Aethon Kast

[Kori Buor]

Aethon Kast ​

[fancybox4="http://i.imgur.com/ACNru0El.jpg"]FULL NAME: Aethon Kast
AGE: 37
SPECIES: Human

HEIGHT: 1.85 meters
WEIGHT: 103 kg

EYE COLOR: Blue
HAIR COLOR: Dirty Blonde/Light Brown
SKIN COLOR: Caucasian; Olive tan
MARKINGS: ---

FACTION: None
RANK: N/A

I guess you can describe me as classically handsome? That's what some of my last girlfriends called me. I dunno, guess I'm alright, average looking. I do work out a bit, kinda have to when you shoot things and fight for a living if, at least, just for the intimidation it can buy you. Knowing how to use it helps, too, I suppose. Guess I'm tall, not the tallest around, but above average in that regard, when I've got my boots and helmet on it makes me look pretty imposing, and I'll be honest, I like to go for imposing. At least when I'm on the job. If we're on a date, you'll see the nicer, well-dressed side. Though, to be fair, I'm not sure what a well-dressed Mandalorian looks like. I just put some nice clothes on, take a shower, and hope I don't look like the slob I am. I've got my fair share of scars and tattoos, gotta have a way to remember things right? Sometimes I like to grow my beard out, people say it trades my handsome face for a rugged frontiersman, either is good for me.[/fancybox4]

GEAR​

[fancybox2] I'll be taking a gander around the tech department to see what we have, until then I'll just use generic stuff.

-Mandalorian CCT Mk II Armor (Red with Gold)
-SA-21 Sunspear Heavy Blaster Pistols x2 (5 Energy Packs)
-Vibrosword
-Kagebo
-Frag, and Thermal Detonators
- A140 Blaster Rifle (5 Power Packs)
-Wrist Mounted Flamethrower, mini rocket (3 rockets)
-Claw-3 Interceptor [/fancybox2]

BIOGRAPHY​

[fancybox4="http://i.imgur.com/PgBKimI.jpg"]
I was born in a small village in a rural part of Mandalore to an unfortunate conjugation of a poet and an artist. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents, but neither of them could really afford to take care of themselves much less a kid. Made growing up... difficult to say the least. But that's not what you're interested in. Nobody wants to hear the sob story of my childhood, Manda, even I don't want to hear about it. I'm told it's not very pleasant conversation, makes people all sad and depressed. I suppose you want to hear about how I grew up and what I became... or how I became what I did. Kind of hard to tell one without telling the other, ya know?

Anyways, because of these difficulties I ended up having to pay for the scrap metal that I forged with my father into my own personal armor. I worked around the village for whatever I could get, sometimes I trades labor for the parts I needed instead of money. It didn't leave a lot of time for playing around, which I eventually grew to regret as I didn't spend nearly as much time with my good friend Jeyne Merrik, a girl I had known for as long as I could remember. I was only thirteen and my dad had to work long hours just to make ends remotely meet. Still, I did my best to set out what little time I could spare with my good friend when I wasn't working for money or working on the "easy" parts of my armor. Basically that meant I was doing most of the basic work by myself, and I had no fegging idea what I was doing. I spent long hours after my lessons and chores forging each plate, making sure that each one was properly shaped and fitted. It wasn't easy to say the least, but my dad helped me when he had time. Most of our time together was trying to get the more complicated electronics installed into the helmet. Finally, my armor was finished! I couldn't believe it at the time. It had taken so long to get everything right, and then painting it how I wanted. My dad told me that this was only the first part of my rite of passage. The second part involved me using that armor to survive. He tossed me a pack of survival dear, a knife, and a hunting rifle.

And with that I got dropped off in the wilderness and was told that if I survived a month on my own that I could return home. If not... well then they would throw a memorial for me. Real inspiring words there dad. So yeah, there I was; thirteen and on my own. You'd be surprised what the brain can come up with when you have little resources and nothing but time on your hands. I got really skilled with improvising with sticks and strings; made some killer snares that kept me pretty well fed. Wait, did I just make a pun? Kriffin' hell, sorry about that. Right, back to the story. Thankfully, my parents were the good Mandalorian types, traditionalists that taught me the basics of fighting and surviving. This included basic blaster skills. Skills I ended up honing into an art. Granted at 13 very few people are good at anything, and while I don't want to brag and say I got damn good with that hunting rifle... I got damn good with that hunting rifle.

One night, just before I turned in to get forty winks, I heard some rustling in the bushes. And not just a little rustling, a lot of rustling. Like someone was having a bout of fisty cuffs with the bush. Now, you might be thinking about what made that sound, getting all worried that something terrible is about to happen, but obviously it wasn't that bad, I mean, I'm sitting here talking to you right now, aren't I? Now I'm pretty tired at this point and more than a little peeved at the disruption. So, I do what any Mandalorian would. I grab that rifle and I go out to convince whatever it is to shut up and go away... or shoot it dead. I mean either one works really. And before you ask, yes, I was scared, heart beating all fast and my hands were shaking, palms getting all sweaty. I could barely keep ahold of my rifle. Working my way up the hill where the noise in the bushes were coming from, I came to a nearby grove of trees. There I saw two men pulling along a shape. And of course the shape was struggling, hence the noise. I couldn't be certain in the moonlight, but I thought that it looked like a humanoid body all bound up. I won't lie, I froze for a moment, after all, I didn't know who these people were and what they were doing with the third form. They could have been the local Protectors for all I knew returning with a prisoner. But then one of men spoke, and his words told me they weren't any sort of Protector. He spoke to the other one, suggesting they "knock him out" so they could transport their "package" back to the shuttle easier. The other man answered that they weren't supposed to lay a hand on him unless absolutely necessary, and unless the first man wanted to be eating through a straw for the rest of his life he should abide by that order.

I had heard enough, I knew I had to act, but I was till frozen in terror. What if I missed my shot? Would they kill me? Would it be quick? A thousand such questions flooded my mind until there was a loud snap and the bound figure hopped to his feet and started running away, apparently having broken his wrist restraints and pulled hard enough on the two captors to cause them to fall flat-footed. Pulling my rifle up to my shoulder, I stopped thinking and acted. Doing my best to sight in with the moonlight, I exhaled slowly and squeezed the trigger back gently until the rifle discharged and a crimson blaster bolt flew down range and hit one of the men in the shoulder as he was struggling to get to his feet. I think it was right about then that the adrenaline hit me.
Instinctively, I started pulling the trigger again and again and again. By the time I had stopped firing my energy pack had ran dry. Or I guess I should say I stopped fire because my energy pack ran dry. Either way, the two men were on the ground amidst smoking holes, unmoving. I don't know how long I waited, minutes maybe, probably hours. It felt like the whole night almost. Finally, I got enough nerve to move again. I slowly crept towards the two expecting them to jump up and shoot me. That would have been it. No more Aethon Kast. But the closer I got the more readily apparent it became that both had been hit several times by blaster bolts. They were dead.

Now that's a traumatic experience for a thirteen year old. Don't you think? I didn't bury the bodies. When I got back to my camp I packed everything up and moved as far away as I could. I never went back. Never wanted to. It almost feels like a dream. Even the next morning it felt surreal, like it didn't happen. Sometimes I wonder if it did or if it were a dream. Well I saw the month out, and I returned home to celebration and jubilation. Honestly, looking back at it I think that rite of passage is kriffed up. Feeding a kid to the lions at such a young age is epically dumb, but I guess there's a reason it is still done today; it shapes us, turns us Mandalorians into the stone-killers we're known to be. Hard to be compassionate when your parents willingly threw you into a dangerous situation when you are barely in your teens. Makes one hard and cold real quick.

I never told my parents what happened.

Well the years passed and I grew up. Hit my growth spurts and shot up in height, playing sports helped me gain weight. I did a stint with the local militia but could stay... didn't care for the Republic or the Border Alliance enough so I went out to see what else there was to do in the Galaxy. Unfortunately, for a Mandalorian who was taught how to fight, hunt, and kill, that doesn't leave a lot. At 17 Jeyne left for school. It was not a happy day for me. I yelled at her for betraying me by leaving so she could pursue her studies; she was a Mandalorian! She had passed her verd'goten and was a warrior just like the rest of us, but she chose to leave and go learn science and biology. She yelled back at me. I'm sure I made her cry. I didn't see her for years, and I only got one letter talking about school. There aren't a lot of people willing to pay enough on Mandalorian poetry or art to make a living off of. Probably for the best, I was rubbish at both anyways. At 18 I joined the Protectors. It was better than serving for a group of idiots who thought the Republic was going to save them. I served with them for many years, plus it wasn't like I had anything to lose. I didn't have anyone to take care of, or anyone who cared about me.

During this time I got pretty good at flying. Not like an ace, or anything, but I was damn good at moving one of those Claw Interceptors in space or in atmosphere. I guess I was pretty good at my job, because the Protectors I served with always seemed to enjoy my company. Eventually I became a bit of an unofficial leader for the group of Protectors I was with. Nothing official, but my opinion was always willing to be heard and given its due respect. Eventually, I was given an assignment on Concord Dawn with my unit. We befriended the locals and made a few good deals with them. The Protectors did what they could about maintaining the peace between the local clans, and they offered us good deals on food and drink.

That's when my life changed. One day during an excursion to the local town I entered the clinic and found my old childhood friend there, Jeyne Merrik! We began to reconnect over the next week and we realized that we felt something for each other beyond simple friendship, and in truth that we had for a while. All seemed to be going well. Jeyne pushed for a united Mandalore under a single leader, a leader she believed should be a man named Ral. I had only heard rumors and stories of the man, and was otherwise unwilling to put any support behind him until I had time to think on it and get to know him better. I would never meet him, though. Still, I would support Jeyne in her attempts to get support for Ral, and even urged her to claim the position as alor of clan Merrik. The evening she was chosen as their leader I proposed to her, knowing that she was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. What made it better was that she accepted too! Pretty crazy, right? Here is this woman, a well-established doctor with her own practice and more money than I could ever need, and leader of clan on top of that, and she's marrying a poor bloke of a soldier like me!

Unfortunately, things took a turn for the worse that morning. Offended by his embarrassment at being rejected as Jeyne's suitor the previous night, Ga'Rau Vencu attacked the village and massacred most of clan Merrik there. I was captured by Ga'Rau and taken to a secret base on some uncharted Outer Rim world where no one would be able to find me. I was kept there for months, maybe even years. Time began to blur together. I was... tortured... repeatedly. I was even told Jeyne was dead; that she had died the night I was taken. At first I didn't believe them. I didn't want to believe them. They were just trying to break me, but then they started offering their proof about how she had died. Holonet reports, video footage of her funeral, pictures of her autopsies. It was all there. How they managed to come up with it all, I'm not sure, but they did, and they did it when I was at my lowest. I believed them. They broke me that day, even thought I refused to yield to them any other way. The beatings and tortures continued for months. At least, that was until my lucky break, and one of the guards protecting me forgot to lock the food port to my cell. Using my fork I managed to pick the archaic key-lock on the cell door and open it during the middle of the night. I escaped, grabbing what I could and returning to Concord Dawn believing Jeyne was dead. As far as I could tell she was. Nobody in the clans I talked to knew of her still being the alor of Merrik. So, I moved on, I remade my armor and became a mercenary. As it turned out, Jeyne wasn't the only one; the Ral she had supported had also died during his attempt to gain power and in his place a group called Death Watch had grown.

I take work where I can find it, it's not always mercenary work. Sometimes it's being a courier or helping to do manual labor. Often I do escorts for convoys or provide muscle for meetings or exchanges. It's a simple life and I don't mind it. I try to see my parents every now and then. Lately there's been a lot of talk on Mandalore with this Death Watch becoming a thing. Not sure who they are, haven't met one yet to find out. For all I know they could just be the other side of the coin from those Accord Mandalorians I keep running into while on jobs. Who knows.

[/fancybox4]

ROLEPLAYS​

[fancybox2]
Outpost
The Good, the Bad, and the Wookiee
Shadow Play
[/fancybox2]

ᴘʀᴏғɪʟᴇ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ ʙʏ: ʙᴇᴇ​

 

[Darasuum]

What house/clan is he a part of?