Evelyn Yara - Mandalorian

Mary Bothans

Member
SWRP Writer
Joined
Feb 22, 2016
Messages
126
Reaction score
114
(This is a quick couple paragraph on how my bounty hunter character from Naboo became a part of a Mandalorian family. Pretty much her entire RP history + the time-skip all rolled into one narrative. Check out my profile link for more on her backstory Let me know what y'all think! )

I was still a child then. Fearless, headstrong - a quiet storm inside my chest - but I was a child. I didn’t understand. The galaxy is relentless. I was dropped into depths I couldn’t have imagined. The galaxy, the people, the wars: it was dark and wondrous and it seemed all a fever dream.

I was well-trained, well-educated. I expected to be uncomfortable in the reeds and fringes of society. But for a time, I did well as a bounty hunter. People underestimated me. I wore my privilege - my high-born status - in my features, in my posture, even the way I moved. It was difficult to hide, so I used it for my advantage. I was a pretty face with big eyes and soft skin. The little girl with the Naboo-accent. No one expected her to draw a pistol faster than a wild nexu, or to twist a vibroblade past a rib cage.

This was all before the Force - before the Jedi, the Sith. I knew of the Jedi. During my time at university, I had the opportunity to see a few of them give guest lectures. Tall and handsome, but also reserved, almost sad. They spoke with a kind of wisdom and clarity of mind that I had once thought only elderly monks possessed. And although their talks leaned more towards the religious side, their appreciation and value of all life, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, was beautiful, even erotic, and their words lingered at the edges of my memory for years. This was until I saw them in action, until I saw the real power and fury behind their eyes. The warrior stepping out from behind the veil of peace. Whether Jedi or Sith, it didn’t matter, they were just the opposite pulls of a whirlwind. Power I couldn’t match. I was assigned by what later became this new Empire to tracking down a rogue agent. I naively thought he was some poor monk trying to escape the order; maybe he had stolen something; maybe he was trying to defect to the otherside. I had never seen a lightsaber sparked alive until that night. He moved so quickly, I was nearly helpless. I was badly injured when the others arrived, tracking me to their prey. They moved like smoke and darkness. I watched as they fought the deserter. The wrath, the unhindered passion, the true power of the Force… the memory still wakes me up at night in cold sweats.

Defeated, I fell further into the galactic underground, eventually becoming the personal bodyguard for one of the more influential Hutt families. The war had yet to reach this side of the galaxy, both sides preferring to let the Hutts run their own affairs. Spice and alcohol and all kinds of other narcotics flowed steadily. And I must admit, with the relative ease and affluence of this new position, I wasn’t always able to resist the temptations myself. Rival gangs, arrogant in their naivety, were quickly put down. This was until the Sith became interested in Hutt space and I witnessed, like a nightmare repeated, shock troopers burn through an entire city. I fled with little more than my life.

Despite hiding out and drinking my nights away in the inner-city nightlife of Nar Shadaa I happened to fall in with a small, but well equipped mercenary band. Death Watch. Disciplined, hard-edged, not a group to flinch away from violence. Running away from the memories of the battle left me half the hunter I used to be, nevertheless, I took a few jobs with them, data extraction mostly, nothing life changing but it paid well. Yet as soon as they arrived in my life they disappeared. I knew better than to ask.

At another bar, where the rain had been steady all evening, I was scouting for my next job. Times were rough and I was getting desperate. Every region of space was taking sides in the war now, every powerful family settling old vendettas to focus on protecting their own. Most hunters were gone, either they were smuggling weapons or they were joining the ranks. I guess in the end, I wasn’t so different. A man walked into the bar. He looked me in right the eye as though he knew me. His glance twisted my guts. This was my first clue. But I hesitated.

I woke up the next day in a Mandalorian prison. A single, solitary cell. I was sore, I was spitting up blood. Men and women came by in full battle armor. They asked me questions, first in their own language then in basic, about the Sith, about the Death Watch. Every night. They beat me when I fought back; when I tried to escape they beat me more. They seemed to create opportunities to beat me. But I kept fighting back, I kept escaping. Slowly, I later learned, I was earning their respect.

Years passed. The Empire took control of the galactic core. Those of us who were watching, who saw what they were capable of, knew this to be just a matter of time. But it all seemed so far removed from my life. The Priest Clan adopted me, took responsibility for me. I thought I was little better than their house slave at first, performing tasks and chores any droid could do. But they trained me, taught me the Mandalorian language. I learned their culture, their philosophy, and eventually their weapons. I quickly grew in prestige among the family, being valued more as a commodity than a source of foreign amusement. My offworld education and exposure to galactic society they prized, rather surprisingly, and began grooming me for diplomacy and galactic politics. Yet, the fever of war still warmed by bones, embers waiting to catch. Only in my own mind was I still a prisoner here. This planet, this system, was my home now. Priest was family, my clan. Ral Vizsla, my Mand’alor.
 
Top