event, it spread so quickly, and Devas’ pride kept it quiet. She kept the funeral small, family and friends only, but Cyar’ika had some big shoes to fill. She would be given her chance though; higher ups had some plans for the young woman and the Spectre, which she inherited from Devas. That higher up was none other than Mandalore himself...
The Reclaimer
The time she spent training and operating directly with Mandalore the Liberator was some of the greatest in her life. An uncle by Clan Vevut, he would never admit his obvious favorite of those that worked for him. Dubbed his ‘Honor Guard’, they were the Mandalorians chosen to fight at Mandalore’s side. It was during this time that Cyar learned more on how to direct and work with her people. She discovered more of camaraderie with her fellow warriors, though outside combat was always a more silent, pensive member. During missions it was common for her to trash talk with some of her brothers and sisters, the heat of the fight overcoming her more reserved composure.
She became quite close with Malak and the other members of the Honor Guard during this time. Through them Cyar was able to train and spar with the best the Mandalorians had to offer, from the behemoth of Mandalore, to the toughness of Tihaar, to the unstoppable machine that was Arkandos. They rarely ever went easy on their physically smaller sister, something she was grateful for. It made her laugh how often Mandalore was the one that went easy on her at times, and each time ended with him receiving a flurry of blows from her wasps. Cyar worked herself to exhaustion near every night, often passing out at a workbench or somewhere on the Spectre as she worked on it. Her ship was often chosen for their missions, the blockade runner ideal for rapid insertion into hot zones. Because of this and even more so to honor her father, she made sure to keep it in pristine shape.
Throughout her time serving under Mandalore the Liberator, Cyar’ika began to notice her uncle’s deteriorating state. Over his time he had been through hells few would have survived, let alone lived through to continue fighting. This came at a price though. One wouldn’t be able to tell without being close to him, but it was clear to her that his health was waning. She never verbally said anything to anyone, but she worried for him greatly. To the point where whenever he suggested that she stay behind for a mission, Cyar would berate him until he agreed that she would come too. On every mission Cyar’ika would pay close attention to Mandalore, studying the way he lead their people. It fascinated the woman; she was every bit as devoted to her people as he was, but there was something about the presence of being Mandalore that just inspired them all. She did her best to mirror that devotion and leadership.
It was only when the worst happened did Cyar’ika begin to take the reigns over her people. During the reclaiming of Ordo, her beloved uncle and leader was killed in action. Again the Mandalorian people had lost their Mandalore. Cyar’s memory of that day is still foggy, many reporting that the woman had charged into the thick of battle screaming after the announcement of his death. She had to be pulled out of the fray by Tihaar, injured and battered but still struggling to get back into it. Despite the victory at the battle and the claiming of Ordo for her people, Cyar’ika still sobbed for hours at the loss. She made sure no one heard or saw her during.
Once composed after much time thinking, the woman approached the rest of the Mandalorian chieftains with grim purpose. No one knew her uncle like she did, knew his desires, knew his plans, and knew his style of leadership. Cyar’ika had never been so anxious before when she had walked into the room to look her colleagues in the eye. Surrounded by the best and most revered of their people, she told them that she was to take the mantle of Mandalore. That moment was the longest in her life as she awaited the response. It was only when they agreed that Cyar’ika felt the weight of the galaxy crash down upon her, a burden she was steeled to face with renewed purpose.
After commissioning a new suit of armor, she along with the clan chieftains announced the rise of their new leader: Mandalore the Reclaimer. With a focused path set for her people, the new Mandalore wasted no time in getting the Mandalorians back into action. The loss of a Mandalore was a terrible thing, but she would not let her people languish. Mandalorians always did honor their lost best on the field of battle. And the Republic would continue to know what that meant.
Jii
Since taking the mantle of Mandalore, Cyar’ika’s crusade has known nothing but victory. From the sacking of Gargon to the revival of the Basilisk War Droids she has gained favor from most Mandalorian clans. Though some still deny her claim, even more have thrown in their support for the crusade. With a singular focus on expansion and reclamation of lost territory, new life has been breathed into the fires of the Mandalorian military-industrial complex.
The rust has been removed from gears of the Mandalorian war machine, and under Mandalore the Reclaimer’s leadership her people remember once more what it means to be mando’ade. With gifts of basilisks, territories and the blessings of battle Mandalore secures her place in the galaxy and among her people. Always known to lead the charge in battle, it is known her first act upon invasion is to gun for that planet’s leader.
Mandalore always ensures the Republic sees the decapitated heads of nobility and leadership by slicing the holonet personally and uploading the recordings made by witnesses.
Roleplay Sample:
Intro post to the Sacking of Gargon…
From the bow of the Par'jila Mandalore the Reclaimer sat astride her great war mount. The first active basilisk war droid to see the galaxy in generations,Kaysh'davaab'skira was a marvel to the Mandalorian people. With the taking of the world that filled her vision, Mandalore would gift this wonder back to them. To become what they once were. Warriors, conquerors, legends all. From the surrounding fleet legions of drop ships cascaded to the major cities on Gargon. For the past hour her forces collected and gathered on the planet's surface.
She reached down with one gloved hand to pat the surprisingly warm surface of the war droid, Skira rumbling impatiently as she too leered at the planet above the pair. The clans fell into place across the world, expertly placed to bets suit their strengths. The beast masters of Varad using their pets to keep the enemy within the city, the Naval traditionalist Bralor commanding the Fleet, her own clan Vevut strategically rooted into the spaceports to keep the planet locked down. The time was nigh for the battle to start.
Her basilisk pushed off the prow of Par'jila at the pressure given by Mandalore's boots, slowly drifting into space at first as the planet loomed overhead. With awhumf Skira's thrusters ignited, quickly picking up speed towards Gargon. Mandalore could feel her pulse begin to quicken, a cool sweat of anxiety blossoming under her armor's underweave. No Mandalorian had made an orbital drop from a basilisk war droid in generations, here she was about to remind the galaxy what her people were capable of.
Faster and faster the droid hurdled towards Gargon, the Mandalorian astride her hunching down to become as aerodynamic as possible. She let the droid take control, trusting in her steed's ancestral knowledge of the drop. Skira too tucked her limbs and flattened her wings, the red glow of entering the atmosphere beginning to gleam over silver plating. In a streak of fire the pair plummeted down towards the world, Mandalore unable to contain her shriek of delight as adrenaline seized her. Along with her Skira let loose the shriek of a flying drexl, the droid sounded just as delighted as her partner. Talusport became rapidly larger, at first a pinprick on a stretch of mountains. Then a large circle of shining sea and metal. A circle that grew larger and larger, buildings become more clear each second.
Sensor's picked up where the Republic line was drawn, mere blocks away from where her people had landed and prepared to attack. Yet none moved forward as they awaited their leader loyally. With a sonic boom Skira pierced the atmosphere, spinning slowly before rolling mid air, wings and all six limbs flinging out to slow her descent. The droid landed with amazing grace, crushing a large transport speeder under Skira's near four-thousand kilos. Metal and glass exploded outwards, bouncing harmlessly off Mandalorian beskar and causing many Republic soldiers to take cover. The warning bellow of an acklay rumbled from the hulking droid, Mandalore astride looking down at the Republic soldiers fiver meters below her. Her helm would turn to the capitol tower that loomed in the distance, knowing Gargon's leader was within. The planet wasn't hers until she claimed it from him.
"Alor Dedos! Ibac'ner me’suum adol shukalar!”
Mandalore's voice would echo out from the droid's speakers, sounding strong and confident much to her delight. She grinned toothily behind her helm, seeing the Republicans looking to one another in confusion at her words. Clearly they needed a demonstration.
"Ram'or, ner droten!"
The command to attack was immediately followed by the predatory roar of a rancor, echoing out from Skira before the basilisk lurched forward with shockwave rods flaring and cannons firing. Thrusters ignited again to send the war droid hurtling down the center of the street, blasting right through the Republic line as it charged towards the tower. With cries of delight and blood lust the tide of Mandalorians charged forward behind their Mand'alor, screaming their clan's chants and crying out challenges as the sounds of battle began to fill the air.[/i]
Race: Codru-Ji
Age: 32
Birthplace: Space- Zuir’s Blessing
Allegiance: The Mandalorians
Status: Reclaimer
Rank: Mandalore
Height/Weight: 5'4"/ 131 lbs
Appearance:
Played by Antje Traue
Mandalore’s stature is smaller than one would guess the leader of the Mandalorian people would stand. This alongside her pointed ears and second pair of arms reveal Cyar’ika to be one of the rare Codru-Ji. Since taking the position, Mandalore keeps her jet-black hair kept short for ease. Eyes a piercing blue, they watch everything with a keen and intense gaze. From the constant wearing of her armor, Mandalore’s skin is pale and hardly marked by any scars. With the exception of the one just to the left of her navel.
Physically average height by Codru-Ji standards, Cyar’ika has a toned and athletic body like many Mandalorians. Her body is lithe and flexible, allowing Mandalore to apply the quick and deadly strikes needed for a kill. She has a fast metabolism that both makes her burn calories quickly and leaves her with a seemingly constant appetite. It is not uncommon to see her snacking when not confined in her armor. A mythosaur skull is tattooed on the upper right side of her back, a mark for her people.
When not in public Cyar’ika prefers to wear the under-weave of her armor, in case it needs to be donned at a moment’s notice. Unless one lived with Cyar’ika, they’d never know that she has a cybernetic hand. Having lost her lower-left arm, it is usually covered and hidden by the under-weave. The cyborg part of the arm ends halfway up her forearm, and the metal is a blue-steel color. She prefers to keep this part of her anatomy hidden, a secret source of shame as the arm was taken by a Jedi.
Personality:
The one word that could describe the woman best would be driven. Mandalore holds herself to a high standard, even more so since taking the title. Prideful and confident in her abilities Cyar'ika can be prone to being cocky, usually kept to verbal comments over foolish actions. She can be obsessive-compulsive about maintaining her equipment, be it her armor, cybernetic hand or war droid Mandalore can work in seclusion for hours.
Fiercely loyal to her people, she would do anything for the Mandalorians and their cause. This extends beyond the racial pack-mentality of her species. Cyar'ika would die for her people, but would prefer to kill the assailants instead. The one thing she would ever disagree with a Mandalorian on would be battle strategy. Where most would charge in boldly for glory, Cyar'ika always prefers to look at a situation and analyze it before charging in and seizing victory. Though she prides herself on her intellect, Mandalore is equally ashamed of the more barbaric urges of her race. Like all predatorial species instincts are hard to overcome, and all too often the woman battles between feral animal and prodigal battle-maiden.
Cyar'ika tends to keep details about herself quiet, preferring to focus conversation on anything outside what she's feeling and thinking. This furthers the idea that Mandalore always knows more than she lets off. She wants to show she is every bit the warrior as any other Mandalorian despite her size, and can be overly competitive at times. The pressures of leadership do at times leave Mandalore anxious and stressed. Yet she doesn’t want to appear weak in any way, and thus does her best to hide these emotions.
Mandalore sees the necessity of the alliance with the Sith Empire, though is quite wary of any who carry a lightsaber. She sees them as a necessary- and formidable- evil, but despite her disagreements with some tenants of the Empire they are a means to an end. Jedi are met with much more prejudice, as she doesn’t buy the whole ‘noble peacekeeper’ face they try to show the galaxy. Though she won’t attack on sight, whenever someone that is obviously a Force adept is nearby she has at least two hands resting on her pistols.
Ships/Vehicles:
Par’jila
The Silk Specter
Equipment:
Basilisk War Droid: Kaysh’davaab’skira
4x Mandalorian Heavy Blasters (MHB)
2x 12” Beskar Woven Combat Knives
2x 10” Collapsible Beskar Woven Wasp Batons
5x Thermal Detonators
Stats:
Strength - Below Average
Agility - Above Average
Intelligence - Superior
Charisma – Average
Combat Training:
Mandalorian Wrestling- Journeyman
Gunslinger - Expert
Quadruple Wield (Racial Ability)- Expert
Other Training:
Heightened Hearing (Racial Ability) - Master
Piloting - Journeyman
Repair - Expert
Slicing- Expert
Biography:
Puppy Love
Twenty three years ago on the freighter Zuir’s Blessing a wyrwulf was born to two Codru-Ji. The pup’s father was Yin, and her mother Oloa. Unfortunately for them, neither parent would be the one to raise their child. Little did they know, but the ship they had bought charter on was more than a simple transport for those that had the credits. The captain had smuggled several illegal weapon modifications into the ship, and someone tipped the Republic off. Mere hours after their child’s birth, the Republic patrol hit them between hyperspace jumps.
A brief but deadly firefight was traded between the Republicans and the Zuir’s crew, but sadly, both Yin and Oloa were killed in the crossfire. Their nameless wyrwulf lay bundled in a blanket behind several cargo crates, far from the where the Republic searched for the weapon mods. They left her there accidently to die, what could a single lonely, newborn pup do? Zuir would indeed bestow her blessing upon the wyrwulf that day, as the ship was not alone. Hidden behind a small asteroid field, a group of Mandalorian scavengers waited to pick the bones of the raid. Among this group of Mandalorians, was Commander Devas Vevut, celebrated Nautolan hero of his clan.
When the team came aboard the Blessing, Devas removed his helm per routine. Almost immediately he picked up the presence of the wyrwulf with his tendrils, and moved right to the poor pup. He smiled down on the little bundle when he arrived, and picked her up. Though he had never seen a wyrwulf, he found the pup adorable nonetheless, and decided to keep her as a pet. Once the ship had been picked dry of all valuables and salvageable equipment, the team along with the newborn wyrwulf left Zuir’s Blessing to rot in space.
Back on Mandalore, Devas quickly found a midwife to help him with the pup, as she needed to feed. Formula mix was given to the man to feed the wyrwulf pup, whom he started to call “Cyar’ika”- or “darling” in the Mandalorian tongue. Once the pup was able to walk, she would follow Devas wherever he went in town, the two became synonymous with one another. The only times that Cyar’ika would be away from Devas was when the commander was on a mission. When he was gone, she’d stay with his sister, Eiri, who chose a life of a merchant over one on the front lines.
Whenever Cyar’ika and Devas had down time, the two enjoyed sitting with any other Mandalorians and listen to stories, Cyar’ika never left Devas’ feet. Her most common greeting for Devas was a lick at his fingertips and a happy tail wag. During her hours among Devas and other Mandalorians, she began to catch onto their languages of both Mando’a and Basic. Though, as a wyrwulf, she was unable to speak, but that didn’t stop her from understanding. Devas always found it uncanny how she always understood whatever he said it seemed. Eight years the two were side by side, a deep bond was forged between the two, one that would only get stronger. Luckily that bond was as strong as it was, as the morning Devas awoke to find a rubbery blue cocoon where Cyar’ika had fallen asleep, he would have panicked more than he did. After a quick diagnosis by one of the medics to determine if Cyar’ika was ok, all Devas was told to do was wait and be patient. And wait he did.
The Surprise Daughter
A few weeks later, three days after Cyar’ika’s ninth birthday, the cocoon broke. From it emerged a beautiful, young woman with black hair, and the same piercing blue eyes her wyrwulf form had. Devas was shocked, to say the least, but immediately covered her with a blanket, and was shocked to hear her say “Thanks, Dad.” After some research that afternoon while Cyar’ika slept, Devas discovered what had happened was completely natural, that his newly given daughter was Codru-Ji.
After a dinner together, Devas asked what he should call her. The woman only smiled and said to call her what he always has, Cyar’ika. Devas couldn’t get over what an odd occurrence that had just happened these past few weeks, but he got something the aged Nautolan feared he’d never have- a child. Cyar’ika was introduced to all close friends and family, and the woman was immediately welcomed into the fold. It was apparent to them that Cyar’ika had learned a lot of Devas’ behavior over their years together. She seemed to inherit both Devas ability to consume mass amounts of food without gaining a pound and the ability to work on machinery.
Not long after introductions and such were made, Devas began to induct Cyar’ika into the clan officially by teaching her how to fight. From the minute he saw that his daughter had four arms, he knew she could be a lethal warrior. He introduced her to guns of all sorts, tough she preferred to use pistols. That way she could wield four at once if she wanted, which would give her a huge advantage over others- she would almost always have at least two guns over a foe. Devas liked this idea, and used his influence and funds to get her a set of fine Mandalorian Heavy Blasters, which he modified of course.
Along with her intense lessons with using and maintaining her pistols, Devas began to teach her his specialty, close quarters combat using melee weapons, knives specifically. Devas also had an idea Cyar’ika found most interesting- the use of batons in unison with the knives in combat together. The Nautolan was renowned for his amazing speed with a short blade, and that was something he wished to pass onto Cyar’ika. And to his delight, it seemed that Cyar’ika was as adept with them as Devas was to water. The girl was very dexterous and quick witted, she proved to be not only smart, but a fast thinker- invaluable for a duelist. It wouldn’t be more than a few years before she could hold her own in mock duels with her father, she’d even win a few just from the fact that she had an arm- or two- up on him.
Around the time Cyar’ika turned seventeen, Devas decided it was finally time to fully induct her into the Mandalorians. Alongside one of Clan Vevut’s best armor smiths, Devas and Cyar’ika all worked to fit, smelt, and forge her armor. Once the shell of it was completed, Father and Daughter worked in unison to create the under weave and mesh of the armor, as well as paint it. Cyar’ika chose to match Devas’ armor in color, to the key. She told him it was important to her that everyone knew that she was his daughter. Her armor fit perfectly, and extra equipment and confections were added, the jetpack which she had learned to use during her training- but this time it had been upgraded by Devas, and the holsters and pockets for weaponry. Devas couldn’t be prouder, and Cyar’ika couldn’t be happier, she was ready to become Beskargam’verda- a Mandalorian Warrior.
Beskaryc’dala
A small ceremony which was more of a party was held for all of Clan Vevut to welcome Cyar’ika into their fold as a warrior after her last couple years of training in the Mandalorian Special Operations, she was now officially one of the people. Cyar’ika tried her first alcoholic drink that night, something she enjoyed a lot. So much so, that she barely remembers the night, only really remembering through the tales her clan mates told her. That next day, Cyar’ika would be sent on her first mission for the Mandalorians, hung-over or not.
Luckily for Cyar’ika, it would only be a simple scouting mission. But to her delight, Devas let her take his own personal sip, the Silk Spectre. She took the blockade runner to Ordo- a planet steeped deeply within the Mandalorian culture- to scout out the state of the Republic presence there. After getting the necessary data she needed, the young woman made her way back to Mandalore. Her first mission ever was successful, if not boring. She craved more action, more danger, more fight, something to truly test her skills. And she would get that chance, and then some.
Weeks later with another couple trivial missions under her belt, she would be chosen to go back to Ordo for another mission, but this time it was a sabotage mission. She landed the Spectre in a landing bay outside the target city. Her target was a Republic general’s personal craft, a highly regarded one. To take him out would be to take out one of their best. Little did she know that he had a full compliment of a Jedi and his padawan. However, Cyar’ika went off the plan. Why waste the explosives to blow up his ship when she could wait for him to arrive at it and just shoot him a few times? So she laid in wait for him.
Just as she saw him she rocketed out from her hiding spot to attack when the Jedi ignited their weapons. She rained plasma down at the general, but between the two Jedi they easy dispatched her barrage. Knowing that if the Jedi were quick enough to block her shots, that they’d be fast enough to either handle or kill her, so she landed and bolted to the nearest atmospheric skiff. She took it and began to speed away, but the padawan managed to jump onto it as she fled. Cyar’ika had set the skiff to cruise and turned to face the young jedi. He introduced himself as Ryn Sundar as his lightsaber collided with her wasps, and told her to surrender. Defiant as always, she told him to shove his lightsaber where the sun doesn’t shine.
She managed to knock his lightsaber out of his hand with a deft blow, but the lightsaber sliced the control panel of the skiff. It spiraled out of control and crashed, but Ryn used the Force to protect himself. Cyar’ika wasn’t as lucky. The girl’s lower left arm was pinned under some of the wreckage from the skiff, and she wasn’t strong enough to lift it. It was obvious that Ryn assumed her dead, as he never came to finish her off, but she still held some small hope that someone would help. Hours passed, and night fell, and it became obvious that no one would help. She needed to do something, or else lay there and die.
After she tried to get her arm free again, it was obvious that not only was it utterly stuck, but that all feeling in that hand was gone. She called upon her training under her father to stay cool, there was nothing she couldn’t do. A couple hours of debating with herself on what to do came to one conclusion. The arm had to go. Cyar’ika tried to find one of her knives, they would make it at least a little faster. But neither were anywhere near her, nor were her pistols. That left one option, and it was one she was far from happy about. The next sharpest thing near her, was her own teeth. An electric cord would act as a tourniquet, all that was needed, was for Cyar’ika to mentally prepare for what she was going to do.
It would take Cyar’ika a little over thirty one hours to do the deed. If there wasn’t a plate broken off and a hole torn in the mesh of her armor, she’d had never been able to get to the arm. She would work in intervals, about an hour of chewing and biting, then an hour of rest after she made sure the tourniquet was tight. She bled, a lot, and as the hours ticked by, she felt herself get weaker. But finally, she had chewed away enough flesh to see bone. All she needed to do now, was break the arm, and hopefully be free. Her arm had long gone numb from both pain and nerves, but Cyar’ika knew the break was going to hurt, a lot. With a sickening wet crack and a scream of agony she was freed from the wreckage. Cyar’ika knew she didn’t have long, she needed to get back to the Spectre in one piece as soon as possible.
Cyar’ika was extremely lucky that day that her father knew something was wrong, a simple bomb placement shouldn’t have taken as long as it did. A retrieval team found Cyar’ika pale and delusional as she stumbled back towards the city where the Spectre was, she wasn’t in good shape. She passed out in one of her Mandalorian brother’s arms, and awoke hours later as they arrived back at Mandalore. Her arm had been wrapped up and bathed in kolto, it would take a long time to heal if left alone. She was given the option to have a prosthetic fitted to her to replace the lost hand, and at first, she was hesitant. Cyar’ika had never trusted droids, she knew how easy it was to reprogram them if needed. But a cybernetic limb was different, she would be in control, even if she didn’t like the thing.
Cyar’ika agreed to having the arm put on, and would begin training with it as soon as she could to get used to it. At first she found it difficult, but as weeks passed, she got more and more dexterous from it. Despite being able to have all her hands back again, Cyar’ika hid it from everyone with gloves or her own armor. It was a good thing Devas taught her everything he knew about working with machinery, with her extra limbs, maintenance was easy. Even after the years she’s had with the limb, only one person as seen it so far besides the medical staff that applied it: her father.
Unfortunately, months after Cyar’ika was promoted to Sergeant in the Spec Ops, Devas succumbed to a deadly virus. Cyar’ika was hit horribly hard by this event, it spread so quickly, and Devas’ pride kept it quiet. She kept the funeral small, family and friends only, but Cyar’ika had some big shoes to fill. She would be given her chance though; higher ups had some plans for the young woman and the Spectre, which she inherited from Devas. That higher up was none other than Mandalore himself...
The Reclaimer
The time she spent training and operating directly with Mandalore the Liberator was some of the greatest in her life. An uncle by Clan Vevut, he would never admit his obvious favorite of those that worked for him. Dubbed his ‘Honor Guard’, they were the Mandalorians chosen to fight at Mandalore’s side. It was during this time that Cyar learned more on how to direct and work with her people. She discovered more of camaraderie with her fellow warriors, though outside combat was always a more silent, pensive member. During missions it was common for her to trash talk with some of her brothers and sisters, the heat of the fight overcoming her more reserved composure.
She became quite close with Malak and the other members of the Honor Guard during this time. Through them Cyar was able to train and spar with the best the Mandalorians had to offer, from the behemoth of Mandalore, to the toughness of Tihaar, to the unstoppable machine that was Arkandos. They rarely ever went easy on their physically smaller sister, something she was grateful for. It made her laugh how often Mandalore was the one that went easy on her at times, and each time ended with him receiving a flurry of blows from her wasps. Cyar worked herself to exhaustion near every night, often passing out at a workbench or somewhere on the Spectre as she worked on it. Her ship was often chosen for their missions, the blockade runner ideal for rapid insertion into hot zones. Because of this and even more so to honor her father, she made sure to keep it in pristine shape.
Throughout her time serving under Mandalore the Liberator, Cyar’ika began to notice her uncle’s deteriorating state. Over his time he had been through hells few would have survived, let alone lived through to continue fighting. This came at a price though. One wouldn’t be able to tell without being close to him, but it was clear to her that his health was waning. She never verbally said anything to anyone, but she worried for him greatly. To the point where whenever he suggested that she stay behind for a mission, Cyar would berate him until he agreed that she would come too. On every mission Cyar’ika would pay close attention to Mandalore, studying the way he lead their people. It fascinated the woman; she was every bit as devoted to her people as he was, but there was something about the presence of being Mandalore that just inspired them all. She did her best to mirror that devotion and leadership.
It was only when the worst happened did Cyar’ika begin to take the reigns over her people. During the reclaiming of Ordo, her beloved uncle and leader was killed in action. Again the Mandalorian people had lost their Mandalore. Cyar’s memory of that day is still foggy, many reporting that the woman had charged into the thick of battle screaming after the announcement of his death. She had to be pulled out of the fray by Tihaar, injured and battered but still struggling to get back into it. Despite the victory at the battle and the claiming of Ordo for her people, Cyar’ika still sobbed for hours at the loss. She made sure no one heard or saw her during.
Once composed after much time thinking, the woman approached the rest of the Mandalorian chieftains with grim purpose. No one knew her uncle like she did, knew his desires, knew his plans, and knew his style of leadership. Cyar’ika had never been so anxious before when she had walked into the room to look her colleagues in the eye. Surrounded by the best and most revered of their people, she told them that she was to take the mantle of Mandalore. That moment was the longest in her life as she awaited the response. It was only when they agreed that Cyar’ika felt the weight of the galaxy crash down upon her, a burden she was steeled to face with renewed purpose.
After commissioning a new suit of armor, she along with the clan chieftains announced the rise of their new leader: Mandalore the Reclaimer. With a focused path set for her people, the new Mandalore wasted no time in getting the Mandalorians back into action. The loss of a Mandalore was a terrible thing, but she would not let her people languish. Mandalorians always did honor their lost best on the field of battle. And the Republic would continue to know what that meant.
Jii
Since taking the mantle of Mandalore, Cyar’ika’s crusade has known nothing but victory. From the sacking of Gargon to the revival of the Basilisk War Droids she has gained favor from most Mandalorian clans. Though some still deny her claim, even more have thrown in their support for the crusade. With a singular focus on expansion and reclamation of lost territory, new life has been breathed into the fires of the Mandalorian military-industrial complex.
The rust has been removed from gears of the Mandalorian war machine, and under Mandalore the Reclaimer’s leadership her people remember once more what it means to be mando’ade. With gifts of basilisks, territories and the blessings of battle Mandalore secures her place in the galaxy and among her people. Always known to lead the charge in battle, it is known her first act upon invasion is to gun for that planet’s leader.
Mandalore always ensures the Republic sees the decapitated heads of nobility and leadership by slicing the holonet personally and uploading the recordings made by witnesses.
Roleplay Sample:
Intro post to the Sacking of Gargon…
From the bow of the Par'jila Mandalore the Reclaimer sat astride her great war mount. The first active basilisk war droid to see the galaxy in generations,Kaysh'davaab'skira was a marvel to the Mandalorian people. With the taking of the world that filled her vision, Mandalore would gift this wonder back to them. To become what they once were. Warriors, conquerors, legends all. From the surrounding fleet legions of drop ships cascaded to the major cities on Gargon. For the past hour her forces collected and gathered on the planet's surface.
She reached down with one gloved hand to pat the surprisingly warm surface of the war droid, Skira rumbling impatiently as she too leered at the planet above the pair. The clans fell into place across the world, expertly placed to bets suit their strengths. The beast masters of Varad using their pets to keep the enemy within the city, the Naval traditionalist Bralor commanding the Fleet, her own clan Vevut strategically rooted into the spaceports to keep the planet locked down. The time was nigh for the battle to start.
Her basilisk pushed off the prow of Par'jila at the pressure given by Mandalore's boots, slowly drifting into space at first as the planet loomed overhead. With awhumf Skira's thrusters ignited, quickly picking up speed towards Gargon. Mandalore could feel her pulse begin to quicken, a cool sweat of anxiety blossoming under her armor's underweave. No Mandalorian had made an orbital drop from a basilisk war droid in generations, here she was about to remind the galaxy what her people were capable of.
Faster and faster the droid hurdled towards Gargon, the Mandalorian astride her hunching down to become as aerodynamic as possible. She let the droid take control, trusting in her steed's ancestral knowledge of the drop. Skira too tucked her limbs and flattened her wings, the red glow of entering the atmosphere beginning to gleam over silver plating. In a streak of fire the pair plummeted down towards the world, Mandalore unable to contain her shriek of delight as adrenaline seized her. Along with her Skira let loose the shriek of a flying drexl, the droid sounded just as delighted as her partner. Talusport became rapidly larger, at first a pinprick on a stretch of mountains. Then a large circle of shining sea and metal. A circle that grew larger and larger, buildings become more clear each second.
Sensor's picked up where the Republic line was drawn, mere blocks away from where her people had landed and prepared to attack. Yet none moved forward as they awaited their leader loyally. With a sonic boom Skira pierced the atmosphere, spinning slowly before rolling mid air, wings and all six limbs flinging out to slow her descent. The droid landed with amazing grace, crushing a large transport speeder under Skira's near four-thousand kilos. Metal and glass exploded outwards, bouncing harmlessly off Mandalorian beskar and causing many Republic soldiers to take cover. The warning bellow of an acklay rumbled from the hulking droid, Mandalore astride looking down at the Republic soldiers fiver meters below her. Her helm would turn to the capitol tower that loomed in the distance, knowing Gargon's leader was within. The planet wasn't hers until she claimed it from him.
"Alor Dedos! Ibac'ner me’suum adol shukalar!”
Mandalore's voice would echo out from the droid's speakers, sounding strong and confident much to her delight. She grinned toothily behind her helm, seeing the Republicans looking to one another in confusion at her words. Clearly they needed a demonstration.
"Ram'or, ner droten!"
The command to attack was immediately followed by the predatory roar of a rancor, echoing out from Skira before the basilisk lurched forward with shockwave rods flaring and cannons firing. Thrusters ignited again to send the war droid hurtling down the center of the street, blasting right through the Republic line as it charged towards the tower. With cries of delight and blood lust the tide of Mandalorians charged forward behind their Mand'alor, screaming their clan's chants and crying out challenges as the sounds of battle began to fill the air.[/i]
