Tyrek Velkor

Tyrek Velkor
Biographical Information
Race	Noghri
Homeworld	Unknown
Born	Unknown
Quote	"When precision fails, just blow everything up."
Physical Description
Gender	Male
Height	1.6 Meters
Coloring	Blueish-Grey
Eye Color	Silver
Political Information
Affiliation

Blood; so much blood. Bodies. Murdered. Strewn across the village. Clan. Family. Everyone. Dead.

Tyrek Velkor, looked down at his hands. Blood. He was drenched in it; but it wasn’t his own.

He stumbled in a daze to what was left of his home. Huts, burned, every last one.

His mother, wife of the head of the clan laid propped up against the remains of the doorframe. A vibroblade lay buried to its hilt in her chest. Her dead eyes bore through Velkor’s. Judging. Mocking.

Velkor fell to his knees, shell-shocked. Nothing made sense. His hand trembled as he reached up towards the blade. His hand wrapped around the hilt and slowly pulled it out of the corpse.

Dread clawed at his chest. He knew whose blade it was even before he reached for it. The etching of his crest. Carved in the hilt. Right where he put it. A thousand questions raced through his head.

Not one he had an answer to.

“I have the answerss you are looking for,” a voice hissed behind him. Before the speaker even had time to finish the last syllable, the blade was spinning through the air. The vibroblade whistled through the air but narrowly missed the target as he deftly caught the blade in his clawed hand.

Relief flooded through Velkor as he recognized the figure. “Father!” The young Noghri ran towards the last remaining member of his clan. Just as Velkor was within arms length, his father struck him across the face, knocking him to the ground.

Confusion rushed through the young Noghri. Before he could even speak, the clan leader loomed over the fallen warrior. “Murderer. You did thiss. You killed usss all.” Hatred seethed out of the elderly Noghri.

Velkor rose from the ground. “No father, you have it all wrong. I didn’t do any of thiss. I don’t understand what’s happening.” The last remaining clan member shoved him backwards. “Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.”

The young Noghri flinched and deflected the attack with his outstretched hands. Velkor’s father jerked upwards and stiffened. Blood slowly started to seep out of his mouth. Velkor looked down in shock. The vibroblade jutted through the Noghri’s chest, his hands wrapped around the hilt.

“You did…this. You killed uss…all.” Velkor desperately laid his father on the ground. “No, no, no father! It wassn’t me! I didn’t mean to-“ The dying Noghri gasped, and breathed his last. Velkor sat there, unable to move. But a quite shuffling noise jarred the Noghri back to reality.

His dead clan surrounded him. The eyes of the soulless stared back at him, mangled bodies oozing blood from the wounds they suffered. Velkor stumbled to his feet, horrified, this can’t be happening, it wasn’t me, I didn’t kill you…as if saying it would make it go away.

As if reading his thoughts, the clan raised their arms in unison and pointed to the last remaining member of their clan. Quietly at first but growing in volume they chanted, “Murderer. Murderer. Murderer. Before he could react, they rushed towards him, dead eyes cursing him for what he did.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Velkor’s jerked awake. He was staring at the ceiling of his Interceptor Rogue Fury as he flew through hyperspace. It was that dream again. Only if it was just a dream…He fingered the blade hidden under his robes. The dream. Haunting him. Lost memories surfaced before disappearing just as quick. He sighed in frustration. He couldn’t remember. He didn’t know who he was, where he had come from or why he was having this blast dream. He would have written it off as a delusion, if it weren’t for the blade, the blade from his dream.

He twirled it between his fingers. The only thing of his past that he could piece together was from his dream. He had no recollection of his past. He was born a killer. That much he knew. It was in his blood. Skills and reflexes he didn’t know he possessed revealed themselves to the surprise of his…less then friendly encounters. Skills, he discovered, people paid very highly to use. He only had one rule. A rule that many disliked and he gained much ridicule for, at first.

Tyrek Velkor would not kill. Until he discovered what happened to his clan, whether or not he was responsible for the death of his family, he would not be responsible for the taking another life again. He would let the buyers do their own dirty work. The first few clients complained. Velkor made sure they never did so again. After word got out, from those that still had their tongues; he didn’t have any more trouble. He wouldn’t kill, but he wasn’t afraid to cause a little pain.

Velkor hissed and settled into his seat. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the last remnants of his dream. Credits weren’t going to make themselves. He needed a plan. Riding solo was good for a little while, but he needed to start networking. Maybe someone knew something about what had happened and could guide him in the right direction. If they weren’t so forth coming, well, he would use his imagination to make them feel more…expressive.

He had heard of the galaxies renowned Hutt Cartel. It was just the sort of shady organization that could use a skill set as…unique as Velkor’s. A grimace pulled at the corners of the young warrior’s mouth revealing sharp, pointed teeth. Few would recognize it as a smile. Time to pay the Cartel a visit and see if they would allow a lone warrior with a shady skill set onboard their less than reputable organization.

After all, misery loves company.