Caisava Chelski

Caisava Chelski
Biographical Information
Race	Mirialan
Homeworld	Mirial
Mother	Agiva Landi
Father	Keatl Landi
Marital Status	Married
Spouse	Leebri Chelski
Children	None
Languages	Mirialan Galactic Basic
Religion	Mirialan Faith The Force
Physical Description
Gender	Female
Height	Average
Weight	Slim, fit
Coloring	Pale Green
Hair Color	Light Pink
Eye Color	Brown
Political Information
Affiliation	New Republic New Republic Intelligence
Title	Director, New Republic Intelligence
Rank	High General
Positions	Striker, The Colu Rebels CEO of Incom Corporation (formerly) CEO of Industrial Automaton (formerly) Speaker of the House (formerly) New Republic Senator (formerly)
Prior Affiliation	Rebel Alliance Corellian Transport Services Industrial Automaton Incom Corporation
Awards	Long Standing Meritorious Service Award (Year 22 Day 286) Rebel Readiness Award (Year 22 Day 285) Leadership Award (Year 21 Day 3) Republic Service Medal (Year 21 Day 3) Outstanding Excellence Award (Year 20 Day 97) Production Supplier Award ( Year 20 Day 97)

Caisava Chelski is a female Mirialan native to her people's homeworld of Mirial. She grew up in the jungle cities of her homeworld, and later left the planet's embrace to pursue her dreams of being a starship pilot. During her travels through space as an independent contractor, her starship was shot down in hostile territory, and she was found and extracted by a search and rescue team dispatched by the New Republic. During those events, she met her current life partner and husband Leebri Chelski, who brought her into the ranks of the New Republic.

Over the years, Caisava has held several positions in the New Republic. From a pilot in the Corellian Transport Services, she rose to become the CEO of initially Industrial Automaton, and later transferred to become the CEO of Incom Corporation. She eventually transferred to a military and intelligence career.

Logbook

The biography above records where Caisava Chelski has been and what she has built. This section keeps the other logbook — the small, strange, and unreasonably fond moments that a formal record tends to leave out. Ask her to summarize her own life and she will smile, glance toward the nearest viewport, and say the stars have kept better notes than she has.

Chapter One: Odd Jobs and Open Skies

Before any of the titles and companies, there was simply a young Mirialan and whoever happened to be paying that week. Her first ship was a tired light freighter with a persistent list to port and a hyperdrive that needed to be spoken to kindly, and she loved it the way you love a thing that is entirely yours. She learned to patch a coolant line at hyperspeed, to read a nav-buoy that was lying to her, and to talk a bored spaceport controller into a better docking bay simply by being pleasant on the comm.

It was an unglamorous apprenticeship, but it made her the pilot she remains underneath every promotion since: unhurried, unbothered, and completely at home in a cockpit. She flew medical shipments through customs cordons, hauled protocol droids who complained the entire way, and once delivered a crate marked "livestock" that turned out to be a single, deeply unimpressed nerf. She still speaks of those years fondly, the way other people talk about a first apartment that was too small and exactly right — and she will tell you, quite seriously, that a pilot who can keep her temper over a jammed cargo ramp can keep it over almost anything.

Chapter Two: The Long Way Down (and Up)

The crash that brought her to Leebri and the New Republic is told above; what the record leaves out is the view from inside the cockpit. She fought the controls the whole way in — feathering the one repulsor that still answered, trading altitude for a survivable angle — and put the wreck down in the canopy rather than a hillside, which is very likely the only reason there was anyone left to rescue. Then came the quiet part: the air recycler ticking down, and a distress call sent into the dark on the slim hope that someone friendly was listening before someone hostile arrived.

Someone friendly was, and she has never let him forget the entrance he made. Half-conscious and entirely certain she was hallucinating as the canopy was pried open, Caisava reportedly looked up at her rescuer and asked whether the afterlife issued flight suits. She likes to point out that most people meet their future spouse at a party rather than at the bottom of a crash site — but she would not trade the story for a quieter one. Everything that followed, she says, was just the universe insisting on a good opening scene.

Chapter Three: A Pilot at Heart

Her rise through the nationalized companies is a matter of record; her refusal to stop flying while she did it is more of a running joke. She kept her certifications current when she had no operational need to, took the long-haul flights herself when a subordinate would happily have gone, and was known to slip out of a budget meeting to personally test-fly a hull her own company had just rolled off the line. If anything the crash made her a calmer pilot, not a warier one — there is an unshakable steadiness to someone who has already had her worst day at the yoke and lived to file the report.

That steadiness is where her spiritual side and her professional one quietly meet. She still runs through the old Mirialan breathing forms before a difficult negotiation, exactly the way she once ran through them before a difficult re-entry, and colleagues have learned that the calmest voice on the comm is usually the one worth listening to. She would rather sit at the back of the room than the head of the table, and somehow still leaves with what she came for.

Chapter Four: Off the Clock

For someone so composed at work, Caisava keeps a surprisingly competitive streak for her time off. She races eopies — yes, actual eopies, those long-necked, foul-tempered pack animals that are neither fast nor cooperative — on a ramshackle backworld circuit where the prize purses are small and the mid-race sabotage is enthusiastic. She rides with the same easy grin she wears everywhere else, right up until the starting horn, at which point a great many people have learned not to underestimate the calm Mirialan on the ornery mount. She insists the trick is not to fight the animal but to negotiate with it, which is either a joke or the most honest thing she has ever said about her career.

She is also a genuinely dangerous presence on a Shockball court, where she has earned a name as a reliable scorer for her league. She plays the way she flies — reading the field two moves ahead, drifting into the open space nobody else noticed, and finishing without any of the theatrics. Teammates have learned that her serenity is not the absence of intensity; it is intensity that simply refuses to shout about itself. There is a well-worn story of a rival captain trash-talking her through an entire first half, only for Caisava to answer with the winning score and a friendly handshake, having said almost nothing the whole game.

Chapter Five: The Droid Who Chose Her

One of Caisava's favourite stories is not really about her at all. She was hired for a simple job: ferry a battered old astromech out to a scrapyard and leave it there, no questions, half the fee up front. The droid — a dented, muttering unit several models out of date — spent the first leg of the trip in sullen silence. Then, somewhere around the midpoint, it quietly took matters into its own manipulator arms and rerouted the navigation computer. Not to the scrapyard. To the nearest starport, plotted in a neat little course correction it clearly thought she would not notice. When she did notice, it produced a stream of innocent binextic beeping that fooled absolutely no one.

Once aboard, it flatly refused to leave her ship. She tried to return it to the scrapyard three separate times; three separate times it found its way back, once by rolling itself onto the wrong shuttle and simply arriving ahead of her. Eventually she gave up, decided the paperwork was not worth the argument, and kept it — and to be fair, it has since talked her out of one bad hyperspace jump and haggled a docking fee down out of what she can only assume was spite toward the harbourmaster. To this day the droid behaves as though the entire thing had been its plan from the start, and Caisava has long since stopped trying to prove otherwise. She maintains it is the best colleague she never meant to hire.

Chapter Six: The Bartender's Bet

The story that best captures how Caisava works happened, fittingly, in a cantina — the sort of low-lit spaceport dive where the band never stops and the drinks are named after ways to die. A bartender polishing the same glass for the third time spotted the bounty poster before she did and nodded toward the corner. "See the Trandoshan over there? Ten credits says he notices you first." Caisava took the bet. Rather than skulk toward the exits, she walked straight up to the bar and ordered the loudest, most gloriously embarrassing drink on the menu — the sort that arrives on fire, changes colour twice, and comes with its own little sound effect — and then she waited, sipping it with the serene dignity of a woman who has made peace with the universe.

The Trandoshan, a scale-plated slab of a being who had reduced two prior hunters to cautionary tales, took one look at the flaming spectacle and laughed so hard he lumbered over to introduce himself. He wanted to know what in the stars she was drinking. She told him. He ordered one too. Somewhere between his second and the moment he realized the pleasant Mirialan buying the round was the very hunter on his tail, the whole thing was already over — the easiest capture of her career, concluded without a blaster ever clearing its holster. She lost the ten credits, insists it was worth every one of them, and quietly earned her standing as a Master Bounty Hunter: one who would always rather win the argument before anyone thinks to start a fight.

Chapter Seven: The Siren

That knack for letting people wander cheerfully into their own capture is where the nickname comes from. A good friend — the sort who has seen her pull the trick more than once — started calling her "The Siren," half as a joke about the bounty who was practically sung across the room by a flaming novelty cocktail, and half in honest admiration. The name stuck because it fit. Caisava rarely gives chase; she simply makes it far more appealing to come to her, and then lets curiosity do the walking. There are, she notes, far worse things to be named after than the easiest arrest of your life.

She wears the title with a certain amusement rather than any menace. Ask her about it and she will wave a hand and say the galaxy is full of people who think a quiet, smiling pilot cannot possibly be the most prepared person at the table — and that she is happy to keep letting them think it. A reputation, she has decided, is a bit like a good drink: it works best when everyone can see it, and it costs you nothing to let it do the talking.

Chapter Eight: Trading on a Reputation

These days Caisava lets "The Siren" do some of her talking for her, particularly at the negotiating table. A name that hints she always comes out ahead has a funny way of softening a hard bargain before the first figure is even spoken, and a chief executive who can charm a bounty across a cantina is not about to waste that gift on a supply contract. Rival negotiators arrive braced for a shark and instead meet a calm, friendly Mirialan who asks after their families, pours the caf herself, and somehow leaves the room with the better end of every clause. They rarely notice it happening. That, of course, is the point.

There is nothing sinister in any of it; it is simply a pilot who spent years being underestimated finally enjoying being remembered. She still flies, still races the occasional bad-tempered eopie, still argues with a droid that insists it is always right, and still slips out of the boardroom now and then to feel a hull come alive under her hands. Ask her the secret to all of it and she will give you that same serene shrug: stay calm, stay likeable, keep your ship fuelled — and let the flaming drink do the rest.🍹

Trivia

✦ Is known in some circles as "The Siren" — a nickname coined by a good friend after she lured a bounty across a cantina with nothing more than a flaming novelty drink.

✦ Holds the rank of Master Bounty Hunter, despite a strong preference for captures that never involve drawing a blaster.

✦ Adopted a cantankerous old astromech droid that refused to be scrapped, rerouted her ship to a starport, and has behaved ever since as though this was always the plan.

🍹 Once resolved a standoff with the loudest, most embarrassing drink on the menu — and considers it one of her finest professional moments.

✦ Races eopies on a backworld circuit for fun, and insists the secret is negotiating with the animal rather than fighting it.

✦ A reliable scorer in her local Shockball league, where her calm on the court is matched only by her habit of quietly winning.

✦ Keeps her piloting certifications current long after any job required it, and has been caught test-flying hulls straight off her own company's production line.

✦ Runs through traditional Mirialan breathing forms before a difficult negotiation — the same ritual she once used before a difficult atmospheric re-entry.

✦ Learned her trade on a tired light freighter that listed to port, and still swears a good pilot is measured by how calmly she handles a jammed cargo ramp.

✦ Freely admits she lets her reputation open negotiations for her, and enjoys the very good trade deals that tend to follow.

Appearance

Caisava Chelski is a female Mirialan of average height, and she has a slim, fit figure. She has a pale green complexion and smooth skin with a youthful glow. The young Mirialan also has wavy soft pink hair which she usually keeps loosely around her shoulders. She has a defined jawline, high cheekbones, and symmetrical facial features that can be considered beautiful and attractive by objective standards. She also wears a classic Mirialan tattoo on her left upper cheek, to symbolize her growth and personal development throughout the years. Caisava has a stylish sense of fashion, and carries herself with a quiet but friendly confidence.