K I N G
PROFILE
TRAITS
BIOGRAPHY
NAME: Aether
TITLES:
AGE: Early Thirties
HEIGHT: 6'0"
BUILD: Cruiserweight
EYE COLOR: Brown
HAIR COLOR: Black
COMPLEXION: Dark
FACECLAIM: Michael B. Jordan
FORCE SENSITIVITY: Confirmed
TITLES:
- Mand'alor the Iron
- Alor of House Verd
AGE: Early Thirties
HEIGHT: 6'0"
BUILD: Cruiserweight
EYE COLOR: Brown
HAIR COLOR: Black
COMPLEXION: Dark
FACECLAIM: Michael B. Jordan
FORCE SENSITIVITY: Confirmed
TRAITS
▲ Strategist, ▲ Martial Prowess
▼ Overconfidence, ▼ Sadism
▼ Overconfidence, ▼ Sadism
BIOGRAPHY
How does one become the Iron?
The tale begins many years ago, when the union of man and wife produced a surprise gift. Having given up hope of having children of their own, Aether was a blessing to the couple. And thus he grew wanting for nothing. He was nearly sheltered from the horrors of the world. Partially due to his sire's station, and partially due to his mother's care. Yet, when he was scarcely a teenager, Aether was given the chance to fly. A champion of his father's house, Tor, had been entrusted with keeping watch over the young man. Together, they would traverse the stars and witness firsthand what the Galaxy had to offer.
Tor, like Aether's sire, was a warrior of Mandalorian birth. Therefore, their travels served as a true introduction to his heritage. Aether, eagerly, clung to every story and every lesson - as if his life depended upon it. In turn, Tor taught the young man how to wield a blade. How to wear armor. How to speak Mando'a. How to be a warrior. Together, they braved the underbelly of the Galaxy as huntsmen. Bounties kept their bellies full and their skills ever sharp.
It was on one such Hunt that things went awry. Their mark had lured them into an ambush within the crowded streets of Nar Shaddaa. In the chaos, Tor was cut-off from his ward. When he evaded death at the hands of the ambush, Aether was nowhere to be found. Fearing the absolute worst, he returned to the site of the ambush and followed the bloodshed. He did not have to look far to see the fruits of his tutelage. For, within an alley, the young Aether had stood his ground. Armed with only a broken beskad, he had refused to give. Refused to die. The result was a heap of flesh and his continued existence.
It was then that one so young was dubbed iron.
In the years that followed, Aether took up arms in service of the Southern Systems, answering the call of his father's Confederacy. War had returned to the Galaxy, and he fought not as a child or student, but as a Mandalorian warrior in full. He stood with his kin in defense of countless worlds—chief among them Naboo, the Jewel of the South. But all wars come to ruin. The horrors of the Netherworld came not in secret, but in force. They swept across the South like wildfire, and the Confederacy fell in its wake.
After the fall, Aether returned to Krant. There, among his clan, he sought peace. He trained. He taught. He lived. For a time, that was enough.
But the Galaxy does not rest. When the Planeshift shattered the stars and warped the hyperlanes beyond recognition, a new chaos dawned. Mandalore had survived—but barely. And when the call came, Aether did not hesitate. Faithful to his roots, he led his House to the cradle of their people. What they found was not the proud warrior world of old, but one wounded and scattered. Still, they did not despair. They brought food. Medicine. Steel. Strength. Hope.
And the Clans who remained—those who had not followed the Neo-Crusaders to Dxun, those who endured the shift alone—looked to him.
They named him Mand’alor.
And so he rose, not in ceremony, but in service. Mand’alor the Iron—steadfast and unyielding. He forged the Mandalorian Empire not from pride, but from necessity. To unite the scattered. To see to their survival, their prosperity, their dominion among the stars. To remind the Galaxy that the Iron never rusts.
In the present era, Aether the Iron's travels came to a timely end. As the worlds grew ever chaotic, the needs of Home outweighed the thrill of the Hunt. To date, he tarries within the Southern Systems—where he shall remain until the Galaxy returns to peace.
Or until it dares to test his resolve.
The tale begins many years ago, when the union of man and wife produced a surprise gift. Having given up hope of having children of their own, Aether was a blessing to the couple. And thus he grew wanting for nothing. He was nearly sheltered from the horrors of the world. Partially due to his sire's station, and partially due to his mother's care. Yet, when he was scarcely a teenager, Aether was given the chance to fly. A champion of his father's house, Tor, had been entrusted with keeping watch over the young man. Together, they would traverse the stars and witness firsthand what the Galaxy had to offer.
Tor, like Aether's sire, was a warrior of Mandalorian birth. Therefore, their travels served as a true introduction to his heritage. Aether, eagerly, clung to every story and every lesson - as if his life depended upon it. In turn, Tor taught the young man how to wield a blade. How to wear armor. How to speak Mando'a. How to be a warrior. Together, they braved the underbelly of the Galaxy as huntsmen. Bounties kept their bellies full and their skills ever sharp.
It was on one such Hunt that things went awry. Their mark had lured them into an ambush within the crowded streets of Nar Shaddaa. In the chaos, Tor was cut-off from his ward. When he evaded death at the hands of the ambush, Aether was nowhere to be found. Fearing the absolute worst, he returned to the site of the ambush and followed the bloodshed. He did not have to look far to see the fruits of his tutelage. For, within an alley, the young Aether had stood his ground. Armed with only a broken beskad, he had refused to give. Refused to die. The result was a heap of flesh and his continued existence.
It was then that one so young was dubbed iron.
In the years that followed, Aether took up arms in service of the Southern Systems, answering the call of his father's Confederacy. War had returned to the Galaxy, and he fought not as a child or student, but as a Mandalorian warrior in full. He stood with his kin in defense of countless worlds—chief among them Naboo, the Jewel of the South. But all wars come to ruin. The horrors of the Netherworld came not in secret, but in force. They swept across the South like wildfire, and the Confederacy fell in its wake.
After the fall, Aether returned to Krant. There, among his clan, he sought peace. He trained. He taught. He lived. For a time, that was enough.
But the Galaxy does not rest. When the Planeshift shattered the stars and warped the hyperlanes beyond recognition, a new chaos dawned. Mandalore had survived—but barely. And when the call came, Aether did not hesitate. Faithful to his roots, he led his House to the cradle of their people. What they found was not the proud warrior world of old, but one wounded and scattered. Still, they did not despair. They brought food. Medicine. Steel. Strength. Hope.
And the Clans who remained—those who had not followed the Neo-Crusaders to Dxun, those who endured the shift alone—looked to him.
They named him Mand’alor.
And so he rose, not in ceremony, but in service. Mand’alor the Iron—steadfast and unyielding. He forged the Mandalorian Empire not from pride, but from necessity. To unite the scattered. To see to their survival, their prosperity, their dominion among the stars. To remind the Galaxy that the Iron never rusts.
In the present era, Aether the Iron's travels came to a timely end. As the worlds grew ever chaotic, the needs of Home outweighed the thrill of the Hunt. To date, he tarries within the Southern Systems—where he shall remain until the Galaxy returns to peace.
Or until it dares to test his resolve.
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