Yaihi'l Beskar

Member Profile
Yaihi'l Beskar
Member Information
Full RS Name	Etain "Yaihi'l Beskar" Kelborn
Call Sign	Fulliron
Past Names	None
Current Rank	Lieutenant Commander
Date Joined	Jun 25, 2014
Status	Active
Current Squadron	Diamond
Past Noteworthy Positions	Red CO
Recruited by	Ta-Re Djo
Character Information (Fictional)
Status	{{{charstatus}}}
Homeworld	Telos IV
Species	Human
Gender	Male
Age	24
Height	1.9 meters
Weight	90 kilograms
Hair color	Black
Eye color	Brown with black rims
Distinguishing features	{{{features}}}
Personal Information (Real Life)
Name	Charlie
Gender	Male
Location	{{{location}}}
Age	{{{agerl}}}
Occupation	Student

Autobiography

I grew up on Telos IV. Many associate my planet either with some of the most diverse ecology of any planet in the galaxy (courtesy of the Ithorian Restoration Project millennia ago) or some of the most famous military families in history, for good reason. But not me. On the streets, none of that really matters. What do matter are the people watching your back, and the places that’ll net you reliable food. I never knew my parents; karking assholes probably abandoned me so I wouldn’t get in their way. Telos is a nice place, but even the nicest places have shades of Nar Shaddaa in the cracks. My first memories are of scrounging in alleys for scraps, so hungry it had stopped hurting days ago, while the two people I knew looked on. But we survived, if barely. We found food, and more importantly, we learned how to protect our food.

So there we were, a little family of outcasts, surviving well enough. And then, he came. I was 17 when the bastard showed up. Some guy in armor came and started trying to force our group to become part of his “militia” (in actuality, a mercenary force). It seemed like a good deal - food, clothing, and plenty of steady credits. But my brothers and I, we saw through him. We three, the oldest of our bunch, had looked into mercenary work in the past, and invariably, we were offered meat-grinder positions, the guys who go in first, relying on numbers and little else to carry the day. We said as much, and the bastard got angry. My oldest brother, Shen, he shot in the gut. When the rest of us started swarming him, my other brother, Trask, took a knife to the gut. I got punched in the temple, knocking me to the ground, almost senseless. However, by some stroke of luck, I landed near a loose piece rebar. Completely pissed off, I grabbed the bar, and started beating the merc as mercilessly as I could. When I came back to myself, the guy was lying dead on the ground, and my younger siblings were either dead or gone. With Shen dead, Trask almost there, and me blood raging, the young ones had run off, searching for new patrons to attach themselves to. With no one else, I prepared to leave the planet. As right a bastard as he was, the merc and I were of a similar size; though I needed to bulk out to fully take advantage of the armor, I could at least wear and repair it and get away.

A few years later, after spending some time as a ship hand learning how to fight and repair things, I happened to go to a pazaak den. I’ve never been much good at sabaac, but my scrounged pazaak deck had always been good enough to earn the credits for a couple days of food, or a few packs of ammo. That night, my opponents weren’t particularly good, until the pilots came in. Loud and celebrating one thing or another, the pilots found opponents and started blowing massive amounts of credits. One of them, a Dathomiri woman, decided to play me. Despite obviously owning many more gold cards than I had ever been able to find, she and I were decently matched. Eventually, we got to talking, and that’s how Ta’Re Djo was able to recruit me into the Republic Shield. Despite being more of a scrapper, I went though piloting basic, and got assigned to Ray’s squadron.

About this time, Titan came out of the shadows and began savaging the fleet we were stationed with. After a year of skirmishes and what amounted to a barely-fighting retreat, Red Squadron’s mothership, the Windstorm, was called in for a pirate cleansing operation. Red itself was excited to finally get a good chance to fly again. However, just before exiting hyperspace, all of us were called in for a medical treatment. By the time we came to, after being drugged, the Windstorm was in flames, with Resurrection Squadron on the horn, trying to figure out where in the nine hells Red was. I was just cogent enough to sound the evacuation and get the few remaining pilots and other patients off the ship. As we rocketed away in escape pods, I watched as my home for the past year exploded into stardust and echoes.

Red was devastated. Ray, our CO, nearly was court martialed, and almost earned a medical discharge afterward for psychiatric reasons. She transferred back to the Core soon after, into another task force. Jaran, probably my closest friend at the time, had a horrible reaction to whatever it was we got drugged with; he’s still recovering to this day, and might never fly again. The rest of us were drifting. I had just watched my family collapse for the second time in five years, and I was tired. I took a leave of absence for a few months, using the time to seek out the Mandalorian clans. When I turned up, in my beat up but well-rebuilt set of beskar’gam from that merc years ago, I nearly got shot for the insolence. But I proved my worth, and got myself adopted into a clan just before having to return to my post.

I returned to a surprise – Red was gone, as were Wildcard, Red Dragon, and Dagger Squadrons. In their places were Diamond and Red Dagger Squadrons. With so many of the pilots gone from each of the original four squads, I had been promoted and given Diamond to command. With a lot of help, I established Diamond as a squad to take seriously, even as RZA continues to glory-hound. And there was more good news – a bit over a year after the original Windstorm died, a replacement arrived. The Windstorm was back, upgraded and more powerful than before. As the Shield kicked Titan forces out of Lithra, and even as a Remnant TIE Corps began pushing at us from a different front, I’ve gained an appreciation for my spot. It may be odd, but I’ve chosen this family. And I’ll be damned before I let it die again.

Equipment

Etain, or more commonly, Yaihi’l, uses a variety of weapons and starships. However, he most commonly flies RZ-1 A-Wing interceptors. On the ground, he relies on a blaster he has built from spare parts of many other blasters. Despite its cobbled-together nature, Yaihi’l’s blaster is fairly reliable and powerful, capable of punching through plasteel armor with ease. He also carries a heavily modified ostrine vibrosword and several grenades adulterated with highly explosive Peragian starship fuel. To protect himself, he wears a suit of Mandalorian beskar’gam powered battle armor, enhancing his strength and durability

Skills

Yaihi’l is self-taught in marksmanship and swordplay. Despite this, he is highly deadly on the battlefield. He is also a capable pilot, though certainly not yet an ace. He is also capable of extensive armor repair, again self-taught on his own armor. Years of living outside the law have also imparted him with a degree of slicing and lock picking ability.

Despite these, Yaihi’l is terrible with people. He is much better at looming while someone intimidates someone else than being the direct intimidator himself. His knowledge of first aid amounts to “get a bandage on it,” and against a true swordsman, Yaihi’l stands little chance.