Jaryk of Clan Xira, one of the many clans Exiled from Mandalore during the Clone Wars, was raised on the Third Moon of Concord Dawn. In his youth, he traveled amongst the moons and decimated planet, seeing tribal disputes, underworld dealings, and the revolutions of his former people on Mandalore. Inevitably, the war between the Republic and Separatists ended, and the new Imperial rule was established. This schism altered Mandalorian space, but only so much before Jaryk got himself into a Mercenary outfit, leaving to find credits, experience, and escape these awful politics and ever-changing law.
He has been doing so for the past 7 years, lucky to be alive at this rate. He plans to have an early retirement, but what's the point of having credits to your name if your name doesn't mean a thing in the galaxy? Thus, he goes on, striving for that one heist, duel, or conquest that will make heads turn when he walks by- and bring him and his clan the honor and glory that he unwaveringly seeks.

Jaryk is loyal to his Clan, and all his comrades in battle. He rarely sees those within his aliit, being so spread across the galaxy, thus the later gain his blade and honored word. He wishes to become famous, or infamous, whichever is greater- and it all lies in the eye of the beholder anyhow. Either way, Jaryk wants his name to be spoken with weight, and his image to be iconic. Usually, credits flow alongside such things too, which can make life much more exotic and interesting. He wants the galaxy to see the capability of a True Mando'a, being blown away by sheer presence and deed.

Obligated to his Clan's Honor, an Oath sworn to duel only by hand and blade; to conquer with the vigor of one's willingness and the aura of his being; to fight with righteousness and valor; to not impart death unnecessarily, as ijaat should be gained through rightful and conscious action, lest one become Ori'dush. Clan Xira is spread few and far between, with the Old Mando'a of yore being ruthlessly cut down by the Death Watch, having been dishonorably Exiled by the New Mandalorians and dying in quiet shame, or desperately absorbed by greed and fear to survive in this rapidly changing galaxy. His Oath was one made with utmost volition, but at every turn dread nibs at his heart that all his people will be cut down silently, and that this galaxy has become unruly and truly devoid of any respectable honor.

Jaryk is 2.1 meters tall, with large toned muscles along his body, especially his calves, thighs, back and forearms. He has a somewhat goading voice, always ready to start something and see it through, testing composure and cutting through social niceties that he finds boringly arasuum'la. His face is handsome for a Mercenary, not yet disheveled and distorted into a mess. He has a scarlet tattoo that runs along both of his grey-blue eyes, and travels further under his right eye, melding with scarification that bumps alongside the right side of his face. "It adds dimension to the tattoo," he tells those who inquire, with a wink to top it off. He has cropped dark blond hair, left to grow since the last time he had it shorn by knife; it looks attractively messy, or so he thinks. He is often seen wearing compress Black & White under-clothing, with his Cloud-White Laminate Armor trimmed with dull Cyan. It's not terribly shiny, it has stories of scuffs, but he prefers to keep it presentable in case he's ever getting a full-body shot for the Holonet.