Character Haliat Kryze

[Haliat Kryze]

Haliat Kryze

Age	38
Species	Human
Gender	Male
Height	1.87m
Weight	90.7kg
Force Sensitive	No

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

For the most part, Hal’s appearance is all utility, little presentation. He keeps himself and his apparel as clean as possible under any circumstance, mostly as a show of respect both for himself and those who might have to share a space with him, but that’s about the only real consideration he pays to how others might perceive him. His hair is often a little bit on the shaggy side, and he allows his jawline anything from a stubble to a light beard, but only so long as it doesn’t get in the way. If the hair gets in his eyes or makes it more awkward to don his helmet, then out come the scissors. He’s thought about getting some sort of tattoo from time to time, but to date has never found anything worth permanently marking his body with. If anything, he is often at his most expressive with his face covered, because his gear DOES make a statement. Solid blue save for the black plume atop the helmet and the red cape draped over it, the classic T shape visor broken up by a solid nasal guard, the overall look takes inspiration both from the Nite Owl sect AND the Old Republic Senate Guard.

As far as physicality, he’s tall but not a giant. A lifetime of harsh physical endeavors has left him well-muscled but fairly lean. He’s visibly strong enough to fight well, but lacking the kind of bulk you’d need to swing a power hammer around with any particular grace. He can come across as just a tad grim, his look of concentration taking the form of a slight frown. If the man smiles, you know you’ve earned it.

INVENTORY

• Full set of blued beskar’gam, Nite Owl style, horse hair plume added to helm
• Heirloom beskad, Mythosaur crest inlaid on wheel pommel
• Bes’bev flute
• Energy shield emitter mounted to left gauntlet
• Flamethrower mounted to right gauntlet
• Jetpack
• Hunting blaster rifle. Iron sights equipped, more advanced targeting features linked with his helmet HUD.
• Heavy blaster pistol
• Medical field kit
• Dinji, drexl mount
• Cya, pet Vulpex

PERSONALITY AND BELIEFS

Some might call Hal a bit of an outlier for his people, a gentle man…to a point. By no means a pacifist like some of his ancestors from a millennium gone, he acknowledges that if a situation calls for his involvement, violence may well be the only solution left. If it is warranted, then he will fight and kill without hesitation, but never in his life has he taken any pleasure in it. If it is just and necessary, then he will pursue the fight with a fearful resolve, but the thrill of battle that so many of his kin cherish so is absent. The warrior ethos is as central to his identity as any Mandalorian's, but if anything, he approaches it more like a Jedi.

Needless to say, this has not always made him many friends among the clans, and this too he has embraced as part of his identity. Respectful and reserved, he will speak his mind fully and without editing if prompted, but prefers to “speak” via the flute. He enjoys friendly company, of course. Neither vow, nor inclination necessarily bar him from either intimacy or an ale, but he has walked a solitary path for much of his life and grown accustomed.

Always and above all, there is his honor and integrity. Without it he has nothing. With it, he will always have enough.

STRENGTHS

- Refined skill. Haliat has always subscribed to the notion that a thing should be done with care and dedication, or not at all. Thus, while his attitudes may set him apart from his clan, he is an exemplar in most talents which the wider galaxy associates with the Mandalorian. Proficient with any number or weapons, and well beyond that level with anything he regularly chooses to arm himself with, his bladework in particular has been trained to such a degree of unconscious technical perfection that (Admittedly combined with his lack of enthusiasm for using his skills on another living being.) he has been likened to an artfully built and programmed assassin droid in battle. And he has by no means limited himself to martial pursuits. A capable tracker and beast wrangler, it is likely his quality as a musician for which he is held in best regard by his kin, welcomed to the fire even by those who do nor care for him solely for his melodies with the flute. He has even received some specialized training to resist telepathic intrusion, which neatly ties into…

- Indomitable will. Haliat has spent much of his life sticking to unpopular beliefs, regardless of opposition or consequences, and this has hardened his resolve impressively. When he has set himself on a course, he will not be deterred so long as he’s conscious. He will endure scorn and privation without complaint, push himself through agonies which his body alone should not manage, and even weather torture. It matters not if he can’t. If he must, then he will do, or he will die. Needless to say, the old Jedi mind trick is a less than productive strategy with him.

WEAKNESSES

- Predictable. His code of conduct is everything to him, and he holds to it rigidly. Thus, one who learns that code should have little fear of surprises from him, and may indeed find opportunities for manipulation. He will stay silent, but if he must speak, he does not lie. If his word is given, it binds him like no chain forged ever could.

- Stubborn. The inescapable other side to his willful nature. Determined as he is to do what’s right, as clearly as he can discern rightness, he can at times be all but deaf to even sensible criticisms. He is well aware of the necessity of compromise, but has been known to scorn it all the same. To borrow a phrase from another franchise, he sometimes makes the perfect the enemy of the good.

HISTORY

Once, a long time ago, Haliat Kryze was held up as a source of optimism for the next generation. It would, of course, have been over-stating things a touch to call him the model Mandalorian; he could be a touch on the impatient side, with a tendency to zone out easily when it came to teaching the finer points of their culture, save stories of great old battles. Equally, he struggled a bit with skills that required care and patience rather than offering immediate gratification, like tracking and maintenance of his gear. But a short attention span was something that most children needed to grow past, and this child was possessed of both a natural athleticism and a directable fierceness. Running at full tilt through forest or across open field in search of his quarry, or with a weapon in hand, he was possessed of a boundless and joyful energy which only enhanced rather than detracted from a natural talent.

In short, he seemed destined to bring pain and ruin to the enemies of the Mando’ade, yet for all that, he was kind. His best friend in those early days, Jarok, was in many ways his polar opposite. A capable enough shot, for nothing less would have been tolerated, he was nevertheless a somewhat shy and bookish lad. Enraptured by any bit of lore the elders would share with him and untroubled by a long project, he was also clumsy when the energy was really flowing and nervous even in unarmed sparring. Thus, their friendship was motivated in part by pity on Haliat’s part; so long as he was around, none of the bullying which Jarok might otherwise endure in a culture which valued strength and ferocity would touch him. But he could also make Hal laugh without fail, and was happy to assist him with some of those areas where he was lacking. In a sense, from an outside perspective, you could almost say Jarok was his squire, but Hal loved him dearly.

In truth, this connection became a source of some concern from some of their elders. Their bond was to be celebrated in and of itself, but they came to worry that Hal was effectively coddling Jarok, allowing him a comfortable bubble that hobbled his slow growth as a fighter. Thus, the decision was made that they would be paired in training, and that training would be intensified. The decision wasn’t malicious, exactly. They simply believed that if Jarok was most comfortable with him, then it was he who could get the desired results from his lagging friend. But it would prove disastrous.

In fairness, when Hal is inclined to look back on the day fairly, what happened wasn’t really his fault. At least, not entirely. It was a mistake, and not his, to have them spar with live steel blades. And when Hal got past Jarok’s guard yet again, he DID halt his slash before actual contact with his friend’s throat. But Jarok, terrified, panicked and made a move that skill could not have anticipated. It was doubtful that even Jarok knew what exactly he was doing when he lurched FORWARD in his attempt to get out of the way, and the edge of Hal’s knife found an artery. For several critical moments, Hal could only stare in stunned and apoplectic horror as the elder observing rushed forward and attempted to clamp down on the wound, before finally heeding his words and rushing off in search of help that would not arrive in time.

It wasn’t really his fault. But try telling that to a 12 year old boy, no matter what sort of man he seemed primed to grow into. Both boy and man were never the same after that. For three days, Haliat refused to so much as touch a weapon. This wouldn’t be tolerated forever, and eventually his training resumed, but he never looked at a weapon the same again. He never looked at someone carrying a weapon the same. And he certainly never looked at himself the same again. His skill would still grow. In fact, he became obsessively fanatical about perfecting his technique, determined that nothing like that should ever happen again. In time, before he was even fully grown, there was little that the elders had left to teach him. But the old fire was out of him.

In time, however, a new flame would kindle, for the trauma would affect far more than just how he swung a blade. Absent the usual restless zeal for action, he found a new capacity to sit and think. He began to really listen to the stories of their history, and found he didn't like some of what he heard. He'd always assumed battle to be just what the stories made it out to be: the thrill of a worthy challenge, the electrifying thrill of a brush with death, and the immortal glory of his inevitable triumph. Now, he'd actually killed, and it sickened him. Yet such pride was taken in having gone out to inflict it on a mass scale time after time.

And for what? A glassed world? The hatred of the galaxy? He was told countless times that they were the greatest warriors the galaxy had ever seen, and yet the tally of wars they'd actually won seemed starkly lacking. Tales were told of their great battles with their mortal enemies in the Jedi Order, yet Mandalore after Mandalore seemed fine with following their lead provided they called themselves Sith instead. And always, in the end, came misery and ruin, self-inflicted if no great power could be bothered.

There were still many aspects of his culture that he admired and cherished, to be sure. Resilience, self-reliance, the value given to family and tradition over profit and self-interest. But he had seen the face which his people showed to the cosmos, and he was determined to stand for something nobler. Honor was not satisfied for him by the deeds of his ancestors, so his own deeds would have to do. And since his views, even sparingly shared, hardly made him the most popular member of the clan, he set out pretty much as soon as he could be reckoned a man grown to find his own path.

That path was not entirely unique. He sought out mercenary work early on. Whatever his feelings about it, the reputation of the Mandalorian was well entrenched, and he decided He could stomach leaning on it from time to time so long as he did not actively perpetuate the worst stereotypes. He would take contracts as a bodyguard from time to time, provided he could find a patron who didn't merit his utter disgust. This in turn allowed him to afford offering aid elsewhere without need or desire for payment, but in time he decided he was going about it the wrong way.

He knew well the feeling of a debt which could not be repaid. His was born of a shame he could never expunge, not a kindness given to him, but a debt was a debt. By rendering aid to strangers at their lowest who knew they had no right to expect anything from him, then refusing any attempt to repay him with anything but gratitude, wasn’t he essentially leaving them perpetually small and in debt? So, instead of never taking payment, he began to almost always do so. But always, the price was carefully considered in light of what one had to offer. If someone had nothing, he would ask nothing beyond a promise of future allegiance should he ever be the one in need. But if they had extra room under their roof, or could spare any food, then room and board could be considered payment. If a settlement had an intact machine shop, free maintenance of his gear would suffice. It was a relatively lean existence, and many more deaths followed that first one at his hand. But so long as he acted justly and could leave a new place in better shape than he found it, it was a life of relative contentment if not true peace.

But always he kept his ear to the ground for news of what transpired with the clans. To his surprise, some of what he heard about his own clan and its leadership gave him pause…and even hope. So when Jenn Kryze put out the call and led the fight to help liberate Onderon, Haliat saw at the least an opportunity to aid a world which his people had wronged, and flocked to her banner. That campaign won and the rumors of the woman's integrity seemingly not wholly unfounded, he is sticking around for now. He remains guarded and sometimes skeptical, But at the same time, he has allowed himself a certain cautious optimism that he might finally have a real place among his family again.