Dawn of The Republic: Lords of the Sith.

[Tsunami]

So thought I'd pitch you guys my idea. For those of you that played the Halo franchise you'll know much about how Dr E. Halsey took children who fitted specific traits. Through increasingly and exceptionally tough training she worked out of them Fear, Pain etc.

My character is going to be a Grade A psychopath, taken and trained by a Sith Master as the "Blade of the Sith" something the Master wanted to use to further his station. Think of the Winter Soldier, from the captain America series, a battle hardened, bloodthirsty assassin who suffers severe wounds in the arena on geonosis only to be built into a hulking force wielding cyborg.

It's a bit crazy I know, however I feel like someone who rally's to war, battle, has no fear of death etc could be used interestingly by whoever is the FL. Of course it would be cool not to kill him off however as long as he had a worthy death I'd be quite happy to constantly throw him into the fray.

 

[Dark]

Hey guys, I'm new to these forums and I am interested in making a character. If some Siths who are higher up wouldn't mind helping me, that would be great! I can pm you my skype if you're willing to help (I'd just prefer to know who has my skype). I'd really appreciate the help.

 

[vamp]

Meet Alpha, a Sith Assasin also interested in sorcery. He's half-human half-something. I might have him start as a Jedi, although I'm not quite sure how to implement that into his backstory.

 

[Kath]

Hey there everybody! Been gone for awhile...a looong while..but I was always super into the Sith during my previous time here so I am planning on making a character for the Sith when the time comes. My plan is to have a Sith, purely out on his own. He cares about only one thing, power. This character would remain rather aloof from the main Sith, while building up a power base to work with. He would be an able fighter, but more of a master of assassination, stealth and manipulation. Picture Roose Bolton, but more willing to do things personally.

 

[TheTrueOrnstein]

My Sith will try to create a more peaceful side to the Sith, since he finds the Jedi and Sith conflict a war of Ideologies instead of anything of real importance.

 

[Vepos Surge]

Peaceful Sith? Sure, if you want to make it easier for your enemies and "Allies" to kill you off.

 

[Marf]

Peaceful Sith? Sure, if you want to make it easier for your enemies and "Allies" to kill you off.

It's entirely possible to write a peaceful Sith if you are creative, since there are many different forms of conflict and many different aspects to the Sith philosophy. I've got Sorcerers and Assassins off the site, who are all for law, order and prosperity of the Imperial people, whilst oppressing those weaker or lower in society, Sith like that don't need to be proponents of war.

Whether a character's viewpoint is necessarily "correct" is irrelevant, what's important is what makes a good story or an interesting character trait. A character could be considered an absolutely terrible Sith, but still be a great character. It's all good writing.

@TheTrueOrnstein Go ahead and make your Sithy!

Hey guys, I'm new to these forums and I am interested in making a character. If some Siths who are higher up wouldn't mind helping me, that would be great! I can pm you my skype if you're willing to help (I'd just prefer to know who has my skype). I'd really appreciate the help.

Hello there! I can help you out with your character if you like, my skype is abbie.aileen :D

 

[Vepos Surge]

I was just joking with him :(

 

[Marf]

I was just joking with him :(

Ah, my bad, I didn't realize it was a joke. I'm not good at picking up on sarcasm, sorry!

 

[Vepos Surge]

It's okay, text isn't the best way to convey sarcasm lol

 

[Jake]

Here is the writeup for my Sith. :D

 

[Dzjak Azii]

Hey guys! I'm new here, and I'm currently working on my profile for the site. I plan to play a Sith in the upcoming Timeline. Due to some of my ideas for the character and how he came to train with the Sith. It would be helpful for him to have contact with at least one pre-established character within the Sith. Essentially, I'm asking if anyone with a significantly older (maybe 40+) would be interested in being part of my character's backstory.

 

[Galad J. Victus]

And here's my Sith I mentioned earlier - a man completely defined by the word; "juggernaut". While doing the write-up, however, I found myself adding up some spice into his biography and personality. I don't usually plan ahead while writing bios and take wherever it gets me; more fun and rewarding that way in my opinion, so take a look people.

Spoiler: Reeealy Long Write-up

Theme(tbd)​

The Dark Fist​

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

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. ​

[/fancybox2]

ᴘʀᴏғɪʟᴇ ᴄᴏᴅᴇ ʙʏ: ʙᴇᴇ

First part of an extremly long biography to come. Got it done thanks to having watched Episode VII today which helped me flow my creativity juice.

Boy, I'm gonna be attached to this character.

 

[blstrgmr]

Spoiler: Broken Writeup, Woo] [abox3="600px

__
__

XXXX FILE #000000
BASIC INFORMATION
[KAIRO DJATANI​ Kairo I. Djatani [ALIAS]​ None [DATE OF BIRTH]​ RECORD MISSING - Presumed 23 Years of Age [SPECIES]​ Human [FACTION]​ Lords of the Sith [RANK]​ Sith Lord

______[GENDER]​

Male[HEIGHT]​

6'2"[WEIGHT]​

185 Lbs.[HAIR COLOR]​

Black[EYE COLOR]​

[td][/td] [td][/td] [td][/td] [td][/td] [tr][td]M[/td][td]6'2"[/td][td]185 lbs[/td][td]Black[/td][td]Hazel[/td][/tr]

___[CURRENT LOCATION]​

___[STATUS]​

___[FORCE SENSITIVITY]​

___[THREAT ASSESSMENT]​

[td][/td] [td][/td] [td][/td] [tr][td]Unknown[/td][td]Alive[/td][td]Confirmed[/td][td]MED[/td][/tr]

[/abox3]

[CONFIRMED ASSETS]

• Lightsaber (Synthetic Crystal (Red Coloration), 95cm Blade Length, Traditional Construction)
• Lightsaber (Adagen Crystal (Blue Coloration), 47cm Blade Length, Shoto Construction)
• Confirmed Force Powers
  - Push
  - Pull
  - Sense
  - Speed
  - Force Lightning [UNCONFIRMED]
• Confirmed Saber Forms
  - Ataru (Proficient Skill)
  - Soresu (Average Skill)

[SUBJECT SUMMARY]
Kairo, previously associated as a Knight of the Jedi Order, has been dark after a mission to the Outer Rim for quite some time. It is highly suspected that Knight Djatani has been killed in action.

[UPDATE]

New information suggests that Kairo Djatani has fallen from the Jedi Order. His masters were warned of his thoughts and behaviors for quite some time. After the atrocities witnessed during multiple conflicts against Sith and other insurgent forces against the Republic, Kairo had always expressed sympathies towards the Sith and other enemies of the Republic. It is believed during his last mission to Bespin to meet with a corporate group about certain legal allegations, he discovered something that caused him to act without authorization from the Order. It is not confirmed if he has betrayed the Order, or is simply running.

[PSYCHOLOGICAL SUMMARY]
Kairo Djatani always claimed himself a champion of freedom. He has been noted saying at times how the Jedi Order should attempt to be more laissez-faire with the galaxy and let the natural order of things take hold. He believed that the Jedi should only intervene when the core freedoms and rights of the people were violated. Knight Djatani was also known for having positive sentiments toward insurgency, stating that worlds or groups wanting to stay, as a whole, outside of the Republic should be allowed to do so. Very constantly, and unfortunately, he has stated to Padawans that the very idea of siding with a government body went against the Jedi code. When asked if he believed the Sith were evil by a curious Padawan, he stated that some might be, while others were simply fighting for what they believed in, and fighting the way they believed to be most effective.

Since Djatani's abandonment of the Order, it is believed he has sided with the Sith remnant to operate on his own without the consent of the Order, and to be a force against the Republic and their violation of Djatani's interpretation of the code of the Sith.

[SIGHTINGS]
Kairo Djatani was recently sighted on Tatooine, leading an unauthorized strike against a slaving operation, as well as a small corporation acting well within Republic law. Most notable, he was spotted using a red-bladed lightsaber. Since then, he has unable to be acquired by any informant.

[KNOWN ASSOCIATES]

• N/A

New Sith in progress, or more or less fleshed out. It's hard to motivate myself when it comes to a really in depth background. I'm hoping for a character who has a lot of disagreements with both the codes of the Jedi and Sith, but using the Sith faction and the power of the Dark Side allow him to achieve his personal philosophies to a better extent. Freedom and anarchy. Fervent and unneeded suppression of the weak (ala slavery), upsets the natural order by not letting potential strength rise to the top. For true strength to be found and measured, all must start on even footing. That sorta thing.

 

[Saul]

Since we are shamelessly plugging our characters, here's mine.
A Hapan brat turned corsair who is a skilled starfighter pilot, but is arrogant and prideful and is apprentice-level Sith or so. Pretty excited to play her, and open to anyone that wants to intertwine backstories or move forward with some future story ideas. Timeline permitting, I'm going to start the character off the way many Jedi padawans start, as basically someone that knows next-to-nothing about the Force, but is a natural pilot. I'd ideally like to apprentice under someone that also enjoys and is willing to teach me starfighter combat writing. Understanding the Force could come through experience rather than lectures. Anyways, here she is... not exceptionally long but I find I never remember half the stuff I wrote about biographies once my fingers hit the keyboard so I figured simple is better.

Asura Sukazi ​

[fancybox4="http://i68.tinypic.com/sx13k8.png"]FULL NAME: Asura Sukazi
AGE: 27
SPECIES: Hapan
HOMEWORLD: Hapes

HEIGHT: 165 cm
WEIGHT: 61.6 kg

EYE COLOR: Red
HAIR COLOR: Ghost White
SKIN COLOR: Golden
MARKINGS: N/A

FACTION: Lords of the Sith
RANK: (Acolyte / Apprentice)

Gifted with an unnatural beauty, sophisticated poise, and a dense yet delicate frame, Asura is a uniquely attractive individual. Raised on Hapes by a wealthy family, Asura escaped her privileged life and followed her wanderlust yet retained her pedigree. Haughty and intelligent, she used her family's wealth to make a way for herself in the Galaxy when others would have struggled with debt. Her journey guided her to unexpected places, and now she desires nothing more than to pursue a path to empowering herself, shedding all connection to her past.[/fancybox4]

Personality​

[fancybox2]

Physically, Asura is an attractive human female with silver hair, pale golden skin, eyes which are vary between dark brown to bright red depending on how attuned with the Force she is at any given moment. She has a slender frame, is of average height for a woman, and is approaching her late 20's. When she is not piloting a starfighter she is often dressed in bright red and gold regalia, being her favored colors. She maintains an active lifestyle, keeping her body in good condition and eating a high calorie, low carbohydrate diet. She is fickle, complaining when she is unable to have things as she'd like. She has a steady hand and has a tendency to stay calm and think fast under pressure, though in any crisis one must often quickly eliminate the best choices and make decisions for a more limited timeframe.

Due to her upbringing, many would consider her spoiled or arrogant. She often looks down on others who are less capable than her unless she shares a personal relationship with that individual. Comparing her physical and mental capabilities with a person often forms the baseline of her opinion about that individual, though her attitude can be shaped by performance. Her arrogance drives her to perfection, as she constantly strives to become better than those who are superior to her.

Her drive for strength often encourages her to ignore the weak. Hubris is among her greatest weaknesses; although she is careful to not allow her own personal considerations of an opponent to not impact her own performance, she is not always successful. She disdains abusing the weak and defenseless, seeing the weak and misguided as no threat. She appreciates the beauty in life and often relaxes to music, preferring the pulsing beat and kick of the bass to mundane tasks many of her peers might commit themselves to to channel their power. [/fancybox2]

BIOGRAPHY​

[fancybox4="http://i63.tinypic.com/260wr4k.png"]Born on Hapes to a wealthy family, Asura wanted for nothing in her early years. This lack of disappointment created a longing for something different within her, and she constantly wanted to explore the Galaxy and see what else existed out there. As an adolescent she struck out on her own, forging her own destiny. Her caring family dared not rebuke her for this, and instead enabled her to learn through her experiences as safely as possible, empowering her with their fortune. Asura used this wealth to buy significant training piloting a number of craft. Her favored among them quickly became the starfighter, and with this she plied the trade lanes of the Galaxy in the hunt for new experiences.

Teeming up with a band of mercenaries tasked with securing trade lanes against pirates, she learned about the two-bit nature of criminals who, on one hand were paid to secure lanes, and on the other attacked them when the money ran dry. She became well known for her deftness at the joystick and her ability to dogfight, which saw her assigned to even more dangerous and lucrative tasks in the Outer Rim. She became increasingly less dependent on her family's wealth, disregarding their existence entirely in time, and sought her fortune elsewhere. It was there, in the Outer Rim, that she first encountered the fabled Sacred Band of Ziost; little more than a band of mercenaries now, but fierce adversaries nonetheless. After several engagements, the mercenary corporation she was employed with sought to negotiate a mutually beneficial agreement with the Sacred Band's benefactors, and Asura was assigned to the task.

It was on this assignment that she would have her first encounter with the Sith. Unsure of what to think in their presence, and with only legends and fables to help her understand them, she was curious about them. On her first encounter she asked a myriad number of questions which the Sith chuckled in amusement at, though he had become more intrigued when he learned of her combat prowess. "I have felt your presence in combat," he had remarked. Asura had laughed, retorting that her enemies never left an engagement alive. "I sense the Force within you."

It was those words that had lingered in Asura's mind for the days and weeks that had followed. It was those words that caused her to betray her employer and return to the Sith who had spoken them. Those words which had caused her to pledge herself to the Sith; she knew that there was more to her future than simply being a mercenary, and she was determined to discover it. [/fancybox4]

PROFILE BY: BEE
COSPLAY BY: MiYo​

 

[Marf]

Sneak peak at Andro. Holy shit I forgot how much I love writing about this character. I absolutely cannot wait to RP her again. @Apollyon just cause I wanna show you <3

OVERTURE

​

NAME: Andromeda
FACTION: Sith Order
RANK: TBD
CLASS: Warrior
HOMEWORLD: Khar Shian
FORCE-SENSITIVE: Yes

SPECIES: Cyborg
GENDER: Female
ORIENTATION: Homosexual
AGE: 23
HEIGHT: 6'2"
WEIGHT: 250 lbs (Cybernetic endo-skeleton)

PERSONALITY​

Valiant and fierce, dominant and impassively masculine, Andromeda is both a frightening and extremely distinctive sight to average company. Her demeanor is that of a hardened and ruthless soldier. She carries herself with pride and military professionalism, but underneath the slick, durasteel armour, she is as rebellious, vulnerable and adventurous as any twenty-something year old. Habitually defiant, Andromeda has an almost compulsive desire to do the exact opposite of what she has been told. She takes her job seriously when she is on duty and maintains a professional image, but in truth, only uses it as an opportunity to explore the galaxy which she has been kept from for so long.

Having been severely isolated for a good portion of her early life, Andromeda's social behavior is particularly poor. After leaving the laboratory she was raised in, Andro spent her teenage years in a military academy full of aggressive and loud Warrior-class men. She is abrasive and crass, and uses a dictionary of foul language and sexual obscenities in her speech. She is hot-tempered, irritable and will easily resort to violence should she feel insulted or threatened, which is very often. Importantly however, Andromeda is absolutely not a sadist and will never take to any form of torture or excessive cruelty. She thoroughly enjoys combat, but does not kill or cause pain needlessly. She is biologically female and identifies as such, but is conspicuous by her very male behavioral and physical traits.

In her short life, Andromeda has been subject to cruelty and persecution that the average Sith could not even fathom. She is convinced that she has conquered the demons of her past and keeps them deeply buried, but in reality, is in denial about how young and how traumatized she really is. Andromeda behaves with hostility and aggression not because means to, but to keep everyone else away. She simply does not know how to appropriately communicate the words "please leave me alone". As she was genetically designed as a vicious frontline soldier, Andromeda is also too young to fully control the violent impulses she was made with. Despite her intimidating demeanor, she is very bashful and easily embarrassed, especially when receiving praise or affection. She views such things as unnecessary as she is simply unaccustomed to them. Although Andro finds it terribly awkward and confusing, she does quietly appreciate receiving kindness. She will often maintain a cold demeanor, then proceed to feel humiliated when she makes a mistake or says something wrong.

Arguably the most defining aspect of Andromeda's personality is her disposition as a synthetically manufactured cyborg. Since her creation, Andromeda has been raised to believe that she is a monster, repulsive, unwanted by anyone and useful only for combat. As a child, she believed this, but since travelling beyond the Sith and experiencing emotions beyond simply hatred and anger, Andromeda has come to question the extent of her own humanity and place in the galaxy. She is severely androgynous and unable to reproduce, but remains a highly emotional and passionate person. Her intense anger is accompanied by high levels of inspiration, hope, excitement and terrible sadness. She represses her further emotions to such an extent, that only her anger seems most prevalent. A lesbian, she has a weakness for a pretty girls, but struggles to explore her sexuality appropriately due to her limited social skills and embarrassment about her physical appearance.

While Andromeda is undeniably brutal in combat, she is capable of being remarkably gentle when she feels it is necessary. She has a particularly big heart for mistreated or misplaced young women, only because she can personally identify with their situations. Furthermore, she is entirely calm, friendly and down-to-earth when interacting with people she knows have no intention to harm or deceive her. On the rare that she does meet a Sith she feels unthreatened by, she'll talk to them non-stop and usually captivate them with her massive personality and boisterous sense of humor. While she may not be exactly approachable at first, a conversation will quickly reveal Andromeda to be youthful, chilled out and entirely normal. She displays unwavering loyalty to anyone who treats her with consistent kindness, but is very hesitant to trust, particularly other Sith.

Due to her past experiences, Andromeda heavily disdains the more mystical or scholarly breed of Sith. She abhors sorcery, wholeheartedly disagrees with the preservation of Moraband and thinks that the Sorcerer-class obsession with immortality is entirely ridiculous. While she is not foolish enough to openly admit it, Andromeda latently wishes to see the Sorcerer sect overthrown and torn down. Unsurprisingly, she is a highly pragmatic, radical atheist who believes that truly progressive and free Sith should not need to rely so excessively on the Force. Furthermore, she views the Force as something natural a Sith may use a weapon or tool, as opposed to a sentient deity that should be worshipped.

At her core, Andromeda fights to live, to give herself purpose and to preserve her dignity. Sith is but a title, a career to her, something she does to not only put food in her stomach, but because she has no other choice. From what was once a living hell, Andromeda has embraced her prison to turn it into the closest thing to a home she will ever have. While her intentions may be sometimes be good, she is still a proponent of war and conflict, as it is the only way of life she knows and the only way she is convinced she can destroy the spell-casting breed of Sith who have tortured herself and her kin. Ultimately, Andromeda is a courageous young misfit struggling to lead a normal life in an outright extreme and horrendous world. She is an unlikely hero forever trapped on the wrong side, who would rescue a young woman from a warzone regardless of factional differences or personal duty.

APPEARANCE​

Standing at six foot two, resembling a young man with a lower jaw constructed of raw cybernetics, poor Andromeda is not attractive by conventional standards, but could be considered strangely handsome by those with more eccentric tastes. Her physical appearance has been the cause of much torment and mockery throughout her life. She is very tall and imposing compared to most girls, but is average-sized compared to any male Sith Warrior. Profoundly butch-andro, she has broad shoulders, a straight waist, narrow hips and flat, almost non-existent breasts. She is lean and athletic, with notable muscle tone, but is not overly large or muscular. Her gait, nuances and tone of voice are all distinctively masculine.

As Andromeda was synthetically designed and created by an alchemist, her looks are highly atypical and somewhat inhuman. She has bright red mechanical eyes which glow and spiky, platinum blonde hair which matches the colour of her milk-white skin. Her eyes are slightly larger than a normal humans and are marred with premature lines and shadows. She has defined cheekbones, strong eyebrows and a button nose. Most notably, Andromeda's lower jaw is mechanical and covered only partially with synthskin. Her original jaw was torn out by a Sith Juggernaut as a punishment for talking back when she was a child, causing her to be labeled as "damaged goods" by her creator.

Andromeda's entire skeleton and inner frame are made from cybernetics, while her skin, flesh and organs were created with alchemy. Her endo-skeleton is much heavier and sturdier than normal bones and adds a large deal to her weight. She mostly wears simple, sparring armour with a navy blue tunic on a daily basis and wears normal men's clothes when off-duty. During large scale battles or military presentations, she will wear her patent, black, durasteel battle armour and cape. On formal occasions she will wear ceremonial armour or a suit and lightly slick back the top of her hair.

STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES​

As to be expected, Andromeda LOVES fighting. Her melee prowess is astounding and her physical strength and endurance levels are insane. She's pretty bad at everything else though. She is highly impulsive and tends to act before she thinks, so her skills in the area of military tactics and battle strategy are average at best. Too much talking or thinking tends to annoy her and Andromeda is far more skilled in hands-on work. As her cybernetics are incredibly heavy, she is not very agile or dexterous. She is reasonably fast, but not to the level of the petite, acrobatic Sith Assassins. Andromeda is quite intelligent, but her perception of the wider galaxy is warped due to her upbringing.

Since her entire skeleton is mechanical, Andromeda's connection to the Force is very weak, making any advanced Dark Side powers impossible for her. She is skilled in abilities such as Force Rage, Barrier, Telekinesis and Tutaminis, but in regards to things such as Lightning or alchemy, she is entirely useless. Diplomacy and manipulation are also major weaknesses for her. While Andromeda can inspire legions of troops with her powerful personality or terrify people just by looking at them, lying, deception or charm are out of the question for her, since she yells all the time, swears and smells bad. Andromeda is also habitually honest and tends to say whatever she feels, in turn, she always keeps her promises and never lies or steals.

Andromeda is in superior physical condition to a normal human and rarely gets sick. She is intensely fit and does not tire out easily. However, she suffers from severe post-traumatic stress symptoms and claustrophobia. She is terrified of small spaces or having her movements restrained and will not wear a helmet or pilot a star fighter as a result. She takes her role as a Sith Warrior very seriously and will work tirelessly on military assignments, often sacrifcing much needed sleep. She smokes cigarettes and is a big eater and a hard drinker, but rarely gets drunk due to her strong physical make-up.

 

[Jake]

@Marf @Saul

I'm really digging the writeups you guys have so far. I also want to start from the very beginning Saul, so maybe we can do some apprentice plots together. I posted the link to my character a little ways back. We'll have to form a little trio of Sith ladies to turn the faction into our own little matriarchy. ;o Also marf, I think I will probably have the only female Sith that's taller than Andromeda. Hahaha.

 

[Soverin]

I'd love to get in on that Sith skype chat if I could get an invite! Skype username is Lyons, but you can find it by searching demonops. Please and thank you!

 

[Jawa Juice]

@Marf @Saul

Also marf, I think I will probably have the only female Sith that's taller than Andromeda. Hahaha.

Not if anything to say about it I have. :p

Edit: also all of these bios are killer. I think it was yours in particular Jake (Galad's too) that really made me rethink and retool some of my faceless Sith's past - it's interesting to me to see how similar warriors can be shaped by different pasts.

 

[Marf]

I ain't posting Andro's biography until the actual reboot, so it'll be a surprise XD

Her personality is massive, so I'm not going to bother with a fancy literary bio.

@Jake Call Andromeda a lady to her face and she will smash yours in.