HP (41)...............OOOOO OOOOO OOOOO OOOOO OOOOO OOOOO OOOOO OOOOO O
Grenades, Ion.......OOO
Grenades, Stun.....OOO

Buir = father / Vongese = Vong

Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur = Today is a good day for someone else to die.

Ad'ika = lad, boy

Jakira grew up the daughter of a cybernetics surgeon and a nurse. While she was never expected to follow her family into medicine her parents took advantage of her growing interest in the profession to keep their daughter out of trouble. Learning the trade from an early age from her parents clinic her passion for the healing arts only grew. Attending a prestigious medical school she quickly rose to the top of her class and upon graduation was accepted to work in a hospital on Coruscant. Accepting the offer she spent her internship there. In secret she craved to learn more about the bio-implants the Vong had introduced to the galaxy and sought out someone to teach her. When her parents decided to retire from the business and move to a more remote area of their homeworld, Zeltros, they offered the clinic to Jakira. With the Darth Krayt's Empire frimly entrenched on Coruscant and her home steadily becoming an unbearbly bleak place she took the offer gladly.
Leaving the hospital on Bastion, Jakira returned to the the clinic where her passion had grown and began the management of her family's business. Cajoling a reputable doctor to join her, she allowed him to handle most of the patients while she managed the office. With a good deal of her time now free, she continued in her extracurricular learning. After a year she sold the clinic taking her earnings to start up a new clinic on Solsis VII. Moving there she knew she was in for some hard times. The backwater planet was just emerging, but with her hospital being amoung the first to sprout up on the Sith subjugated planet the natives came to depend on the services she provided. Using the hospital as a front, she worked on helping as many of the Force Sensitive Hobben's to escape from the Sith's grasp.

Jaya Treiden comes from a traveling family of Arkanian engineers. Mechanical engineers in Arkanian society are under appreciated, compared to their bio-engineering counterparts. For the last several generations, her family has traveled the outer rim and unknown regions bringing technology and assistance to those bereft of it. They form a tightly knit clan living aboard their ship, the Errakis ryn Arkania, translated into Basic as Children of Arkania, a large ancient frigate, that has been modified beyond recognition. The ship, more-so than her family, has been Jaya's greatest teacher. She's been crawling around it's ducts and maintenance passages since she'd first picked up a hydro-spanner.

In her short life she has been from one side of the galaxy to the other, and met a wide variety of cultures. The family business travels to the core worlds for supplies and components, and then returns to the outer rim to sell the things they've created. For payment they accept precious stones and artwork made by the cultures they frequent. Solsis VII was one such place the Treiden clan dealt with, the Hobben's being very interested in rejoining the galaxy technologically. During their last arrival at Solsis VII however, they were not the only ones inbound at the time. A large Sith force was heading for the ground, and the sudden arrival of an indescribable ship spooked them enough into opening fire without abandon. The merchants offered no resistance and was quickly dispatched but not without launching a few escape pods first. Jaya and some of the other young Treidens were forced into on pod by their parents, and launched.

On the surface, a clan of Hobben found the children and offered them sanctuary. Jaya, as the eldest, looked after her family while in the confines of the village. Using components from the pod, she constructed a transceiver and a computer she uses to decode transmissions. Jaya uses her natural tendencies of staying hidden to the benefit of the Hobbens, stealing what she can from the government's outposts nearby. Jaya is certain more of her family are somewhere on the planet and with every message she intercepts and every outpost she steals from she hopes to find their whereabouts.

Jaya Treiden is a 15 year old Arkanian female. Her white hair is braided tightly into a long tail down her back falling nearly to her knees, with a pair of welding goggles resting on the top of her head. Dressed in dingy clothes that she has worn and washed for several months. Though the colors are faded it is obvious the clothes were once beautiful and stylish, but now several discolored patches hold the garment together, with the sleeves having been removed entirely. Over that last six months she has grown considerably taller (currently 1.6 meters), and the clothes are starting to show this trend.

Before the attack upon her families ship she was in an odd state of transition between child and adult. The younger Treidens looked to her for guidance, while the older ones demanded her obedience. All she ever wanted was a carefree life. Without an older family member, Jaya has had to grow up faster than she would have liked. And her dreams of jovial existence given up to care for those close to her. All of this distress has not stopped her from tinkering however, if nothing else her machines mean more to her now than ever before. They remind her of simpler days, and less dangerous times.

You may have heard of "Mad Doctor Jendara". No? Well, that's not completely surprising, though he has his share of infamy among the underground elements of the Galaxy.

"The man's a genius", the rumours go, "he'll fix you up or make you better, whether you're flesh or machine or want to switch from one to the other. And he's freelance, no red tape and no ties to any government. Expensive, they say, and more than a little mad, but that's a small price to pay."

Though this is far from myth, it has given Callia Jendara a larger than life status that often leads to disappointment when clients finally meet him in person. Who would suspect someone so youthful of being the master of both flesh and machine? Once that fact is accepted, however, he suits the image of the "Mad Doctor" to a fault. Because, in truth, that's exactly what he is.

Callia is a young male, only 17 years old. He is of near-human origins, from a little known minority sub-species who call themselves the Fyrthens. His skin is white as alabaster, except for patches around his temples and chin that are mottled purple. When not concealed behind his goggles (and it is only when they are off that it becomes apparent he is actually attractive) his eyes are wide, soulful, and a smoky grey in colouration. His spiky hair sticks out at odd angles, and is coloured creamy white with purple tones streaked through.

The young Fyrthen habitually wears a long white labcoat covered in stains from past endeavours: oil, blood, and mysterious fluids have all contributed. It is long overdue to be washed, but it is apparent just from looking at Callia that he is too absent-minded when it comes to matters other than his work to remember such mundane matters. He also wears a band around his head, which is also white in colour save for a symbol in red - a cross with the vertical line replaced with a spanner shape.

Callia is often distant with people, his mind constantly focusing on problems and their solutions rather than on the here and now. When trying to converse with him, others often find him frustrating, and it sometimes even appears that he is going out of his way to antagonise. He becomes truly animated while working, however. The grin he shows when immersed in the projects he loves is truly something to behold, as the anger and irritability he can express towards people that he perceives as getting in the way.

Callia rarely goes anywhere without his droids. Chief among them is Jasper, who was built to liase between the Fyrthen and his clients. Though polite to a fault, the droid is at the same time antagonistic, injecting sardonic subtexts into his speech. Presumably Callia, who isn't great at interaction himself, made one or two key mistakes in programming the PR droid's personality.

Callia hailed from a space colony in the Fyrth system which sustained itself through the mining of Opila crystals in the system's asteroid field. The people of the colony were almost exclusively near-Human, with alabaster skin, smoky grey irises, and pale purple mottling at their temples, chin, and shoulders. They had lost records of their race's origins in an almost catastrophic system malfunction over a century before, but tied their identity to their colony, which had existed in Fyrth at least as long as the date-span of their remaining historical records, if not longer. They referred to themselves as Fyrthens when needing to do so, though it rarely came up as they were content to stick to their mining business and allow go-betweens to trade with the larger Galaxy. Too much interaction with outside influences was even seen as suspect behaviour - what more could a young Fyrthen want than a comfortable lifespan spent on the colony?

From a young age, it was clear that Callia was special, with a natural aptitude for any mechanical task set before him. As soon as his literary skills were developed enough to read alone (an event that occurred very early in his development), he devoured the library of materials available to him, which mostly consisted of user's manuals, DIY guides, and medical texts. He became ever more competent at creating, modifying, and repairing devices. He applied the same relentless logic and apparently encyclopaedic memory to treating those around him, becoming an indispensable asset to the colony capable of saving Fyrthens from otherwise lethal wounds suffered in mining accidents.

His elders worried nonetheless. Callia was driven by the urges of a creator, and soon the limited resources of the colony would no longer provide the challenges he craved. Worse yet, they worried, what if his inexplicable talents were the mark of something greater? Could he be a Jedi, doomed to leave the colony to fight, suffer, and die for an unforgiving Galaxy? There was little they could do but watch him and stand in the way of any attempt to follow a foolish path.

The elders could not prevent contact with outsiders, however. They dealt with a variety of pilots who acted as go-betweens from the colony to its buyers. These men, women, and aliens told Callia tales. Some were taller than others, but all spoke of weird and wonderful places Callia could barely dream of. He had only ever seen the walls of his colony, the blackness of space, and the cold rock of the Fyrth asteroids. More exciting still than the places he had yet to visit were the possibilities to advance his craft. The Fyrthen colony was severely outdated, and technological and medical marvels awaited him if he could only find a way to them!

He eventually did find a way, of course, by smuggling himself aboard one of the freighters. Once out in the Galaxy, he wasted no time in exploring the possibilities now available to him. Completely open-minded, he embraced every idea he encountered, leading to his adopting unusual practices including (though not limited to) biotech techniques taught to him by a Yuuzhan Vong.

Several years later, Callia operates a flourishing and only borderline legal business building droids, cybernetic prostheses, and other mechanical devices, as well as acting as a freelance doctor. He has treated a rather long list of less than salubrious clientele, and attached his own self-made cybernetic parts to quite a few. His disturbing tendency to see sentient beings and machines as basically the same thing has caused him to make a few errors in judgement, which is the chief reason he never settles long, keeping his business moving and himself away from those troubled by some of his more unusual treatment decisions.

The Togorian pirate Rajja hops along the hallways of the Wheel, the distinctive clop-clomp of his crutch and good leg sounding over and over from the metal floor beneath his foot. With him walk two members of his crew, the green-skinned Twi'lek woman Randa and his deputy, Scouge the Bothan. They are armed, and here to protect him, the rules of the Wheel be damned. He has plenty of enemies, and he has never before been so vulnerable as he is without his left leg. It hurts his pride to be protected in such a manner, that anyone could have reduced him to such a liability.

He growls deep in his throat. The spherical droid floating ahead of them turns, its polite yet somehow sardonic voice playing through the speaker grill in its metal frame.

'Oh dear, I do hope you are not discomfited. If you feel weak, be heartened: we will soon be at Master's workshop.'

He growls again, an implicit threat which the droid either misses or ignores.

'Dear me, I never introduced myself, did I? How improper of me! You must have been thinking that I do not deign to honour you with common courtesy. Be comforted, sir, as making a conscious effort to insult you never crossed my mind. I am designated JS-PR, which stands for Jendara Systems Public Relations model. You may call me "Jasper", but do not feel obliged.'

'I care not what you go by, droid,' Rajja states. He sees Randa and Scouge sharing glances: they would like to destroy the droid as much as he, no doubt. But for now they will be patient. JS-PR's master is important to Rajja. He needs the skills of the freelance doctor Callia Jendara. The rumours of madness aside, the man has a reputation for genius.

'Here we are, sir,' Jasper says, coming to a stop in front of an unmarked door alike to all the others along the corridor.

A hatch slides open on one of the protrusions that extend from the small droid's otherwise round body, and a cable snakes out. Rajja is impressed to see that it seems to have complete control of the whip-like appendage, using it to key in an access code on the pad by the door at lightning speed. The two parts slide open with a hiss and a loud beep sounds out to announce their entrance.

The room beyond is dimly lit only by the glow of monitors and electronic devices, as well as a large round lamp attached to a coffin-shaped table at the far end. With his feline eyes, this is just enough for Rajja to see by. Shelving units along the walls play host to items as varied as skulls, loose cables, and boxes of datacards, while tools for both mechanical and surgical work are scattered without organisation around the room, some hanging off hooks, others piled on the floor or on free surfaces.

The man he has come to see sits on an egg-shaped repulsor chair at one desk, tinkering with the interior connections of a cybernetic arm. It is hard to make out much about him, hunched as he is in the shadows. The bulk of his body is eneveloped in a long white labcoat, and his facial features are obscured by a pair of focusing goggles.

He completely ignores his guests, engrossed in his work.

Rajja steps into the workshop, but finds his way immediately barred by two tall humanoid droids which move into his path. He looks them over and is unsurprised to see that they are armed with carbines and look ready to use them. Behind him, he hears rustling clothing as his crew members reach for their own concealed weapons.

'The Master is not to be disturbed,' the droid on the left insists, then the one on his right continues, 'please leave immediately.'

'Oh, really,' Jasper laments and lets out a long-suffering sigh.

'Alpha, Beta, this individual is a potential client. I have vetted him myself! I cannot speak for anything else, but he is at least able to afford the Master's services. And is in dire need of them, I'd say.'

The identical droids look at each other, then step aside.

'Your associates will have to remain outside however,' Jasper insists, blocking the way himself now. 'Just as a precaution, you understand.'

'Fine, fine,' Rajja snaps, 'you two keep a look out.'

Jasper leads him over to Callia's work desk. Behind him, the door slides shut with a soft click.

'Master. Master! I've brought a client for you to meet.'

'Ohhhhh,' Callia responds,drawing the word out far beyond the limit of any sensible purpose, 'must I, Jasper?'

'Indeed you must! How else are you to afford my maintenance costs and the upkeep of your workshop if you keep turning away new business!'

'Okay, okay...'

'Hah!' the droid exclaims, victorious, and moves away to let his Master and Rajja talk business undisturbed.

The young man kicks the floor, spinning his repulsor chair around. He studies Rajja, and the Togorian studies him in turn.

Human, or very nearly. Callia's skin is a little too pale overall, and is mottled purple in patches. His spiky hair too is unusual, creamy white streaked through with purple tones. The eyes are hidden by goggles. The doctor is young. A fair judge of humans, Rajja reckons him to barely be an adult: no more than twenty standard years, certainly, unless he is naturally youthful, and attractive by the standards humans value. He wears a long labcoat, white except for the various stained patches: oil, fluids, and a few that are unmistakably blood. A white band worn round Callia's forehead bears a symbol the pirate has never seen before, a red cross with the vertical line replaced with a spanner shape. A nod to the doctor's dual disciplines, he assumes.

After studying Rajja's leg (or rather, his lack thereof) Callia spins back round and returns his focus to the cybernetic arm and its inner workings.

'For the price I was quoted I expect rather more of your focus, Jendara,' Rajja hisses, irritation boiling within him.

'I can split my attention while we talk,' Callia replies absently.

'So you need a new leg,' he states before Rajja has time to insist again on better treatment.

'I do. The best money can buy. You were recommended to me, though I begin to have my doubts.'

'Ohhhhh,' Callia murmurs, 'how interesting.'

'What?' snaps Rajja.

'Just something here,' Callia dismisses, pointing at the arm he is working on, 'you wouldn't understand if I told you.'

The pirate roars and his fur bristles.

'My patience with you is growing thin!' he bellows. From the corner of his eye Rajja sees the droids at the door raise their weapons in readiness, and he forces himself to calm down.

'I was also told that you could make me an organic replacement as good as the original.'

'Now who told you that?' Callia asks mildly as he gropes for a tiny screwdriver. His fingers brush against it and it rolls from the desk to the floor. Callia continues to grope in vain, and before he realises it Rajja finds himself stooping to fetch it.

'It is irrelevant,' he says with a frustrated sigh as he puts the screwdriver in the path of the young man's fingers, 'can you do it?'

'You would be better off with a cybernetic limb, surely? A much more fearsome image for someone like you. I could fit it with all manner of accoutrements. A built-in blaster, slicing tools, a compartment for keeping your sandwiches. Very handy.'

'And what would I want any of those things in my leg for!'

'Fine, fine. I'll do you an arm.'

'I have both my arms!'

'Ohhhhh, why didn't you say so?'

'You saw!'

Rajja barely resists the urge to rip the boy's head off.

'You have not denied the ability to make an organic leg. This is what I want. This is what I will pay for.'

Callia doesn't respond immediately. He gives something within the arm a final twist from the screwdriver, then closes it up. He leans back in his chair.

'Oh, I suppose,' he sighs, 'not very interesting though.'

'The entertainment value is the least of my concerns,' Rajja spits.

'Huh. If you don't mind me saying, that's rather inconsiderate of you.'

Rajja bristles and tenses up, ready to throw caution to the winds.

'Very well. You've already agreed pricing with Jasper, so if you could just confirm a credit transfer?' Callia suddenly asks, thrusting a datapad into the Togorian's hand.

He does so. From nowhere, the young doctor reveals a needle.

'You'll need to be unconscious,' he says, jabbing Rajja in the arm, 'don't worry, you're perfectly safe in my hands.'

The last thing Rajja sees through suddenly blurred vision is an enormous grin erupting on Callia's face.

'Jasper, Beta, give me a hand getting him onto the table,' Callia commands.

As the droids come over he removes his goggles, revealing his wide, smoky grey eyes. They are at once bright with eagerness yet slightly glazed as his attention shifts from his surroundings to focus within the cerebral realm, seeing only possibilities and solutions.

'I'm sure he won't mind if I give him some useful extras,' he mutters.

It barely registers that the droids have lifted the Togorian to the table and Jasper calls out several times before gaining his attention. Callia walks over and examines the stump where his client's leg used to be. He sniffs with disdain over the poor amputation job.

'Ohhhhh,' he says, then gets to work.

JS-PR ("Jasper") CL 0
Small male personality 3rd degree droid nonheroic 3
Init +2; Senses Perception +5; darkvision
Languages Basic, Binary, Bocce, Huttese
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Defenses Ref 15 (flat footed 14), Fort 9, Will 12; +3 armour
hp 9; Threshold 12
Immune droid traits
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Speed 6 squares (hover)
Melee unarmed +1 (1d2-1)
Base Atk +2; Grp +3
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Abilities Str 8, Dex 13, Con -, Int 14, Wis 14, Cha 14
Feats Armor Proficiency [Light], Skill Focus [Mechanics], Skill Training [Treat Injury]
Trained Skills Mechanics +13 (+15 to diagnose problems), Persuasion +8, Treat Injury +8, Use Computer +8
Untrained Skills Str Skill +0, Dex Skill +2, Int Skill +3, Wis Skill +3, Cha Skill +3; Perception 5, Stealth +7
Locomotion repulsors (hovering)
Appendages flexible cords (treated as telescopic hand appendages)
Processors heuristic
Accessories darkvision, diagnostics package, improved sensor package, internal comlink, internal storage (5 kg), locked access, quadanium shell armour, translator unit (DC 15), vocabulator
Cost 12,900 credits; Systems Weight 28.6 kg

Alpha/Beta, "the Twins" CL 1
Medium male personality 4th degree droid soldier 1
Init +7; Senses Perception +8; darkvision
Languages Basic, Binary
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Defenses Ref 17 (flat footed 15), Fort 15, Will 12; +4 armour
hp 21; Threshold 15
Immune droid traits
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Speed 6 squares (walking) or 8 squares (wheeled)
Melee unarmed +3 (1d3+2) or
Melee dire vibrodagger +3 (2d6+4, devastating attack) or
Ranged blaster carbine +4 (3d8) or
Ranged blaster carbine +2 (4d8) with Rapid Fire or
Ranged autofire blaster carbine -1 (3d8)
Base Atk +1; Grp +3
Atk Options autofire (blaster carbine), devastating attack
--------------------------------------------------------------
Abilities Str 15, Dex 14, Con -, Int 10, Wis 13, Cha 8
Feats Armor Proficiency [Light], Weapon Focus [rifles], Weapon Proficiency [advanced melee weapons*, pistols, rifles, simple weapons]
Trained Skills Initiative +7, Knowledge [tactics] +5, Perception +8
Untrained Skills Str Skill +2, Dex Skill +2, Int Skill +0, Wis Skill +1, Cha Skill -1
Locomotion walking, wheeled
Appendages 2 hands
Processors heuristic
Accessories blaster carbine, darkvision, dire vibrodagger, durasteel shell, improved sensor package, internal comlink, internal storage (5 kg), locked access, second battery, vocabulator

Cost 6,070 credits; Systems Weight 26.6 kg

*Replaces the soldier's starting feat Armor Proficiency (medium).

Noise does not agree with Daz Sult, in any of it's variable and... interesting incarnations. His childhood was spent aboard a transport specialized to ferry live animals of all demeanor and purpose. These creatures did not entirely seem to enjoy their trip and has no reservations about making that point entirely apparent, and while a young Daz would be tasked with general care to the more docile beasts and keeping out of his parents way, they would snarl and fill his durasteel home with tones both lamenting and furious. During frequent long trips through hyperspace, he would spend his time watching the animals he knew absolutely nothing about, imagining what kind of an alien environment they lives in compared to the corridors of a space-faring vessel that seemed never to stop. In time, these harmless imaginings evolved into fantasies of adventuring alone through jungles, mountains, frozen tundra, and environments he would unfortunately never come to exist in the galaxy.

Taan and Ift Sult, his parents, were passionate about their careers and the kind of life they could give each other along it's path, but a child had never quite factored properly into what they both knew they wanted. Promises to tour planets before leaving, to visit cities on Dorin, the mythical rock huddled between two black holes, where they would not need a breath mask (which Daz found increasingly hard to imagine), and teach him about what they did exactly were all left unfulfilled until Daz convinced his parents he was old enough to travel on his own, with much less coercion than he had originally anticipated, and was sent to stay with his Uncle Kuf who worked as a mechanic at a starport on Iridonia.

The environment on the Zabrak homeworld was terrifying and exciting in it's hostility and for the next ten years it tested him in ways that expanded his view of life, himself, and the universe as he had conceived of it. He had fallen in love with the wide expanses, despite the cities close clustering in valleys, and would lend himself to anyone traveling alone the surface and paid resolute attention to the terrain and the paths they would take by whatever conveyance until he had quite the reputation as a guide amount the community and in some parts beyond. His Uncle saw no reason to stifle the passions of Daz, so long as he stayed out of the way of Imperial authority whose oppression had failed to even register on the boy who considered his new life astounding free of borders, as he rapidly approached adulthood in his own right, and had no problem fixing or modifying the equipment he would take with him when leading research teams to look at local flora or fauna for whatever reason would possess them. If asked, Kuf Sult would solemnly admit to his expansion upon his own basic mechanical skills to be credited to his nephews enthusiastic destruction of his gear.

At thirty, Daz Sult was a full-time scout and guide for expeditions of any kind, with no real roots to even a sector of space and no preoccupations with current galactic stability, though he maintained a room at his Uncle house back on Iridonia whenever he needed to check in or was looking to replenish equipment. He barely heard from his parents, which he didn't mind as he'd pass messaging to them through his Uncle one or twice a year. His leisure time was spent with Big Game Hunter's mostly, though he preferred to hunt on his lonesome using low-yield rifles so to not actively kill the creature, never having shaken the memories traveling with his parents, but give him enough of a scare that he could leave from his hiding place unmolested. That was what he liked the most, spending hours inching closer to a being completely unaware of his presence, lying completely still in the wilderness watching creatures from a distance while he waiting for a shot he could not miss. The quiet before he squeezed the trigger seemed to make up, bit by bit, for the loud warbling and engine humms of his youth.

Four years later, a job passed down to him through the grapevine by a Slicer he'd done some work for pretty often, would prove to change his outlook on the skill set he had accumulated over the years. Now the Slicer went by the alias Kehlen Breez, and had commissioned Daz to act as vanguard and advanced scout for groups of Pathfinders and whatnot as well as gather surveillance data on simple geological sites or installations that proved tricky to approach. To put it frankly, the kinds of things that made Daz feel more like an ex-Military Merc who was much more familiar with killing people than he was. But Kehlen had never steered him wrong and was more than willing to do favours for Daz if needed so it was mutually beneficial.

The job description was brief; recon a safe house nestled in the shadow against the base of a large cliff on a dry and dusty moon on the otherside of the galaxy. He'd be provided with the recording equipment and a signal wand to transmit it to the team standing by in orbit. The Commando unit would land and take whatever entry route Daz suggested in breaching the facility, from then on he would observe and cover their escape if needed and rendezvous at an extraction point several kilometers away.

Any anxiety disappeared as the Team instilled their gratitude and reliance on his help before dropping him planet-side, and he resolved not to let them down as he made his way towards an rock formation he had eyed on their flyby. Nestled in it's shadow, lying perfectly still as the dust rolled past him, he peered through the modified electrobinoculars and started imaging the small outpost, consisting of little more than a tower halfway into the rock and a small bunker on it's base. He relayed the encrypted recordings into orbit, suggesting they repel down the cliff face and breach via the towerface just above the sensor package monitoring the surrounding area.

The rest went like clockwork as they landed and infiltrated, and not an opposing soldier in sight as Daz set up the bipod on his rifle, nestling it into his shoulder as started adjusting settings to lessen the dusts restriction of his visibility. His whole body shook as an entirely unexpected explosion erupted in a spray of rocks, dust, and fire that made it completely impossible to see for several seconds. Daz resisted the impulse to move, knowing it would clear by the time he reached a better vantage point anyway, and this impulse was only made worse as blaster fire started to be exchanged in the distance, with only the blurred red lights giving any hint as to where any of the targets were.

Daz Sult knew he could not take a shot until he knew for sure what he was aiming at, and forced himself to ease off the trigger as seconds rolled by with an unstoppable nightmare-slowness that accompanied horrific accidents in progress. He had to know what side to shoot at, and in his panic he elaborated on the subject; He had to know what side he was on. This thought snuck on him like a predator that had been stalking him with inhuman patience and cunning, ready to infect his nerves when he needed them most. It was in that moment that he rationalized that the fire moving away from the safe house was not friendly and with absolutely zero hesitation, leveled his rifle and fired, then fired again, and four more times until the firing stopped entirely. He took a deep breath, and packed up his gear, checking the compass on his survival knife as he went to the extraction point.

He was the only one picked up.

The pilot congratulated him, and handed him a message from Kehlen saying much the same, and including his payment and assurances that he'd be around if Daz should need his expertise. Daz felt completely exhausted and wrestled with his imaginings of what had transpired until he went past it entirely. He had been driven to help people, whether it was to survive or to learn. That was the line of work he had always considered himself to be in, and felt a sense of justice in it, even if morality had never factored into it. If he could help soldiers like those not miss their pick up, he should by all rights. It wasn't grand and a cause much larger than himself, but it was a start as far as he was concerned, and another ten years of mercenary companies, private security, a brief stint assisting an Anzati bounty hunter named Ajku Kelkko with the capture of an escaped Imperial prisoner, and advanced recon and relay would drive home his resolutions on the matter in it's entirety.

He never did find out exactly what happened down there.

Daz Sult stands at 1.63 meters tall and weighs in at 80kg with his lower right black tusk removed completely after a fall drove a hairline fracture down it's entire length, causing him excruciating pain. The shape of his head is slightly less rounded than what one might typically expect of his race, giving him a much more sullen and disturbing appearance of melting to those who see him without his breathing mask in, and he seems to possess and most unnatural stillness when he is waiting. If you talk to him he will make eye contact and keep it until the conversation is completely over, which when coupled with the stillness has been known to creep people out. Regularly wearing folds of gray cloth with a light hood more to offer limited protection from the sun or suns than obscure his features and pants that he meticulously picks for their silence as he walks, there is little else to distinguish him from any other Kel Dor.

Contacts
Kuf Sult: Kel Dor Tech Specialist on Iridonia (5000)
Kehlen Breez: Slicer and Information Broker of unknown affiliation, contacted via order on a fake shipping company that sells carnivorous plant-life which grow in the shape of famous politician's assistants (2500)
Taan and Ift Sult: Spacers who specialize in transporting organic cargo (500)
Ajku Kelkko: Anzati Bounty Hunter (985)

Investments
Varius Big Game Hunter Outfits (800)
Iridonian Wildlife Preservation Society (1200)
(10985 total)