Star Wars: Bounty Hunters
Standing at 5’10’’, Seras has yellowish skin and when not wearing a seemingly giant wide brimmed hat of some sort, you can see short black hair with some red highlights throughout. The geometric tattoos marking across her face although while fascinatingly intricate, their meaning lost on anyone not familiar with Mirialan history, denoting particularly high skill rank as a pilot, though untested, and a growing record as a bounty hunter. All mostly obscured from a high collared, thick and lightly armored trench coat. Decorated with blacks and reds it looks to have definitely been in use. And strapped around her shoulder, the last thing you would expect anyone of this stature to be wielding, is a bowcaster; decorated with similar designs as the tattoos on Seras’s face. If you were to ever catch her without her coat, you’d notice a very peculiar looking pendant around her neck. Small in size but ornately designed spheroid that occasionally shimmers blue. You’ve never seen it anywhere other than around Seras’s neck.
Unsurprisingly no pictures. So that portrait plus the heavy coat + ‘hat’ is close enough.
Since my earliest memory, I’ve been on the move with my father. Always being dragged from place to place while he worked… or tried. It was always just me and him. The only time he would show any real emotion was when I would bring up my mother in an attempt to gain any information, but he would always just brush it aside and change the subject. I think the only reason he even bothered keeping me around was because of her.
It was a rather boring childhood. I was always dragged around and taken on any jobs or deals my father had somehow managed to land. Never got to go to the exciting parts though, the only times I was left behind. Usually on ships though. Sure you’re confined to your room, but you find ways. And that’s where it began. I’ve been left behind on lots of different ships, and poking about when everyone else was gone is how I kept myself occupied, and found my true love and passion. No reason to lock out all the ships controls when the little girl is stuck in her room, it was never very difficult to hack into the flight controls. I’d never actually fly the ship, that’s far too obvious, but no one ever checks the flight simulator, and that’s where I lived. I passed the time like that for 13 some odd years, watching my father’s reputation, decline quicker and quicker.
A few months before his my fathers death, he begun to throw around our family name as some last ditch effort of credibility. At first it seemed to work, and he gained work with people with real reputation. Ultimately within a few months of attempting to throw his ‘reputable weight’ around it crashed down around him as he was betrayed on a job and left behind to die.
I scraped by for a few years on Nar Shaddaa unable to learn anything of what my father had learned of our lineage, until I was able to gain passage to Mirial, the Mirialan homeworld. Determined to learn more about my ancestral past, I was able to procure a low level job in law enforcement in the capitol city. Over the next several years I received formal combat training, the bowcaster became a quick favorite of mine, and officially became an officer of the law for some time. At 21 I became a sanctioned Bounty Hunter for the capitol.
On my first bounty, I made a stupid mistake and let the mark get away. However with a few clever pursuit methods I drove my mark into an ally where coincidentally a feral anooba had taken him down and nearly his arm off as well! To save the anooba, who I had immediately named Cas, from euthanization I adopted him officially as a Bounty Hunter Companion.
After I had gained a suitable record within the capitol, I petitioned those in the historical archives for official lineage examination. It was discovered that I was a direct descendant, on my mother’s side, from famed smuggler Hylo VIsz. Quickly rumors started to swirl that a Visz had been discovered, and due to my father’s exploits, dissenters as well. With little political knowhow or the affluence of the name I carry, I wouldn’t last long here, or the Visz name, should I remain. Armed with my assuredly temporary pedigree, I tracked down Hylo Visz’s last known possession, held in Mirial’s Historical Museum Archives, and reclaimed my birthright. A medal, small in size but ornately designed spheroid that occasionally shimmers blue, touched in the right places a hologram forms of a figure, and underneath the inscription “For Heroism during The Great Galactic War and dissolving the Mandalorian Blockade and deliverance of goods. The Republic bestows Hylo Visz the Medal of Honor.”
Armed with the knowledge of my past and proof of it, I fled. Back to Nar Shadda, to build my name up among the only ones that really matter. The smugglers, the bounty hunters, the miscreants. I’m going to need a ship…