|Date of Birth:||
15 ABY; 22 years old
Shaved; Natural light brown
Clan Arcona, House Qel'Droma, Tribe Lod of Iridonia, Koren Kaern
DL-44 Blaster Pistol, Zabraki Hunting Dagger
K'thri with Mandolorian Core incorporation
|Chronology & Political Information|
Security Officer aboard the Voidbreaker
Exodus Era, New Order Era
|[ Source ]|
Sera Kaern is a fledgling member of House Qel'Droma, and Clan Arcona at large. Born to Tribe Lod in the badlands of Iridonia, she was abandoned by her parents while she was young to be raised by her older brother, Koren Kaern, and her grandmother or ‘Nitha’, Sala, one of her tribe's senior elders. Sera's extreme precociousness and her irascible, stubborn nature led her into a great deal of trouble during her youth; but, it also made her into a great huntress, and a proud warrior. Despite the harshness of Sera's life, she maintains a constantly optimistic, friendly nature; she is naturally outgoing, unapologetically happy-go-lucky, and could never imagine any other way of life.
After Koren went missing following the destruction of the Hosnian System and the New Republic’s Home Fleet, Sera was determined to find her brother. Only the need to pass her tribe's final rite of passage delayed her; and not for very long. Finally prepared -or so she hoped- the young zabrak set off towards parts, and a fate, unknown; all the information was the name of Port Ol'Val. There, she didn't find her brother; but she did find Clan Arcona, and the Brotherhood.
A Tribal Upbringing
Like most zabraki, Sera was born to a pair of hunters, in the harsh, unforgiving tribal lands of the Iridonian desert. Coming into the world in the midst of one of the hottest summers on record, her midwife -her own grandmother- was sure that the puny infant wouldn’t survive. Yet, against all odds, Sera pulled through. She was an extremely precocious, curious child, a trait that often got her in trouble in the hustle and bustle of their roving, nomadic community. This was especially true after her parents left her; her father, Arhen, was unwilling to settle down to raise a second child. Similarly, her mother Syla had no desire to raise two children alone. The former left back to his home tribe; the latter, resettling in one of Iridonia’s market-cities. They each trusted her older brother, Koren, to raise her well; without asking him, of course. With the help of their grandmother, one of the tribe’s senior elders, what could go wrong?
A lot. A lot could go wrong. It was a great burden of responsibility to lay on Koren, hardly eight years old, and her grandmother certainly couldn’t keep up with both of them. But, she managed to survive with only the odd scrape and bruise, and if anything it helped her grow closer to her brother, and to her tribe. Tribe Lod was a close-knit group; just small enough for everyone to know everyone, and while very few approved of the parents for leaving their children behind, every one of them knew their grandmother; they would look after the Kaern children, and make sure they got the upbringing they needed. They were taught everything that they needed to know about surviving the life of a nomadic tribal; fighting and hunting, navigating the wastes, learning to survive in the badlands.
But, more than anything else, as anyone might expect from zabraks, the pair loved to fight. They taught each other in tandem: training each other in the proud warrior tradition of Lod whenever there was a free moment, growing and thickening their bond of blood. He taught her the proper form for a K’thri rolling kick, how to put a blaster bolt through the bullseye of a target, and how to stalk a Dune Caulker in the night. They hunted together, the most sacred pact there is among tribal zabraki. He was her best friend and her closest confidant, ensuring her a childhood that was far greater than could have ever been hoped, even without their parents.
The Coming of Age
But, Koren’s interests didn’t just lay in hunting and sparring. He was a talented mechanic, and a self taught pilot; whenever the machinery that the tribe relied upon wore out -their forge, their furnace, their net-comms, anything and everything- he was the one that repaired it. After fixing up a junker of a skyhopper bought cheap from a market-settlement, he became their courier too. His ambitions, however, lay outside the tribe, outside of Iridonia; he wanted to see the galaxy. To fight for the New Republic that he was proud of. To fight for Iridonia.
He wanted to fly.
Around the village, the siblings were seen as nigh-on inseparable, rushing into their problems headlong as one… until he left her behind, finally off to join the Republican Navy. Many of his friends followed in his tracks to join him; a proud zabraki expedition, off to see the galaxy, to serve the Republic. The elders all knew what was coming. Strife, of the kind that their culture had always embraced, regardless of the tragic consequences: the empty beds, and quiet spaces that would inevitably be left unfilled after the ones who had once occupied them were gone, killed in a far-off war. Even if the Empire was long dead, they could sense it coming.
Sera paid no attention to them. Koren kept in constant contact through the net, and even if it wasn’t quite the same, it was enough to satisfy her. She continued to train, to hone her skills, to mature and grow into her own person. For four years, she lived in that way; hunting for the tribe, making her own name. But, the good times didn’t last. In 34 ABY, the Hosnian System was destroyed, the Republican Homefleet, annihilated. Sera’s world seemed to collapsed; every family knew what it meant for their son or daughter that had gone to fight for the Republic. The home fleet was the base of all their power; now, it was a mass grave, for all their children. Young warriors who had never been given a chance.
But Koren wasn’t among them. Even as Sera and her grandmother began to mourn, he sent them a video call, grainy, blurry, and indistinct, but most definitely him. He was at a place called Port Ol’Val, far from where they had thought...and he was being hunted. Before he could say by who, or how he had ended up halfway across the galaxy, blasterfire flashed, and he cut off the feed. But, again, he hadn’t been killed; a few days after his message, he sent a link, displaying coordinates, and an image of a building; a pub, by the name of Monka Brews. He wanted them to track him down.
Of course, Sera’s first thought was to go after him. He was her brother; how could she not? But, the elders forbade her. She hadn’t come of age yet, hadn’t even gotten her markings; the tattoos that symbolized the core of a zabrak’s soul, their rite of passage into becoming a true member of the tribe, a true warrior. They forced her to wait; to have patience. To prepare herself before rushing off into the galaxy, as her brother and so many others in the tribe had not.
So, she did; she continued to train, in even more earnest. She fought, and hunted, and drove on with unending, unquenchable drive. When the time finally came to receive her markings -the culmination of all her efforts- they reflected her determination, her stubbornness; the defining characteristic of her life. The maroon coloring was solid, dark, and stable, the swirling pattern vibrant and energetic...but consistent, unswerving. They stood for her loyalty, her devotion...and above all, her resolve.
Into the Unknown
Now, with the blessing of her elders, Sera journeyed, for the first time in her life, forth from Iridonia. Her first stop was Coruscant; gathering supplies for the journey ahead. Then, she made her way to Port Ol’Val. Without a plan, without even idea of where to start, she plunged into a dangerous, lawless portion of the galaxy, on the two year old trail of a brother that was, realistically, dead.
But Sera had faith. She barely knew what the force was, or what it meant to her...but she was sure that it did not intend to let her die, alone in space far from her home. She had left to find her brother… and perhaps just as much as that, she had come to explore the galaxy; to grow out of his shadow, into a light of her own. Fate had plans for her; she was sure of it.
But, what exactly those plans were, no one knew. She would have to find out on her own.
Sera’s youth makes itself instantly known in her face; even and symmetrical, with a proud brow, straight nose, and full lips, her face is almost constantly split by a wide, impish smile, gleaming with pointed teeth. Her skin, uncharacteristically fair for a desert-dwelling zabrak, is smooth and unlined, save for a small, barely noticeable scar on the underside of her chin. Even her horns are immaculate, kept filed to keen points. She prefers her head totally shaved...partially, so that she can show her bony-crown off.
Sera's build can easily be described as compact, especially considering her rather diminutive height. Her musculature is toned and incredibly well defined, with an emphasis on tightness rather than bulk, adding up to a creature of smooth curves and angles, with a high-tensile, wiry strength. She might be tiny, but Sera looks more pantherine than puny or weak.
As with all Zabraki, Sera’s tattooing is full-body, and totally unique to her own person. Her pattern is swirling, symmetrical, and smooth, in an even, dark maroon shade. They symbolize perseverance, to the point of straight stubbornness, and Sera wears them with the greatest pride. Even her light scarring, specifically the perfect-circle gunshot wound above her navel, seems to work into the pattern.