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Aerith Skirata
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Part One
‘The Dark Past’
Stay silent. Do not run. Speak with your hands. When you are an outcast of the underworld, you will learn quickly or die slowly. The Rakghouls won’t find you if they never see you, they will not chase you if they never heard you, they cannot kill you if they never catch you. In the underworld, there are people even lower than the outcasts, descendants of serial killers and violent extremists that call no place home and know not the meaning of the word ‘safe.’ I am the child of one such pair of people.
My parents were mandalorians who, disgraced by an act of fratricide, were banished to the Underworld of Taris. At the time, it seemed they could sink no lower, that this banishment was the lowest possible form of punishment. Yet, among the other outcasts, my parents found a way to disgrace themselves further. Found guilty of murdering other outcasts, they were forced outside the settlement. Alone, unarmed, and faced with seemingly innumerable rakghoul threats, my parents sought fit to bring a child into their world. Misery loves company.
They taught me much, for what it was worth. How to move silently, disguise your scent, speak with your hands, and kill without making a sound. Our primary targets were Rakghouls, but on Rakghouls alone we could not subside, if we wished to eat then we entered the sewers to hunt. Our prey? Gamorrians. To eat another being, it logically should never have occurred to me as being wrong. Even as a child, growing up in the underworld without social interaction, outside of family, though I was nearly feral, I knew what was happening was evil. I knew, and I was consumed with a deep seated fear that I'd be going to hell for what I was doing, even as a small child.
I remember distinctly the first time we hunted one down together, the feelings from memory haunts me to this day. I could not have been more than six, crawling through sewer pipes so small no rakghoul could ever follow me. They used me as the scout, I'd find the Gamorrians and report back to my parents. Though I had never seen one before, they were described to me as incredible fat people with flat faces and huge nostrils. People, my parents did not even give me the courtesy of lying to me and telling me they were monsters.
When I found them, I did not immediately head back. How could I? They were fascinating to my curious eyes. Scavenging through piles of trash, I observed them and made careful note of what they considered to be valuable. Some things I too saw the usefulness of, some I did not. Once boredom overtook me, I sought out my parents. They had not been happy to wait, but were pleased with my progress. We moved swiftly and silently through the sewers, easily surrounding and cutting off the escape routes of the Gamorrians. We possessed scavenged blasters, but they were loud and would attract the Rakghouls. Therefore, we used old, rusty knives.
Leading the ambush, my father attacked the group of four Gamorrians, going for the one with the most clothes on. The leader, perhaps? I did not possess enough self awareness to think critically of his tactics at that age. My mother and I each overtook one more as we surprised them, leaving the last one alone and terrified. Dropping to his knees, I watched him beg and cry in a strange language, his face contorting to become even uglier than he was before. He reminded me of the outcasts, upon being surrounded by rakghouls they'd often beg similarly. The Rakghouls sometimes played with their prey at that point, biting and tearing off bits and chunks until the outcast either turned or died of blood loss. We were not rakghouls, though, and I get assumed my father would let him go or at least give him a swift death.
He did not. I watched him lunge forward and, in one smooth, horrifying motion, tear out the throat of the Gamorrian with his teeth. The sentient dropped to the ground and cried out, gurgling and clutching his throat. Although I had been horrified, and clearly displayed it in my face, my mother and father took about scratching and biting the Gamorrian to death. For a brief moment, only a moment, I didn't see my parents anymore. I saw a pair of Rakghouls.
Our lives almost became routine, if one could call it that. However, this routine of killing Rakghouls, living in the sewers, and eating pig-men was not to last, thank the gods. My father, armor long ago torn to shreds, was scratched by a Rakghoul. My mother and I knew what this meant, he was doomed. In a fit I now can only describe as a psychotic break, my mother willfully infected herself and attempted to infect me. “We’ll be together forever, a family forever and ever!” She lunged at me, and nearly caught me. Perhaps she would have caught me if she had not simultaneously attempted to bite me as well as grab me.
In that moment, I no longer saw my mother and father before me, I saw them for what they truly were. The image of my mother and father tearing, clawing, and biting the Gamorrian to death all those years ago came back to me. I could no longer see my loving mother and father, all I could see were a pair of monsters. Thankfully, I was able to escape my parents unscathed and hide myself in a pipe too small for them to fit into. There was no thought in my mind to escape, no plan to run and leave them to their fate. They were Rakghouls, and Rakghouls needed to die. I killed them both when they were at their weakest which, unable to wield a blaster against me, was just after they transformed. For all their flaws and all the atrocities they committed, I still loved them. At eleven years old, I was alone.
I would not stay in the underworld, I decided. I knew of my heritage and of my people, I needed to find them.
Part Two
‘For The Clan '
”PREPARE TO DROP!”
The dropship shook and shuddered within the raging storm, the side doors sliding open with a hiss to reveal just how rough the weather was. Lightning streaked across the sky as a man in full battle armor began shoving his fellow Mandalorians out the door. I watched the man in front of me, Joras Skirata, frozen in fear, thrown out by our Commander. Unfazed, I leapt out the door after him. This was not my first drop.
Far below, a small base on Utapau open fired on the droppers with ancient anti-aircraft guns. Their targeting systems were awful and their ammunition was severely limited. However, as I activated my jet pack to slow my descent, I realized the weapons could still be effective if they got lucky. Joras never activated his pack and, with an arm half blown off from a lucky shot, obliterated himself upon the rocks below.
Landing with the remainder of my squad on the enemy barracks, we shot up the AA gunners and regroups near the roof access entrance. Standing before the door and making sure it stayed shut, our Commander began a quick field briefing.
”They've been expecting us, someone tipped off the enemy and now we have roughly a hundred armed and dangerous rebel personnel inside. So listen close asswipes! Our target remains the same, find the mayor’s daughter and kill the leader of this group of misfits. Most importantly, we secure the daughter. Without her, we don't get paid.”
At that, he began pointing out members of the group and assigning positions.
”Sidestep, Beginner’s Luck, you two are on me, we’re getting the daughter. Sparrow, lead Wolf and The Zohan to the armory and start setting charges on anything that will blow. Bigot, Devil, you two stay here and guard our exit route. Feral, take Shifty and, oh kriff, he didn't make it. Kriff it, you'll do better solo anyway. Find the base commander and slit his throat. Alright you sons and daughters of schuttas, let’s move out.”
Feral, I always thought it an appropriate nickname. I had been quite wild when I returned to the clan five years before. Though lacking social graces, I could speak basic and learned other things very quickly. Combat training came naturally to me, and much of the hand to hand combat techniques I knew already from my family. Despite my skills, or perhaps because of them, I was less than popular with the other young bloods of clan Skirata. Perhaps the reason was because of my parents and their crimes, they killed their families as I came to learn. Or perhaps it was because I had not been raised in the clan, but was better in training than everyone else my age who had been. Perhaps it was both. Regardless of the reason, I resented all of them.
Whatever the case, I was given the hardest mission to do alone. It was no matter of being given honor, rather it was yet another attempt to eliminate me. This I was sure of. It didn't work, it never did, the only challenge of a seek and destroy mission was a personal challenge of how many men I could kill without being detected. As I slipped into the base commander’s room, my record was already at seven. The memory of what I did after entering the commander’s room is one well studied. I've gone over it a thousand times in my head, trying to figure out why I did what I did.
Behind the desk of the base commander sat the mayor’s daughter dressed in full combat armor. If this were a fictional tale, here is where the author would write about the life changing experiences of the mayor’s daughter. Why someone like her, someone who had never before experienced great suffering, would give up a pampered and rich life to lead rough mercenaries in an ill fated rebellion. Perhaps the author would have even changed my angry, resentful demeanor upon hearing her story, and I would have become a more well rounded character.
But this was no story, and I was no introspective main character. Before the mayor’s daughter could even open her mouth, I shot her. Needless to say, I failed the most important part of the mission, and it was the ensuing interactions that caused my banishment from Skirata. The Commander approached me first after almost complete silence from my squad mates on the ride back to base.
”What the KRIFF was that, Feral !? You caused a mission failure! We aren't getting paid and Shifty died in vain, all because of you! What do you have to say for yourself you stupid beast!”
I mumbled out something about just doing my job. Regardless of whether or not the commander actually heard what I said, my answer was insufficient.
”No, kriff it, shut up. You're a kriffing disgrace. I don't know why we ever took you in, you should've stayed on Taris with your schuttas for parents. Never before have I met a more useless, pathetic, stupi-”
I never let him finish, my rage overtaking my logical mind and any shreds of patience I still had. I had done my job exactly as ordered, or so I thought. I was in the right, or so I hoped. I didn't have to stand there and take it, or so I believed. My hand swung out, clawing the side of his face. Reflexively, I leapt back and narrowly avoided a returning fist from the Commander. Within seconds, a crowd gathered to cheer on the violence.
I was faster, and probably better at melee combat than the Commander, but he was bigger, older, and possessed far more experience than me. Although I caught him multiple times, his first hit took me down. I was banished from Skirata within the week. Perhaps I should count myself lucky. I escaped attacking my Commanding officer with only a banishment as punishment. Perhaps the Alor took pity on me, perhaps he thought he owed my family something. Either way, I'm grateful now as the Mandalorians got themselves involved in much bigger conflicts only a few years later, and I disappeared into the throngs of civilians just trying to scratch out a meager existence.
Part Three
'A New Start '
---T/B/A---
[/pbox3] -
NAME: Aerith
AGE: 23
HEIGHT: 1.6m
WEIGHT: 45kg
HAIR COLOR: Brown
EYE COLOR: Dark Brown
STRENGTH: High
DEXTERITY: Very High
STAMINA: High
INTELLIGENCE: Average
WISDOM: High
CHARISMA: Low
SKILLSPiloting: Average
Slicing: Skilled
Stealth: Very Skilled
Hunting : Extremely skilled
Blades: Very Skilled
Diplomacy: Average
Logic : Skilled
Blasters: Very Skilled
Demolitions: Skilled
Martial Arts: Extremely Skilled
Aerith is, to say the least, a hot headed individual. Although she plays the part of the stoic she is easily riled up and has difficulty not letting her emotions get the better of her. She is an excellent fighter, but prefers to talk with her fists instead of her voice. Due to her past, she has difficulty speaking up and will often end up signing out her words with her hands when she attempts to raise her voice.
Aerith is consumed by a sense of justice and wishes to set the world right, but is unsure of how to do so. She knows she wants to make an impact on the galaxy, though she is unsure of whether or not this thinking is a result of her youth or a genuine destiny to be someone important. Her childhood can aptly be described as 'raised in a barn' and as a result she occasionally forgets her 'social graces,' reverting to growling or drawing her body low when she feels threatened or annoyed.
Despite her wild nature, she is in full control of her mental faculties. Aerith will not act in an 'crazy' manner nor attack any sentients without good reason. Though, for her, 'disrespect' occasionally qualifies as a 'good reason' to smack down someone else. The quickest way to her heart is to take her hunting, she loves the adrenaline of the hunt and the satisfaction of the kill. However, she abhors the idea of hunting for sport, and believes anything that is killed must be eaten. That said, she willfully ignores the memories of cannibalism as a child, and would never consider such a thing as an adult. It is a horrifying concept to her.
She has an innate talent and takes great enjoyment in martial arts. She is a master of Stava and Teräs Käsi, the former being a skill trained since early childhood and the latter something she learned among her Mandalorian family. As an adult, she continues practice in what she already knows and is in the process of mastering K'thri.
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