Draku Liro

[Mesa]

DRAKU LIRO “Power resides only where men believe it resides. [...] A shadow on the wall, yet shadows can kill. And ofttimes a very small man can cast a very large shadow.” - George R.R. Martin ​ BASIC INFORMATION​ ALIAS None AFFILIATION New Sith Imperium RANK Acolyte AGE 174 GSY SPECIES Anzat GENDER Male HEIGHT 5'6" WEIGHT 153 lbs BUILD Mesomorph HAIR COLOR Brown EYE COLOR Green SKIN COLOR Fair FORCE-SENSITIVE Yes ATTRIBUTES & ABILITIES​ STRENGTH ■■■■■■■■■■ DEXTERITY ■■■■■■■■■■ STAMINA ■■■■■■■■■■ INTELLIGENCE ■■■■■■■■■■ WISDOM ■■■■■■■■■■ CHARISMA ■■■■■■■■■■ FORCE POWERS​ Force Speed novice​ Force Telekinesis apprentice​ Force Telepathy adept​ Force Jump novice​ Mind Trickhttp://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Mind_trick adept​ Art of Movement apprentice​ Force Sight novice​ Force Empathy apprentice​ Force Stealth novice​ novice ▹ apprentice ▹ adept ▹ expert ▹ master ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ LIGHTSABER FORMS & TECHNIQUES​ blank ​ blank ​ blank ​ novice ▹ apprentice ▹ adept ▹ expert ▹ master ​ ​ ​ SKILLS​ Slicing apprentice​ Teräs Käsi adept​ Marksmanship adept​ Pilot (Ground) adept​ Pilot (Aerial) apprentice​ Pilot (Spacecraft) adept​ Medical (First Aid) apprentice​ Command apprentice​ Tracking expert​ Language (Anzat) master​ Language (Basic) master​ Language (Bocce) expert​ Language (Huttese) adept​ Language (Shyriiwook) adept​ Language (Kinetic) apprentice​ Brawling adept​ Stealth adept​ Cooking apprentice​ novice ▹ apprentice ▹ adept ▹ expert ▹ master ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ EQUIPMENT & INVENTORY​ PRIMARY WEAPON(S) Vibroblade | TBD | TBD SECONDARY WEAPON(S) Lightsaber | TBD | TBD ARMOR(S) Cloak | TBD | TBD TRANSPORTATION Kar'aden "StarFury"-class Freighter | TBD | TBD MISCELLANEOUS TBD | TBD | TBD [tr] [tr] [tr] [tr] THREAD TRACKER​ Training ​ I. N/A ✗ ​ TYPE II. N/A ✗ ​ TYPE III. N/A

BIOGRAPHY​ I have a word for you It is your name Obey, Obey, Obey, Never take a step again Unless I say. ​ It trails me, hushed as the night, dancing between the trees as the sunlight flickers. It melts into darkness with the arrival of dusk, until it blends and disappears against the backdrop of nothingness. But it remains, only neglected. Like the stars during the day – overpowered by the pouring rays of sunlight – but yet still there. As night whisks away it joins me once more, hailing like an old friend. It mirrors my actions, as though looking up to me, surveying and admiring my every move. An immaculate outline of my shape, an echo of my movements, a lifetime companion, it stalks me; a shadow, my truest friend. There are those who would dismiss us as legend; myths told as nighttime stories to frighten children into obedience, to warn society that greater dangers lurk in the expanse. Fables, long since creation, passed down by men to their kin to keep the tale alive. They do not wish to believe it; why would they concern themselves with something so outlandish, so sinister, that it keeps them awake at night wondering of the horrors of the universe? Because we do exist, and they deserve to be frightened. We are one of you, though you try refute our existence. You keep us in the shadows of your mind, questioning your ideals. The reality is painfully grim, it always has been. You find yourself wondering if you can truly trust the man or woman to your side; the seed of doubt is a powerful weapon. It can turn friends into foes, relatives to rivals. When you become paranoid, untrusting of all but a select few; when your faith in those you once called kin wavers and drains as water would in a sink; when you frighten yourself at night before you rest your weary body from these macabre thoughts? We strike. We can be any of you. There is no way for you to discern us from your fellows. We use this, exploit our propensity for stealth. An unremarkable humanoid, watched closely by few, is capable of great misery. We find it appetizing, your fear. Your essence is a delicacy, our only necessary meal. You cannot avoid a myth; you cannot defend against a legend; you cannot halt the advance of a fable. All you can do is isolate yourself from others, avoid communication with any who might be one of us. You call us vampires, afraid of our true name. You whisper it only when alone in the relative safety of your home, and even then you keep a blaster nearby. Why are you so fearful of saying it? If we do not hunger, you have nothing to fear. The problem is that Anzat are always hungry. I was born, coincidentally, on Anzat some hundred and seventy-odd years ago. I have forgotten the exact date, but it is of little importance. My parents - if you could call them that, they were more like uninterested guardians - had me sent away to an assassin's training grounds when I was young, as if I were some rabid dog that required obedience training. I, in the tradition of a good, disobedient dog, gleefully went along, my naiveté guiding my actions. Had I known I would be spending my time there for the next few decades I may have been a bit more rebellious, but that's in the past. After all, I'm certain it's been beyond beneficial for me. It's much easier feeding when the few that are capable of tracking you are lying, unscathed, in secluded spots, the very soul drained from their insignificant corpses. Worthless meals, used as snacks intermittently between the grander courses. But I digress. Fast-forward several decades now, on the day of my one-hundred and sixty-sixth birthday. The year was 1015 ABY. The Jedi had gone into hiding, the Alliance was dead, and the New Sith Imperium had claimed dominance over the galaxy. For the past hundred years I've roamed the galaxy, feeding and killing, enjoying the grander things in life as an assassin. It was an adequate existence, filled with little frivolous finery and ostentatious displays of wealth and power. That isn't to say I wasn't well-off, certainly no; a hundred years of contract killing means the credits add up quite a bit, but I refused to waste my time and money on useless shopping ventures. Had I truly desired something, I would simply take it. Take, for example, my ship. The finest in Mandalorian craftsmanship, or so I heard. It was difficult to tell in-between the man's pleas for mercy before succumbing to my persuasion. See, he had committed the terrible transgression of purposefully spilling my drink one day prior in a cantina on the terribly-dusty world of Tatooine, much to my dismay. He refused my polite request for apology and called me a di'kut, though to be fair I hardly understand their primitive tongue. So, having been offended twice in the span of five minutes by the same cretin, I began my revenge. Naturally, the man's offense demanded immediate retribution of equal or greater caliber, to which I was jovial to oblige. The plan wasn't overly elaborate: ambush the idiot on his ship and enjoy the sweet nectar of his essence, provided all went according to plan. It was fairly straightforward. No daring heroics, no overt gunfight or duel in the streets, and certainly no terrible monologues of my vastly superior intellect and cunning (though that last part would have ripened the meal). It all went quite well, relatively speaking. He arrived well after darkness had fallen, allowing me ample time to find myself a comfy seat upon the bridge of his craft. One could only imagine the mixture of surprise and horror hidden beneath that scratched, sand-worn helmet upon my discovery. It was invigorating, to say the least. It wasn't long until the fool was under my spell, entranced by softly-spoken words and my mental fortitude. Some time had passed, his body having been disposed of after I had my fill. Of course, I could not just allow his ship to sit there to be stripped by Jawas or sold to some Zygerrian slaver. So, in my infinite wisdom, I claimed the vessel as my own. A prize to finish the meal. The icing on the cake, if you will. I quickly adapted to it, though I have yet to officially name it, and spent quite some time learning the ins and outs of this beautiful starship. Skip again to the present date, 1023 ABY, one-hundred and seventy-four days since my birth. Quite a bit had changed in the galaxy over this span, for the most part. It had amused me when I heard of the Mandalorians' destruction, for it reminded me of my kill on Tatooine eight years prior. I had lived more lifetimes than most unfortunate souls could say and still looked as stunningly handsome as ever. This was a very good year, one with a myriad of surprises. I'll skip over the minutiae of my travels and begin a few months ago on an arboreal planet known as Kashyyyk, where I had resided for a short time to enjoy the local flavor. It was relatively uneventful, had I not detected the young Sith acolyte taking a stroll on one of the great walkways among the trees. Naturally, I simply had to have this individual. They were absolutely teeming with the Force, it was nearly mouth-watering, to be honest. However, their potential was untapped, and they quickly became seduced by my silvery tongue and stronger mind control. Unfortunately, the acolyte was not without master and, upon discovery of my attempting to savor the taste of his protégé's soup, declared his intent to kill me. I was entirely prepared to defend myself until the chance to meld into the shadows and vanish forever presented itself, but the Crusader merely halted, staring at me with stained, yellow eyes from beneath the foreboding shadow cast over his face by his cloak. Then, a low rumble emanated from his throat, slowly rising in volume until it was certain he had begun chuckling to himself. The chuckle quickly became a cackle as the man deactivated his lightsaber and placed it upon his hilt. I followed his gaze to his former Acolyte's corpse, now crumpled in a heap beside me. With a flick of his wrist the body flung itself over the railing and into the depths below, never to be seen again. The series of events following the encounter flew by so rapidly, it has taken me quite some time of meditation to remember them. The Crusader offered me a formal invitation to join the Sith, promising grander feasts than that if I swore to hone my skills as a Force-sensitive to subjugate the galaxy. Naturally, my interest was piqued, and I graciously accepted. As soon as he turned around, however, I vanished. I refuse to associate myself with someone clearly missing a few planets on his star chart, so I set off on my own to the desolate wastes of Korriban. Of course, I didn't leave without a memento of the encounter. Before discovery, I snatched the lightsaber of the Acolyte from his belt, sticking it in my bag as a souvenir. Though, it looks like it'll become more than just a souvenir. I wonder what Crusaders taste like. PERSONALITY & APPEARANCE​ Draku is an Anzat, and as such is considered a myth. His people live for extraordinarily long periods of time, never truly being considered "old" until well past their seventh century of life. As well, Draku looks no different from any other baseline human, aside from his bulbous nose. Due to his pseudo-mythological nature, Draku keeps his species and true age a myth. Instead, he goes around telling everyone he's just an average 24 year-old human from some backwater planet. He's learned that people are much more willing to follow you when you're mildly attractive, so he works to maintaining his relative beauty. His eyes are a hazel green, his hair a taupe brown, and his body a fair, slightly grey, tone. His muscles are toned in accordance to his mentality of maintaining perfection of body and mind, which furthers his appearance of a physically-superior human, though that's simply his Anzati genetics. A hundred and seventy years of life has done little to dull his wit and he thinks clearly and meticulously before performing any major task. Draku adheres to a philosophy of neither chaos nor order, choosing instead a neutral ground between the two. He lives to satiate his hunger and, in doing so, become stronger. He enjoys gathering information on his targets, knowing that a thorough understanding of their routine, skills, and what they approve of all culminate together to aid him in his kill. While not overly boastful, Draku will not turn away a compliment and takes criticism as if it weren't there. To him, his people are the pinnacle of evolution, and all others are merely meals for his grand feast. In Bloom - Nirvana​ Talk Is Cheap - Chet Faker​ Save My Soul - Blues Saraceno​ RELATIONSHIPS​ CHARACTER NAME How your characters know each other. IDK. Make stuff up.​ CHARACTER NAME How your characters know each other. IDK. Make stuff up.​ CHARACTER NAME How your characters know each other. IDK. Make stuff up.​ CHARACTER NAME How your characters know each other. IDK. Make stuff up.​

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Character Development ​
I.	A Cold Greeting	✗ ​ ​	Story
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✗: Ongoing ▹ ✓: Completed ▹✗: Abandoned​

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Thanks Bee for the amazing looking template.

 

[Mesa]

Reserved.

This is still kind of WIP.

 

[TheSilentWind]

Nice first character.

 

[Mesa]

Thanks.

Now the long wait for approval.