[hider=Toryn Dral][center][h1][color=orangered]Toryn Dral | Jetii'ramikad[/color][/h1] [img]https://i.postimg.cc/Vvv932bT/toryndral3.png[/img][/center] [center][color=orangered][b]"And [i]this[/i] is why we don't 'Pull the lever just to see what happens', [i]Airus."[/i][/b][/color][/center] [color=orangered][b]|[u] {Full Name} [/u]|[/b][/color] [indent]Toryn Dral[/indent] [color=Orangered][b]|[u] {Age} [/u]|[/b][/color] [indent]25[/indent] [color=orangered][b]|[u] {Species} [/u]|[/b][/color] [indent]Human[/indent] [color=orangered][b]|[u] {Gender} [/u]|[/b][/color] [indent]Male[/indent] [hr] [color=orangered][b]|[u] {Force Sensitive/Alignment} [/u]|[/b][/color] [indent]Yes - Light[/indent] [color=orangered][b]|[u] {Appearance} [/u]|[/b][/color] [indent]Truth be told, among the small, loose fraternity of those armoured knights that have been slowly popping up in the ranks of the Enclaves over the course of the past decade and a bit, Toryn... doesn't stick out that much at a glance, honestly. Standing at a not-so-extravagant, but not particularly offensive height of 5'8" and garbing himself in much the usual fashion of the so-called [i]'Jetii'ramikad'—[/i] That is, a Jedi robe underneath his bronze-coloured beskar'gam and over a black armourweave bodyglove, with an old red scarf hung around his shoulders. And as for the man underneath all that beskar and armourweave? Well, there isn't much to tell— Namely because very few outside of his immediate family have ever actually seen what he looks like under there. Though if what can be seen from a more thorough look at the Mando Jedi is any indication, he is, despite lacking the massive body-builder-esque bulk of someone like [i]Airus the Swolbrarian[/i] or [i]The Paladin, Supreme Ruler of Mandalore and King of Gains,[/i] seemingly straight-up carved out of [i]Mandalorian Iron;[/i] with broad shoulders and tightly packed, almost [i]inhumanly dense[/i] musculature more befiiting his more versatile role within the Enclaves and the GRM as a whole than just being buff would. And if that still ain't enough for ya, you could always just ask a certain Jedi Druid about it— but all you'd probably get is a wry little smirk and three words: [color=slateblue]"He's a cutie."[/color] ...Though, whether this is too little or [i]way too much information[/i] is entirely up to you. [/indent] [color=orangered][b]|[u] {Equipment and Personal Belongings} [/u]|[/b][/color] [indent][hider=On his Person] [list] [*]His signature bronze-coloured beskar'gam of an older pattern, picked up at some point during his boyhood adventures in the Unknown Regions, resized to fit him as he grew and updated here and there over the years to suit his needs— Namely, the software in his helmet, which has been upgraded to include various display modes for his visor to help him with his job, a modernized comms suite, an onboard IFF suite linking directly back to the droid core on his ship and even a built-in vocabulator to help him with those oral gymnastic bits of alien language that would normally be beyond his human physiology. [*][url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Kal_(dagger)]A vibrokal hidden in his right boot.[/url] [*][url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Mandalorian_vambrace]A pair of Mandalorian vambraces[/url] [*][url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/DE-10_blaster_pistol]A DE-10 Blaster Pistol[/url] [*]An orange-bladed lightsaber with a bronze-coloured, beskar hilt. [/list] [/hider] [hider=The Lucky Dog] A downright ancient [url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Dynamic-class_freighter]Dynamic-class freighter[/url] hauled out of a scrapyard on Terminus by Toryn's family when he was a boy, with most of the holes hastily patched up, an oversized powerplant aggressively rammed into place and a... [i]creatively acquired[/i] Class 0.5 hyperdrive slapped in for good measure. The old girl has served as both his means of getting around and his home in the two decades or so since and has seen it's fair share of misadventures, tough scrapes and a whole helluva lot more close calls than it's designers had probably ever really intended it for, but it has always faithfully failed to let the Drals down even in their darkest of hours. Probably why Toryn still refuses to part with it in favour of a more modern vessel to this day. ...And kept up the family tradition of adding new shiny bits to it. [b][u]Basic Specifications[/u][/b] [list] [*]Length: 27.24 Meters [*]Width: 25.94 Meters [*]Maximum Atmospheric Speed: 1300 Km/h [*]Hyperdrive Rating: Class 0.5 [*]Navigation: Droidcore-Assisted Navicomputer [/list] [b][u]Armaments[/u][/b] [list][*]2x revolving laser cannon turrets, mounted dorsal and ventral. [*]4x forward-facing laser cannon turrets, mounted on the starboard and port sides of the hull and on either side of the cockpit. [*]2x 24-shot concussion missile racks, mounted on the starbord and port sections of the front of the hull. [*]4x Forward-facing deployable laser cannon hard points, one mounted above and below both missile racks. [/list] [b][u]Facilities[/u][/b] [list][*]Cockpit, equipped with a quartet of stupidly comfortable reclining chairs, comms and navigation suites, a droidcore mainframe populated by a very old, very cheerful and [i]very[/i] talkative T-series astromech and all the other bells and whistles you'd expect to find there. And a Mandalore the Paladin bobblehead. Plus a pair of fuzzy dice Solace hung off the ceiling one year that Toryn decided he kinda liked. [*]Garage/Workshop/Forge, in the starboard-aft section of the ship. [*]Medical Bay aft of the ship. [*]Cargo Hold/Brig, port-aft of the ship. [*]Magnetically-sealable, beskar-plated storage compartment, center-port of ship. [/list] [b][u]Amenities[/u][/b] [list][*]Captain's Quarters, just aft of the cockpit. Formerly the comms room. [*]Guest quarters, port and starboard of the ship. [*]Common Area, equipped with kitchen, secured dining table with magnetically-anchorable chairs, holo-entertainment suite in the center of the room and a [i]very[/i] comfortable couch. Located centrally in the ship. [*]Washroom with dual-function ablution system; working as both a sonic shower for those times when Toryn's on those long treks that require some measure of water conservation (or if he's just running late for work) and an old-fashioned H2O bath/shower, for when he's planetside and just wants to relax. Mandalorian-helmeted rubber duckie included. [/list] [/hider] [hider=Stored on the Dog] [list] [*][url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/BARC_speeder/Legends]An old BARC speeder with detachable sidecar; Useful for getting around on planetside missions. And groceries.[/url] [*][url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Z-6_rotary_blaster_cannon/Legends]A Z-6 Rotary Blaster.[/url] [*][url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/JT-12_jetpack/Legends]A JT-12 Jetpack equipped with an MM9 Missile Launcher[/url] [*][url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Amban_sniper_rifle]An Amban Sniper rifle.[/url] [*]An old Pazaak deck Toryn found under his bed when his family first acquired the ship. [*][b]The Thumper MK I—[/b] A pneumatically-powered, breech-loaded projectile launcher, built by Toryn when he was a boy. Heavy, a little underpowered, yet surprisingly versatile, it operates on a simple concept; There's a hole in the back. If you can fit it in there, you can fire it accurately up to fifty meters away. Mostly just used to annoy Airus these days. [*][b]The Thumper MK II—[/b] A more serious attempt at the original concept Toryn took on in his teenage years; a light weight, breech-loaded, break-action coilgun designed to launch grenades (or anything metal that will fit in the breech) up to seven hundred meters away with impressive accuracy. [*][b]The Alleron Rifle—[/b] The result of that time Solace commissioned Toryn to construct a pair of wheellock, revolver blasters for her. Namely, when he cast his gaze down upon the finished product, extremely potent, but extremely [i]fragile[/i] and decided one thing— [color=orangered][b]"It's not finished."[/b][/color]. This led to a solid month of gathering materials for a far more rugged adaptation The Diplomat's of a crystal primed blaster utilizing individual cartridges of tibanna gas for every shot. The end result? A straight pull bolt-action rifle fed via en bloc into a ten-round internal magazine, with a barrel made of beskar to keep the damned thing from melting and furniture made of wroshyr wood incase it feels the sudden urge to explode in his face. On squeezing the trigger, a firing pin made of sharpened kyber crystal passes through a small cylinder of coolant mounted on the back of the en bloc behind each tibanna gas cartridge in almost the exact same moment as it hits the payload itself, firing off a blaster bolt powerful enough to punch a hole clean through a mudhorn six inches wide from it's ass to it's mouth from nearly two-and-a-half kilometers away. Pulling the bolt back ejects the now-spent gas cartridge and vents any remaining heat, while racking it forward again chambers another round and gets the whole process ready to start again. It should be noted, that though he's gotten more than his money's worth out of this particular fruit of Solace-given inspiration in the years since and even [i]named[/i] the bloody thing after her... he hasn't actually [i]told[/i] her about it. Partly because he's not sure if she'd be offended by his misgivings about her original design and partly because one way or another, [i]he'd never hear the end of it.[/i] [*][b]Various other, more standard arms and munitions[/b] [/list] [/hider] [/indent] [color=orangered][b]|[u] {Physical Abilities} [/u]|[/b][/color] [indent][b][u]Jetii'ramikad[/u][/b] An unusual, and rather informal colloquialism used to describe people like Toryn, roughly translated from Mando'a as "Jedi Commando", it means... well, almost exactly what it says on the tin— [i]What happens when you mix a Jedi Knight with a Mandalorian Supercommando.[/i] Immersed in [i]both[/i] cultures from a young age and enduring two solid decades of brutal training and even harsher experiences, it is no exaggeration to call our boy Toryn a [i]living weapon of war[/i] (though the guy himself would probably tell you you're laying it on a little heavy). As lethal with a blaster, kal or even his bare hands as he is with a lightsaber and the force and being extremely (some would say [i]freakishly)[/i] physically and mentally tough to boot, it's no small wonder that the council usually reserves the armoured Jedi and those like him for the kind of work that involves big damned piles of danger pay and circumstances to warrant it. [b][u]Accomplished Pilot[/u][/b] While nowhere near the level of a dedicated Jedi Ace, Toryn is as a consequence of having spent more of his life in space than not, pretty damned handy at the helm of a ship, easily able to make his archaic freighter dance in ways that'd earn a few approving nods from more seasoned pilots. [b][u]Master Smith[/u][/b] Starting as just a way to bond with his 'aunt' when he was still knee-high to a womprat— taking apart her blasters, scrubbing the scoring out of the chambers, realigning the focusing lenses and the like— the events of the next two decades of being on the run from the CIS and the Corellians, voyaging through the Unknown Regions and then becoming a Jedi Knight would only mould the boy's talent with his hands into a force all of it's own as he became a man. Becoming the irrefutable first stop his friends, family and even much of his clan go to when they need a really big gun, something to [i]protect[/i] them from a really big gun and anything else in between. [b][color=a187be][u]"Tor-Torism"[/u][/color][/b] A phrase coined by a certain diplomat— often accompanied by a little snort— to describe her Mandalorian companion's unique gift for ad-hoc diplomacy... which he barely even recognizes he actually possesses. Being surprisingly affable, plain-spoken and honest, especially for what amounts to a glorified [i]bounty-hunter on the Council's payroll,[/i] Toryn has a singular talent for getting people to laugh and making fast friends of complete strangers, despite his reputation. Though he falls far, [i]ludicrously[/i] short of knowing (or really caring) about all the nuances, subtleties and hyperdimensional brain-chess of [i]actual diplomacy[/i] and is prone to the odd cultural faux-pas here and there; that one time he had a burrito before Solace dragged him to a tense meeting with a member of the Argent Council comes to mind, though to this day he [i]swears[/i] the Arkanian planned it like that. As an aside, it should be noted that the man is also quite blessed with that most sacred but oft forgotten about of Mandalorian virtues— [b]Being good with kids.[/b] [b][u]Son of a Taung[/u][/b] Being raised by a legendary Taung General who made life [i]particularly difficult[/i] for both the Old Republic and Jedi several thousand years ago has had it's subtle effects here and there on the man. Namely in his possession of a much sharper intellect than he ever really lets on in and an immense talent for strategy and tactics that only ever really bubbles up to the surface while on the job and fades back into obscurity the moment it's done. [/indent] [color=orangered][b]|[u] {Force Abilities} [/u]|[/b][/color] [indent][list][b][u]The Basics[/u][/b] [*]Force Speed [*]Force Jump [*]Telekinesis (Force Push, Pull, etc...) [*]Force Sense [b][u]More Advanced[/u][/b] [*][url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Force_Body]Force Body[/url] [*][url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Force_sense#Clear_mind]Clear Mind[/url] [*][url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Force_valor]Force Valor[/url][/list] [b][u][url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Electric_Judgment]Electric Judgement[/url][/u][/b] Once considered a forbidden force power in the Old Jedi Order known by only a select few, in the years since The Shattering, Electric Judgement (occasionally refferred to as the 'Emerald Lightning') has become noticeably more prevalent among the more [i]pragmatic[/i] sections of the various successor orders that spawned from the ashes of the old. And Toryn is clearly no exception, possessing an almost natural affinity for the ability and, through years of careful practice, making it his own— being able to not only project bolts of yellow lightning from his hands and fingers but being able to wreathe it around his own body and even his lightsaber for an extra edge in combat. [b][u]Form VI Variant: Ramikad Niman[/u][/b] Toryn's own, nigh-[i]heretical[/i] take on the so-called 'Diplomat's Form', fomented by his decade of hard experiences in the Unknown Regions with the input of not only from his adoptive sister who first taught him the form, but his adoptive brother, a former Death Watch trooper and his adoptive father, a [i]Taung General[/i] and then further honed by a decade in service to Mandalore. The end result? A versatile and incredibly [i]lethal[/i] mixture of traditional saber combat, Mandalorian swordplay and opportunistic attacks with the force, blended together seamlessly through a lifetime of fighting and made all the more terrifying by Toryn's proclivity for Electric Judgement. [b][u]Other Lightsaber Forms[/u][/b] [list] [*]Form VII: Vaapad [*]Form III: Soresu [/list] [/indent] [color=orangered][b]|[u] {Limitations} [/u]|[/b][/color] [indent][b][u]Krell's Revenge[/u][/b] A condition that most doctors viewed as an obscure medical anomaly during the Great Galactic Peace, 'Krell's Revenge', as it has come to be known in the decades since the end of the war and the Umbaran Campaign in particular, is a disorder resulting from repetitive instances of extreme physical trauma followed by excessive injection of medicinal bacta wherein the cells of the body begin to recognize and resist the reparative effects of the compound, dividing at a much slower rate than would be the norm under a bacta infusion. Stretched over a whole lifetime, some degree of bacta-resistance is common in most sentients and is usually countered by administrating a more concentrated dose. [i]Krell's Revenge,[/i] however, results when this cycle of trauma and repair takes place over a relatively short period of time, [i]especially[/i] in adolescents. Limiting their options for serious medical care down to a medically-induced coma and long-term stay in a bacta tank, rare or obscure alternatives their bodies [i]won't[/i] resist like kolto or, if they're lucky enough, force healing from a Jedi. How Toryn came to have this condition, he'll never say. But it [i]does[/i] put his reluctance to be seen outside of his armour in a whole new light. [/indent] [hr] [color=orangered][b]|[u] {Personality} [/u]|[/b][/color] [indent] [/indent] [color=orangered][b]|[u] {Place of Origin} [/u]|[/b][/color] [indent]Nar Shaddaa— As the ward of a Tionese mercenary and her crew under the payroll of one Narkuul the Hutt, an information broker operating out of a bar in the moon's Red Light Sector. In retrospect... probably [i]not[/i] the best place to raise a kid, but Daesha managed to pull it off just fine with no small amount of help from her merry band of misfits and even her big slug boss. ...Well for five years, anyway. Then everything went tits-up.[/indent] [color=orangered][b]|[u] {Background} [/u]|[/b][/color] [indent][hider=Chapter I: "Daesha's Boy"] Toryn's origins, to milk that tired old cliche, are shrouded in mystery... and that's not him just trying to sound cool, enigmatic or anything remotely interesting, the guy honestly has no idea just [i]where the hell he came from.[/i] What he [i]does[/i] know, however, is that he was barely dry from the womb before he was handed off to a mercenary named Daesha Vao and her outfit working out of the Red Light Sector on Nar Shaddaa for safe keeping. Which admittedly, [i]does[/i] kinda sound like a terrible idea at first, if you didn't know one tiny little detail— That Daesha Vao was considered one of, if not [i]the[/i] most lethal merc on that whole damned moon. An absolute [i]mountain[/i] of a twi'lek, and the daughter of both an infamous Tionese pirate and a slave-turned-assassin that could've built a bridge from the Smuggler's Moon straight down to the surface of Nal Hutta with all the bodies she'd left in her wake, Toryn's [i]'Auntie Daesha'[/i] had lived up to her pedigree long before she was changing the boy's diapers or tucking him into bed with a Ryl lullaby and a little kiss goodnight. Having [i]earned[/i] her epithet as 'The Reaver' (though she never really cared for the name) via an absolutely jaw-dropping bodycount tallied up over a decade-long career throughout Hutt Space and the Outer Rim— Something she [i]rarely[/i] brought up in casual conversation, as she'd always fancied herself to be something of a people person and folks tended to become... a [i]whole lot less talkative[/i] the moment they figured out exactly who it was they were talking to. And that's not even getting into the company she kept— Jarohn Dax (affectionately called 'The Brute' by Daesha), a giant, even among his fellow Devaronians; Built like a brick goddamn wall and about as clever as one, too. A nice guy, all things considered— Strong enough to rip a man limb from limb like a wet tissue, but a [i]nice guy.[/i] Zara Tuul ('The Brat'), a Falleen slicer and pilot with brains and sass in equal measure. An adept at getting whatever the hell she wanted from [i]anyone,[/i] droid or organic and absolute [i]master[/i] of the pithy one-liner... and kicking Toryn's ass in old holo-games if he remembers right. Ruusad Vass ('The Kid'), a lad barely old enough to shave and certainly not old enough to buy a drink in most places outside of Hutt Space. Born and raised to live and breathe all things 'Deathwatch', but had a... slight [i]falling out[/i] with his clan and glorified death cult over the whole 'Killing other Mandalorians' thing and was very likely considered dead or Dar'Manda (possibly both) to his entire family. Daesha never once doubted the boy's loyalty though— she had always had a soft spot for strays, especially ones that could peg a fly off a piece of bantha shit from a mile away without disturbing the pile. And then there was Narkuul ('Pops'), a Hutt information broker and Daesha's boss and Tavor, his Muun bookkeeper. The former keeping her and her mercenary pseudo-family on the payroll partly because he'd employed both of Daesha's parents in the past and even officiated at their wedding, partly because as a slug in his particular trade, he often came across the odd lead he felt too juicy [i]not[/i] to cash in on himself and partly because of the old trope that a Hutt wasn't really a Hutt until they had their own personal death squad. And the latter? well, the less said about him the better— Daesha had always made a point of avoiding that creepy little gangly fuck. And so it was that, against any and all convention, our boy Toryn was raised in perhaps the safest, out-of-the-way place imaginable— amongst a happy family of some of the galaxy's most notorious killers. Ever the precocious little shit, the kid picked up on Ryl, Huttese and even some Mando'a alongside Basic via sheer osmosis from being exposed to so many languages at such a young age. And from the time he could walk, talk and be relied upon [i]not[/i] to put shiny things in his mouth, Daesha had him sat down learning how to pull apart and maintain damn near [i]any[/i] blaster in her considerable arsenal and how to get a vibroknife so sharp you could drop it on a bantha steak and watch it fall through the table before you even heard a sound— Something the boy seemed to have a natural gift for. Another thing the kid had a gift for? Counting cards, shell games, magic tricks and all the other basic scams, shams and hustles Pops could cram into his puny little head ('Investing in a future employee', the Hutt would always reason it if asked), being good enough to set up his own stand on the main strip of the Red Light with a fold-out table work with and a little plasteel crate on which to stand and make a killing absolutely [i]robbing[/i] naive and/or drunk tourists from the Inner Rim blind with a little slight of hand and a beaming smile. And a fully armed and armoured Mandalorian leaning on the wall behind him and watching at all times, mind you, but that was more for the off-worlders than any of the [i]local[/i] scum and villainy in all honesty, as they were all rather well versed in one particular unspoken, but universally understood rule: [b]"You do [i]not[/i] fuck with Daesha's boy."[/b] And Toryn's life probably would've just kept on going like that; learning to work all the angles of the Smuggler's Moon to his and his family's gain, chatting up off-duty dancers with all his precocious little charm to give 'em a much-needed laugh and to get the occasional fat tip when Narkuul had him tending bar and generally being on the fast track to becoming just another scoundrel from Nar Shaddaa while waiting on a mother he'd never met to come pick him up, but never seemed to get around to it. Until one day, when he was just around five years old two hooded figures in robes made their way up to his stand while he was running a shell-game; one shorter, younger and with a blue-skinned face fixing him with a mix of confusion, disdain and no small amount of stink-eye and an older, taller human who looked more amused than anything as he spoke, something he somehow registered with absolute clarity even as the quiet 'Click!' of Ruusad's blaster leaving it's holster hammered in his ears. [color=goldenrod][b]"Ah, [i]there[/i] you are."[/b][/color] And it was shortly after that, [i]that things went tits-up.[/i] [/hider] [hider=Chapter II: "The Part Where Everything Goes Tits-Up"] Now, Toryn's memory of the latter half of that encounter is a little hazy— Mostly because it wasn't two seconds after Ruusad pulled out his blaster that the smaller one of the robed weirdos was jumping over the boy's little table, swinging a big damned glowstick at the Mando before her apparent senior could even [i]begin[/i] to form the words to stop her. To which she received Ruusad's boot to the face', while Toryn got yanked backward by his belt, hefted up under an arm and got very vertical very quickly as the armoured teen jetpacked the both of them out of there. ...Well, [i]after[/i] accidentally smacking the back of the boy's head off his durasteel breastplate and knocking him right the hell out, that is. Waking up some time later, head in Daesha's lap and on the couch in Narkuul's breakroom, Toryn finally learned what the hell all [i]that[/i] was about— Well, after his auntie Daesh had stopped fussing over him long enough that he could ask— That he'd just had his first encounter with the hutt-damned [i]Jedi.[/i] Specifically, a pair of sentinels, Zara explained from the other side of the couch while aggressively clacking away at her holonet console for any dirt she could get her little reptilian hands on and downing another bottle of energy drink to add to the growing pile of empties on the floor next to her; One, a jumpy Pantoran Padawan by the name of Arlia Vohn, a five-year veteran of the Clone Wars, despite being even younger than Ruusad and the other, Marko Doren being her recently assigned Master after her last one ate a blaster bolt or twelve on Umbara. Someone who had apparently in the doghouse with the order before the war for his less than orthodox methods. Seemed like a nice enough guy though, the Falleen admitted out loud, he [i]had,[/i] after all, come by while Toryn was out cold to drop off those earnings he forgot to grab during his hasty exit... [i]and[/i] even used his funky space magic to cure that small concussion Ruusad had given him during the affair. As for [i]why[/i] he'd been looking for him in the first place, though, Zara couldn't say; Tovar, being left in charge of the bar while Narkuul was over on Nar Kaaga for his nephew's birth, had apparently shooed him off before he could explain, screaming and shouting at everyone present that 'Jedi were bad for business' and showing an uncharacteristic amount of gall around an already-incensed Daesha and her irate band of killers. Though the Jedi [i]did[/i] offer to meet them later at the spaceport, once everyone had calmed down... which is where Ruusad and Jarohn were now, staking out the Alsakani's ship from afar and ready to demo the thing at even the slightest [i]hint[/i] of provocation. ...Of course, this was a lot to cram into a recently-concussed, still kinda drowsy kid's head. So, upon seeing the incredulous look of [color=orangered]'What?'[/color] on Toryn's little face, she chuckled, told him not to worry about it and gave him a little peck on the forehead before picking him up and transplating him down into Zara's lap (who instinctively wrapped an arm around the boy's waist to pull him close) and heading out to grab some dinner down the street. Still, worry Toryn did; Fidgeting a little where he sat... or that might've just been the headache he'd had since waking, he really can't remember— though in retrospect, it probably doesn't matter— But it did elicit her to give him a gentle squeeze and rest her chin on his head, as she always did. That's something Toryn will always remember to the day he dies. [color=yellowgreen]"Don't worry about it Kid, Mom's got'cha covered."[/color] she said, giving the kid a little affectionate nuzzle as she did. [color=orangered]"...Ya [i]know[/i] she hates it when you call her that."[/color] The immediate indignant snort he got in response was typical, and he didn't even need to look up to see that same old cheeky grin he knew was playing across her face as she switched tabs on her holo console to some poorly dubbed Mandalorian cartoon and wrapped her other arm around him to complete the hug. [color=yellowgreen]"I do."[/color] It was the last thing his elder sister in all but name ever said to him. Or at the very least the last thing he [i]heard—[/i] The ringing the explosion that followed immediately afterward and sent the both of them careening across the room had left in his ears had made it a bit hard to tell. The last he [i]saw[/i] of her, however, she was crawling on her belly to get to him through the flaming wreckage Narkuul's bar. Teeth barred from the strain of her effort, hair matted with blood and several gnarled pieces of steel sticking out of her back and side. Before an armour-plated boot came down between her shoulder blades and three red bolts from a blaster pistol went into the back of her skull. What he [i]didn't[/i] see, however, was the boot of the [i]other[/i] assailant that slammed into his side while he was still down, broke a few of his ribs and rolled him onto his back. Though he did get a nice look at the figure's unmistakably Mandalorian armour. And the stun-blaster pointed directly at his face. Then, for the second time that night, Toryn was knocked the fuck out. [hr] Several hours... or maybe even [i]days[/i] later— he still isn't sure about it— Toryn woke up again. Groggy, sore and as miserable as he was the last time he was awake like this... though his now [i]very[/i] foggy head was having a bit of trouble remembering when the hell that was. Then, heaving himself up, his eyes drifted from the off-white sheets of the plain, but comfy bed he now found himself in and across the somewhat spartan accomadations of his quarters before finally coming to rest on the beskar'gam-clad figure hunched over in a chair to his left. To his credit, Ruusad was quick to realize his mistake when he woke up to all the screaming. Still, took him a good half-hour to calm the boy down. Longer to tell him what happened, and much longer still for the young lad to fully wrap his head around it. A very long story short; While Narkuul was away on Nar Kaaga, Tavor had been given temporary control of his information network, where he stumbled upon a particularly [i]juicy[/i] bit of intel— Just [i]whose[/i] kid Toryn was, all the enemies they had made over the years and perhaps more importantly, just how much of a sheer [i]profit[/i] he could make by selling the boy off to them. And boy, do Muun do some crazy things when they smell a profit. Like arranging for the ambush and kidnapping of a child on the way home of swindling tourists out of their money, with the brutal assassination of his armoured protector for good measure. A tragedy that, though regrettable, would've gone largely unnoticed in the day to day chaos that was Nar Shadda... but then the Jedi showed up, his clients got jumpy and, well... Jarohn and Zara were dead, Toryn and Ruusad were here, on this little corvette headed for Coruscant and more specifically, the Jedi Temple. And Daesha? Well, someone had to get to the console in the now-hijacked Portmaster's office and open the hangar bay doors for them to escape, and Daesha volunteered without a second thought; both to get her boys to safety and to [i]get even.[/i] It took a lot of hugging to get the boy calm again after that last one. But calm he did... [b]eventually.[/b] There comes a point where even a child can recognize that there was no going back, after all— His old life, for all it's ups and downs, was now well and truly [i]over.[/i] And the only guarantee he had for the immediate future was a hot date with whoever was in charge of procuring youngn's to train in glowstick choreography and space magic at the Jedi Temple... Though, truth be told, he had mixed feelings about the whole thing from the get-go. Mainly because he had the sneaking suspicion this meant that life was fixing to take Ruusad from him, too. And shit, his Mandalorian pseudo-brother was pretty much all there was left to take at this point. Unbeknownst to the boy, 'Life' was apparently paying attention... [i]and took that as a fucking challenge.[/i] For no sooner had they jumped out of hyperspace some time later, and Toryn finally laid eyes upon the world that was supposedly going to be his new home for the forseeable future... did he quickly realize that it was [i]on fire.[/i] Most likely because of all the ships hanging over it in orbit shelling the ever-loving [i][b]shit[/b][/i] out of it. And that's about when the tractor-beam hit them. And if there's one thing Toryn will remember about Marko Doren, it's what came out of his mouth at that exact second. [color=goldenrod][b]"...Bollocks."[/b][/color] [/hider] [hider=Chapter III: "The Great Escape(s)"] In hindsight, it was probably a [i]good[/i] thing that Grievous was a little preoccupied with suntanning off the glow of the burning city planet below. Because on any other day he was told that one of his ships had picked up two Jedi, a Mandalorian and some fucking kid, he just [i]miiight've[/i] boarded a shuttle and gone to see what that was all about. But today was [i]his[/i] day, and he was going to take his sweet time relishing it, random stragglers dumb enough to fly blind and face-first into his fleet be damned... 'Sides, he could always throw on his murderin' cape and see to 'em later. So what was the rush? A few hours late, when the afore-mentioned ship's bridge parted ways from it's conning tower, causing the whole thing to list and slam into the side of the ship in formation next to it, well... he had his answer, and our heroes had their escape. And a massive bounty on each of their heads. Something that would come back to bite them as they hauled ass down to Corellian space to find rest, shelter and some tiny smidgen of just [i]what the hell was going on.[/i] Instead running into CorSec, an emergency coalition of allied PSFs and surviving elements of the Republic Navy locking down what would later become the core worlds of the Hegemony while Grievous was occupied with both a punitive campaign across the sectors adjacent to the now [i]thoroughly[/i] ruined galactic capital and against a [i]particularly defiant[/i] General to the north. Long story short, it didn't take long for the rear-echelon Captain that picked them up while on patrol to realize what he had, what it potentially meant for his bank account and just [i]how much he could actually get away with while the entire Galaxy was basically collapsing around them.[/i] Long story even [i]shorter,[/i] this led to a whole lot of violence, a hangar bay on Perma being blown [i]right[/i] to shit, even more bounties and now a charge of outright [i][b]treason[/b][/i] as they rocketed right the hell out of Corellian space as fast as the shitty little freighter they'd stolen would take them. So at the very least the non-stop barrage of fuckery the galaxy was throwing at them appeared to be [i]consistent.[/i] And for the next few months the crew of that ludicrously unfortunate ship was forced to keep running to the galactic south, hounded the entire way by bounty hunters, enterprising forces of both the Confederates and all those Corellians they'd pissed off as well as the occasional enterprising pirate until finally, they had been run so far, they could run no more and arrived at the very edge of the known galaxy. [i]Terminus.[/i] Though it was much less of an 'Arrived' and more of a 'Violently slamming what remained of their crumbling little ship into a junkyard just outside of the main starport'. With the Confederates still hot on their heels. It was here, exhausted, desperate and rapidly running out of options, they were found by a strange red-eyed Pantoran in much the same state who sheltered them in the ancient wreck of a ship she'd converted into a ramshackle home. And it was here, hiding from a killteam of IG-100's sent to finish the job and taking advantage of the rare opprtunity to catch their breath, that Ruusad, Marko and Arlia put their heads together to try and think of a way to both get off this damned rock and find their way back to the (hopeful) safety of the Republic-in-Exile, now situated on [i]Mandalore[/i] of all places if the rumours were true. ...Truth be told, they were coming up blank; In their months-long mad dash to the edge of the galaxy, the Confederacy had secured themselves as the undisputed masters of the Galactic South. And between them and this so-called 'Corellian Hegemony' forming in the core that [i]also[/i] wanted them dead, thier prospects of making it to Mandalorian space by any conventional route weren't exactly looking that great. That was until their gracious host they knew simply as 'Tanis', called out from the engine room, where she'd been working with Toryn (who'd incidentally became her new best friend the minute she learned how handy he was with a spanner) on something she'd 'acquired' from one of the locals to make her home spaceworthy again before their arrival. [color=SlateBlue]"You know... you [i]could[/i] just go around the other way..."[/color] Then she smacked something back there with a hammer and the circuits of that Old Republic freighter fizzled back to life, perhaps for the first time in [i]centuries[/i] and rejoined them on the crewdeck. Toryn in tow and her hand messing up his hair. [color=slateblue]"Let's talk."[/color] [/hider] [hider=*-WARNING: FILE CORRUPTED-*][/hider] [hider=Chapter V: "Toryn Dral"] Ten years after that fateful talk on Terminus, the Open Circle Armada received an encrypted communique from Imperial High Command, asking if they'd be so kind as to send a ship to meet them at the border to, in their own words, 'Pick up something they might want back.'. Vague, and coming from an authoritarian regime filled with the kind of people that chanted their Emperor's name at least half a dozen times before and after bed, meals and coitus... just a [i]little[/i] suspect. [/hider] [/indent] [/hider]