|Full RS Name||Talyn Malasombra|
|Join||July 22nd, 2007|
|Current Station||CRS Ad Astra|
|Other Current Positions||Resurrection 10, FireClaw 6, Task Force Shochu 9|
|Personal Information (fictional)|
|Personal Information (Real Life)|
|Location||Leicester, United Kingdom|
A member of the Rebel Squadrons.
- Current rank: Captain
- Position: Resurrection 10, VSG; FireClaw 6, PBF; Task Force Shochu 9, RF
- Medals: Tour of Duty Pin (x2), Alvace Star, Merit Commendation, Beginner's Path Master's Ribbon, 2-Year Service Medal, Valorous Unit Commendation, PBF Medal of Activity, RID Battle Report Bronze Star
- Starfighter: X-Wing - Sombras
So, I guess this where I tell you about myself huh? Not a particularly interesting story or one that hasn't been told a thousand times before, especially in this day and age! Well, I grew up on the JaQda-Nyells Research Station, way out on the borders of Wild Space. My parents were researchers there, tinkering and dabbling with hyperdrives, always trying to find one more secret in the technology. I had no love for the Empire, nor a dislike for it, it just WAS. The Empire had been around about a decade when I was born so I guess I didn't know any different. Of course, one heard stories of various atrocities but hey, what kid pays any attention to the news holos? There were quite a few children on the station, it being so far out of normal travel routes, and we'd all hang out in the entertainment dome, watching holo-flix or blasting pirates in the simulators, good clean fun. The holo-flix were my life! I lived for those tales of far-flung adventure, daring exploits, beautiful women, oh yeah. But one tale always affected me deeper than the others, captured me in a way I'd never experienced in my young life. I'm sure those of us of a certain age are familiar with the classic Battle Of Alla-Mho, where an incredibly outnumbered group of brave men held off a hostile force? I can remember standing and cheering when, offered with the chance to leave, they decided to stay and fight, even knowing it meant their almost certain death. That kind of honor, courage and integrity touched me to such a degree that I determined then and there to make those virtues my own. I could never hope to have to test myself in such an extreme way but I could live by the example of those honored men. Anyway, I grew up, as children do, and enrolled in the basic flight courses on the station, hoping to maybe test out some of the research designs that were constantly flitting around the station. Many pilots lost their lives testing those ships, with their experimental hyperdrives, and it seemed like an ultimate test of courage to me. I spent a few years in maintenance ships, pitting my nerves against the station I flew around at decidedly unsafe speeds and soon earned a reputation as a pilot. Not a particularly good reputation, but a reputation nonetheless! Cargo runs soon became my bread and butter, collecting supplies for the station. I always secretly hoped to run across some pirates or marauders, even in a lightly armed freighter, but the only excitement I ever had was navigating one of the asteroid fields that occasionally drifted across the cargo routes. As I reached my 19th year I finally got my chance to test one of the prototypes. The station had fallen out of favour with the local Governor as it had made no progress in some time and the researchers were frightened of having funding cut or maybe even being shut down. The upshot of this is that the engine I was to test had not been evaluated as carefully as it might have been. I don't blame the guys that put it together, especially in light of what I now know about the Empire, they were frightened for their jobs and maybe even their lives. Anyway, I took the ship into its testing position. It was just a standard freighter but this new drive was supposed to dramatically cut travel time and make hyperspace travel safer. I plotted the co-ordinates for the first test jump, just a hop really, and, after getting the all-clear from the Ops people, engaged the drive. Pressing that button was possibly the most significant event of my life up to that point. The starfield stretched around me as my freighter broke the light barrier and entered the eerie realm of hyperspace and then.... I don't know exactly what happened. The engine suddenly began misfiring, pitching the ship from side to side wildly. Co-ordinates flashed randomly out of the sparking Navi-Computer. Stars appeared and disappeared, as if I was dropping in and out of hyperspace. In very real fear for my life I cut all power and relaxed as normal space settled around me. I wasn't relaxed for long though. Whatever had gone wrong in the drive had sent me parsecs away from where I was supposed to be! It took hours and some creative plotting to find a recognizable constellation! Well, there was nothing for it but to turn around and head back, pushing the sublight engines for all they were worth. I had no communication with the station, way out of range, and wasn't picking up any other comms chatter so settled myself in for the long haul. For days I streaked across space, one ear on the comms, but with no sound other than the straining engines and the emergency beacon sending out its cry. Supplies on the freighter weren't exactly grand but I survived, however ascetic my lifestyle had to become! Eventually, I began hearing the crackle and pop of transmissions on the very edge of the comm range and new I was approaching known space again. Another day and an Outer Rim hauler picked up my beacon and diverted out to rescue me. I think, in a very real sense, that part of me is still out there, trying everything just to get home. A home that was no longer there. According to the hauler captain, the JaQda-Nyells station was lost, with all hands, in an unexplained accident. I was numb, devastated. Everything, everyone I'd ever known, my whole life, gone. Using the haulers holo-feed I scanned the news of the station, what there was of it. Okay, so it was relatively unknown but it still seemed to be under-reported! Just a segment in one news holo, a group of asteroids had drifted into the path of the station and destroyed it utterly. Tragic but unremarkable, according to the report. Against the captains orders I took my battered but still space-worthy freighter and headed to the debris of what was once my home. In an Enviro-Suit I clambered through the twisted wreckage and mangled ruins of what had been my entire existence. And found the truth in a station data recorder. The Governer, disappointed with the apparent failure of yet another test, had ordered the shut down and evacuation of the station. The men, women and families aboard had stood against him and declared their intention to stay, to not surrender their home. With what I now know to be Imperial efficiency, the Governer had ordered his men onto the station where they disabled or removed the power systems, citing Imperial ownership. Knowing that the people on board were doomed without those systems he abandoned them to their fate. Oh, the rage and black hate that filled my spirit! I wanted to tear the Empire apart with my bare hands! I wanted the Governer to watch his hearts last beat as I clenched it in my bloody fist! There was no limit to my wrath. Eventually, of course, I calmed down and began to think more clearly. Really, what could I do? What would be the point? One man? Not even really a man at that point. Might as well flick sand fleas at a Rancor. Swallowing the poisonous bile of my vengeance I turned the freighter around and headed into civilization. After replacing the hyperdrive with a standard, safer model, I began hauling cargo, supplies, medicines, whatever payed. My life was empty, meaningless, just an endless series of runs from one place to another, never actually stopping anywhere. I skirted the fringes of the smuggling rings, making enough credits to outfit my ship with weapons and shielding, but not enough to bring me into anyones attention. For nearly ten years I drifted like this, even the occasional run in with pirates did nothing to alleviate the monotony my life had become. The clinical, sterile, emotionless thing I had become was more than a match for wandering 'jackers. Once again I had garnered something of a reputation, I just didn't care about it. And then, sitting in some shadowy cantina on a backwater planet, I caught a news feed. A feed that broke through my detached state and stirred the embers of the passion I once had. A few brave souls had stood against the Empire, a handful of men against a mighty Imperial station, had stood, had held their ground, and had prevailed! It was, of course, the Battle Of Yavin. I had heard of the Rebellion of course, had even done a few runs for suspected sympathisers, I just hadn't paid any attention to it. But now.... just like those men at Alla-Mho, the few had stood against the many in a hopeless defiance. I was alive again! Purpose once again soared through me! This was what I was meant to be doing! I would find this Rebellion and join up, make their cause my own. Once again, I would stand! Little did I realise how much easier said than done that was! By necessity the Rebellion was difficult, almost impossible to locate. I begged, bullied and bribed every contact I'd made in my career for information, no matter how slender or tenuous. But, like the Empire, I was always one step behind. I would arrive at planets, moons and outposts to find only the evacuated ruins of Rebel strongholds with never a clue as to where to head next. In the meantime I used my position as a relatively trustworthy hauler to my advantage. I knew the spacelanes, I knew the trade routes, I knew where Imperial shipments would be. I raided evry transport I could find, never leaving survivors to identify me, even destroying escape pods. I would leave what goods I secured at planets I knew to be allied with the Rebellion, anonymously where I could, but occasionally I would let myself be known that my name would reach someone there, someone who could get me in. What was once a scooped out freighter with a dodgy hyperdrive was now more akin to a pirate cruiser, where once I had been alone in a malfunctioning ship, I was now Captain of a formidable crew of dedicated men, men who, like me, had lost something dearer to them than their own lives to the Empire. Bounties were placed on us but no-one had an accurate description of us or our ship so we continued. Word reached us of a Rebel base in the Hoth system and we headed that way, but again too late. In more ways than one. We arrived while Imperial forces were still mopping up the remnants of the Rebellion that hadn't made it out in the evacuation. Suddenly, we were in a fight for our lives, Star destroyers and TIE's every point. We were lucky that so much of their attention was directed towards the planet, we made it out, barely. Many of my men were dead, my ship was a smoking ruin and, worse still, we were identified. We did the only thing we could do. We made it to a lightly populated planet, scuttled the freighter and mingled with the locals, becoming faceless once more. I don't know what happened to my crew, I would hope that they're still out there somewhere, still fighting in however small a way. For myself, I signed on with a small cargo carrier and headed back out to the stars. I lived in fear the next few years, fear that the Empire would trace me, but I never stopped looking for the Rebellion. Conversations in seedy bars, back alley meetings, all tiny clues that I hoped would lead me. Eventually, it paid off. I made contact with a Rebel pilot who had heard of my ship, if not me. He said he would contact me once I had been checked out and I went back to my duties. On one run I came across something that caught my eye. A small freighter engaged in a game of tag with three TIE's. It was obvious that the TIE's were playing as they circled and weaved, occasionally putting a shot across the freighters bow. It was a scene I had witnessed many times, typical Imperial bullies, but I stayed to watch, my curiosity peaked for some reason. The freighter pilot was good and seemed to be enjoying the game, until it got serious. One of the TIE pilots messed up and the freighter had him in a sweet firing lock for several seconds. That should have been the end of it but the Imperial wasn't taking it. Suddenly, the game was real. Laser blasts tore across the freighters shields as it plunged through space, dodging and looping. Two TIE's battered away at the freighter while the third stayed back, obviously the more experienced of the three. One, then two TIE's went up in a ball of gas and metal as the freighter pilot blasted them. But he hadn't seen the third, lined up perfectly for the kill. Without thinking I activated my turrets and joined the fray. A few shots from out of range spoiled the TIE's aim and gave the freighter time enough to begin evasion. But I had it. No single TIE was getting away from me. Boom! A perfect shot straight through the cockpit canopy. Oh Yeah. That was how I made friends with Shadowdude, another orphan pilot with vengeance in his heart but nowhere to take it. Eventually, I made it into the Rebellion and the first thing I did was to contact Shadowdude and get him to transmit an application. Alright, so, the Empire is practically dead now, but we're still needed and this is the first home we've known for many years. Who knows, maybe I'll still get my Alla-Mho. However it turns out, I am where I should be and doing what I was meant to do. Standing with the few. Anyway, that is my story.
Note: Biography copypasted, no alterations made.