Description
Theme Song: ::Ozzy Osborn- Let Me Hear You Scream
Birth Name: Ni'Charak
Hunt Name: Krimson Blades
Rank: Warrior
Class: Brawler
Age: 174
Height: 7'4"
Weight: 460lbs in armor and gear
Despite being alive for to human lifetimes, this Yautja is still rather youthful of body, though mature of mind and soul. Because of his youth, he lacks brow-spikes and has an undeveloped crown. Has a large scar on his face going at an angle from under his upper left mandible, past his left eye and through his brow. Can completely enclose his mandibles that the Predator from the first movie. His body is very lithe and athletic, which compliments his powerful lean muscles and sinewy strength very well. Despite some Yautja having rather large heads, his is far more proportionate with his shoulders. His skin is a light pale greenish color. The mask has two piercings on the chin with dangling ornamental spikes, a small serrated blade running vertical on where the mouth would be, and a vertical row of three tiny hook-like blades above each eyebrow ridge. Loin cloth is unarmored, has long front, longer back, is dark blue, and is octagonal at the ends. Wears and tears in various places. A vertical blade going up his right arm makes up his right shoulder plate, with overlapping plates with torn fabric poking out from underneath making up his left shoulder plate. A leather bandolier going across his left shoulder carries a few small alienoid skulls.
Personality
Ni'Charak's personality is like that of a storm cloud or a dying fire, cold and black on the outside, but once stirred the sudden blast of heat could melt your face off. He's very cynical and calculating when not consumed by battle, but once he is it all gives way to the fangs and claws of a berserk warrior. His fiery spirit and carefully planned manipulation of enemies makes him an exceptionally deadly hunter.
His fighting style, the Khuasa Paya Huus't (Storm God's Wrath), also sometimes known as the "Dance of the Mad God" or the "Vengeful Haze", is a dual wristblade style, taught to him by both his father and an Elder named Yeyinde, that focuses on channeling the user's rage into momentum, strength, speed, and an energy source. If done properly this can allow the user can enter a fiery state of Zazin to take on entire groups of equal sized enemies with utter ease in a display of confusing, furious, and dance-like acrobatic strikes and counters that blend seamlessly from one to the next (capoeira for preds).
Their are two practices of this style, which Ni'Charak has almost mastered. The Calm Before The Storm, which entails stealthily eliminating hazardous foes and using fear tactics to herd the rest of the prey as one desires, and the Tempest, which is the trademark of the style and involves diving into the middle of said cluster of victims to swiftly slay them all.
This style is usually only taught to those Predators who have suffered great loss, as that hatred in their hearts is what this form tempers into a fearsome weapon. Though one thing is for certain, surrounding a Khuasa Paya Huus't user is a very bad idea. It was made around the old saying "Dtai'Kai-dte sa-de nau'gkon dtain'aun bpi-de", "The fight begun would not end until the end".
Using this style, the more Krimson Blades fights, the more likely he is to whip himself into a bloody frenzy of gore that is very difficult to exit. This means he must either ensure his fights are short and quiet, or that he must wait for all his foes to group before making his ambush. For once he starts berserking, stealth becomes very very hard to go back to.
He prefers to hunt humans, as he has much greater respect for them. In fact, it is how he earned his hunting name. And while he believes that the serpents are indeed worthy, they should be exterminated rather than hunted. He can become quickly enraged by the mere presence of a xenomorph, entering into his Tempest form instantaneously if provoked.
He always upholds his father's beliefs. Respect your prey, defend your brothers, and his Family Signature: Life Before Honor, Death Before Dishonor.
Equipment
- His father's acid proof mask, which has been repaired and modified.
- Dual 14-inch plasma edged wristblades that have been treated and acid-proofed. Plasma edging allows almost instantaneous cauterization of wounds, making them extremely effective against Xenomorphs.
- Wrist bracers, armored wrist, chest, thigh, and shoulder plates have also been treated.
- Acid proof sandals.
- Two disposable shurikens.
- One programmable multi-targeting Smart-Disc.
- A spool of reinforced dlex thread.
- A single disposable combi-stick.
- Light plasma caster.
- Tracker dart launcher (once it hit's its target it drips and oozes with a substance that can be tracked via a vision mode.)
- Three laser grid mines.
- Two plasma mines.
- Medi-comp.
- Light armor allowing for faster and more agile movement.
- Bladed right shoulder plate.
- Extendable blades on sandals.
- Also carries a gold human locket containing a family portrait.
History
The planet this all started on was a distant one, colonized by hunters for it's fertile forests and challenging game. A world perfect for expanse. A world that was claimed by the yautja nearly four centuries ago. A world home of the Naat-Ji clan. A world where Krimson Blades was born. A world that was home. But most interesting, a world harboring serpents. And a legend.
"Red", as he may be called for short, came from a long and proud line of hunters and warriors, and was the youngest of his three brothers to earn his hunt name. His father, Naral-Gii or "Black Scythe", was of noble blood, and thus was greatly influential to the yautja hierarchy. He always aspired to be in his father's image and uphold his families honor and legacy. Out of all his brothers, he strove the hardest to earn his father's eye. Red followed every teaching he had received, and had prepared with his father for his day to adulthood. Upon the day of his Kainde Amedha Chiva (Hard meat trial, A.K.A. rite of passage), he had lost two of his brothers, one to a hunt, the other to the trial itself. He emerged victorious over the serpents, however, and held his head high. Though the sorrows of this young yautja were not over, and the serpents had not claimed there fill. Returning home with honor, he and his kin celebrated and honored those lost, only to be interrupted.
The sentries patrolling around the settlement were sending unreasonable, no, unbelievable reports. That which had not been seen since the hunters first claimed this world, the legendary Ras'dte Kau-noch, "The Great Scourge" had returned. An enormous albino Ravager. Though the Naat-Ji were renowned serpent slayers, they were wiped out in a single night. Krimson Blades scarred forever by his family dying before him. The beast was finally driven away by visiting shuttle's plasma cannons. They searched the camp for survivors, finding only one. Red had survived. Bleeding, beaten, broken, unconscious, and cursing the God's for not allowing him to be with his kin. He had bestowed upon himself a great dishonor. He had lived.
Being accused as a thief of the mask of Naral-Gii, it was only by the intervention of Yeyinde, the Elder who aided in his training, that proof of his rite of heritage was shown. However, this bore it's own punishment. He had shamed his clan by not fighting to the end, and this time Yeyinde could not aid him. The planet he was marooned on was colonized by humans, and, while he had hunted them before with his father, it was here he developed a respect for them. And gained a great many trophies of them as well.......
He forever carries his father's mask, along with his hatred of the xenomorphs. A fire burned within his soul. One he would have burn the serpents from their dark lairs, even if it were to consume him in the end. But he would not have others know of this. For it was his alone to bare. And so, dreaming of his revenge on the nightmare things that stole his life and reviving the Naat-Ji, he has bounced from hunting party to hunting party.
Having no past and no proof of his nobility.......
The image on the left is Naral-Gii, with the exception of the mask, of course. The image on the right is a depiction N'Kcha-Guaysu, Ni'Charak's great ancestor and founder of the Naat-Ji clan. He is the Elder of which his family draws it's fame and nobility. Those two swords on his back are his Naginata, and were passed down the family for thousands of years. And now they're embedded in a giant Xenomorph's back.
So begins...
The Wings of Icarus-CelldwellerNracha-dta had kept a careful eye on the two young Yautja ever since he arrived on their hunt ship a day or so ago. He wasn't part of their clan, so there were no reason why he should really care about them. "Sister Watcher" was gearing herself up, and so was he, both getting ready for their drop. Both were clad in black, blinking with an occasional red light, the colors of their clan.
A couple days earlier, Nracha-dta and his apprentice had docked with the ship of these three while in orbit. They had the objective not to kill a queen xenomorph, but to bring it back alive. Apparently, this queen had made herself a next on a small planet in the Sol system, third rock from the star. Out of them all, the queen happened to be on the planet that bristled with the most life: Earth.
This was the elite's
third hunt on the planet, so he knew exactly what to do. This was going to be his apprentice's first major hunt, however, and second time on Earth. What caught the eye of the two
unblooded hunters, was that this particular hunter was shorter than all of them... much shorter. The hunter also happened to have what seemed to be softer skin, smaller feminine frame, but that was because it wasn't a Yautja. The hunter than Nracha-dta called "Sister Watcher" was a human...
"Let's make this simple. We are from a different clan than you three. You are not our responsibility to take care of, so don't even think about trying to stay with us, because we won't hesitate to leave you behind..." Nracha-dta's broad but stern form towered over the lot of them. Pointing at Red, he continued.
"You, don't think about trying to make my fellow hunter into one of your trophies, simply because she will fuck you."The elite was obviously scarred, missing one of his power mandibles as well as the various scratches and scars from previous hunts. He had finished suiting himself up, with his apprentice already waiting for the drop. Placing his biomask over his face, connecting his weapon systems to correspond with his visor, he was now ready...
Red
All had been quiet until now. The dark embrace of the stars, the pulsating hum of the ship's engines, and indeed his own steady breathing. It was not hard to exit this world and enter one of thought alone. This was the Ooman homeworld, one he had hunted countless times. This was his favored hunting ground, sprawling with his prey of choice. But this was not where his mind was now. No, it was not merely thought he was lost in, but memory as well. Forever seeing his past played out in an eternal loop. He mulled over the path he had tread to reach here, and The Path that was laid out before him.
It was then that the words of Nracha-dte had shined through, dissecting between his thoughts with surgical precision and striking the fragile nerve that lay beneath. The Krimson Blades broke from his trance, angered by the yautja's remark. He could feel his mandibles begin to flare, but quickly realized the delicate political situation he found himself in. As the last member of the Naat-Ji, he was the only representative of the clan. To cause an incident over such a tiny matter would only bring shame to him and his family name. Ni'Charak took a moment to compose himself, as his mandibles enclosed to show but a sliver of a toothy scowl.
"Do not take me for a fool, Elite, as I can clearly see the blooding mark on the Ooman" he shot out in a sharp growl. Hearing the aggression in his own tone, Red realized that he was not as composed as he previously believed. Ni'charak straightened his back, his mandibles now entirely shielding his maw to present less tension. Out of all the children of Naral-Gii, Ni'Charak was the only one who could completely enclose his mandibles as such. Speaking in clicks of a much softer tone: "I will trust it proved worthy of such an honor, and will be seen as a hunter of your clan in my eyes. I wish there to be no angered thoughts between us." He strode past the monolith of a yautja, towards his follower. Placing a hand on the female creatures shoulder with a gentle shake, as not to harm the frail thing, he spoke out in a diplomatic tone he had learned from his father. "Thwei s' yin'tekai, kv'var mei-jadhi." Blood and honor, hunt sister.
Feeling a triumph in avoiding a conflict between clans, Red chuckled "Not all of us here are young bloods" as he took his place in a corner of the ship to study his fellow hunters. The large one would no doubt be leading the young bloods. Even for yautja, this one was of impressive stature. Perhaps he was a descendant of the large, overtly-aggressive Hish? His eyes trail from Nracha-dte to the other male. Nothing particularly interesting about this one. A young blood with no clear blooding mark. The day had not yet come for his Kainde Amedha Chiva. Was this young blood ready for such a prey as the Oomans? The pyode amedha were a truly feared prey, as they are capable of learning rather quickly and their burners were extremely deadly. Stealth and ambush were the best tactics. The pyode amedha were a fearful species, and one would be wise to use such terror against them. Red continued scanning his companions, landing next to the Ooman female. He new very well of their kind and their physical limitations as a species, but had never heard of one earning a place in a yautja clan. What exactly did this one do to bring it such honor? She must be impressive, but even then there was no way feasible she could keep up with a true hunter. Oomans were slower, weaker, much more fragile, and did not poses anywhere near the agility needed to keep pace with yautja. But this was not his issue, let the soft meat slow them down as much as it pleases.
Just when Ni'Charak was about to lose interest in the uniqueness of his hunting party, he spotted her. A female yautja. But if this wasn't odd enough, her size made the difference. No bigger then an Ooman. Either she had not yet reached maturity, or she was cursed with such small height. Why was she here? After much thought in pondering the mystery of her presence, he came to an interesting theory. Perhaps her father, seeing her unfit to bear children, trained her in the way of the hunt and set her upon The Path to find honor in a warrior's death. It would be fascinating to witness how well she had been taught. The pyode amedha would show no mercy on a hunter of a different gender.
After a while of patiently waiting, something finally dawned upon him. All these yautja were geared as if they were hunting kiande amedha. Hard Meat? Here? Were they fools? This world was not one home to the nightmare things, as it was home to the Oomans. The ancient laws decreed no seeding of a world that housed an intelligent species. No serpents were allowed to be sent here and no l'ulij-bpe yautja would dare seed this planet or any planet in this system, lest they face the wrath of the entire Elder's Council. The young bloods would no doubt have chosen their weapons by their leader's example, but Nracha-dte was unexcused. Perhaps he had gotten his coordinates confused? Maybe he was just misinformed? But Nracha-dte was an Elite. They were no simple imbeciles. The odds of this one being mistaken about anything was highly unlikely. "Though I suppose anything is possible...." Red muttered under his breath.
As the shuttle door began to open, Nracha-dte and his apprentice stood up from the cozy little section of the inner hull they had rested upon a hour or so earlier. He noticed that the female Unblooded kept looking back at him, but he had simply pointed towards the exit. He didn't need to say anything, as his stern posture often silently spoke for him.
The first out was his apprentice, as usual. He was often one of the last to exit, covering the party's rear. Taking a final step off the edge of the ramp, Nracha-dta reached and activated his Sat-Com, and a holographic map of the city above appeared in his palm. With a grunt, he turned and waited for the rest of their small party.
Red
The moments were ticking away, like grains of sand in an hour glass. Ni'Charak's wait was almost over, and he could feel it. A subtle rush of adrenaline. It had been far too many cycles since last he hunted. He had no need to gear up, for he had kept everything necessary on his person. Being on a foreign ship, with foreign hunters, of foreign clans, he thought it best to keep his equipment close. Placing his mask upon his face, Red began his personal networks systems analysis to make sure all of his gear was properly synced up.
///Scanning.....
///Performing Network Synchronization.....
///Processing.........
///Power Routing Connection Analysis.....
///Analyzing.....
///Power Surging At 0.23 Above Normal.....
///Adjusting.....
///Complete.
///Console Networking Analysis.....
///Analyzing.....
///Network Working At Peak Optimal Efficiency.
///Connecting Bio Helmet To Network.....
///Processing.....
///Complete.
///Scanning Shift Suit Field Stability.....
///Analyzing.....
///Shift Field Stability At 100%.
///Uploading Smart-Disc Targeting System Up-link.....
///Configuring.....
///Complete.
///Analyzing Plasma Caster Servo System.....
///Analyzing.....
///Servos Require Re-calibration.
///Calibrating.....
///Complete.
///Total Network Synchronization Completed.
Now there was but one vital component Ni'Charak needed to test. Himself. Red unsheathed his wrist blades and slowly brought them to his face. He marveled at their craftsmanship, their perfection. The beautiful secret they housed which made them so deadly. He twisted them ever so gently as he stood in admiration before bringing the right one down to his side. The sound of the blade slicing it's way through air brought a slight chuckle to his lips. He quickly brought it back up to it's former place whilst backhanding downwards with the left, his feet spreading apart into a more combat appropreate stance.
Ah, so familiar. The stance, the form, the fire. It was like a sleeping muscle, or perhaps a dormant memory. Always there, but the body almost forgot about it. Red could feel it again. The rythem, the muse of flurries and strikes that lay as possibilities before his fingertips. The Krimson Blades arced, slashed, and spun wildly striking at imaginary foes with furious volleys of attacks. Mid way through a windmill kick, Ni'Ckarak thought to himself "Enough of this child's play", he began with what started as a simple frontflip. However, as his shoulder's aligned with the ground, Red altered his movements and evolved it into a spiraling display of skill. His cloth slithered about him in the air, drawing dizzieing contrails that carefully traced his movements.
The time came to finally land his aerial exhibition and as his feet were less than a foot away from the ship's cold, metal floor, the storm did what it does best. It changed yet again, landing Red in a roll along the arc of his neck and spine. At last, Ni'Charak chose his last action in his chain of attacks, sweeping with a low kick followed closely by the back of his right wrist blade while the left uppercutted his invisible dying foe.
A devilish grin swept over him, as he sheathed his blades and bent backwards until his hands touched the same ground as his feet. He arced his back upwards, and in a series of surprisingly loud pops, his spine re-aligned into a much more flexible position. Lifting his feet off the floor, he committed to a handstand that made him as still as a stone pillar. At last, he twisted his arms, so that his shoulder's may pop the same as his spine into a much more useful state.
Red was satisfied with his body's preparation, as he used his arms to launch himself back to his starting location like a javelin. His feet touched the ground only for a nanosecond, before popping his body back up into the air in an extremely quick back flip, finally landing in a meditation-like stance with his legs crossed. Not a dreadlock out of place, nor a cloth ruffled. It was as if he had been in that position the entire time.
A voice came over the ship's intercom. An Elder? Why would the Elders keep track of a simple hunt? The answer came to him in the same mental rock to the back of his head that the realization arrived in. "The armor..... how could I have missed that? I scanned and scrutinized every aspect about the others except the fact that they were from different clans! How could I have missed that?" Ni'Charak thought, chastising himself for his lack of observation. He may have face-palmed if it wouldn't have been a dead give away of his mistake. No, he would keep this secret to himself. All the way to the grave if need be.
It later struck him that the larger one mentioned this, but Ni'Charak was too deep in thought to hear him at the time. "So.... this isn't a simple Elite taking a few youngbloods on a hunt, this was a mission for him. Why didn't he take his own ship? Every Elite has one. Did he not want his movements to be traced? That Elder clearly would know of his presence. And yet, he is still armed like he's expecting kiande amedha..... By the Paya, what is going on in MY Hunting Ground?' Red continued his train of thought in total silence.
There was a change in the wind, or rather a lack of wind, around the ship as it neared it's landing. It was time. Red tilted forward and rolled to his feet in one seamless motion. The ships doors slowly revealing their new surrounding. Ni'Charak looked back at Nracha-dte, expecting him to make the first move forward. He instead was surprised that the Elite motioned for the others to go forward ahead of him. Three different clans, all hunting in the same territory. "Every clan for himself, eh? Works for me" Red trilled as he moved towards the exit.
It finally had graced him. The cold, damp alien wind of this foreign world. It lightly kissed his chest and wrapped around his mask. His next actions were a blur even to himself. The urge overcame him, and it seemed as if that alien air had carried him with it. Far away from the others. Ni'Charak's next waking moment was on a rooftop of a eight story building. This lapse of consciousness didn't bother him, as he was surprised he lasted as long as he did. Red partly imagined himself practically boring a hole through the ships haul before it had even touched down.
He opened his wrist console and traced the ships signal, as to judge the distance between him and his new camp. Finding that he was less than a mile away, it would be foolish to hunt so close to the shuttle. The Krimson Blades chittered and chuckled, gazing upon the beauty of the sunset between the massive columns of glass and steel. And so, eager to find the turf that was to be "his", Ni'Charak leaped forward to a neighboring roof. Delving ever deeper into this Concrete Jungle.........
