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ATLAS NOVA
AGE
►30's
SPECIES ► N'Gai/Firerreo
HEIGHT ►5'8 ft
WEIGHT ► 150 lb
EYE COLOR ► Grey
HAIR COLOR ► Black
HOMEWORLD ► Coruscant
GENDER ►Female
FACTION ►Indie
JOB ► Bounty Hunter
FORCE USER ►No
VOICE
BIOGRAPHY
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"She's scary, man. That face she has on when she's about to fight? She's like a bull in a stall, and someone just has to open the door for her to let go. I've never seen a woman with that attitude. I feel bad for those people who have to face her.
Good Lord."
-- Atlas' Colleague
Good Lord."
-- Atlas' Colleague
22 Years Ago
I picked my head up from the table littered with discarded datapads, my mind momentarily disoriented. As usual the mental buzz resumed in my mind the moment I opened my eyes. I didn't know a day when I wasn't tired, for every night when I tried to sleep on my mat the movements of people through the Force would wake me. Silence was a foreign concept, save for the time I was in deep meditation. "Greetings. I am Knight Chano. I want to have a word with you." Hearing that, I almost jumped out of my chair. When was the last time someone was able to sneak up on me like that? I couldn't remember a time. Out of habit I stood up and bowed quickly, only afterward daring to look at the woman in front of me. Chano was utterly unremarkable in appearance, with a kind but forgettable face and close-cropped hair.
"What is your name, child?" Chano asked, looking down at me with her steel blue eyes. Tired, but piercing eyes that laid me bare. She would know in an instant if I lied. Trying to extend my sense into her aura, I was met by an impenetrable wall. Normally I could feel an individual's emotions even when I didn't want to, without trying.
"Atlas...but..." I paused.
"But what?" she seemed partially bemused. "Your peers call you names, don't they?"
"They call me Ice Queen," I replied quickly, embarrassed, "Or sleeping beauty."
"Well earned, I'm sure," she said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "The real reason I am here is your... gift. I hear no one thus far has been able to help you successfully? And no one has taken you on as their apprentice?"
I shook my head no. My gift, or as I would later find out to be incredibly strong empathy, was a burden my teachers were unsure of how to lighten. The currents in the force still flowed through me at a pace I couldn't dampen. Combine that with utterly unremarkable lightsaber, force, and class marks, and I was mess not many were willing to touch.
"I was once like you. I will train you, if you are willing to work."
19 Years Ago
"I- I can't. I can't do it," I gasped, dropping my saber and letting my head fall back in a lull. My chest heaved, skin slick with sweat. The sun beat down on the two of us, my master and I. "Don't stop!" my master yelled, yet again ignoring my protest.
Unlit candles on stands of varying heights surrounded me in a complex pattern. On the top of each was a small metal sphere, made so my saber blade couldn't melt it. My goal was to follow a predetermined series of movements as perfectly and fluidly as possible, with each strike fast enough to knock off a ball without melting the top of the wax candle. At random intervals, my master would attack me with a stun blaster, force-thrown objects, or the force itself.
Today I wasn't doing so well.
"Pick your saber back up! Fight! For every minute that you don't train, that's one additional moment where a Sith has trained more than you. Is that what you want?"
My obvious answer was going to be, 'No, I don't want that. But the only thing that could roll off my tongue was something between an exhausted grunt and a whine.
9 Years Ago
My physical sight saw bodies. Everywhere, strewn about. Missing limbs, twisted torsos lying at unnatural angles. Cauterized wounds. My Force sight felt pain. Anguish. The moment their spirits left their bodies, leaving screams through the celestial plain in their wake. The physical location of this room was a misfortune, a crime scene. But in the metaphysical? A tragedy. My mind fought to stay where my feet were planted, in the here and now. My spirit wanted nothing to do with the pain it could feel, or the memory fragments, flashes of final moments, floating like streamers around me. I did this. I killed them. Not directly, but the disobeying of orders in pursuit of my own stupid, foolish goals did this. I rushed, like a bull ready to fight. I gave away our party's position, only because I saw what I thought would be a good opening, and we all paid too dearly.
I had to flee. Returning was to face disgrace at the very least, if not banishment for my master and I. Perhaps even death for myself. I never wanted to brand myself as a coward. But didn't have any other options. Going quietly into the night would at least mean I didn't bring any more shame onto the Order.
8 Years Ago
PainTumors blooming in my brain
Anguished screams
Destruction
Disaster
Darkness
Thousands of souls screaming,
celestial bodies twisting,
snapping, shattering
Under limitless oppression
Corruption
Crawling in desperation,
Away from the spreading cold that
Promised to freeze every breath and still
Every
Beating
Heart
A single flame in the darkness, snuffed out
Stillness
Quiet
Silence
The Force was no longer with me
Tl;dr Given to the Jedi as an infant. Natural force empath who felt other's emotions and thoughts, so much so it was a detriment to her ability to focus. Finally was able to gain control over it after becoming the Padawan of Jedi Knight Amee Chano, a force empath herself. Chano taught Atlas form six, or Niman. (training exercise referenced to in excerpt is a modified Faalo's Cadences) After a few years of being a Knight, she let her personal pride and ideologies get the best of her. Giving up her team's location and disobeying direct orders caused the death of almost her entire squad. Rather than return to face the shame brought upon herself and her master, she chose to flee into exile. While a bounty hunter on the Outer Rim, the destruction of Tython sent ripples in the Force so strong that because of her empathetic "gift," her own body cut herself off from the force as a defense mechanism. (Similar to Legends Mitra Surik/ Jedi Exile from KOTOR 2 and the destruction of Malachor V)
PERSONALITY
[beebox3=90%] To sum it up quickly, Atlas has always strove to be fair, objective, and honest. In her younger, more passionate days, she was a crusader for the light, having a lofty sense of justice that could never be satisfied. She demanded moral "rightness" in all situations, continually growing frustrated with herself for failing to keep her standards. It was difficult to reconcile her black and white view of the universe with understanding that, in the words of the Jedi Exile, "Not everyone can be saved, and often you hurt them if you try."
After fleeing the Jedi Order for Hutt Space, she felt incredibly betrayed by the people she used to see as family. Becoming jaded, Atlas moved past the infantile delusions of right and wrong. Morality seemed to be relative to the situation and no one truly cared about doing good, only that they were morally superior. Hell, even Jedi lied. Being "right" didn't keep her warm at night. If you lived on another's dime, great, be as absolutist as you wanted. But not when you've got work to do and bills to pay.
The Bounty Hunter's Creed is the only thing Atlas utterly swears by. She won't lie, cheat, or act out of pettiness in most circumstances. There are exceptions, such as in aiding an ally or in harming an enemy. Likewise, she won't harm small children or mothers, but is ready to give a swift death to those who attack her out of malice.
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APPEARANCE
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Adama is a reasonably tall woman with a lean, angular frame. She boasts no womanly curves to speak of, instead possessing a titanium strength that one wouldn't suspect. Overall she is remarkably unremarkable, being able to easily pass as human in most situations. Her features are plain, with light skin and grey eyes. Having Firrerreo heritage, her skin turns a pewter color when she's upset. Her hair is black, kept shoulder-length and usually in a thick braid or neat bun.
She prefers to forgo makeup of any kind except for formal occasions, and even then it is very natural, almost unnoticeable. Her clothing style is utilitarian, with simple lines and flexible fabrics. Most often she has on black pants, boots, and an orange jacket over a black t-shirt.[link]
Her most notable feature is the large tribal tattoo covering the lower half of her face. Atlas got this to cover up the Cheshire grin scars she earned after being jumped in a dark alley.
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GEAR
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- Vagabond Armor (with helmet) (HUD, "Jumpers," wrist mounted flamethrower)
- Auditory Frequency Modulators
- UA-8 Mobility Enhancement
- CMBP-12 Pistol
- Astora Arms HL-9914 Carbine
- SCKO Grenades
- EMP Grenade
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