FACTION: Primeval
SPECIES: Human
AGE: 43
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: 6' 3”
WEIGHT: 197lbs
EYES: Amber
HAIR: Black
SKIN: Black
[+] Feline Friend – As a member of Clan Rodarch it is of no surprise that Malik is a skilled animal handler, of course, not all animals are alike and he is probably just as likely to get eaten by a krayt dragon as you. His speciality is the asharl panther, given that they are the Rodarch Clan's mascot.
[+] Fists of Fury – While not the most effective form of combat, Malik certainly finds fisticuffs to be his favourite. Much like the beast he is accustomed to fighting besides, fighting tooth and claw, fist and boot comes naturally to him and thus he is quite proficient in that form of combat.
[+] I'm a Kriffing Surgeon with this Shotgun – In keeping with his preference for close quarter combat Malik's ranged weapon of choice is the noble shotgun. Malik likes to hit hard and preferably leave a dent (or a devastated chest cavity).
[-] Punch Drunk – The downside of engaging in numerous fist fights is that receiving hard blows to the head is generally not healthy for the brain. Malik has started to encounter issues of memory and bouts of explosive behaviour. Of course, he has not yet sought out a diagnoses for these ailments and it is likely that it will get worse.
[-] Technologically Illiterate – Much like your dad. No slicing. No piloting. No repairing. No holonet. No gadgets. If it's broke? HIT IT, AND HIT IT HARD!
Malik Rodarch is an imposing being to behold. Well, for a human.
Both tall and wide, there is no other word to describe Malik other than heavyset. Yes, ladies, he lifts. His large form is usually dressed in the armour of his clan, which is painted in the manner of the asharl panther in glorious green and white.
When it comes down to the face, Malik is in possession of a strong chin, oft battered nose, cauliflower ears and some fabulous facial foliage. He has the capability to grow a beard that every lumberjack and hipster would envy. At one point in time Malik used to try and keep on top of it, the Tattooine climate being unfriendly towards those with thick beards but at current he is letting it grow...
...and it is magnificent.
Big Rhonda
A rather primitive 8-gauge shotgun that keeps in with Malik's close combat high impact style of fighting. He doesn't give two damns about your shield.
Thunder and Lightning
A pair of stun gauntlets that Malik finds incredibly useful when in a situation where non-lethal means are required. He does however, own glove spikes has a handy attachment for when face tenderising is necessary.
Mullet the Asharl Panther
Mullet is Malik Rodarch's current companion. As is traditional with those of Clan Rodarch he fights alongside this fierce feline beast.
“The cold ain't so bad, ya know? Might'n lose a toe, but it toughens ya up for certain.”
AGE: 43
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: 6' 3”
WEIGHT: 197lbs
EYES: Amber
HAIR: Black
SKIN: Black
[+] Feline Friend – As a member of Clan Rodarch it is of no surprise that Malik is a skilled animal handler, of course, not all animals are alike and he is probably just as likely to get eaten by a krayt dragon as you. His speciality is the asharl panther, given that they are the Rodarch Clan's mascot.
[+] Fists of Fury – While not the most effective form of combat, Malik certainly finds fisticuffs to be his favourite. Much like the beast he is accustomed to fighting besides, fighting tooth and claw, fist and boot comes naturally to him and thus he is quite proficient in that form of combat.
[+] I'm a Kriffing Surgeon with this Shotgun – In keeping with his preference for close quarter combat Malik's ranged weapon of choice is the noble shotgun. Malik likes to hit hard and preferably leave a dent (or a devastated chest cavity).
[-] Punch Drunk – The downside of engaging in numerous fist fights is that receiving hard blows to the head is generally not healthy for the brain. Malik has started to encounter issues of memory and bouts of explosive behaviour. Of course, he has not yet sought out a diagnoses for these ailments and it is likely that it will get worse.
[-] Technologically Illiterate – Much like your dad. No slicing. No piloting. No repairing. No holonet. No gadgets. If it's broke? HIT IT, AND HIT IT HARD!
Malik Rodarch is an imposing being to behold. Well, for a human.
Both tall and wide, there is no other word to describe Malik other than heavyset. Yes, ladies, he lifts. His large form is usually dressed in the armour of his clan, which is painted in the manner of the asharl panther in glorious green and white.
When it comes down to the face, Malik is in possession of a strong chin, oft battered nose, cauliflower ears and some fabulous facial foliage. He has the capability to grow a beard that every lumberjack and hipster would envy. At one point in time Malik used to try and keep on top of it, the Tattooine climate being unfriendly towards those with thick beards but at current he is letting it grow...
...and it is magnificent.
Big Rhonda
A rather primitive 8-gauge shotgun that keeps in with Malik's close combat high impact style of fighting. He doesn't give two damns about your shield.
Thunder and Lightning
A pair of stun gauntlets that Malik finds incredibly useful when in a situation where non-lethal means are required. He does however, own glove spikes has a handy attachment for when face tenderising is necessary.
Mullet the Asharl Panther
Mullet is Malik Rodarch's current companion. As is traditional with those of Clan Rodarch he fights alongside this fierce feline beast.
“The cold ain't so bad, ya know? Might'n lose a toe, but it toughens ya up for certain.”
- Malik Rodarch to the Mandalorian Traveller
Malik Rodarch was born upon the frozen tundra world of Ilum, a near inhospitable world for any man or child but one that holds cultural significance for those of Clan Rodarch.
For this was where the asharl panther roams.
Since the time of legends Clan Rodarch have associated themselves with the asharl panther, naming the fierce beast as their mascot, bearing their likeness as their insignia and even painting their armour to match the feline's pelts. It is not outlandish to suggest that the members of Clan Rodarch's lives are bound to the asharl panthers.
It was in their relatively small settlement where Malik grew up, learning the basics of survival, combat and animal handling as was customary. Needless to say that the young man survived his youth, and better yet with all of his fingers and toes in tact.
In line with tradition when Malik turned eight he was given his very own asharl panther kitten. Considered a trial of sorts within Clan Rodarch one is expected to raise and train their own panther by themselves and with no assistance. From others. It is said that the panther is the reflection of the man. A poorly trained beast oft means a poorly disciplined man.
Malik's panther was called Moka, a patient female that quickly outgrew the young boy in size but not in ferocity. With grit and determination they trained together, swiftly becoming bond mates as the young Rodarch began to make the transition from boy to teenager.
Malik Rodarch was born upon the frozen tundra world of Ilum, a near inhospitable world for any man or child but one that holds cultural significance for those of Clan Rodarch.
For this was where the asharl panther roams.
Since the time of legends Clan Rodarch have associated themselves with the asharl panther, naming the fierce beast as their mascot, bearing their likeness as their insignia and even painting their armour to match the feline's pelts. It is not outlandish to suggest that the members of Clan Rodarch's lives are bound to the asharl panthers.
It was in their relatively small settlement where Malik grew up, learning the basics of survival, combat and animal handling as was customary. Needless to say that the young man survived his youth, and better yet with all of his fingers and toes in tact.
In line with tradition when Malik turned eight he was given his very own asharl panther kitten. Considered a trial of sorts within Clan Rodarch one is expected to raise and train their own panther by themselves and with no assistance. From others. It is said that the panther is the reflection of the man. A poorly trained beast oft means a poorly disciplined man.
Malik's panther was called Moka, a patient female that quickly outgrew the young boy in size but not in ferocity. With grit and determination they trained together, swiftly becoming bond mates as the young Rodarch began to make the transition from boy to teenager.
”We fought, and they won. Nothin' more to it than that.”
- Malik Rodarch to the Mandalorian Traveller
Ilum is not a planet noted for its Mandalorian presence in the eyes of the Galaxy, but rather as a source for lightsaber crystals. It was not uncommon for a hunting party from Clan Rodarch to encounter Jedi on their pilgrimage for lightsaber crystals.
Both sides were aware of the other's presence but usually tolerated one another. It was a relationship tinged by history.
There were hot-headed elements within Clan Rodarch that wished for a life beyond asharl panthers and hunting. Those that as children listened to the great stories of war and tales of battle with large glistening eyes. They looked to the Jedi of the Republic scurrying from out the crystal caves and thought to Mandalore the Ultimate.
Malik, as a fourteen year old boy, wishing to prove himself and satisfy his own sense of machismo was along side those who postured for a fight.
Tensions rose alongside aggression.
Of course the Republic tried to pacify the situation with dialogue. Unfortunately the envoy's heart was already tinged with a biased nature. They saw the Mandalorian presence upon Ilum as savage, they saw those of Clan Rodarch as dangerous people who were spoiling for nothing more than a fight.
That might have been true.
Finally the posturing came to an end and the Republic forces were sent in to eradicate the Mandalorian presence upon Ilum. Battle loomed and Malik Rodarch was excited, he felt a hunger for glory and as the Republic dropships came in his heart beat inside of his chest like the calling of the war drums.
Of course, the small settlement in reality didn't have a chance. They were overwhelmed in numbers.
Malik was fifteen years old when he killed his first man. Alongside Moka they fought with great bravado, working perfectly in sync to take down as many troopers as they could. In the midst of the fight Malik threw off his helmet to take it all in, the sights and smells. Bloodshed, fire and flesh scorched by blaster bolts. The heat of battle felt….right. This was his purpose. To fight. Didn't matter who. Didn't really matter why.
Then Moka was hit. Two shots to take her down. One shot through her head to kill her. Malik watched on helplessly, hearing that final screech as his companion took the final sleep. He ran to the downed panther in the midst of the fight, cradling the body of his bond mate in his arms. Despite the thirst for battle, Moka's death winded his efforts. He was young, emotional and this moment wounded him more than any blaster bolt could.
While his companion missed the kiss of mercy, Malik did not.
A single average Joe nameless trooper, upon seeing the face of a mere teenager in what they viewed as a death sentence battle took pity. He could not bring himself to gun down what he saw as a child. The nameless man had children of his own. That was all it took to save Malik's life as he grabbed the young man by the haunches and told him to run.
Told him to live to fight another day.
He did, and he would.
“You wanna know the hardest part, eh? Acclimatisin'. ”
- Malik Rodarch to the Mandalorian Traveller
With members of Clan Rodarch either dead or scattered Malik found himself lost, piloting the small beat-up shuttle in which he fled in through the space.
Where could he go? What could he do?
Everything he knew had been changed. He was young, alone and at that moment scared. Without credits to his name he had nothing but the armour on his back and the shuttle that he flew.
He thought to the tales by the fire, thought to Mandalorian mercenaries that made their trade throughout the Galaxy. It was prime time. The Galaxy had been weakened by the Gulag Plague, and now was the time for opportunistic souls to make their marks and stake their claims.
It was a perfect climate for a mercenary.
After much deliberation, he chose Tattooine as his destination. Deciding that a new chapter in his life would come with a new climate. He had never experienced the heat before, it almost seemed like a novel concept.
Touching down upon Mos Eisley Malik immediately sold his shuttle, ensuring that he had enough credits to survive upon. He purchased two used weapons, an old shotgun and a pair of stun gauntlets (the very ones that he still uses today) and set out on making his mark.
As a teenager it was hard to get taken seriously, especially on Tattooine. He encountered a few scuffles on his quest to find work. Got beaten down. Kept training. In quiet moments he reflected, feeling a certain sense of guilt for Moka, and the rest of his clan. Was running the right thing to do? Should he have been there laid besides his companion in death?
No.
After two years of struggling his training, combined with a lovely growth spurt ensured that Malik Rodarch had filled out into a tough young man. In this time he took up shock boxing for money, and while in the early days he had suffered his fair share of losses and injuries he had gotten better, gotten stronger and most important of all, got noticed.
A small time Duros Crime Lord by the name of Ruavu Erusha hired him as muscle….
...and he loved it.
Malik lived for his new occupation. It called for violence, it called for battle, the credits and the perks of the brothels were nice but nothing really compared to the fights he had. From simple shake downs to teaching a lesson he loved all aspects of the job, it stoked the fire in his belly that had since simmered away into an ember.
Many years of his life were spent this way, in simple enjoyment of the fight, crime lords came and crime lords went and all the while he kept in somebody's employ. Didn't care who, as long as he got to do what Malik Rodarch does best.
He likely would have kept up this career path were it not for a chance encounter in a cantina with another Mandalorian. He who is fondly remembered in his mind as the Mandalorian Traveller. Malik's cauliflower ears caught a gleaming of Mando'a, and instead of exchanging fists, exchanged drinks.
They spoke and drank well into the morning. Talking about their respective Clans, their lives, the state of the Galaxy and so much more. They shared the stories of their battles and their scars and it was a taste of home, a home that he had forgotten about. What Malik remembered the most about that evening/morning was when the fellow Mandalorian remarked:
“Where is your beast, Rodarch?”
His thoughts turned to Moka once again and a dawning came upon him that he had lost his way, and forgotten glory. He had a reputation upon Tattooine, sure, but he had become content in violence but without the triumph. There would be no great tales of his deeds, but he could still forge them
This marked Malik Rodarch's return to Ilum.
“Ya big git.”
Malik lived for his new occupation. It called for violence, it called for battle, the credits and the perks of the brothels were nice but nothing really compared to the fights he had. From simple shake downs to teaching a lesson he loved all aspects of the job, it stoked the fire in his belly that had since simmered away into an ember.
Many years of his life were spent this way, in simple enjoyment of the fight, crime lords came and crime lords went and all the while he kept in somebody's employ. Didn't care who, as long as he got to do what Malik Rodarch does best.
He likely would have kept up this career path were it not for a chance encounter in a cantina with another Mandalorian. He who is fondly remembered in his mind as the Mandalorian Traveller. Malik's cauliflower ears caught a gleaming of Mando'a, and instead of exchanging fists, exchanged drinks.
They spoke and drank well into the morning. Talking about their respective Clans, their lives, the state of the Galaxy and so much more. They shared the stories of their battles and their scars and it was a taste of home, a home that he had forgotten about. What Malik remembered the most about that evening/morning was when the fellow Mandalorian remarked:
“Where is your beast, Rodarch?”
His thoughts turned to Moka once again and a dawning came upon him that he had lost his way, and forgotten glory. He had a reputation upon Tattooine, sure, but he had become content in violence but without the triumph. There would be no great tales of his deeds, but he could still forge them
This marked Malik Rodarch's return to Ilum.
“Ya big git.”
- Malik Rodarch to Mullet
The return to Ilum was one without ceremony.
A familiar biting cold returned to him as he stepped out of his shuttle. The settlement had almost vanished under the tundra, any trace of his childhood being covered by a new blank page, masking even the scars of battle. Again his mind turned to Moka, Malik couldn't help wonder but wonder where his first companion lay…
The return to Ilum was one without ceremony.
A familiar biting cold returned to him as he stepped out of his shuttle. The settlement had almost vanished under the tundra, any trace of his childhood being covered by a new blank page, masking even the scars of battle. Again his mind turned to Moka, Malik couldn't help wonder but wonder where his first companion lay…
...and where he would find his next.
Out into the blistering tundra where he used to hunt. The man found it amusing how small the landmarks seemed now that he was a grown man. Asharl panthers had become scarce, without the presence of Clan Rodarch the poachers were left to roam free, selling the furs and dorsal fronds for a pretty penny on the black market.
Then he came.
Mullet.
Seemingly out of nowhere a great weight pounced onto his back, knocking him forward and face first into the ice and snow. Sneaky little git had been tracking him, waiting for his time to strike. With an angry panther upon his back it soon turned into a wrestling contest. The beast pierced his durasteel armour with his fangs, leaving what would be one hell of a scar but then Malik got him in a headlock.
The panther tried to thrash, to claw but ultimately his efforts were fruitless as Malik kept up the hold around his neck.
Eventually the creature was worn down enough to stop fighting back. One solitary step forward in taming the beast. Clan Rodarch preferred to bond with the asharl panther when they were young, it was the best method for training and adults were often very fierce and very bold.
Or unruly, in this panther's case.
It took Malik almost an entire year to tame him. It was year of hardship and of hunger. Ilum was an unforgiving landscape, especially those who came on their own. Rodarch found that most of all, they bonded over food because it was so often scarce. It was seemingly the way to the beast's heart. Everything they hunted and killed was shared and from there everything became easier.
When the pair were truly bonded he finally named his new companion.
Mullet, for the proud, thick dorsal fronds that ran down his back.
They remained upon Ilum for another year, this time training. They expanded upon their hunts, actively seeking out the native gorgodon's to fight, so Malik could teach the panther a few combat tactics for big cats.
When Mullet was ready, they finally departed. Rodarch felt a renewed sense of pride in his new companion and in himself. He was ready to bear his Clan's name and strike off into the galaxy once more, this time with more ambition.
The Tournament of the Gods
“C'mon you shaved Wookiee, come an' get a second helpin'!”
Out into the blistering tundra where he used to hunt. The man found it amusing how small the landmarks seemed now that he was a grown man. Asharl panthers had become scarce, without the presence of Clan Rodarch the poachers were left to roam free, selling the furs and dorsal fronds for a pretty penny on the black market.
Then he came.
Mullet.
Seemingly out of nowhere a great weight pounced onto his back, knocking him forward and face first into the ice and snow. Sneaky little git had been tracking him, waiting for his time to strike. With an angry panther upon his back it soon turned into a wrestling contest. The beast pierced his durasteel armour with his fangs, leaving what would be one hell of a scar but then Malik got him in a headlock.
The panther tried to thrash, to claw but ultimately his efforts were fruitless as Malik kept up the hold around his neck.
Eventually the creature was worn down enough to stop fighting back. One solitary step forward in taming the beast. Clan Rodarch preferred to bond with the asharl panther when they were young, it was the best method for training and adults were often very fierce and very bold.
Or unruly, in this panther's case.
It took Malik almost an entire year to tame him. It was year of hardship and of hunger. Ilum was an unforgiving landscape, especially those who came on their own. Rodarch found that most of all, they bonded over food because it was so often scarce. It was seemingly the way to the beast's heart. Everything they hunted and killed was shared and from there everything became easier.
When the pair were truly bonded he finally named his new companion.
Mullet, for the proud, thick dorsal fronds that ran down his back.
They remained upon Ilum for another year, this time training. They expanded upon their hunts, actively seeking out the native gorgodon's to fight, so Malik could teach the panther a few combat tactics for big cats.
When Mullet was ready, they finally departed. Rodarch felt a renewed sense of pride in his new companion and in himself. He was ready to bear his Clan's name and strike off into the galaxy once more, this time with more ambition.
The Tournament of the Gods
“C'mon you shaved Wookiee, come an' get a second helpin'!”
- Malik Rodarch to Kezaroth the Hateful
Striking out to make a name for both himself and his clan, Malik entered the Moross Crusade's Tournament of the Gods without an ounce of hestitation.
In the first round he was pitted against what seemed like the impossible. A Sith Gen'dai packing more swords than a smithy. It was a hard fought, brutal round but with Mullet in tow he came out the other side as the victor and moved onto the next round.
Which was against a fellow Mandalorian.
It was likely his toughest bout in the tournament, a testament to the beskar will of the Mandalorian people. Naimes Ahn-Dross his opponent was well equipped and tactically sound. Using a CryoBan grenade to incapacitate Malik, leaving him almost helpless...almost. If not for his panther leaping in to save the day, and in good time.
It came down to fists. Well, it should have. His opponent took a knife to a fist fight. Spent too long shockboxing, thinking that nobody was gonna pull a blade out on him.
Now that was a surprise, almost killed him too.
However, Malik Rodarch persevered, making it to the next round.
A man known as Chaff was his next opponent in what was a rather perilous setting. A dilapidated underwater base that frankly seemed as if it could have collapsed at any moment.
His opponent came in strong with the technology, combination of a jetpack and a flamethrower effectively keeping Mullet at bay during this bout. His own stun gloves became dangerous to use when the water started flowing into the room.
Thankfully, Malik emerged not drowned, but victorious and on his way to the semi-finals.
However the night before his bout Rodarch received a visitor at the fighter's quarters. They came with the promise of glory, of restoring Clan Rodarch and even elevating them to greater prominence, as if they knew his head, his heart and all of his desires. They came with whispers of the Mandalore. Was this not what he had been fighting for?
Malik Rodarch never showed up for the semi-final.
Striking out to make a name for both himself and his clan, Malik entered the Moross Crusade's Tournament of the Gods without an ounce of hestitation.
In the first round he was pitted against what seemed like the impossible. A Sith Gen'dai packing more swords than a smithy. It was a hard fought, brutal round but with Mullet in tow he came out the other side as the victor and moved onto the next round.
Which was against a fellow Mandalorian.
It was likely his toughest bout in the tournament, a testament to the beskar will of the Mandalorian people. Naimes Ahn-Dross his opponent was well equipped and tactically sound. Using a CryoBan grenade to incapacitate Malik, leaving him almost helpless...almost. If not for his panther leaping in to save the day, and in good time.
It came down to fists. Well, it should have. His opponent took a knife to a fist fight. Spent too long shockboxing, thinking that nobody was gonna pull a blade out on him.
Now that was a surprise, almost killed him too.
However, Malik Rodarch persevered, making it to the next round.
A man known as Chaff was his next opponent in what was a rather perilous setting. A dilapidated underwater base that frankly seemed as if it could have collapsed at any moment.
His opponent came in strong with the technology, combination of a jetpack and a flamethrower effectively keeping Mullet at bay during this bout. His own stun gloves became dangerous to use when the water started flowing into the room.
Thankfully, Malik emerged not drowned, but victorious and on his way to the semi-finals.
However the night before his bout Rodarch received a visitor at the fighter's quarters. They came with the promise of glory, of restoring Clan Rodarch and even elevating them to greater prominence, as if they knew his head, his heart and all of his desires. They came with whispers of the Mandalore. Was this not what he had been fighting for?
Malik Rodarch never showed up for the semi-final.