Dawn of the Republic Character Showcase

[Noctyr]

Looks pretty good, my only questions is that you have him as a senator? Is this an internal politics of his homeworld? Also I don't think the languages Hapan or Sith are Cannon anymore but I really think that's down to the think tank. As he doesn't have a bio up yet I assume he has been trained since a young age to reach those levels. Otherwise he seems pretty good and balanced.

Yeah, the intent was that this character was trained from a young age to reach those levels, although once I get around to writing the bio, I'll explore that a bit.

As for the whole senator thing...read the spoiler below. xD

Spoiler

I want this character to be part of the Galactic Senate. I think it'd be really cool having a conflicted Sith in a relatively powerful political position, with both Jedi and Sith characters trying to influence him .

 

[Braden]

Yeah, the intent was that this character was trained from a young age to reach those levels, although once I get around to writing the bio, I'll explore that a bit.

As for the whole senator thing...read the spoiler below. xD

Spoiler

I want this character to be part of the Galactic Senate. I think it'd be really cool having a conflicted Sith in a relatively powerful political position, with both Jedi and Sith characters trying to influence him .

You can only have a character in one faction so I don't think that is going to be aloud. Unless you get admin permission.

 

[Green Ranger]

Yeah, per Braden, you'll need to choose your loyalties. Cross-factioning like that won't be allowed.

 

[Noctyr]

"Each character can only be in one faction. In the interest of espionage, we will be working on a process for how a character can be a spy in another faction without this rule getting in the way."

Yeah I know...but I was going off this little tidbit mentioned in the announcements. xD

 

[TWD26]

So I want your guys thought on the concept of my character, and what you think of my little visual concept/image I created using my photoshop. For this timeline since I'll actually be at the start of the timeline, I'm going to go with a younger character than I usually play. Below, I'll be introducing Kal Glider--a poor farmer stuck on the planet Ord Cestus--with dreams of travelling the galaxy. (I plan on possibly going smuggler or some sort of pilot/drifter with him, I'm really excited to see how he evolves.)

Spoiler: Kal Glider, Holonet Basic Info image

 

[Pernicious]

Another character I'll be writing with in the next timeline. I'll be using him in a dedicated group of characters that'll stick together in a ship based RP group. Feedback is desired!

Ailill ​

[fancybox4="http://i.imgur.com/GW8EjRK.png?1"]FULL NAME: AILILL AHERNE
AGE: 18
SPECIES: CORELLIAN

HEIGHT: 5' 9"
WEIGHT: 155 lbs

SKIN COLOR: PALE WHITE
HAIR COLOR: RED
EYE COLOR: BLUE
MARKINGS: FRECKLES, VITILIGO ON HANDS AND NECK

FACTION: N/A
RANK: N/A

~
The kiss of the sun
sets my heart ablaze yet
forces me to hide
~​

[/fancybox4]

BIOGRAPHY​

[fancybox2]

Ailill's parents, both pureblood Corellians living on Onderon, struggled to bring in enough income from their custodial droid maintenance jobs to pay for his expenses. When conventional treatments to cure their son's solar urticaria failed they desperately turned to more experimental methods. If anything, his condition was worsened by pseudomedicine and home remedies. Determined to give Ailill the best opportunity they could they worked long hours in addition to odd jobs to put him through a private school that could adapt to his condition, though couldn't hide how little hope they had for their son's future. In a last ditch effort to give Ailill a fighting chance, they spent their life savings on a protective suit that would shield him from harmful light.

As a young adult Ailill struck out on his own. Fed up with his parent's lack of confidence in their own child's ability to succede in the galaxy, he hopped onto a Startours shuttle and fled. Ailill is now hellbent on finding his own way in the galaxy with the mindset that the only thing that can stop him is himself. [/fancybox2]

LIFE WITH SOLAR URTICARIA​

[fancybox4="http://i.imgur.com/nDSqUYP.jpg?1"]

"I hate the dark."​

Solar urticaria is classified as the rare condition in which exposure to ultraviolet, and sometimes even visible, light can induce cases of painful blisters and hives on unprotected areas of skin. Ailill has lived with an extreme case of the already rare disease since the beginnings of infancy. His condition developed further into his teens, then plateaued at a peak at the age of sixteen. He was forced to live a near nocturnal life, only able to attend school late in the evening. Ailill had to wear special ultraviolet resistent clothing and ultraviolet film had to be fitted onto the windows of his home to protect him from harmful sunlight.

In its current state, Ailill's solar urticaria causes lesions, blisters, and hives of such intensity when exposed to ultraviolet light that he is unable to perform simple tasks. The protective suit he wears is the only thing that gives him the ability to leave the darkness. [/fancybox4]

A big thanks to Bee for the template code!​

 

[Wit]

One thing to keep in mind, Morellians aren't canon anymore. Not sure if they'll be allowed or not.

 

[Pernicious]

Oy vey. I'll come up with some other human group then. Thanks for the heads up.
EDIT: Okeedoky, I made him a Corellian.

Spoiler: Ailill

Another character I'll be writing with in the next timeline. I'll be using him in a dedicated group of characters that'll stick together in a ship based RP group. Feedback is desired!

Ailill ​

[fancybox4="http://i.imgur.com/GW8EjRK.png?1"]FULL NAME: AILILL AHERNE
AGE: 18
SPECIES: CORELLIAN

HEIGHT: 5' 9"
WEIGHT: 155 lbs

SKIN COLOR: PALE WHITE
HAIR COLOR: RED
EYE COLOR: BLUE
MARKINGS: FRECKLES, VITILIGO ON HANDS AND NECK

FACTION: N/A
RANK: N/A

~
The kiss of the sun
sets my heart ablaze yet
forces me to hide
~​

[/fancybox4]

BIOGRAPHY​

[fancybox2]

Ailill's parents, both pureblood Corellians living on Onderon, struggled to bring in enough income from their custodial droid maintenance jobs to pay for his expenses. When conventional treatments to cure their son's solar urticaria failed they desperately turned to more experimental methods. If anything, his condition was worsened by pseudomedicine and home remedies. Determined to give Ailill the best opportunity they could they worked long hours in addition to odd jobs to put him through a private school that could adapt to his condition, though couldn't hide how little hope they had for their son's future. In a last ditch effort to give Ailill a fighting chance, they spent their life savings on a protective suit that would shield him from harmful light.

As a young adult Ailill struck out on his own. Fed up with his parent's lack of confidence in their own child's ability to succede in the galaxy, he hopped onto a Startours shuttle and fled. Ailill is now hellbent on finding his own way in the galaxy with the mindset that the only thing that can stop him is himself. [/fancybox2]

LIFE WITH SOLAR URTICARIA​

[fancybox4="http://i.imgur.com/nDSqUYP.jpg?1"]

"I hate the dark."​

Solar urticaria is classified as the rare condition in which exposure to ultraviolet, and sometimes even visible, light can induce cases of painful blisters and hives on unprotected areas of skin. Ailill has lived with an extreme case of the already rare disease since the beginnings of infancy. His condition developed further into his teens, then plateaued at a peak at the age of sixteen. He was forced to live a near nocturnal life, only able to attend school late in the evening. Ailill had to wear special ultraviolet resistent clothing and ultraviolet film had to be fitted onto the windows of his home to protect him from harmful sunlight.

In its current state, Ailill's solar urticaria causes lesions, blisters, and hives of such intensity when exposed to ultraviolet light that he is unable to perform simple tasks. The protective suit he wears is the only thing that gives him the ability to leave the darkness. [/fancybox4]

A big thanks to Bee for the template code!​

 

[bobokapita]

I'm creating a char, it's in meh sig. I still have to work on the story, though.

 

[K-97]

(Cross-posted from the Lords of the Sith Thread)

I've spent the past few days trying to figure out what faction I'd end up joining and I've settled on the Lords of the Sith. Right now I've got two basic character concepts that appeal to me but I'm unsure which to choose. It'd be nice if anyone could critique the ideas:

Spoiler: First Character Concept

The first idea would be a fallen jedi who had pledged himself as a servant of the Will of the Dark Side. In a sense he'd truly be a dark jedi in that he would not try to control the dark side as other sith do but rather serve it. He sees it as a pointless endeavour as he has come to believe the moment one becomes a force-user they are forever under the influence of the Force.

All Force users, in his view, are the chess pieces of the Force whether they know it or not. I'd have him follow a view similar to the Way of the Dark from the EU and I imagine when it comes to his actions and loyalties it would be the Dark Side above all (even the Sith Order). As for how he came to this view, I'm thinking this character would have spent his life in obscurity and mediocrity. I'd like to think that he came from a successful family and that as the years went by his parents' disappointment in him only rose.

Upon discovering his force sensitivity and joining the Jedi Order I imagine at first he would be overjoyed to finally be someone special and escape the mediocrity that had dogged him only to find that even amongst the Jedi he was a failure and an all too familiar disappointment could be seen in the faces of his peers and masters. It would be then that, perhaps on some sort of Jedi expedition, he'd come across a Sith/Dark Side Holocron.

The hologram from the holocron would initially shield his origins from the padawan; only helping the padawan in non obviously dark side ways in order to help him succeed within the Jedi Order. Overtime he would introduce the dark side and its philosophies on the force to him which would eventually cause the Jedi to fall. I imagine my character's desperation not to fail again and his desire to be a somebody (to have a destiny) would be the key to this and he'd see pledging himself to serving the Dark Side as the key to this. This would of course lead to him abandoning the Jedi Order and joining the Sith in order to further pursue the Dark Side.

Spoiler: Second Character Concept

My other idea is inspired by figures like Kel'eth Ur and Darth Gravid; I'm not sure how feasible this idea actually is but I'll present it anyway.

He would be a Sith seeking to improve the Sith Order so that it will not fail again to take over the galaxy and destroy the Republic. The problem however is that his ideas would at best be considered simply laughable and at worst paint him as a heretical traitor and Jedi sympathiser in the eyes of other Sith.

He has come to believe that for the Sith Order to succeed this time round and gain the power necessary to destroy the Republic they need to restrict dark side usage and begin utilising the Light Side of the Force. He accepts the Dark Side is the easiest path to power and in properly trained individuals considers it to be the best path to power. However an entire organisation embracing the dark side is disastrous; its very nature encourages infighting and weakens the order as a whole. Added to the fact that few are able to manage the strong emotions of the dark side without letting themselves be controlled as well as the whole issue of Dark Side Corruption (which tended to exacerbate latent insanity in individuals) and it appears to this character that perhaps letting every force user in the Sith use the Dark Side is a mistake. As for advocating Light Side usage, he simply sees it as the only avenue of power left unexplored by the Sith.

Some would say if in order for the Sith to win they must give up the Dark Side then it's not worth winning. He would say that the Sith Order owes it to the galaxy to win; whatever it takes. The powers of the Force make Force Users best suited to Leadership and since the Jedi seem content to slave themselves to the Force then clearly the Sith have to step in and do something. The Sith Order has followed the same path since its inception and time and time again it either is defeated or it wins only to shortly collapse due to infighting. It clearly has to change if the Sith wish to dominate the galaxy forever.

Critiques would be nice; especially opinions on which concept you prefer (and why if you can be bothered).

 

[Wit]

The second idea kinda matches one that I have been exploring myself. Basically a human who was forced into joining the Sith because of familial obligations but can't bring himself to use the Dark Side. He tries upholding the tenets of the Sith but makes use of the Light Side of the Force and the aforementioned familial obligations prevent him from leaving the Sith and joining the Jedi. Not sure if I'm gonna use him but he seems the more appealing of the two FS character concepts I have right now.

 

[Noire]

The second idea kinda matches one that I have been exploring myself. Basically a human who was forced into joining the Sith because of familial obligations but can't bring himself to use the Dark Side. He tries upholding the tenets of the Sith but makes use of the Light Side of the Force and the aforementioned familial obligations prevent him from leaving the Sith and joining the Jedi. Not sure if I'm gonna use him but he seems the more appealing of the two FS character concepts I have right now.

I really like that character concept. I'd go for it.

 

[amerininja]

This is who I hope to use. If anyone could help that'd be great!
http://www.thestarwarsrp.com/forum/index.php?threads/ameris-character-workshop.63499/

 

[bobokapita]

This is who I hope to use. If anyone could help that'd be great!
http://www.thestarwarsrp.com/forum/index.php?threads/ameris-character-workshop.63499/

You should add a pic

 

[Sapphire Storm]

This is what I've got for my Sith so far. I'm not even going to think about touching Force powers until later on, but everything else is basically done. The current pictures are all placeholders until I can afford to commission some that I like. This is the character a friend of mine decided he'd dub "Pavlov's Sith." I think it's fitting.

Kytana Kaltrel ​

[fancybox4="http://i.imgur.com/fAt4xwa.jpg"]FULL NAME: Kytana Kaltrel
AGE: 19
SPECIES: Human

HEIGHT: 158cm
WEIGHT: 50kg

EYE COLOR: Blue
HAIR COLOR: Red
SKIN COLOR: Caucasian

FACTION: Sith
RANK: Acolyte/Apprentice
THEME: Master Passion Greed - Nightwish

Small, skittish and malleable. Those are the three words that would best describe Kytana. She is too small to hold off the determined assaults of those stronger than her, except by extreme skill that she does not possess. She is easily spooked and very unpredictable, easily able to go from one extreme to the other and back in but a few words. And most of all, she is easily controlled, manipulated and turned to the will of those with silver tongues. However, she possesses a skill that is able to cover for all of these things, most of the time. Kytana is a remarkably skilled and naturally talented actress, and as she's told herself many times before:

"It's not about what you're good at. It's about what other people think you're good at, and I'm very good at making others think I'm good at something I'm not."[/fancybox4]

PERSONALITY​

[fancybox2]

Despite being nineteen years of age and considering herself an adult in every way, deep down Kytana is nothing more than a scared little girl with no confidence in herself. There is only one thing she truly believes she is good at, and that one thing is also the thing she hates most in the galaxy. Acting. The one tool that has helped her survive out in the galaxy is also the one thing she despises more than anything. She still uses it, though. After all, it’s all she has. She can use the Force, but she doesn’t believe in her skill with it. She can wield a lightsaber, but she doesn’t believe she could handle another Force user with it, especially with how small she is. She believes acting is all she has, and so she uses it despite her hatred for it.

She has desires, though. She has aspirations and wishes for what she would like to become. One day, she tells herself, she will be so powerful no one can touch her. The words and conditioning of her parents will be meaningless drivel. All the times they called her useless and awful and blamed her for their failure to succeed will mean nothing. One day she will be so powerful that no one will dare criticise her for fear of incurring her wrath. And the only way to get there is to act the part until she achieves it. Or so she tells herself.

Kytana is not exactly a stable person. When she was young she was taught and conditioned to repress her emotions for no other reason than because they got in the way of what her parents were trying to teach her. As a result she is very emotionally stunted. She will never cry. No matter how bad a situation; no matter how much pain she is in; no matter how joyful she may feel, Kytana will never cry. Unless someone that has asserted control over her commands her to. Then, and only then, will she bawl like a baby. But it is a lie. It is a well practiced charade that she can turn on and off like a light switch. At almost every point, Kytana - or someone manipulating her - is in complete control of her emotions. On rare occasions, however, there is nothing she can do except explode. It is a rare thing, but as with all people that repress their emotions, when she finally lets it out it is like an explosion. It was this very thing that stopped a girl her own age from sleeping at night for fear of “nightmares.” It was this very thing that gave her the very brief moment of confidence she needed to flee from her parents. And it was this very thing that brought to light the inherent streak of cruelty that lay beneath the facade of calm, controlled obedience. [/fancybox2]

BIOGRAPHY​

[fancybox4="http://i.imgur.com/kgRQuWP.png"] Kytana’s parents were both heavily involved in Nar Shaddaa’s acting scene. They never achieved much fame, but they both loved performing more than life itself. They resented their lack of fame, though. They resented the people they thought had held them down and refused to give them the chances and the breaks they so desperately hungered after and truly believed they deserved. The truth was they were never anything more than mediocre actors that were good enough for small time local performances, but not even close to being good enough for the big stage. The two let their desire for fame and fortune corrupt them to their very cores. The corruption that was born within them as a result of their unfulfilled desires controlled their lives. It twisted them this way and that, wrenching them left and right and up and down until they were so turned around they had no idea which way was up. Their lust and hunger for the perceived power that came with fame and fortune utterly corrupted their beings and destroyed their moral compasses.

When Kytana was born they were not happy. Instead of viewing her as a new guiding light and as a new purpose to replace their failing acting careers with, they instead saw her as a burden. In the end, all she became was the latest reason they weren’t already rich and famous. Throughout her childhood, Kytana heard the story of how her mother had been so close to that big break she needed; that big break she’d definitely have gotten, when suddenly disaster struck and she had fallen pregnant with Kytana. The story, as her mother told it, dropped her failure on her unborn daughter’s shoulders. That is what her parents were like. Nothing was ever their fault. Everything, regardless of what it was, could always be blamed on someone else. They weren’t poor because they’d squandered their money on an expensive house befitting their “proper station”, they were poor because no one realised their true worth. They didn’t fail every big audition because they were mediocre actors; they failed because the ones holding the audition were clearly biased toward that twi’lek woman and only chose her because she had a large chest, despite how much of a talentless hack she clearly was.

Eventually Kytana did become their shining light, but not in the way a daughter should. As she grew and as she showed a clear talent for acting, they began to realise that she might have what it took to achieve what they never had. And so they pushed her. They pushed her very hard, harping on every weakness she had, trying to correct it and turn her into the perfect little actress. They home schooled her, teaching her only what they thought important and neglecting everything else. She may have been a child, but she understood what was going on, if in a very childish way. Despite being naturally talented at acting, she grew to hate it. She didn’t throw tantrums, though. She’d been taught better than that. She knew tantrums meant being yelled at, smacked and left without food until she apologised for speaking back to her mother and father like that. And so she bottled it up. She tried breaking down in tears, but it only worked once. After that she was quickly taught that crying was bad.

By the time she was ten she had been transformed into the perfect little actress. She fell into the role of the evil Sith on command; of the heroic Jedi; of the helpless slave girl. But she also did other things on command. She started and stopped crying at the sound of a single word or raised voice. She started screaming and shouting on command and then stopped immediately when told to. She ran, she jumped, she sat and she rolled over. Her parents had achieved what they’d wanted. In their eyes, she was the perfect child. Never disobeying, never speaking back and always doing exactly what her parents wanted her to. They didn’t see what they were actually doing. They were too focused on passing on their talents to her so she could give them the life the galaxy had denied them. If they’d cared to look they would have seen the signs, but they didn’t. All they cared about was conditioning her in exactly the way they wanted. All they saw was a little version of themselves that they could turn into whatever they pleased. And so they did. She tried to speak up and say no when she was young and stupid, but they very quickly trained her not to. Telling them she hated what they were doing - that they were cruel and evil - wasn’t what they wanted to hear. Even if it was said right to their faces, their twisted and corrupted minds wouldn’t let them hear it. All they saw was a bratty little child insisting on misbehaving; on making them punish her; on refusing the gifts they were giving her.

She never gathered enough courage to talk back to them and tell them what she really thought of them. She did gather enough courage to run away, though. Escaping was the only victory against them she ever achieved. In every other way imaginable, they had won. When she ran away at the age of twelve, she was the perfect little actress, just like they’d wanted her to be. She’d never admit it, but their training helped her survive. She spent two years drifting across the galaxy, bluffing and acting her way aboard ships and into beds she could use for a short time so she didn’t have to sleep on the street. Over the course of those two years, Kytana mostly interacted with criminals and other unsavoury scum. They were easier and safer to deal with than more upright citizens. Upright citizens with actual morals asked annoying questions about why someone her age was wandering around alone; why she looked homeless; why she was so skinny. The criminal underbelly had far less morals and cared far less about her story, so long as she could give them something in trade for their kindness to her.

About eighteen months into her homelessness, Kytana came to Ziost and encountered a small gang there, led by a man in his early twenties. She was entirely unaware of the true nature of every criminal on Ziost at the time. Fortunately for Kytana, this man in his early twenties took a liking to Kytana and made it very easy for her to convince him to let her stay with his group. He had a younger sister around her age and thought the two might get along well, especially since his sister didn’t really have any girls her own age to interact with. It didn’t happen the way he hoped, though. His sister hated Kytana and for the first few months tormented and ridiculed her and did her best to convince her brother to kick Kytana to the curb. And then all of a sudden her complaints stopped. She didn’t like Kytana, but she stopped trying to convince her brother to kick her out. She also developed a severe case of insomnia, often claiming she couldn’t sleep because she had horrible nightmares that woke her in a cold sweat. No one ever did discover the cause of her nightmares and insomnia.

After six months of staying with this gang, everything changed. A woman in a dark robe came to the little abandoned warehouse they stayed at and ordered the criminals to hand Kytana over. They didn’t even question her. With looks of complete and utter terror, they handed the then-fourteen year old over to the woman. Kytana left the warehouse with her, unable to bring herself to do anything else after her childhood of training and conditioning kicked in. Something about the way this woman spoke brought back the helpless, acquiescent child in her.

Kytana boarded the woman’s vessel and left Ziost. Her life was never the same again. [/fancybox4]

ᴘʀᴏғɪʟᴇ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ ʙʏ: ʙᴇᴇ​

 

[Galad J. Victus]

Here's my main that I'm still working on. (Also posted in the Lords thread.) I should do the write-up for his homeplanet sometime after the tl launches. Working on the rest of the profile for now.

Theme​

The Dark Fist​

[fancybox4="http://i.imgur.com/wt4AXbI.jpg"]NAME: Galahdrim Agenor

ALIASES: The Dark Fist.

AGE: 32

SPECIES: Human

HOMEWORLD: Unknown

HEIGHT: 2.02 M

WEIGHT: 95 KG

EYE COLOR: Gold

HAIR COLOR: Dark

SKIN COLOR: Death Pale

MARKINGS: -

FACTION: The Sith Order

RANK: -

CLASS: Warrior

FORCE SENSITIVE:Confirmed

ALLIGNMENT: Lawful Evil

[/fancybox4]

BIOGRAPHY​

​

[fancybox2]

Son of Fire ​

In an isolated far away world where wide deserts cover the landscape and savage beasts roam upon the burning sands with hunger for flesh, lives a fierce nomadic people who listen to the loud whispers of the sandstorms, and endure the harsh realities of the desert life. Their solitary societies scattered around the hostile planet to scavenge whatever little resources there are to be found, they carry on a life of great hardship and danger, bound together by their code of honor and family. A fearless people of traditions and war, they have bred many a great fighters throughout the ages who have taken their respectful places within the history that is drawn upon the sands of this unknown backwater planet. Far from civilization and deep within the forgetten depths of the Galaxy, even these forsaken people had a greatness etched in them through the Force, the eternal energy that binds and preserves all living things. It was this greatness that would see one of their own leave his unique mark upon the pages of time itself. From these very sands would rise a man; a warlord of terror, his story built upon misfortune and tragedy, and his path leading to destruction and ruin. He was born to a powerful couple within one of these nomadic societies. His mother was the tribe shaman and his father the warchief. They spoke to the elders for omens of the boy's destiny, sensing the Gift of the Hunter in him, as the Peoples of the Sand called it. A fierce warlord he shall become, the elder said, her old voice trembling with excitement and fear as she spoke of the visions the boy carried. His path is one of blood and fire. And Tav'El Agor they called him from then on. Son of Fire.

The boy was a warrior from birth. Learning to adapte to the harsh, nomadic life in desert from a very young age, he began an unforgiving martial training under his father who raised him to do one thing alone. He spent many long and painful years mastering the ways of the warrior, eventually surpassing even the Warchief himself; the greatest their tribe had ever known. Galahdrim became a man of fierce determination and skill as a result of multiple decades spent in training with an iron discipline. The Warchief had constructed a machine of killing from the innocent little boy he first began to train many years ago, displaying him no mercy and love in the process. Galahdim knew no humane feelings, no compassion at all. He needed them not.

Eventually, he was told of the omens that the Elders saw upon his birth, and that his whole entire life up to that moment was merely a means of preparing him for the upcoming tests and battles. He was expected to show his gratitude to the Old Gods of the desert that his extremly zealot people believed in. He was to take it upon himself to become their tool, their dog of war. His single purpose in life was to satisfy some nameless, forgotten God he did not even believe in. Battle and hunt being all he knew, he had grown up to be proud warrior, refusing to acknowledge a mythical being higher of form than himself. It was him who endured years of tests, torture and the harsh will of the endless deserts, his destiny was his and his alone. Feeling betrayed by his family to have him enslaved to the Elders, he confronted the Warchief, his father, who ruled the tribe with an iron fist of fear. The old man had grown weak, however, and Galahdrim believed that his time to had come at long last.

The people did not agree, however, and he was cast out, until such a time that the Warchief would succcumb to the slow poison that is time, and he would return to receive his rightful place among his people. He embraced the scorching sands, the burning touch of the sun on his back, and the freezing hollow nights, where unspoken evil things walked the night as wind howled throughout the untamed, barren lands. Having nothing but the light of the distant stars to guide him and the blooded blade to accompany, he wandered alone in his isolated watch for many years to come. He would not go back. He would rather die than to humiliate himself in submission. As he tried desperately to hold on to his sanity and keep his will from breaking; he felt it. The Gift spoke to him. Countless years had past in misery, but the moment he had waited for so long was now. The Warchief had fallen.

Journeying across the wild deserts, he returned home to a greeting people. Seeing the changes in him; how the cruel time had made the young man even tougher and stronger then before, the tribe received him with gifts and open arms. They bowed to him, respected him. The warrior had become the new Warchief.

Will of the Warlord
​

It was all he wished for. A band of loyal, fierce warriors at his back, ready to die at his will. A freedom to do whatever he wished. And most of all; respect. Recognation that he sought for so long. They feared him, awed before his cruelty and passion for war. None dared challange his will; he had siezed the power he had craved. Tribe was his.

As soon as he started experiencing the life of a Warchief, he discovered the sheer ambition within himself. Being merely a dog of war in the past, he never had dreams of conquest and glory. Now that he had the means, it all changed. It was, after all, what he was created to do. Why stand idle while he could take everything? He had a warband, he was strong, blessed with youth and he commanded the loyalty of an entire tribe of nomads; his people. Promises of grandeur were made to him by the Elders. Go to war, they spoke to him; emerge triumphant against the overwhelming odds, and you shall seize the heavens, and all the Gods shall bow before you, Old and New alike. Seduced by promises of glory and victory he assembled his horde of fierce desert lions, and a legion of nomadic warriors began riding across lifeless desert to do battle with all the other tribes, their thoughts being of blood and slaughter.

First few victims fell quickly. Scattered and disorganized, they were unready and unaware. Galahdrim and his party of murderers easily overran the weaker tribes with their savage assaults, striking with lightning speed as they descended upon the unsuspecting prey out of nowhere, riding back into the endless deserts, leaving trails of bloody footprints and rising smokes behind each sudden raid. Each slaughter was followed by pillage, rape and loot. They killed hundreds of innocent souls in the name of the God of War, but left one single man alive each time. So that the word would spread. And all the children of the desert would hear of the coming onslaught. That the devil was coming for them. So the Warlord and his band of marauders made a name for themselves across the sands of fire. All had heard it. And all trembled.

Other chieftans gathered, seeking a solution against the warring tribe. After much dissucssions and disputs, they settled on an alliance, an union that saw all the nomadic peoples of the desert gather under one banner, leaving their differences aside to put an end to the menace of the Son of Fire. The alliance saw peoples from across the deserts unite against the common foe; brutal sand trolls of the Golden Mountains, cruel cannibals from far away rugged deserts who hungered from human flesh, nomadic warriors from all corners of the world, even the lawless raiders who roamed across the deserts had answered the call. All of them craved to destroy the marauders and their lord of war for good. What followed was a bloodbath for both sides.

Galahdrim, despite being terribly outnumered, rallied his men, boosting the ranks with fresh recruits from his tribe, slaves of conquest and freelancers who seeked glory, and then went to war against the alliance of the deserts. Accepting them in open field, both armies crashed in what became a total slaughter. Thousands lay dead upon the sands at the end of the day, red rivers cooled the blazing land. Two amassed armies fought day and night, casuilties increased but Galahdrim refused to surrender. In a last, hopeless attempt to break through the masses of infantry he rallied his horsemen, fiercest of his army, his tribesmen. The few warriors cut through flesh and meat and carved a path. The Warchief stood upon countless lifeless bodies and dueled the gathered chieftains of all the enemy by himself. He cut them down one by one, refusing to die to his severe wounds. As he neared death he became more and more terrible to behold, going on a crazy berserk. It was done. But once he looked around, he realized that the victory had cost him dearly. A few beaten and broken men here and there struggled up to their feet, not more than a few dozen. Of the thousands he led to field, these wreched souls were all that he had left. Victory was his, a pyrrhic success which marked the end of his army and his campaign alike. There was no one left to sing songs of glory and share the plunder. Leaving the handful of weak survivors to death where they lay, he walked upon the haunted fields where dead men sang to him; their killer. The fields were heavy with the stench of blood and far too silent even for his liking. So much death, for no gain at all. For the first time in his entire life, he felt disguisted of blood and killing. He would head home. It was time. For his war had come to an end. Broken and alone, he carried himself across the desert. The sun did not rise to hail him and the days were cold and dark.

***​

A False Redemption​

His return was not taken well. Where are our sons? Where are the husbands and loved ones we sent to war? The women asked in sorrow, the children cried in disbelief. Chaos set loose upon the tribe. They cursed him and loated him. Galahdrim locked himself to his tent, neither came out nor spoke to any of them for many days. What was it that he was feeling? Guilt? Regret? Was he even capable of such humane emotions? He had grown weak like the father who he hated and detested. Summoning the Elders to his presence, he sought an explanation. Blaming them for their itiotic omens and vague promises.

The old women argued that his previous war was merely a beginning; first step in what wouıld become a long and painful journey. Gods demand more blood still. The witches allured him with their foul ways of dark arts, secretly influencing the mind of the Warlord to obey their will. They had gone mad with the untrained and uncontrolled extreme usage of Dark Side of the Force after countless decades, unbeknown to them. The Force was known as a magical power in the nomadic societies of the planet, which few could had the potential to wield.

None aid eyes upon them for a long time. The Warchief had summoned the Elders who were quick to answer, and the meeting went on for multiple days. It was strictly forbidden to go inside. Just as talks of uprising and chaos were beginning to spread within the war-weary and unhappy tribesmen, the Warchief emerged from his tent with the Elders at his back. His eyes were staring like a pair of bottomless empty pits, a bright golden light centered within each. People gathered in curiosity as to see what would come next. Nobody could foresee it.

Galahdrim drew his blades then mercilessly slaughtered his people to the last baby. They cried out, begged him to stop. The Warchief had truly went mad with bloodlust. He did not seem to enjoy his work. Not detest it either. There was nothing. He killed them all like animals, feeling nothing as if it was an everyday task. Looked them in the eye as they died. The Elders watched the massacre and carnage with crazed laughters. They were satisfied.

When it was over, Galahdrim turned to them. They laughed and crackled like the evil witches they were. What had he done? What have I done? His warriors and friends had always warned him that the influence of the Elders was dangerous and could lead to madness. He would not listen. Their dark arts and foul sorcery had led them all to insanity, and Galahdrim realized that his mind had been controled with that same twisted magic. He cried out in regret and disbelief as he viewed the bloodbath before him. Lifeless children, slaughtered women and old men. People who had trusted him and respected him. Why?! He screamed. Why?! Evil women answered. It was the will of the Old Gods. The Gods that you have been made slave to! Obey, dog! So these were the motives that have been driving them for countless years. Even since he has ascended to the seat of the Warchief, and even before that, they had been plotting their insane designs. More and more blood of the innocent. To be given as sacrifice to their wicked gods. By the hands of their would-be champion. Galahdrim had ruined everything. He had allowed himself to be controlled like a puppet. He felt sorrow and guilt for the first time. And there was anger. He charged at the Elders, determined to destroy them and their madness. It would be the first battle he would fight not simply for the sake of blood and killing. He had come to experience what it meant to be a person and not an animal of war. A person full of regrets and mistakes.

He was shocked as the Elders knocked him back with fierce bolts of lightnings that they fired out of their fingertips. They scorched his skin and kept him down with an immense pain, too much even for him to handle. He suffered dearly as a slight silhoutte of fear passed over him. Fear. He had not known of such a word before. But as he laid there struggling to stay alive, in the grip of death and defeat, he found the strength in himself. He would not be defeated so easily. Not by a bunch of crazed old women. He had to rise up. He roared a warrior's warcry in defiance. The Elders stopped, amazed by the man's strong will and determination. His skin color had withered due to increased exposure. Even in death, you defy us. Die and be silent child! Before they could unleash another barrage of lightning however, Galahdrim performed an amazing feat by leaping up and landing before them in a manner of second. Hurling one of his twin blades to maul an Elder he cut the other one's head off before the rest could act in desbelief. Trying to command some sort of telekinetic powers they attempted to push away, but Galahdrim stood ground. He commanded his body to move forward, trying to utilize his own Hunter's Gift through his willpower to deny them. Barely getting in melee range he decimated them, bashing the last one's head in with his bare fists as the wreched witch screamed in agony. She dropped death out of his hands, filthy blood covering the ground. Galahdrim collapsed in exhaustion and confusion. He sat there from dusk until next dawn, letting it all sink in. War was a reality that he could not simply run from. He remembered being a crazed warmongerer until recently. Until countless comrades and brothers of his died screaming in his arms. Yet here he stood, upon a pile of dead bodies that were his doing. His people dead and his mind disordered, broken, he made a decision. There was nothing left for him upon this planet.

Journey Across the Heavens

Leaving the dead tribe to rot, he collected his weapons and clad himself in his personal war armor, then went off into the deserts. He knew how to go. Nomads, albeit isolated from the outside Galaxy and barely known at all, were visited in occasions by outcast alien traders who had established their lines outside of the Galactic centers of civilization and commence. Journeying day and night he reached what it seemed to be an outpost established by some lowly pirate scum. Approching them, he simply demanded passage abort their ship. When refused and humiliated with an "offer" that he should better transfer all his carriage and belongings after which they would accept him, Galahdrim murdered them brutally and captured the old freighter which was in their possession. Taking the pilot prisoner, he commanded her to fly the ship away from the planet and into the bright starts.

***

Many years past in exploration of this far, far away Galaxy for Galahdrim. He found it odd that for someone living inside it, he knew next to nothing. He would have killed the pilot girl if not for the fact that he needed a guide. First he had her serve him as a slave, then as they spent more time together he slowly grew attached to the girl and eventually two became partners, finding themselves doing all sorts of work around the Galaxy. She taught him everything; how to speak Basic, major planets, piloting, technology, everything he had been missing out for his entire life. But most of all; the girl taught him how to love. How to be a human, have feelings and care for people. Previously a slave of war with no personality, Galahdrim slowly discovered what it meant to love, that word he had heard so much of. He did not even feel the unholy passion for war and slaughter anymore. All he wanted now was to spend the rest of his with this girl who had given him everything. He remembered the countless freezing nights he laid naked in his bed, his body marked with whip marks and bruises. He recalled the sands burning his feet and sun scorching his skin as he brawled on and on for hours. He remembered the fields of battle where thousands laid dead, corpses swimming in the rives of blood and the faces of the slain staring at him. The band that rode to glory, pillage and loot. The Warlord... He had no need of these memories anymore. For he had found comfort.

He never told her about his Force connection. He rejected that side of himself entirely. Loving each other with no regards to anything else whatsoever, the pair decided to settle together in a remote planet to begin a new life. Some time passed, the best days Galahdrim ever lived. She was pregnant. He was to be a father. The joy he experienced when she gave him the good news was beyond description. Happiness this much was such a stranger to him.

One day after returning from work in nearby farmlands, he lost everything. Their house in flames. He rushed inside, running through the flames with no care for his own life, only to find her dead. That cursed day, he lost everything good in his life. The only person he ever loved, his human side, the future he dreamed with her. He buried every little piece of humanity he had worked so hard to achieve. He had done a mistake. Letting himself be attached to someone so closely was a mistake. Once again he realized that he was truly alone in this life, completely and utterly this time around. The warrior's path was the only way for such a dog like himself. He did not deserve to have happines, he never had. He buried his love in a beautiful, green plain. Everything she gave to him was gone with her.

He relentlessly tracked down the murderers for the next couple of months. Day and night, he chased their traces, seeked information and followed in their footsteps. When he finally found them, he performed the bloodiest, the most sadistic slaughter he ever commited. He had never taken such a pleasure from ending a life.

He wandered and drifted across the Galaxy alone, employing himself in every sort of filthy works. Assassin, mercenary, triggerman, bounty hunter. He did every kind of lowly job there was available for such a killing machine like himself. Thugs and bandits he ran across most time were easy prey, but he found him match during a mysterious encounter with a lightsaber wielding warrior in some Outer Rim planet where no men lived.

Galahdrim's outlaw partners were utterly crushed by the single warrior. The unknown warrior performed deeds Galahdrim tought were not possible for a human being to do. As his partners fell by one to the unknown warrior, he realized that it was Force in work. This man was a Force wielder. Galahdrim never knew the Force was capable of empowering an ordinary warrior to such amounts of power. His blaster was useless against him. He had to resort to the weapon he hated. The Sand King, the blade of the Warchief. A fierce duel followed, even though Galahdrim was undefated for life in melee and commanded immense skill, he was out of practice and the warrior barely brought him down, resorting to foul trickery through the Force where his bladework proved lacking to break through his defences. Finish it. I do not fear death. Galadhrim spoke as the crimson blade was aimed at his throat. You are strong. You can learn to wield the Force as a weapon the way I do. Call me Master, bow before me. And I shall make you an udefeatable juggernaut of the Sith, you only have to give yourself to my teachings. The only offer more tempting than death was the concept of being undefeatable. Why die when he could enslave the Galaxy within the flames of war and chaos? Why give up before making every last wreched being tremble? Everyone deserved to suffer in the way he had for his whole life. He accepted. He sensed the call of the Dark Side, before realizing that he had indeen been a dark sider with his decisions and choices ever since he had taken the now fallen seat of the Warchief.

He quickly began a harsh and unforgiving training. He learnt of the Sith, he stuied their ways and trained his body day and night. It was easy adapting to the usage of Force and wielding it in battle thanks to his past as a lifetime fighter. Merely a year passed and he had already ascended to the rank of Warrior. He willingly sank deeper and deeper in the darkness, for the promise of power and strength. Sheer ambition and relentless training quickly turned him into a strong dark sider and a respected Sith. He slew the weakling he had been forced to call master in single combat. After that point, he knew there was no longer a way back. He devoted himself to the Order of the Sith, commiting his whole existance to the quest of one day bringing the Galaxy to it's knees, after which a dark order of iron disicpline and law would ascend, ruling with a cruel but just fist. A new creed of strength and law he envisioned.

Such is his story. The hidden story behind the dark Sith juggernaut nobody truly knows. ​

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ᴘʀᴏғɪʟᴇ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ ʙʏ: ʙᴇᴇ

 

[amerininja]

You should add a pic

I will actually have such a pic soon enough. I commissioned one last night. Thanks for looking at it!

 

[Alhon]

Karan Anshii​

I was a Nightsister, once. The right hand of one of the greatest minds ever to harness the Magicks of Dathomir. I served as any good apprentice would - aiding in rituals, gathering herbs and preparing tonics, and tending to the Mother's every need. As her First, I was to be her successor, destined to become as powerful and capable a Sorceress as had ever been witnessed on Dathomir. But even the Dathomiri have rites that are considered taboo.

Long ago, a dark power came to Dathomir. We are forbidden to speak of it now, and to learn of its power is considered a heinous crime, punishable only by death...but only if you are caught. For the truly ambitious, such knowledge is impossible to ignore. It is a font of energy that opens up entirely new avenues of power, boundless in scope, terrible in magnitude, unlocked only by hatred and cunning. The Sorcerers fear such a thing, and rightly so. For with it, I overthrew my master, and became chief among my kind.

However, my former master always was crafty. She eluded me in the end, travelling where I could not follow, and striking from the shadows. I saw the power and glory I had worked so hard to build, cut away by a thousand knives, held with invisible hands. The quiet retribution of my former mentor was a terrible thing to behold, and her shadow war cost our homeworld dearly. Only at the end, with our beloved homeland on the brink of utter annihilation, did we agree to a truce. But I know her well - the knives will still come, but they will be in the hands of friends or loved ones. I exorcised myself of these weaknesses, and my power grew evermore in gratitude to my dedication. This, I swear to you - I will turn this great power against Malmourral herself someday, and ascend to my rightful place as the greatest of my kind, fuelled by the power that she herself is too afraid to harness.

For I am strong in the Force, and the Dark Side is my ally.

Blurb for my indie Dark Sider and rival to my Senator main, Malmourral.

I'm curious to see what Indie Dark Siders get up to. Any plans on reviving the Bogan or the Night Sisters?

Not immediately, but I'm open to doing some form of Dark Side cult in some form or another at some stage. Initially I just want to focus on the Senate and establishing my two characters, since I originally only planned on one. >.>

Great characters! The Rorgawr may well be up for throwing in with other Indie Dark Siders in due course if the cause was great enough. Looking forward to all that's to come!

Spoiler: The Rorgawr

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THE RORGAWR​

NAME: THE RORGAWR - - - - AGE: 367 YEARS - - - - FACTION: INDEPENDENT | RODENT SORCERER​

PUBLIC PROFILE

The Rorgawr (also known as ”the Great Rat” or simply “Rask”) is a sentient humanoid rodent, thought to have originated on the planet Garban. A creature of sharp claws and twisted magics, the Rorgawr first appeared in early Jenet folklore and was originally believed to be no more than a work of fiction; a tale told to keep frightened children in their beds.

More than three centuries later however, the legend of the Rorgawr endures, with alleged sightings on worlds across known space. In recent decades, many have come to fear that the Rorgawr is in fact very real indeed and some even claim to have had dealings with the creature, though their accounts are mixed at best. Most speak of a rodent over six feet high, with the mind of a man and the strength of three, calling itself “Rask” in its dealings with others. Whatever its name, all agree that the creature is unlike anything in this world or the next, twisted and warped by powers unknown.

ORIGIN & BIOGRAPHY

The true tale of the Rorgawr begins with the Karatos Plague. Deadly and highly contagious, the plague originated on the planet Concord Dawn and spread quickly to neighbouring systems, decimating local populations. The Jenet of Garban were particularly fearful of its advance and hastily passed a number of emergency measures to ensure their survival. One such measure authorised live experimentation on injured or orphaned Jenet, with a view to developing a vaccine or other means of fighting the plague.

So it was that a young Jenet male was taken from the communal care centre in which he had been born, to bear the brunt of his people’s desperation. Too young to even have a name, the orphan knew only pain and suffering beneath the scientists’ scalpels; the subject of countless of injections, surgeries and radiation barrages, his days and nights were filled with horrors too terrible to recount. For the Plague’s advance was merciless and so too were his masters, driven by fear to trial every possible solution, no matter the cost. Where the boy’s Jenet DNA proved weak, they sought to buttress it, infusing him with Ranat, Tinteeta and even Neti strains in an attempt to bolster his resilience and durability, desperate to find the perfect mix to hold the Plague at bay.

In the end, the Jenet’s efforts came to nothing, though it mattered not. Concord Dawn created the Plague and Concord Dawn cured it. Their vaccinations had been distributed to a dozen worlds before the Jenet scientists finally downed their tools and saw, for the first time, the horror of what they had done. The orphan they had taken was a child no more, but a battered, bruised and broken creature, a hybrid of half a dozen separate species, writhing in endless pain. Their work had given the boy much, but had taken so much more.

The order came down to terminate the creature, for the terrible truth of the Jenet's desperation could never see the light of day. The scientists set about administering a lethal injection, planning to draw a line under their mistakes.

It is not known how or why he chose that moment to lash out. Whether through luck, fate or the mere crucible of revenge, the creation struck out at its creators, breaking the bonds of its confinement and slaughtering all who stood in its path. It was a bloodbath. Breaking out of the facility in a vicious rage, the creature burst from the building into the dimly lit streets of Garban, discovering for the first time what its new claws and limbs could do. It scurried into the darkness, vanishing into the shadows of the city sewers before more than handful could glimpse its passing.

So began the tale of the Rorgawr.

Over the following years and decades, the creature that would become the Rorgawr hid in the shadows of society, healing, harnessing and rediscovering its own nature. Aided by its species’ eidetic memory, a latent Force Sensitivity and greatly increased longevity, the Rorgawr found it had decades to hunt, grow and cultivate its power. Watching. Waiting. Readying itself for the time when it would step from the shadows into the galaxy at large, and claim revenge for all that had been done to it.

APPEARANCE & PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

The Rorgawr’s body chemistry is best described as a complete mess. His DNA contains genes from a dozen different species, while countless experiments and operations have left his blood and tissue saturated with volatile chemical compounds and residual radiation. The repeated splicing of his genes has engineered an almost complete immunity to disease, toxins and natural impediments.

Standing approximately six and half feet tall, with a slightly hunched stance, the Rorgawr has the long, thin limbs common to Jenet, with an unusually muscular upper body. Grey skinned and almost entirely hairless from repeated bouts of radiation, his rodent shaped head is long and triangular, with red eyes, a narrow snout and a recessed jaw revealing a line of sharp, serrated teeth.

The Rorgawr’s racial heritage lends him a keen sense of sight, smell and hearing, together with sharp claws on both hands and feet and the ability to squeeze through openings only twelve inches wide by dislocating his joints. He can run, swim and climb with ease, able to find purchase on even the flattest of surfaces, his long Ranat-like tail affording him an excellent sense of balance. The tail itself ends in a cruel, metal barb of his own design, fused to the greying flesh beneath.

Quick and agile, the Rorgawr is bred to be an apex survivor, with the ability to digest any organic matter and thereby subsist in even the harshest of environments. His rodent qualities have bestowed him with an incredible resilience, while his Neti DNA has vastly extended his lifespan. This longetivty, combined with his species' calculating eidetic memory, has enabled him to amass three centuries of knowledge and experience, combining a brutal physicality of character with a powerful mind that few can match.

POWERS & ABILITIES

The Rorgawr’s racial advantages make him a fearsome combatant before he even picks up a weapon. Indeed, the rodent typically travels unarmed and can rely on his enhanced speed and keen senses to overwhelm slower foes. His long claws are as sharp as any vibroblade, while his barbed tail can swipe with enough force to break bones, or wrap around an unsuspecting enemy to crush their internal organs. Both his claws and tail are almost always laced with his own particular brand of poison, mixed with the venom of the Wasber insect to weaken the foe’s immune system.

More often, however, the Rorgawr will seek to employ his somewhat twisted Force offensive, honed in his decades of isolation. A crude user of the telekinesis, the rodent has a repulsive of love of fatigue and disease inspiring Force Powers, in line with his history and a vengeful desire to inflict pain. He is a dangerous practitioner of of Force Slow, Affliction and Plague and continues to perfect his methods of weakening and debilitating enemies, draining their health and their desire to fight.

Curious to learn how he might siphon this energy for himself, the Rorgawr has begun to study the nuances of Force Drain and its potential to extend further his three centuries of life.

ROLEPLAYS

Roleplays will be listed here.

ᴘʀᴏғɪʟᴇ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ ʙʏ: ʙᴇᴇ

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[Noctyr]

The second idea kinda matches one that I have been exploring myself. Basically a human who was forced into joining the Sith because of familial obligations but can't bring himself to use the Dark Side. He tries upholding the tenets of the Sith but makes use of the Light Side of the Force and the aforementioned familial obligations prevent him from leaving the Sith and joining the Jedi. Not sure if I'm gonna use him but he seems the more appealing of the two FS character concepts I have right now.

Seems pretty similar to what I was planning, although my character tries to utilize the dark side as much as he can, despite conflicting emotions causing him to take the light side approach on occasion, rather than the approach your proposed character would use in trying to utilize the light side as much as possible while adhering to the sith code.

 

[bobokapita]

I will actually have such a pic soon enough. I commissioned one last night. Thanks for looking at it!

No problem :)