Name: Kallak'karr Age: 187 Gender: Male Race: Wookiee Height: 2.33 [m] Weight: 135 [kg]. Occupation: Former Pirate, Freelance Mercenary Equipment: Twin ryyk blades, bowcaster, Baragwin Handheld Grenade Launcher, thermal detonators Force sensitivity: None whatsoever. Force users may sense the boiling rage and death stench emanating from his persona.
Kashyyyk, a rich land home to all manners of predators. Within the vast greens and browns of it's forests, all the way to the blacks of Shadowlands and beyond, white has seldom seen it's place within the ecosystem, an unimpressively bland color, fit for the skies only. Below the puffy clouds, however? It was the tone of prey.
It should come to no surprise Kallak'karr's early life was filled with hardships, an albino infant was nothing but bad omen for it's family, it's clan. Despite this, the young Wookiee found himself loved and cared for by progenitors, even if it meant constant shunning from most the village. An energetic cub, Kallak's unspoken admiration and gratitude toward his family translated into an unwavering focus to aid and support them in any manner possible. He was an only son, after all, and albeit their long lifespans would ensure his parents would see him grow, an aging pair of Wookiees could only survive so long without the assistance of their young.
When he returned from the Shadowlands, katarn hide wrapped around his waist, rite of passage behind him even with his cursed pelt, it was almost as if the tribe ultimately conceded, welcoming him home as another part of the clan rather than an unwanted blemish. There, amongst his people, he had found his place, his calling. A century or so went by, many hunts were celebrated, many machines fixed, many challenges overcome. His family's hut once empty and barren now sprung to life with the young - his young - blessed by thick chestnut fur.
Then the war begun.
Famine and fear scattered throughout the land, a prosperous tribe of tinkerers and warriors suddenly found themselves rationing, dwindling in numbers. A bountiful land turned perilous, almost as if a curse befell them. A curse brought upon them by a bad omen. A blemish they should have wiped clean. The memories are carved on Kallak'karr's mind, the Trandoshans loading his family into their ships, somehow knowing precisely where to hit and when he would not be there. After that it all became a blur, he could see the different families, their worried faces, and the corpses set beneath his feet. The warmth of blood soaked his claws, the madness of the berserker clouded his eyes.
Not any albino Wookiee. An albino madclaw of all things.
In a matter of days, a century and a half of progress erased, everything he had fought so hard to obtain slipping between his fingers - his claws. Exiled, widowed, deprived even of his offspring, Kallak'karr took to the stars, unleashing his pain onto others. The rest, as they say, is history.