Kerrson Mantau
From An Evolution in RP :: Database
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Personal Information
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| Name: Kerrson Janar Mantau | |
| Affiliation/occupation: Empire, Storm Commando | |
| Rank: Sergeant | |
| Age: 22 | |
| Birthplace: Alsakan | |
| Species: Human | |
| Marital Status: Single | |
Physical Description
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| Gender: Male | |
| Height: 6'1" (1.85 meters) | |
| Weight: 202lbs (92 kilos) | |
| Hair: Dark Brown | |
| Eyes: Dark Green | |
Family
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| Father: (Adopted) Arusk Ordo (Biological) Unknown | |
| Mother:(Biological) Kaylee Mantau | |
Contents |
Personal Information
| This character is a member of the Galactic Empire. |
Appearance:
Kerrson looks like any other regular guy when out of uniform, slightly stylish with a narrow, shy grin on his face, but when you look into his dark green eyes, they are hard, jagged, like raw emeralds, never fully cut. He moves slowly and determined, the sniper’s mindset fully ingrained into him, from his walk to his slow pan of a bar or party, looking for a friend. His slightly sluggish, determined demeanor fades as battle clashes though, as he becomes quick, darting like a bird, moving assuredly. He is handsome in a rugged way, and most women call his smile “cute”.
He is slightly above average height for a stormtrooper, standing at 6’ 1" (1.85 meters) tall, and is athletic with a hint of stocky, weighing in at 202 pounds (92 kilos). Most people would not think twice of fighting him at first sight, but most then see the bulge of fairly substantial muscle through his shirt and think about it one more time. The rest actually decide to meet him and are charmed by his humor and boyishness, becoming good friends with him.
Mantau stays fairly fashionable, although living on military pay makes him stay at least one step behind. For the most part he has his own style, he wears tight-fitting, plain clothes and boot-cut pants, usually with a pair of black and grey shoes, topped with a pair of silver aviator sunglasses, his stormtrooper uniformity clashing with the sense of individuality he has. His dark brown hair is usually cut very short, and his facial hair is usually very well shaven, except when he is out on extended patrol.
Personality Evaluation:
Kerrson’s outward appearance might be one of a shy man, but talk to him and you’ll learn that he is anything but. He is very much an extrovert, but only to those he knows in some way, not the life of the party. If Kerrson were portrayed in a holovid he would the main character’s best friend, always there for advice and with a joke to ease the pain, but with no one for him to lean on or to go to himself, for even in crowded rooms he feels alone.
Alone or no, he does have a flair for empathy, making him an good friend and a natural leader, but cripples him with a sense of self doubt, worrying that he will disappoint or hurt someone, so he has avoided all duties he can involving command so far as a stormtrooper, sticking to himself, his rifle and his close comrades.
If Kerrson has one major flaw, it’s that once he finds someone like himself, someone he can identify with he latches on, loving with all his heart, and it has burned him before. He also has a fear of flying, causing him to be more on edge than normal. This goes for dropships, transports and especially fighters, but not larger ships, the turbulence being the main factor. (foreshadowing, just to clear it with the BAC-Kerrson will be taking to drinking and perhaps drugs, in order to forget Kit.(referenced later on) Also, his psyche will devolve into somewhat of a dual personality, the stormtrooper conditioning and himself having an internal conflict)
But with all of the loneliness, with all the flaws of character, Mantau has his strengths as well. He is extremely tough, both in mind and in body, and never gives up, his endurance inspiring others to soldier on, and he has an extremely quick-thinking mind, finding solutions to problems in seconds.
Personal History, Childhood
Kerrson was born on Alsakan, a city-planet in the core worlds where the residents seemed forever embittered, being the foil to the shining jewel of the galaxy, Coruscant. His birth-mother was only seventeen, so he was very lucky to have even been born at all, let alone put into a crèche/adoption agency. People stood him down for adoption because of his parentage, an unknown father and underage mother, and so he grew up in state nurseries for the better part of his childhood. When he was small he used to play with other children just fine, not understanding why they left but happy to have someone to giggle and spit food at, sometimes not even understanding it was someone new, but as he grew older, around the age of two and a half, the nurses began to realize a change in him. He wouldn’t play with the other children, for the most part he stayed to himself, relocating when another child came near, preferring no friendship at all to loss, however little he understood of the term. At first the crèche nurses would try to bring friends over to him, spurring his social lubricant for a start, but when those children left he became even more of a shell, even less social, to where at the age of three he didn’t even speak anymore, replying with nods or shakes of his head. By now the nurses had given up on him, they simply took care of him when necessary, for he was getting to be of age that more than likely no one would adopt him.
But that all changed when a strange main arrived, in a blaster-resistant vest and black uniform, a scar cutting its way from the top of his right eye to the bottom of his jaw, hard eyes piercing through everything, deep bass voice resonating when he talked. The nurses took him into the play room, but all of the children were younger than Kerrson so they backed away, reactions of fear in some and even crying from some. The man stopped, glancing at one of the nurses nervously, but she waved him in, a pensive look on her face.
Kerrson was the only one standing, not moving, eyes fixed on the giant, muscles bulging, hands the size of Kerrson’s head. The huge man looked quizzically at the boy and kneeled down, face close to Kerrson’s.
“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” the giant said.
“No sir,” replied Kerrson, half lying. His first time to speak in two months.
A grin settled on the man’s face, a large, happy one. He told Kerrson that he reminded him of himself at that age, and then he stood back up, asking for the file on the boy. The man came in every day to visit the kid, playing, talking to and reading to the boy, teaching him how to as well. At first he was hesitant, but over the two weeks required for paperwork and background checks he started to wait with barely contained glee for Arusk to arrive, shouting and usually hugging the man’s knee when he arrived, the only thing he could reach up to. Kerrson was quizzical and curious as to why Arusk dressed like he did, and the man explained that he was a police officer, and that he had to wear the armor because sometimes bad men shot at him, as all adults explain to small children things that involve danger and death.
The day finally came when the papers went through, and Arusk picked up the little boy, the two riding in his patrol speeder to the Police HQ, which would function as Kerrson’s daycare for the rest of his young life. Kerrson was a boy truly raised by a village, for his fathers were the men inside the station, from Officer Key’lya, a Bothan, to his “true” father, the only one he called dad, Arusk. He was mothered by many women, mostly the other officer’s wives, for Arusk didn’t seem to date any women. He tried, but most were repelled by the disfiguring scar on his face, superficially obsessed with the unblemished faces of holovid stars and models. Many nights the man came back from a bar or a blind date depressed, although the little boy didn’t understand, girls were lame anyway. Alsakan became not a prison, but an enjoyable place where there were plenty of children to play with, books to read and holovids to watch, games to play. He went to school, but he was bored with the classrooms and the lectures, being cited quite a few times for apathy.
But things changed once again for the little boy, now six, as Arusk was accepted for a job as head of security for an Alderaanian politician, and the two left for the foreign planet, Kerrson once again abandoning all he knew, losing people he had come to love, had come to depend on. But he still had Arusk…and in the end, Kerrson surmised, was all he really needed. But on the trip, something changed about the man, the young boy not being able to tell what, but knew something was wrong. His father was anxious and smiled more often, and even more than that, when the transport landed Arusk took out a strange sort of armor, one with a helmet that had a T-shaped visor. He didn’t wear the helmet; he held it in the crook of one large arm. People looked at his father differently then, some with a wary sort of respect, others with fear, clearly going out of their way to stay away from the man. Kerrson was tugging on his father’s pant leg, about to ask him why they were acting like that, when a man dressed in elegant robes came up, with several armed men trailing him, faceless helmets looking around like wary birds, watching for any hint of a predator lurking in the waters. The two men greeted each other in a strange language, unknown to the little boy. He looked from man to man, unable to understand anything the two were saying, becoming more confused by the minute, the black-armored guards oblivious to his obvious confusion, Kerrson becoming less and less attached, the man he called his father changing so radically. Finally, the man dressed in robes gestured to him, smiling, speaking in plain Basic. He asked if this was Arusk’s boy, calling him not by his name, but by some odd term, Ner Vod. The man kneeled down, hands on his son’s shoulders, pride radiating from him as he replied affirmative. Kerrson’s faith came back; this was the man he knew, just…different.
Alderaan and Teenage Years
If Alsakan was a great place, Alderaan was, in Kerrson’s mind, a part of heaven. There were trees-actual trees that grew on their own, without needing synthgrow, and the sun was bright, sometimes so bright that Kerrson had to squint his eyes. This was what Kerrson always considered his true home planet, beautiful hills, oceans and forests traded for darkness, steel and concrete. Arusk’s high position and pay assured that Kerrson got to go to a pretty good school, and he always did as well as possible, failure would only be met with a shake of his father’s had and a sad expression, which spoke more than any loud words or strike. But he really learned with his father, out in the woods, when he had the time. They hiked, foraged and lived in the woods some times, and Arusk taught the boy how to use a rifle at the age of ten, a lesson that struck a chord with Kerrson, for the boy was a natural marksman, falling easily into every single detail of firing the weapon, from his own body down to the environment. He made friends, most of them endeared with the boy, finding his quaint ways that contrasted so with the norm on Alderaan fun to be around, although he was no social savant, there were few that disliked him, for there was really no reason to do so, but there were few that really liked him as well. These were what Kerrson always though of as his “carefree days” later in life, when he was just a boy and the entire woodland was in front of him, the oceans behind him, what every little boy dreamed of. He learned to blend in with his surroundings, both in body and mind, and how to move so he could creep up on a animal and not be seen, how to mask his scent and how to hit a running red deer from three hundred yards away, not being distracted by the rainbow lichen growing on the Oro trees. He learned and grew, but did not prosper. He was missing a companion, for the boy had no real friends. People liked him, but he was socially awkward, saying the wrong things and sometimes being too blunt.
When Kerrson was fifteen he finally found out what he wanted to do with his life, what an invisible hand had been guiding him to all along, with his love of adventure and natural talent with a rifle. It all came to him when he was walking down the street, going to see a holovid. The poster was large and had a man on it, a grim, determined expression on his face, striding with a blaster in his hands. The lettering said, in plain Aurabesh and nine other languages, “DEFEND YOUR REPUBLIC. BE A HERO OF YOUR REPUBLIC.” Kerrson went to see the vid, but he didn’t really pay attention. His mind was filled with dreams of being a hero of the republic, being strong and unflappable like the man in the poster was, determined and knowing exactly what he was doing, comrades at his side. He walked home with a smile on his face and told his father of his decision at dinner, expecting praise and a manly clap on the back, but instead received a pensive expression and a furrowed brow.
”So, you really want to be a soldier? You’re sure of this?”
Classic Arusk, always one to not step on the toes of ideas, advancing cautiously into intellectual territory, but nonetheless, he momentarily stunned the young boy.
“Yessir. I want to be a warrior.”
The man pointed at Kerrson with an “aha!” look, slight grin on his face, eyebrows arched. “Be careful there, you have to choose. A warrior fights, a soldier serves. Both go into combat, but for different reasons. If you truly want to do this, then by all means, go ahead with it, pursue your dream. But you’ll have to learn what it truly means to be a soldier by personal experience, I cannot teach you.”
The rest of dinner was fairly muted in comparison to the initial excitement of telling his father, anger and disappointment having a bar brawl in Kerrson’s heart, but they both ended up losing, Kerrson’s immature but still present methodical approach to things winning out. This was one of Arusk’s lessons, just like how he taught Kerrson how to hunt and shoot, personal experience, but always ending hollowly, waiting for something to fill it.
And that was why it hurt so much to separate. It was a manly ritual, the good-bye. Kerrson going to army basic training, Olron was going to Coruscant to the University of Alderaan branch there to become a politician. They barely said anything, each wanting to say something, and departed, throwing comments about how they’ll write, even though they knew both of their addresses would change ad nausea. It was hard for Kerrson, but he was a man now, or so he thought, and he got over it as best as he could.
The Republic Military
Boot camp…the second hardest thing Kerrson ever did in his life, but the most rewarding. It was as if the rest of his life was a dream, and he was just going through the motions, but then a grinding halt threw him out of bed and boxed him on the ears, telling him to haul ass unless he wanted to die…
He did extremely well, his methodical approach and quick-thinking mind helping him, as well as his natural and trained proficiency with a rifle. When he was tested on the range he scored a 96 out of 100 possible, and the next time it only improved, 98, Kerrson getting a feel for the blaster rifle that was his. Nothing happened except for DI Mar grunting with satisfaction, slapping him on the back. It was the largest form of praise the man had ever given. During a training exercise the squad CO was hit and Kerrson, as acting recruit squad XO reacted, maneuvered troops that were caught in fire, moved in at two angles on the other platoon, harassing them with fire and then moved in for the kill. His leadership was noted as well, in the form of a “promotion” to squad CO.
It was taken away one week later when one of the men in his command accidentally bounced a grenade into cover where Kerrson and two other men were marked as “casualties”, radios turned off, unable to move.
Finally, Private Kerrson Janar Mantau was in the military, to be assigned to Captain Prash Keh’san, of the 43rd special operations group. He was attached to a commando/assault unit, but was not special forces. He lived and went bar-hopping with the men, learning their traditions but always an invited outsider, some traditions he was not privy to. But someone would change his outsider feeling, his spotter.
Her name was Kit and she was striking, to say the least. Close-cut black hair, as per regulation norms, but still smooth, you knew she took care of herself, but not to an extreme. A body that spoke of diligent exercise, as all marksman team members attached to commando units had to do. Her slightly tanned skin suggested that she saw some sun, inviting brown eyes, daring, hard, and a personality to match, she was fiery in public and could probably drink Kerrson under the table, Kerrson never dared to attempt, but was slow, soft and intelligent in private, as well as great in bed, an attribute that a soldier never overlooked. She was almost like a female Olron, the perfect jewel to his foil, and he could not be happier. His dream was fulfilled and he had someone, not just a fuck buddy, as most different-sex relationships had been throughout his life, but someone to really be there. She was the one that suggested that they apply for the commando program shortly after they reached the rank of corporal, she was the one that made Kerrson get up and go running every day, despite how much he hated it, and finally, she was the one who probably, more than anything, got him into the program. They were a unifying force, and although they were in different training companies during training, she was probably the reason why he made it through. It was more along the lines of training on small unit tactics, different armor and weapons systems, and a myriad array of tactics. There was PT, sure, but it was a daily thing, telling the beings to push on, strive forward, never give up and always look for the limit.
But more than that, he saw Kit again. Over the next year there was a myriad amount of pirate activity to be suppressed, a bushfire war, a small conflict that ended up being a misunderstanding, no shots fired and a promotion to Sergeant for Kerrson. He was quickly rising as a leadership figure, no longer quite needing a protagonist, ready to fulfill the role of role model.
That all changed during the Trandosha conflict. Wookies had reported that slavers were once again seeking the reptilian world as a hiding place, sneaking out and snatching the humongous mammals at a whim. A company of the 43rd had been dispatched to the planet, and had been there for two weeks when the death clock of the republic ticked silently away, finishing it’s revolution, but with bare so much as a peep.
The Sergeant had come back from an extended patrol; using his squad to ambush a small group of slavers camped out in the middle of nowhere. He went inside the mess tent to find Captain Veers addressing his soldiers, an odd black-garbed man by his side, telling them that all combat action was to cease immediately and that they were to report to the Carida Imperial military academy for stormtrooper training….odd words coming from a harried man, he looked worse than Kerrson did. Kit stood up, looking around at the gathered soldiers and spoke, looking each man in the eye.
”I don’t know about you, but I didn’t swear an oath to an Empire, I swore an oath to the republic, to protect it from enemies foreign and domestic. It seems to me that-“
A blaster bolt from the captain struck her and she dropped, Kerrson’s heart along with her. It wasn’t like he hadn’t experienced casualties before, but this close to him…he sprinted forward, going by her side, stroking the cheek that was rapidly turning pale, tears falling from his eyes as he fumbled with a dressing in his web belt pouch, but he already knew she was going to die, knew it with a gut-wrenching feeling in his heart, so hard he could barely breathe. He looked at the Captain,no anger in his eyes, just child-like confusion. The man dropped the blaster and looked at Kerrson, eyes wide, mouth open.
"oh god...I'm so sorry.." was all he said before he kneeled down, face in his hands and the black garbed man moved forward, look of concern in his eyes.
"I will not tolerate this, your Captain will be put on trial for this murder. There is no place in this new Empire for those that would shoot their own comrades."
People left the mess hall, Kerrson did not, cradling the woman he had loved in his arms until he finally picked her up, carrying her to the medical tent to be buried. He didn’t know what to do…so he remembered the one constant in his life, his father, Arusk. He used military transport to get to a local space station and went AWOL, traveling to Alderaan. He ended up at his old home, everything different, the home he had not visited but had written to for years. He knocked twice and the door was instantly open, Arusk’s easy smile attempting to warm his heart, but failing. He told his father what had happened, and the man listened intently to every detail, pensive. Finally, when the story was over, the now-older man, near the age of 46, leaned his elbows on the table, eyes regarding Kerrson narrowly.
”Son, this is what I was talking about when I spoke of the difference between a warrior and a soldier. A warrior fights for what he believes in, and a soldier serves a government. Governments change, but the people that comprise them rarely do. It might be an Empire, so what? There are still people out there, people that really make up this government, and they need someone to protect them. As a soldier, it is your duty to protect and serve those people.”
The Empire
Kerrson did the hardest thing he had ever done in his entire life, he went to the Carida Imperial Military academy, despite the anger boiling in his gut, despite the sadness tugging at his heart. The tortorous ordeal tried to break him down as a human, but he was already gone, and so he was clay in the hands of the instructors, forming a soldier that did not believe in the Imperial cause, but would loyally defend it. In a way, Kerrson's mood coming into the training was what saved him and kept him from fully surrendering his psyche. When he graduated he learned that Captain Prash Keh'san was court-martialed, fate unknown. It didn't seal the hole in his heart, he still felt the pain, but he would show his allegiance to the Government that had given him some form of revenge.
Since he arrived late he only graduated as a Scout sharpshooter corporal, he may have been late but they could not deny his impressive record as a soldier and a marksman.
Skills
Kerrson is an extremely good shot, instinctual, quick and accurate with most rifles he lays hands on, having a natural affinity with high-power long distance rifles especially, stemming from his father's training and the hunting he did as a pre-teen and teenager on Alderaan, as well as extensive training from the military and actual combat experience from being a special forces soldier, even in peacetime.
This skill is not with every weapon, only with rifles, specifically shoulder-fired small arms, not including heavy, light or medium repeaters, pistols or such.
Possessions
(military) Determined by operation and strategy.
(Civilian) Myriad Clothes, around 20,000 credits, saved over the years.
