Ma'lur'kek'thwin
Far from Home
Ma'lur'kek'thwin
The All-Claw
Or a jack-of-all-trades mercenary / smuggler / mechanic
| Age | 67 (middle age) |
| Species | Ssi-ruuk |
| Gender | Female |
| Height | 2.2 meters |
| Weight | 380 kilos |
| Force Sensitive | Force Blind |
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PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
An opalescent blue scaled Ssi-Ruu with black eyes that shine red in the light. Most often seen wearing a leather vest, bandolier, and tail belt over a form-fitting black body-glove, sans boots, gloves, and helmet.
INVENTORY
| Transport | Trident Class Surveyor "Hun'ka'junk" |
| Projectile Weaponry | Striker Pistol, ST-90 Stun Pistol |
| Consumable | 1x Sleep Grenade, 2x Spray-foam Grenade 2x Dye Grenade, 2x Magna Bola |
A quiet, highly observant individual, content to speak only when the need arises. Having taken the words "speak kindly or not at all" to heart, it may come as a surprise when Ma'lur is pushed beyond her limited patience that spite and vindictiveness are wielded in equal measure. Despite the even temperament, Ma'lur is competitive by nature and enjoys a good wager. The disgust with which she holds solely for those who trample on others ultimately led to Ma'lur's ties with her home sect being severed.
| STRENGTHS | WEAKNESSES |
| Adaptable | Curious | Calm | Stubborn | Inflexible | Impatient |
Born into a sect of believers in the Old Ways of the Ssi-Ruuk, Ma'lur spent her youth and much of her young adulthood steeped in ancient dogma and reductive bigotry. The first taste of a world that did not involve judging another of her kind simply for the shade of their scales came as a breath of fresh air, and in that moment the husk of a person she had been fell away. Molded by the sect but no longer bound to it, Ma'lur took the first opportunity to escape the stuffy, insular ranks and buy a berth off the claustrophobic moon her kin and kith had settled upon centuries ago. Since then she has come to possess a rust-bucket transport ship that she spends much of her earned credits on retrofitting and repairing.
Like the untold number of vagabonds before her, to fund her endeavors Ma'lur has taken up the age-old profession of freelance work. Sometimes that means head hunting, but most of the time it just means breaking baddie kneecaps or fetching some poor farmer's lost little livestock. It isn't much, but it keeps her fed, fueled, and leaves enough creds to rub together to keep her project ship in working order. Could be worse, right?