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Ma'rik Alesha

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About Ma'rik Alesha

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    Bowcaster (9-7=2)
    Personal Pilot (2-2=0)

    Beskar'gam (Helmet, Chest, Gloves) - Rank Rewards
    HUD (Beskar'gam Helmet) - Rank Rewards
    Power Increase (Personal Assault Blaster) - Rank Reward
    Beskad (Sword) - Rank Reward
    Personal Shield Generator - Rank Reward
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    Mi Krubah
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  1. A Calm and Civil Solution

    "Any man can make mistakes Tanvir, but only an idiot persists in them. Your avaricious motivations for joining the Republic are as shameful as the Trenox clan's claim to being Mando'ade. Neither of you know what it means to be true to your people, and for that I cannot stand by and let you try to guide our people into ruin." Ma'irk said bluntly, putting her buy'ce back on and sealing it. "Stand and deliver, Tanvir. If you want to be Mand'alor so badly then you should have no trouble proving you're worthy of the title. Will you do as Alor Cuyot suggests and face me in battle?" Aden Tanvir was furious to say the very least, and the Trenox clan themselves looked none too pleased with how the meeting had turned out. Her own family had put their own helmets back on as well. The air of the place was tense, and the defusal of the time bomb came when the gauntlet was thrown. Rather than battle it out in the Oyu'baat, Tanvir pointed to the door, "Outside then. This old warrior will show you just how wrong you are." He said, slapping one of his clan on the shoulder and putting his own buy'ce back on. He walked out without so much as addressing anyone else. A fight to the death seemed to have soured his mood more. Ma'rik left the Oyu'baat as well. This was the kind of thing for which she lived. Battle was her life, and she had made her name and modest wealth battling for the highest bidder. Now, though, she was battling for honor. Not for herself, but for her people. They did not need a Mand'alor that suggested the Republic was necessary for the safety of Manda'yaim. The Mando'ade need nothing but their kin, and she was going to prove that point, violently. She had her blade and purpose. Those were the only two things she needed to show the rest of the warriors here that no Republic dog was going to lead Manda'yaim into desolation. There was a bit of silent preparation, at least between herself and Tanvir. It was only fair to allow the two destined for combat to speak to their kin. Only one was going to leave the fight, it was the right thing to do. She had nothing to say to anyone really, nothing that they did not already understand. They knew what the life of a warrior meant, and that it could end violently and suddenly. Ma'rik had always been prepared for death. It was the smart thing to do to have her will in the event of her death known. Her possessions, all of them, were to be passed to her mother. Everything she had started with, her beskad, her blasters, they belonged to her now deceased father, and she felt it was right to give them to her as a memento. Ma'rik drew her beskad and paced back and forth while the older man deliberated with his clan. She grew impatient. There was a streak of impetuous behavior in her past that showed her youth. She was not inexperienced as a warrior, by any means, but she was still young and hated waiting. With business to be done it was not something she enjoyed to be kept here longer than necessary. The way she felt it, she was going to become Mand'alor and she was going to guide her people through this trial into greatness. It had not yet struck her just how important she would become should she survive this battle. Finally, Aden Tanvir was prepared. He had a pair of gauntlets that were, at least to her, ridiculous. Little knives it looked like, coming from the tops of his hands. Seemed ostentatious, seemed unwieldy, but he was a veteran and likely knew what he was doing with them. She knew what she was doing with her own weapon though, and she was smaller than he. If his size was anything, it was a detriment now. Surely he had the power over her, but could he keep up with her lighter and faster frame? As she squared off against him, and the two sized one another up for the coming bloodshed, the crowds formed a makeshift ring around the two. Ma'rik waited, and Tanvir attacked. A backstep to the left kept her posture on balance and in dodging the forward downswing she got to see what his methodology was. He was a striker, a hard-hitter with a lot of strength but not much in the way of speed. It was as she figured, and that meant if she could seize the initiative after his first assault she could end him quickly. The fight raged for what felt like an eternity. Ma'rik and Tanvir trading blows back and forth. Tanvir's strength showed, but Ma'rik's youth and speed showed more and lasted longer. His veterancy saw him outperform her early in the battle, and the heavy blows that hit her armor left their marks on the plates and bruised the flesh beneath. Pain was nothing, pain was not going to stop her from the most important fight of her life. Through the wear and tear of an intentionally prolonged fight, the advantage swung to Ma'rik and in a flourish of blade and blood, the young woman landed a solid blow that shook her opponent. A deep gash was opened along his torso between the plates, and blood seeped through. Like a predatory animal she attacked again in the staggering hit, sinking the blade into the same spot. Tanvir crumbled to a single knee and the crowd roared in a mixed reaction of joy and despair. The Tanvir crowd was rightfully upset, as their patriarch had been mortally wounded by the strike to his torso. Ma'rik tossed her beskad to the ground and grabbed the man by the head. The groaning of metal could be heard at the sudden silence. Ma'rik's shuk'orok slowly crushed in on the buy'ce. Few brief moments passed, and with a sickening crunch, blood poured out of the smashed helmet and onto her hands. Ma'rik released the body and pushed it over. She too went to a single knee, very clearly exhausted by the fight. Ma'rik pulled her buy'ce off, and her hair had been matted to her head by sweat. "Manda'yaim stands alone..." she shouted from her kneeling position, before pushing herself back to her feet. It was clear she herself had been wounded in the fight, but she had been the victor. Her family ran into the ring and stood by her in the event that anyone had any ideas of ending her in such a vulnerable state. She had won an honorable fight though, and anyone that knew what it meant to be Mando'ad knew that her claim to becoming Mand'alor had be justified by her own blood, sweat, and tears.
  2. Been sick, I'll see what I can get out soon.

  3. A Calm and Civil Solution

    Ma'rik glared at the demonstration from the Alor of the Trenox group with a mixture of confusion and revulsion. Economic benefit over independence and honor? Neutrality instead of following Mand'alor te Cabur? These people had no thought in their heads. To even consider siding with the Republic out of fear that they would look for a war with Manda'yaim was about as ignorant as suggesting they would need the Mando'ade to fight their battles. Tal was right, they had a military of their own, so they had no need for external warriors that cost them more money. With a nasty habit of cutting corners militarily, Ma'rik had no designs on ever working for the Republic as a freelancer, let alone as an ally. They paid osik and their hired work was always suicide missions for the expendable. The more she listened to Tanvir and the Trenox group the more she knew that these people could not be allowed to guide Manda'yaim into a disastrous future. She looked behind her at her family. They too were confused by the demonstration with the twigs. Did they just carry pieces of kindling with them wherever they went? Were these so-called Mando'ade from Irmenu daft? Ma'rik shook her head and ultimately ignored what they had said. Tal already addressed it perfectly, and she could appreciate that she at least had one ally among the clan leadership that stood with her. The cheers she had gotten she did not see, but it was a heartening thing to hear that there were at least true Mando'ade in the room that knew Manda'yaim could stand on its own. "Alor Cuyot is right. Manda'yaim must stand on its own." She said, glaring at A'den Tanvir, then over to the Trenox group from Irmenu, "You both would rather climb into bed with the aruetiise then go live with them. There is no place on Manda'yaim for a Mand'alor that has no faith in their vode. You want to guide us to the Republic? Me'copaani? Did the Republic pay you to come here and lobby for this? Did they promise you that you would be the first Senator from Manda'yaim? Then what? You sit on a pile of credits while they bleed us dry to pay for other warriors to fight our battles. No true Mando'ad lets another fight their battles. We stand, we fight with honor, we die with honor, and we do not let aruetiise dictate how we live our lives!" Ma'rik was clearly incensed by the situation. The young woman looked around the room, appraising the quiet that had fallen over the Oyu'baat. Ma'rik knew that there was one solution to this, and one alone. She looked at Tanvir and stood upright, "You dar'manda can go back to your homes and live in fear for the rest of your miserable lives. You want an enemy to cower in fear of, look no further than me. Call me Mand'alor, because only a true Mando'ad can stake a claim at that, and neither you..." she said, pointing directly at A'den Tanvir's face, "...or you, can call yourselves that." she finished, pointing right at the Trenox group. "You want to challenge that claim, I am standing right here."
  4. A Calm and Civil Solution

    The Sith Empire was gone, and in its place there was a void left in their previously controlled space. Nominally, the Republic assumed control of those worlds, but in the Outer Rim there was very little in the way of law and order. Even the Republic did not invest much in the security of their holdings that far from the core, if they could even be called holdings. Ma'rik had fought against the Republic herself, saw action on Balmorra and bled with her family to defend the Sith and the Empire's citizens. It was a matter of trust, and her clan had been trusted by the Sith since the Sacking of Coruscant. That they were defeated, only made matters more complicated for herself and her clan. In that battle her father and her two eldest siblings perished. Taken prisoner and executed without reason. Since then she had burned for revenge, burned with a hatred for the Republic that could only be quenched by blood and fire. Unfortuantely, things on Manda'yaim had become equally complicated. The Mand'alor had disappeared during the war. Rumors over what had happened or where he went swirled but none of them were confirmed. Now, in the Oyu'baat the clan leaders met to discuss that very problem. Ma'rik had come as the eldest child and now Alor of Clan Alesha. It had passed to her mother, but her mother passed it to her, as she was too busy caring for her youngest sibling. She had come in her armor, well-kept certainly, but it showed the signs of her veterancy. No longer was she a greenhorn, but a well-versed warrior equipped for nearly any situation. Her beskad was simple, functional, a plain single-edged blade meant for chopping, and was sheathed at her waist with the two pistols her father crafted for her as a coming-of-age gift. Her bowcaster remained at home, as a meeting between clan leadership did not call for that kind of firepower, but she did not come unarmed. As with all situations there was the chance for bloodshed and violence, and she was not about to be caught unaware. The most aggressive thing she wore though, was a pair of shuk'orok, which also meant they were the most subdued weapons in her current arsenal. Accompanying her was her younger brother Darin, her cousin Kine, and her uncle Te'kar. They too were dressed in their beskar'gam and carrying their beskad with pistols. Armed lightly, but armed nonetheless. They all looked at one another exchanging glances over the argument going on but saying nothing. Ma'rik looked to them too, her expression shifting from neutral to angry. Kine and Darin looked at one another, knowing that Ma'rik was the hot-headed one of the group, and as the Alor of the clan now she was the one that would guide them how she saw fit. They trusted her judgment. They too fought with her on Balmorra and it was her pivot action that saw them escape the planet in the first place. She took wounds covering them, put her life on the line to save them, and they would do the same. Clan Alesha was behind her completely after her actions on Balmorra, and it showed when they stood with her. Ma'rik had removed her buy'ce when the argument started between a man named Tanvir and a thusfar unrecognized voice behind a purple buy'ce. She heard only a snippet of the argument but had heard enough to know that Tanvir was dar'manda. The immaturity she had when she left home for the first time was gone. She was keenly aware of what it meant to be Mandalorian and it did not mean becoming cowardly and crawling to the supposed safety of the Republic. Ma'rik walked into the argument and stared directly at Tanvir with a fire in her eyes that she reserved for those she hated. "Tanvir you call yourself Mando'ad but I do not see a brother before me. You would have our people crawl to the Republic for protection? Manda'yaim can stand on its own without the Republic or the Empire. Did you know, that when the Republic and the Jedi invaded Balmorra, that my Clan stood by the Sith because we honor our allies? Did you know that my father died in battle with the Jedi? Or that my eldest brothers were killed in a prison camp that the Republic scraped together to take care of those that had been defeated? They died standing for Manda'yaim's honor as an ally to the Sith and the Empire. They did it because they felt it was right, felt that it was their duty to honor agreements. Now you would have us turn to the Republic, for security? Tanvir I stand here before the other leaders of the clans and I call you dar'manda for even suggesting that Manda'yaim needs outside protection. In saying that you say every warrior, every person on this planet, is incapable. Have you no respect for your vode?" Ma'rik was spirited and angry when she spoke, but kept herself at an even tone in spite of her hate. The room hit an odd point. There were audible cheers from some in the crowd, others felt second-hand offense, and more still hushed at such a harsh accusation. She stood unflinching, facing up with Tanvir without an ounce of fear in her expression. Tanvir glared at her, shocked that someone so young would even say such a thing. "Did someone lose their adiik here while the adults are meeting?" Ma'rik glared right back, "Ma'rik Alesha, Alor of Clan Alesha, and a hut'uun like you should show some respect to a true Mando'ad." she spat back, her voice more venomous than before. The room just watched the exchange now, keen to see how things went after such heated words.
  5. Peacekeepers! At the Disco

    As far as social faux pas went throwing someone into a wall was one of the more memorable ones that Ma'rik could recall witnessing personally. Of course, she had not come here just for the party but for work as well. She had been paid a great deal of money by some important people from the old elite on Dromund Kaas to hunt down and destroy any Republic soldiers and veterans, as well as Jedi that had participated in that slaughter. Ma'rik did not personally join the fight, she was too far outside of Imperial space at the time to have put up a fight with the Sith, but that did not mean she could not try to rectify in some way her failure to stand by her Imperial allies. Even with the Mandalore gone she stuck with the Sith out of a sense of loyalty to the people who had given her the very first job she took as a fresh warrior. They took a chance on her, and she could not turn her back on people that gave their trust like that. Ma'rik had not left her ship unarmed, but she was far less equipped than she would liked to have been. Of course she hovered around the outskirts of the main party herself so as to avoid any chance that the holdout weapons concealed in her jacket would be discovered. There were Jedi here and that made the scene far more complicated than before. She had been hunting down soldiers on this venture and of course this party had the great honor of hosting several of the monastic monsters. So far as she was concerned, the Jedi were no better than a gang to be put down. They liked to preach self-denial and talk about how they are the peacekeepers of the galaxy, but it did not seem very peaceful for them to crash the Limited or whatever it had been named into Dromund Kaas. The young Mandalorian was not in her Beskar'gam for obvious reasons; instead she wore standard spacer clothing, and felt wrong for doing it. The armor was too recognizable though, too easily spotted, and in a party with people who had always been the enemies of her kind the last thing she needed was some gung-ho white knight of a Jedi trying to put her down for her supposed viciousness or crimes. To think the Jedi chose to deal in such absolutes. The Sith absolutely had to die, according to the Jedi. The Mandalorian people were absolutely a violent culture that should never be allowed to flourish. It was a mindset like that which gave Ma'rik all the reason she needed to put a Jedi down, but none of the motive mattered when she was surrounded. As much as she would have liked to lay waste to this whole place, she knew a couple of holdouts and a knife would not be enough to take down the party no matter how skilled she had become. Experience gave her those battle senses, but it also told her that she was in no position to destroy any one of these people. Ma'rik looked down to the man that had impacted the wall next to her and poured the disgusting drink down on his head, "That's right little man. Sit there and take it. It's what you deserve for picking on one of the small ones. Must be how you people get your kicks, taking targets that can't fight back, right?" She said, putting more venom in her words than there was alcohol in her glass. How she hated these people. They looked like they were all having a grand time, but they must have had just as grand a time murdering prisoners of war on Dromund Kaas. Not a one of them lived with honor. It would be like killing animals in the plains of Dantooine for her to destroy them, but it was better than they deserved. At least the contract she had agreed to did not dictate the terms of death for each kill she made. She got paid, and she got to take people out how she saw fit. Even though the Empire had collapsed she had lived the bounty hunter's dream since then. At least the work was still steady, regardless of the circumstances.
  6. Ma'rik Alesha

    Biography Ma’rik Alesha was born in 3652 BBY on Mandalore to the small Alesha family clan as the middle child of a family of six. Her mother and father had been warriors for a time but retired to Mandalore and to a life of farming and supporting their people from the homefront, an honorable profession that was essential to the power base of the Mandalorian people. Ma’rik’s childhood was much like every other Mandalorian. At the age of eight she began her verd’goten training under her mother. The ability to survive and thrive in hardship was central to the Mandalorian people, and she was more than happy to spend time with her mother regardless of the hard work it entailed. Hunting, wrestling, and the use of weapons, were the things her mother taught her, the ways of the Mandalorian warrior culture. She witnessed first-hand that every Mandalorian played a vital role in their society, farmers, artists, and soldiers alike, all played a part in keeping the machine that was Mandalore running. She grew a healthy respect for her peers and was taught from an early age and continued to be taught that whatever role a Mandalorian had within society was a worthy one. By the time she passed her verd’goten she was thirteen and ready to see the galaxy for herself, but stayed on Mandalore for a few additional years while her youngest siblings were trained in the ways she had passed as well at the request of her mother and father. She was happy to help with the farming, and the training when she was asked, and found that life on Mandalore was good even though she wanted to travel and make a name for herself and raise the prestige of the Alesha clan. To that end, she left for Dromund Kaas at fifteen to take up work in the Empire, a long-time ally of the Mandalorian people. The start to her work was tough, to say the very least. She had taken the easy work, the only things that a new young Mandalorian in shiny armor could get. A contract killing here and there, an auxiliary for some kind of attack, item retrieval, it was all rather pedestrian stuff but it was definitely getting her foot in the door. Successes meant more employment, and the Sith operated on at least a partial meritocracy. A pivot point came when she was tasked with working on a drop mission to the moon over Dromund Kaas. A cult had formed on the unstable body and in it was a mixture of light and dark side force users, of which the briefing demanded total annihilation. Ma’rik had jumped at the opportunity for dangerous work for the chance to prove herself, and what better way to prove one’s self was there than being able to beat a force user, let alone a cult of them. Unfortunately, the team was disorganized, incoherent, and cooperated only so well. Ma’rik had been chosen to aid Darth Sanguira with her work though, providing cover and likely a bit of armor and bulk to the Sith as she pursued her goal. It was a slog from the start. The cult knew they were coming, and had set up defenses, but she was not going to back down and give up on a mission until the leader of the strike team called for a retreat, which she did not. It was hard going, and she took several wounds that were mostly mitigated by her armor, but she served with distinction and valor, putting herself in harm’s way only as a means to defend the primary strike team leader and work toward the objective. The mission, however, could not have been considered a true success in spite of her best efforts. Ma’rik finally had the chance to work for the Empire yet again this time as an auxiliary defender on a shipment bound for Alderaan. It was simple escort work, but flying through Hutt Space was always a gamble. When the ship came under attack though, Ma’rik made her presence known yet again by traveling with the Imperial soldiers moving to lock down the hallway the boarding pod had penetrated. When she arrived it was already a firefight, and the fact that it was not just some melee meant something was off about the situation that she was made keenly aware of when a repeating blaster rained fire down the hallway. Suppressive fire was not something pirates tended to do, at least not from the stories she had heard or the experiences she had related to her. Still, casualties aside they had a mission to do, so she took up the scattergun dropped by one of the dead soldiers she had come with and barreled down the hall firing it into the crowd of hostiles before diving into close cover. By the time the attack was over the intruders got away with a shuttle and left their wounded and dead behind. Her suspicion was confirmed when it came to light that they were from the Republic. This first encounter with them colored them as cowardly and reckless, something to be scorned rather than praised despite their escape.
  7. Ma'rik Alesha

    Name: Ma’rik Alesha Gender: Female Species: Human (Mandalorian) Rank: Ruus’alor Date of Birth: 3652 BBY Appearance Ma’rik Alesha is an average-sized woman, standing about 64 inches tall. She has an unruly mop of auburn hair that rests just above her shoulder. She has bright green eyes, a fair complexion, as well as a slightly crooked nose from previous breaks during fights. On her body are several burns from the heat transfer of blaster shots absorbed by her armor. Ma’rik is fairly thick with muscle as well, a body fitting for a Mandalorian warrior that is the result of heavy training. Possessions Ma’rik is almost never seen outside of her Beskar’gam. Her armor is painted ivory and pink, a striking coloration for the Mandalorian people, but it makes her easy to identify. She carries her weapons with her wherever she goes, a pair of matched blaster pistols that show the wear and tear of extensive use. On her back she carries a Bowcaster, a weapon appropriated from the Wookiee people for its power and presence. Strapped to her waist is the Beskad her father passed down to her, an old heavy and austere blade that emphasizes function over form and has no flashy decoration about itself. She also carries a personal shield generator for extra defenses against her enemies and the enemies of the Empire. Personality Ma’rik Alesha is a woman of many words and many more blaster shots. She possesses a very strict personal code of conduct that aligns with the Mandalorian way. To be an honorable combatant, to strive for strength and virtue through battle and to live as an example for her fellow Mandalorians. As a Ruus’alor she is entrusted with the lives of other warriors, and being elevated to that status has matured her quite a lot. She comes across as calculating and cautious with the lives she leads, because any Mandalorian lost is a loss better planning and preparation could have prevented. Her loyalty is to the Mand’alor first and the Empire second, and should the Mand’alor break with the Empire she would go with her people before betraying them, as she fears being labeled Dar’manda more than she fears death. Skills, Abilities and Talents: Ma’rik is a physical specimen. Not only is she reasonably dense with strong muscle, but she is capable of shrugging off most pain to keep going in battle. She has an extraordinary ability to keep pushing and pushing in a fight even when others would have fallen back for a rest, and it has given her a reputation as a relentless combatant that pursues objectives to the point of obsession. As it is expected of warriors, she also possesses excellent hand-eye coordination, easily able to land accurate shots down long ranges to the detriment of her enemies. Once they are disabled she is quite able to get there quickly and efficiently to either take the quarry alive, or finish them off for proof of death to her employers. With experience in battle comes experience with a wide variety of variable as well, and as a result she has honed her reflexes to quite a fine point and is more than able to handle and respond to surprises quite easily. Perhaps her greatest ability as a leader of warriors, is her steel-trap of a mind. Ma’rik knows no fear on a battlefield, and is ready and willing to fight and die beside her fellow Mandalorians for the honor of her people and the defense of her home. The mind-tricks of the Jedi and Sith falter against her as well, and she is someone who views these things as a tool of the weak or manipulative that would seek to deceive or otherwise fail to be upfront and honest.
  8. The Isolation Game

    Grenades. Ma'rik thought to herself for a moment, following the bright flashes of explosives going off nearby. She could believe that a pirate had somehow come to own one of those heavy repeaters, but high grade explosives seemed out of the purview of your average desperate poverty-stricken pirate. Something was wrong here, and she could tell when those few men that faced a lethal dosage of shrapnel fell, that this was not some simple pirate raid. If these were pirates, why would they have attacked an Imperial vessel? What is it that a pirate could possibly want from an Imperial ship? If they were looking for military-grade weaponry or armor there were easier ways to steal them than raiding an Imperial ship. Not only did it present a vast logistical gulf in capabilities and numbers, between even a small crew of Imperial soldiers against those of a pirate crew. If these were raiders they were exceptionally stupid, but if they were Republic, then they had some kind of goal or purpose for being here in the first place. Of course, those suspicions were confirmed when one of their number started barking like some kind of military veteran with something to prove. Regardless, this scattergun in her hands was built for war and this was an act of war against her and the Empire. If these people were worthy of being called allies of Mandalore then she would put that scattergun to use in their defense. She did not truly expect these soldiers to defend her in the same way, they were outsiders and did not live the same way as the Mandalorian people, but they did know what teamwork and cooperation was all about. They were drilled to work together, so she motioned once the sound for retreat was made, to follow her in pursuit. "No need to give these chakaare a free ride. Take them down alive so we can drag them kicking and screaming back to the holding cells." She said, lifting up onto her feet in cover. Ma'rik paused though, the weapon in her hands gave her that reason to pause. When she lifted it she was irritated by her negligence in learning how to use one of these. Of course she was given the rudimentary lessons back home, but she always favored the blasters on her hips. It was much heavier than a simple pistol, and fired solid projectiles too. The spread was the biggest concern to her, over the range. She would have to get closer to a heavy repeater to have any real impact on the situation and that was a daunting task to begin with. The young woman hefted the weapon up and took the under portion of the barrel in her other hand and weighed her options. She could remain in cover, appear cowardly, but survive, or she could go out and surge forward with this scattergun and take prisoners. Regardless she'd already been wounded, but the severity was manageable at the moment. That thought passed through and out again, when a couple of soldiers fell nearer to her. No, this one had to go and she would be the one to do it. Ma'rik rushed out of cover in front of several Imperial soldiers and the group pushed into the closer scorched corridors as the slow retreat began. The ungainly weapon in her hands felt tremendous compared to her usual fare, but she lifted the thing up and fired the first shot. She was surprised by the kick of the thing and staggered her steps with how hard the thing went off. This scattergun felt like it could take down a Rancor Matron. Ma'rik got her bearings back though, and aimed the weapon. It was simple hand-eye right? Four more shots rang loud from the barrel before the shoulder plate in the front portion of her armor was struck and stopped her forward progress as it sent her spinning. With it went the scattergun, and she cursed loudly again. That pain flashed her eyes again and she screamed through the helmet. Ma'rik shouted, leaving the injured arm limp at her side. She held the forearm up to her stomach and squeezed her hand on the armor plate to keep the limb there. It was a bad wound that time for sure, at least comparatively speaking. Dislocated shoulder, it had to be. Her free arm that was still usable drew one of her pistols and she began firing at the retreating forces. She was aiming at arms and legs, anything to disarm and disable. If they could capture some of these people then they might be able to find out where they came from and for what purpose they attacked. She could definitely tell her aim was suffering. That pain nagged more and more, and despite the armored plate absorbing quite a bit of it the impact still hit like hammer.
  9. 2016 is like the party guest that won't leave. You want to be nice to them, but  you also want to kill them with a veggie peeler.

  10. Beroyase bal Aliit

    None of her limited experience or learning from her buir could possibly have prepared her for this. Ma’rik had faced the prospect of her own mortality several times since leaving Mandalore, but witnessing the aftermath was a fresh experience. This was the source of the sound in the sewage system, but it was far worse than any vermin that she and Tal could have come across. Death was something that her people dealt with frequently, but it did not make them emotionless, or cold. The face that she put on in the heat of battle was one thing, but to be with a child that had just lost their Buir was new and painful in a wholly fresh way. Ma’rik thought of her own mother, aging on Mandalore and retired from the life of a warrior abroad to care for the farmstead. Someday, she too would pass. The thought had crossed her mind very rarely, but when it did it was something that she feared more than any chakaar with a blaster. If there was one singular rock that held Clan Alesha together, it was the insightful wisdom of her buir that did it. Despite its inevitability, the thought of losing her prompted an emotional response she did not often turn to. Ma’rik, shed a tear under her buy’ce. “You, are brave and loyal, to try so hard to save your buir, ad’ika. She taught you well, and would be proud to know that you refused to leave the fallen behind.” She said, weakly. It was her best attempt to offer some kind of comfort in such a foreign situation. The boy had thrown Tal’s hand off. When he slumped over, and hugged his knees up to his chest, she knew that his denial of her passing had ended. Deep down, she felt that hurt too. The deep and personal pain he felt, was only increasingly apparent as he related the story to Tal. Ma’rik was suspicious to say the least, having discussed how Dorric could have known they were coming. When the helmet came off, she felt another pang of sadness in her chest. The death of a Mandalorian warrior was not something she took lightly. Even if blood did not bind them, their culture did. She knelt, and put a hand on the dead woman’s shoulder, “We will avenge you, vod.” Her own voice was creaking under the emotional strain, but she did her level best to swallow it down. “Tal, this chakaar and his crew killed his buir and our vod. Blood demands blood, to Haran with the bounty this is a personal matter now. He could have kept running like he did from us, but instead he did this.” Ma’rik’s voice had shifted to anger more than sorrow now. The child must have witnessed it. Just as she felt helpless in trying to comfort the boy, he too must have felt helpless even up to the point where she and Tal had found him. Even if he had shot the old man out of emotional distress, she had already forgiven him. If she had been in the same situation she would have done the same thing no doubt. Ma’rik looked at the young boy and shared that sorrow again. Still, the important matter now was to find Dorric and his men and see to it that they did not again have the chance to escape. She crouched before him, “Do you know which way they went? We were tracking them ourselves, and we will not leave you or your buir behind. They will pay, one way or another.”
  11. The Isolation Game

    Ma'rik wasted no time on acknowledgement and word in leaving to join the soldiers. Her armor marked her as different, and may well mark her as a target to whomever it was that had the stones to attack an Imperial ship. Even in Republic space, to risk wrath of the Empire, and her allies, it was a foolish move. Footfalls in a cacophanous disorder slammed down the ship to their charge, to battle, and to glory. Her heart raced, practically thundered, the closer she got. The young Mandalorian would not rest until the enemy was vanquished, or she died in battle. It was deep in her soul to live through battle, to prove herself, and to earn recognition for herself, her clan, and my extension, the Mand'alor. Her success was a reflection of her people, and that burden did not frighten her, but gave her a sharp focus on completing this battle alive and well. In being a valuable ally to the Empire she raised the honor of the Mandalorian people. That was enough for her, but the credits certainly made the servile Imperial officers much easier to tolerate. With all these thoughts in her mind, they were gone in an instant. Reflexively, those shimmering blasters were drawn from their holsters and twirled on her fingers in the flashiest and most unnecessary way possible. They were leveled, and the instant she lay her eyes on the enemy she became like a leaf on the wind. "I guess this means weapons free doesn't it bury'ca!" She shouted through her helmet before spraying as many blue blaster bolts down the hallway as her apparently heavily armed counterpart. Ma'rik wasted no time in doing so, and following up with her Imperial comrades to find at least partial concealment from the blasterfire, while still retaining her own. It was a risky maneuver for sure, she easily could be blown away for doing it, but someone had to force that big gun to back down and she'd be damned if it wasn't going to be her that did it. Those shots rained down in her like the heavy storms on Dromund Kaas. Her volume of fire may not have been nearly as high, but her hands and feet were quick and she was well within what she could consider her effective range considering the circumstances she was in. The Mandalorian fanned over the hallway spreading fire toward those Republic soldiers and so too did those with her in the hallway. That was, until their fire slowed from the cover they had taken away from that heavy gun. Ma'rik leaned back herself and scowled. These soldiers were trained, smart, and knew the score against the boarding party. It was easy to imagine they did not have grand designs on getting shot, just like she had every intent to avoid that outcome as well. Her fire quieted once behind partial cover to avoid her weapon's overheating and becoming useless. That big gun of his could go longer than hers for sure, and that was another disadvantage. While she could not make hand gestures with a gun in her hand, she motioned at one of the soldiers in a closer position, with her left weapon and pointed it down the hall. "That big gun..." She shouted, before that soldier took a bolt to the neck and dropped faster than she would have liked. A wound like that was not something that was survivable. Ma'rik shouted down the hall instead of to the soldiers, "Mesh'la..." She said, her tone sardonic and hateful. "You chakaare scum! I'm going to turn your skulls into bowls." her voice bellowed in a rage. It was bad enough that these people boarded the ship she was tasked with guarding, but now they killed the man to which she was going to give an order? It was astounding how rude uninvited guests could be, and that only made her want to put them down even more. Their deaths, would not be mourned here. Ma'rik charged back out into the blasterfire to take an advanced position to try and push back against what appeared to be forming as a defensive line. This boarding crew may well have had an agenda, if they weren't all progressing to the same point together. Whatever it was, she did not care. She would find that out if there was one left and she or her companions could capture them. For a battle to be won though, someone had to take initiative, and so she endeavored to do just that. It might have been foolish of her to do it, but she left cover and ran faster than she ever recalled herself running against the current of blasterfire against her. She hastend her arrival with a bit of a dive, and tucked herself in against the dead body and the wall and considered this to be workable, if not macabre cover. As bad as it may have looked, she pulled the man and propped him up against her partially exposed flank, but not before a blaster shot impacted against the very same armored plate that had been shot on Ord Mantell. The guttural scream was, for all to hear, a mixture of rage, pain, and fear. Ma'rik had been shot before, sure, but why was it always in the same spot? "Useless shabiir..." she said to herself through grit teeth. The man could take a shot when he was alive like a champion, but now that he was as much meat shield on the battlefield she got hit despite propping up his corpse? Magnificent. The young woman breathed in and out, rapidly. She had to take her mind off both the impact and the burning, and the best way to do that was to try to pump herself up in spite of it. If she was not on edge before she certainly was now, and the fairly rapid movement of her head looking to the men concealing themselves and taking potshots down at the pirates and back to her own hand proved that. At least with the scattergun on the ground, she could try to knock someone out of the fight with one good shot. She might not have used one since her childhood hunting trips on Mandalore, but she did know that the shot came out of the slim end, and the flat side went into the shoulder.
  12. The Isolation Game

    Checking, rechecking, and doubly rechecking her equipment. Ma'rik dealt with her own anxieties in her own way, but it had taken a more constructive form than some of the coping mechanisms people adopted in the face of potential dangers. Flying into Republic space was a risk, of that she was certain, but in the same breath she would not allow herself to be called a coward. If the Mand'alor himself felt the best course of action for his people was to align with the Empire, then it was without a doubt not her place to question his leadership. She had no reason to, he was a proven warrior of great skill, and always spoke to the importance of protecting Mandalore's interests over all others. It was a position many envied, but she did not. There was, no doubt, an unquantifiable amount of pressure placed on his shoulders to lead the Mandalorian people into another renaissance the likes of which had not truly been seen since the days of Mandalore the Ultimate. If there was anyone that could do it in this age, then it was Mand'alor te Cabur or nobody at all. At least not until someone challenged him successfully. The assignment was simple enough. What she was there to provide was insurance, protection so that the cargo could reach its destination. It did not seem to be an overly difficult task, but work was its own reward, and paydays were paydays. The Imperial Guards aboard had paid her very little attention. Ma'rik was not surprised she had very little presence among those aboard the vessel. One was a set of Imperial Guards, the other was some high-ranking Imperial officer. All things being equal, she knew she was the most expendable member of this group. That did not mean she would let herself be overwhelmed if the worst were to happen. There was honor in dying in battle, but not dying uselessly when she could go on living and fighting. Perhaps it was her minuscule stature, that made it easy to overlook her. It might have been that her armor, pink and pearl white though it was, had still managed to be remarkably unscathed save for the two scorches that it had protected her from. She was still shiny, and new, and it showed. Ma'rik had gone from checks to maintenance. The polishing cloth had been well-used, and her weapons practically shimmered on their own. These twin blasters were what she brought to the table, and with them a pair of itchy trigger fingers that she was confident in. If suppressive fire was the need, then she could provide just that with great vigor. That the area she was in was relatively small though, meant she was definitely at risk. If there was to be an attack, there was very little she could do in her own defense if it came down to knives or fists. In developing a taste for keeping her distance, she had become woefully unprepared for a rather personal meeting with an enemy combatant. Her work stopped with a startled jump the moment the alarm sirens went off on the vessel though, and that was absolutely the sign that she had to get herself ready to defend this ship. The young woman jumped to her feet and donned her helmet, locking it in place. Blasters in hand she ran toward the Sith and stopped just short of the group, "Where do you want me?" She asked in a very direct tone, clearly ready for the fight and ready to do what she needed to provide the insurance she was there to provide.
  13. The Last Straw

    If this was considered taking off at a run then Ma'rik sprained something on the landing. That stitch in her side pricked at her and certainly made it more difficult to breathe. The advice was, more common sense really, but the young woman expected this was about as much a show of appreciation or respect as she would get at the moment. Of course, she did take mental note of what she was told. It would be foolish to ignore advice, even if it was common sense stuff she already knew at least in part. If more than one person told her then that made it more important than most of the advice she had gotten at least. Ma'rik inhaled deeply and held for a moment, catching herself. Her lungs were on fire and her chest hurt. She was bruised, her armor was becoming more and more damaged, the whole situation really worked against her otherwise passive attitude. There was at least a measure of annoyance, if not anger, welling up in her that really made her actually look forward to killing more of these irritating insects. She shook her head, looked to the door that was indicated as the path she should follow with her Sith charge, and drew her weapons again. Nothing was every easy, and nobody ever wanted to just lay down and die. "Miss, not for nothing but I am curious as to why these people had been allowed to exist here. I find it hard to imagine that intelligence would not have known about them. I absolutely understanding removing them but, why not do it before now?" She asked quietly, her question being ground to a halt by the screech of the other Mandalorian's voice. Improper pronunciations aside, if what was said was true then the information was valuable. Ma'rik still cringed though. Ma'rik spoke again before an answer could be given, if one would be given by Darth Sanguira. "If they are putting emplacements up for area denial then we just don't go into the area they are denying us. Unless of course that is what they are hoping we would do and it funnels us into another hard situation. It's a question of whether or not you want to take the risk in dashing through open blaster fire, or finding an alternative route that will probably have just as much blaster fire and be much more cramped. The mission continues whether or not they deny us an area with some kind of weaponry. I did not come all this way, land on this forsaken rock of a moon, and fight my way through a tower with our benevolent patron here, just to turn back because someone decided to attach a bi-pod to a blaster and point it into an open area." Her voice came much more irritated than before, much more aggressive and toned like she had caught her breath enough to speak. She was frustrated with the whole situation. Being disarmed was not the type of thing she liked, and it happened moments ago. Having herself parade through wave after wave of defenders fighting for some strange belief that only they hold important, was not on her ideal list of vacations either. The sooner they finished these people off, or the mission off, the sooner they could go somewhere much more agreeable both geologically and atmospherically. "There is a certain expectation that when we are assigned a task we will complete it. I do not plan to fail and leave this as a dark stain on my record when my record has yet to get off the ground. Wherever our objective is, is where we must go, defenses be damned. We should return this inhospitable place to its natural state, a state in which it is devoid of life." She firmly stated with a final third check of her weapon's ammo and a cursory check of her armor's integrity.
  14. The Last Straw

    Ma'rik would have sat back and watched the fight had there not been other attackers in the room. There was a very real sense that she was just so much an ancillary presence. That did not bother her much, but she was still trying to figure out why Darth Sanguira would have picked her out when there were obviously members of the team present with much more...presence. She exhaled, loudly. Whatever the reason, someone as mercurial as a Sith Lord was not someone to question for their motives. The obvious though, was that she was to be tasked with taking care of the other attackers while the two showy ones dealt with one another in one way or another. The other Revanites however, stood at a very real advantage against her now. Her blasters had been scattered in her hard landing, thrown away from her. They, had weapons with more range than an old Beskad and that meant she had to, well, find a way to deal with them. Sure, the room was not the largest, but even being one meter out of reach of the sword in her hands and in the possession of a firearm put them in a much more tenable position than she. Ma'rik huffed, and huffed. Underneath the visor she looked to the other attackers watching the dance in the middle of the room, and huffed again. She was breathing, faster, harder. She focused herself on the closest blaster she had nearby, her own, a couple meters away and more than reachable in the midst of the momentary distraction of Sith combat. Within a moment that heavy breathing broke and she ran as fast as she could to her blaster, dropping the Beskad on the way. Her footfalls might not have been louder than those sabers clashing but her movement was definitely something enough to pull their eyes away from the fight and to her. Blaster fire traced in behind her and catching up while their aim shifted with her running. The one thing she really did have was speed and that was the thing she could use in this fight, but it was definitely less than it could have been. The majority of the problem being the fact that she had her ribs bruised heavily by the woman now fighting Sanguira, and breathing had hurt. Her wincing eyes were concealed by the helmet though, as were the pained tears down her cheeks. Everything really did hurt but in the heat of battle to collapse before being truly dead was to admit defeat and she would not admit defeat until her head was hollowed by a blaster, or her guts were ripped out with a sword. There was a lot of risk in the investment she was making though, because stopping to pick up the blaster would have had her splattered all over the room and that too, would be a moment of defeat she could not dispute. Drawing nearer to the weapon on the floor, she entered into a roll toward it and reached out to grab it with one hand, while using the other arm to keep the roll from just being her landing flat on her face. The clattering noise of armor impacting the ground actually was the one thing louder than sabers, but she skidded by a meter further and got herself into the cover of one of the chairs in the room that had been before the panels for the operations staff. It was not much, but it was cover. That meant she had a small moment to consider her situation now. Ma'rik sat there under fire thinking on her feet. The chair, metal, arm rests. Metal, arm rests. The young Mandalorian looked at her cover for a few seconds and threw her empty arm under the armrests and lifted the light metal seat up like it was a small riot shield. There was no room to workshop the testing of this idea but it was the best she had at the moment. The proof of concept came when the blaster bolt that would have hit her square in the stomach hit the chair and bent the metal. Her eyes lit up. The adrenaline was pushing the pain away and she stepped forward, lowered herself behind the chair as much as she could without really obstructing her vision, and presented herself forward like a fixing point that was now under fire. In another battle, with other Mandalorians, she would have been the defensive position while a flanking force would have come up on the enemies firing at her to take them out. Young, emboldened by adrenaline and survival drive, and possessed of an automatic pistol, she could now defend herself more readily, and defend herself she did. Blaster fire continued at her. Ma'rik was constantly moving, slower now, but doing her best to remain concealed by this awkward makeshift shield. Two more shots hit the chair and it became a little obvious that it could withstand little more. She threw her hand up and sprayed a hail of light blue shots at the enemies firing line and scattered the three, killing the fourth with several impacts to the chest and neck. Ma'rik continued to shift where she was, standing stock still only for a moment as she put the heavily damaged chair down and moved to the second one and hoisted that up. She had to hold it out in front of her in a strange way that negated her speed, but she could move, fight, and had minor cover. She fired again in the direction of the two that scattered left, while the other scattered right. They were doing the same to her if they were smart, keeping her attention in front while one moved behind to end her. That meant she had to accelerate her plan to kill them, not that there was much plan but it was more than nothing. The one lagging behind took shots into their legs and dropped down, likely not dead but not the immediate threat anymore. Chair hoisted up under her arm by the arm rests, Ma'rik broke from the lowered slow movement to one as quickly as she could manage. She charged after the one that had not been hit by her burst of fire and raised the chair up the best she could. She wished she had better, she wished it was more maneuverable, but she could not really do anything about that now. It was heavy, unwieldy, but it was cover. Four shots impacted the chair shield she had made for herself, the first three slamming into the makeshift cover and the fourth penetrating it and hitting the plate on her lower left torso. Fortunately most of the impact was absorbed over the chair, and going through the light metal took a lot of the impact and bite the shot could have had away. The burning did not stop, but the push back had been dispersed over the wider metal surface of the char. A moment later Ma'rik slammed into the combatant and pushed him back and off his feet while dropping the chair with a bit of a push. Another moment and her pistol was emptied into his torso, ending him but also ending the ammo in the blaster. Ma'rik dropped her blaster and picked up the rifle he had been using. They were not her style, nor did she have much more experience with a rifle than the very rudimentary understanding that it was a blaster, and therefore ostensibly fired blaster bolts out of the slim end when aimed at the bad guy. No time to do any safety checks on it she turned and the one running into a flanking position had to abort his own positioning movement with her bold push and with the two of them aiming at one another she shouted, "Drop, now." She said, in the same moment that Sanguira killed her own opponent. The Revanite looked at the Sith that was destroying their panel, and his dead companions, and dropped his weapon down. If he though she would spare him then he was perhaps the most foolish they had come into contact with, but his hopeful idea that he may have been afforded, as a taken prisoner, some kind of dignity because his would-be captor was a Mandalorian, did not know that adrenaline and anger tended to make decision-making less altruistic. Ma'rik emptied the remainder of the ammo in the blaster rifle into the now disarmed man and dropped him. With the final Revanite crawling on the ground toward their own rifle that had been scattered by his fall. Ma'rik walked over, kicked the gun away, and then kicked the young man in the face, once, twice, three times an impact in the skull. The young Mandalorian kicked and kicked and kicked until his head was well and truly shattered beneath the boot of an angry young woman tired of being shot at that moment in time. Her armor was scoured with burns and her body ached the more she was outside of combat and the adrenaline was replaced with a more calm presence of mind. Her voice was a little cracked when she spoke without shouting, "Darth Sanguira, excellent...work." She said, not really knowing what to say to a Kaar because her own knowledge of higher Sith society was limited to that she was Darth Sanguira, and that she was a Kaar, which sounded like another title like Darth but must have meant something else. If her helmet was off she would look incredibly bedraggled though, especially with the less than upbeat step she had to get her blasters back, and check their ammo and functionality. With them back in her hands she did not know, really, where to go now. The alarms were ringing and the doors were ostensibly opened by the panel Sanguira had destroyed with that lightning. "Where...should we go now..." She asked, working her hardest to collect her breath. Both hands were on the top of her head, fingers interlocked, and breathing labored. This much direct physical activity was something she was not used to being so fresh to the world of being a freelance Mandalorian warrior.
  15. Beroyase bal Aliit

    Ma'rik looked at the sewer grate, having chosen to just ignore the tirade that was used to lecture her. His experience was fine, but she had survived, right? "Disgusting." She said, through her comms, dropping down the grate and onto the surface below. At least this thing had a walkway, if the look of the river of filth next to her was any indication of how putrid this planet was. Of course, it was better to get out of sight of multiple pursuers than to actually stand and fight an untenable position. Even if they did find out where they went the chokepoint of a sewage system did provide them a more defensible position. "So, that cloaking device complicates things a little bit. Do you think the gang has anything else like that to surprise us? That kind of tech isn't really common with street criminals, so should we just assume now that they have better firepower than we anticipated?" Ma'rik said, holstering one of her blasters in favor of having a free hand at the moment. This place was small, there might have been doors, and without much space to attempt kicking a door in without risking falling in the Osik it would just be better and more logical to her to do a careful breach.