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Harren Skaalvarg
AGE
► 23
SPECIES ► Human (Deucalian)
HEIGHT ► 2.0 Metres
WEIGHT ► 99 kg
EYE COLOR ► Blue
HAIR COLOR ► Blonde
HOMEWORLD ► Rhen Var
GENDER ► Male
FACTION ► Old Empire
RANK ► Acolyte
FORCE SENSITIVITY ► Sensitive
BIOGRAPHY
Rhen Var was all Harren, son of Haarkon, ever knew as he grew up. His family, part of a fundamentalist Deucalian survivalist cult known only as “The Varg”, moved away from Ando Prime while his mother was pregnant. Theirs was the belief that weakness was the reason for their people’s decline, and the only way to eliminate the frail and rise again was to expose oneself to horrendous adversity and strife, and thrive regardless. The Varg had no love of force users, seeing them as little more than witches forced to steal power from elsewhere to make up for having none themselves. The adherents of their belief stood somewhat apart from the Deucalian Clans, even where their views aligned - more being social pariahs and hardliners that didn’t quite fit in well with others.
Consequently, once they felt they had exhausted the ice caverns and treacherous plateaus of Ando Prime, The Varg had no choice but to take to the stars. Some travelled for worlds known for poisonous fungal spores, others for volcanic hellscapes. The group that Harren’s parents were a part of felt that their affinity for the cold was a skill not best forgotten, and so made their way to the one ball of ice in the Galaxy they thought might very well be a harder place to survive than Ando Prime.
Rhen Var.
A desolate place with a total population of no more than a few hundred pirates and ne’er do wells, the planet presented a unique challenge. The same punishingly cold climate that The Varg were all too used to, but with the added challenge of there being absolutely nobody else to go to for help. They scuttled their ships on landing, ripping out engines and smashing navigation controls. They used their metal carcasses as shelters, forming the basis of a squalid little settlement in the shadow of a great mountain of ice. They named that mountain Kjrag, after the founder of The Varg cult - for though it offered shelter from razor sharp ice blizzards that could cut a man to ribbons if caught outside in one, it too had a temper. Being made of ice Kjrag was prone to having great chunks shatter and shear off its side, great avalanches of clear blue death. More than one cultist was lost on Kjrag’s slopes, they came to respect the massive spire of ice greatly.
Harren was born perhaps half a year after the last ship was scuttled. He was the firstborn to the new settlement, and came howling into the world accompanied by the fiercest ice storm The Varg had ever witnessed. Some considered this a bad omen, and asked Haarkon to throw his baby into the snow. He declined, instead hoping that the storm meant that Harren was destined for great things, that he might be the one to return the Deucalians to their former glories.
By the time Harren could walk and talk The Varg were established, though their standard of life was abysmal. When he was five one of the small pirate crews that used the planet as a base attacked and made off with several of the women, including his mother. Harren’s father, Haarkon, did not take it well. Already obsessed with making his son into a man that no land could kill, no matter how harsh, now he instilled him with a heart as cold as the land he was born into. There was no bond between father and son, only a master and an apprentice.
Around the age of eleven Harren hit puberty. He could already hunt and track as well as any of the menfolk, and was bigger than most other boys his age. Cold and ruthless, Harren represented a great achievement to The Varg - a vindication of their beliefs that the Duecalian people could once again be made strong. He became popular, and though his father never allowed himself to show it, he was proud. Harren son of Haarkon was a true survivor. It was only in private, behind closed doors, that any weaknesses showed through. The boy was plagued with nightmares - dark shadows with red blades pursued him through his dreams, and before he woke the whole world ended in an avalanche. Harren never dared speak of this with anyone, for he knew well the Varg despised witches just as much as the Deucalians of Ando Prime.
A few short weeks later everything changed. The force, as it is wont to do, made itself known. Nightmares worsened, stormclouds gathered on the horizon. Even Harren's father became nervous, for now his son openly thrashed about in his sleep as the wind screamed outside. There was no more hiding the fact that Harren was touched by something. Then one fateful morning he woke with a shout, drenched in his own sweat.
A sound more terrible than any other drowned him out. A rumbling that shook the very foundations of the world.
Kjrag shattered, a storm that had buffetted the peak of the mountain for days finally wore the ice down to the point where it exploded, pelting the Varg settlement beneath with man sized shards of ice sharp enough to sever bone. Haarkon was caught between buildings as it happened, a death sentence. Harren watched in horror from the threshold of their home as a spinning sword of ice whistled through the blizzard towards his father’s head. He raised a hand, screaming into the tempest his father’s name.
Haarkon was catapulted backwards as if hit by a train, smashing his head on a metal wall and lying still. The shard of ice buried itself halfway into the permafrost, and Harren had the briefest moment of euphoria as he realised he’d probably saved his father’s life before he felt the back of his skull crack open, pain stab across his eyes and tumbled into unconsciousness himself.
His friend Jorn, who had been sheltering with him, had watched Harren cry out and the force obey him. He’d seen Harren shove his father out of the way of certain death with powers not of this world, and he knew what to do. He’d taken up a length of metal piping and smashed the witch over the back of the head, hard enough to knock him out but hopefully not badly enough to kill him. Harren had, after all, saved his father’s life.
Upon waking, Harren knew two only things. The first was that the expression on his father’s face before him was one he’d only ever seen when he looked at a hated enemy. The second was that he was in excruciating pain. The back of his head, while sore, wasn’t even the half of it. His eyes swam further into focus, and he saw the bloodied knife.
Haarkon was carving something into his son’s chest, and he wasn’t being gentle. His screaming drowned out even the storm.
It was the rune for witch, he discovered much later after the vicious markings began to heal over and scar. He would bear the wounds for the rest of his life, the mutilation of his left breast and lower torso, covering his heart in scar tissue. Every Deucalian that saw Harren’s chest from that point would know exactly what he was, and most would revile him for it. His father and the rest of The Varg most certainly did.
Unfortunately for them, Harren had learned the lessons of his upbringing well. He would survive anywhere, any way he could, and he didn’t have the luxury of familial bonds. He would live even here, on an inhospitable ball of ice where the only people he knew hated him for simply existing. He knew they would try and see him dead, but he also knew they would fail.
Harren always was strong willed. Perhaps it was the force in him, whispering that he was destined for something greater than an unmarked burial in the snow.
Eventually, once they deemed his branding sufficiently healed, they sent him away. Not alone, for they sent Jorn with him a way to ensure Harren would not simply hide on the outskirts of the settlement. Jorn was to turn back once he was satisfied the witch was banished.
It was a bad lapse in judgement to not send more.
Harren had successfully hunted and gathered on Rhen Var for years, he did it as well as the men. He also knew that without a weapon, for they of course had given him none, he could do neither with any degree of reliability. They were sending him out into the ice fields to die, and everyone knew it.
Harren knew what he needed to survive. He needed food and a weapon. Luckily, he had been provided with both. Eventually Jorn turned away, ready to turn back to the Varg settlement. Like a Deucalian wolf Harren silently turned as well, and made his move. He had always been the better fighter of the two.
When Jorn never returned Haarkon and the others formed search parties. They scoured the surrounding area for signs of either of the pair, but found nothing. Defeated, they turned back. Another good man lost to the fury of Rhen Var.
The ice cave Harren found himself in was small, dark and freezing, but it sheltered him from the wind. The knife he’d taken from Jorn in the struggle was crude and jagged, but it did what he needed it to do. He had no fire to warm himself, or with which to cook food, but heat was a luxury Harren knew how to live without. The body of his childhood friend Jorn was tough and lean, but it kept Harren alive all the same. All the cold did was stop the raw flesh from rotting.
It was weeks later when out of a howling blizzard came a tall, imposing figure. The Varg settlement’s lookout gave a cry and mustered the warriors, who upon approaching the mysterious man discovered the Witch of the Varg, Harren himself. He was armed only with a blunt knife, and carried in his arms what appeared to be a bundle of firewood.
It was only when they got closer that they saw the skull. Haarkon himself raised his gun - a battered old pistol they kept around for emergencies - at his only son. Harren let the bones of his old friend tumble out of his arms and into the snow. He’d brought them for burial. For a proper rite to be held.
The Varg were disgusted. It was typical of a witch to resort to cannibalism, an admission that they were not strong enough to survive alone and must instead steal power from their brothers and sisters. They raised their weapons, intending to finally put an end to the blight on their place under the great mountain Kjrag.
Harren closed his eyes. He’d not once been able to summon the force again in all the weeks since he’d saved his father’s life. He had no way of stopping the blaster bolts from tearing him into bloody chunks and leaving him in the snow among the bones of the twelve year old boy he’d eaten. This was the end.
He wasn’t wrong, in a sense.
The electric wail of engines overhead, the piercing beams of high powered lights cutting through the ever present storms. The force spoke again in a way yet new to Harren. It was the Sith. Called by the dark side of the force, they had come to claim him. And claim him they did. Nobody has ever visited the settlement under the shadow of Kjrag ever since, but presumably the survivors of that day live their still - fighting the very world of Rhen Var itself in their daily battle with death.
Harren never returned after boarding that ship, and took a new name to signify his rebirth. No longer was he Haarkonsson, born in the shadow of the mountain. Now Harren was called Skaalvarg, or Witch of the Varg of Rhen Var as it might be translated into basic. It was a name that in the Deucalian tongue marked him out immediately as an outsider, a pariah. He picked it because of this, not as some sick joke but because its what he was, and Harren didn't lie.
He would learn to though. In time.
Harren is a ruthless individual, calculating, cold and willing to do anything to survive. His experiences learning the ways of the Sith as an acolyte have shown him that the force is a powerful tool within him, and his Deucalian heritage tells him it is nothing less than powerful magic. Consequently he really does think of himself as a witch, and is working towards developing his magical prowess. It also means he's superstitious - devils, gods, angels, ghosts and spirits all exist in the waking world, as far as Harren's concerned... Not everything can be explained away with science and things go bump in the night.
He isn't full of malice, like some Sith - actually coming across as quite amiable (in an uncivilised sort of way) if he takes a liking to you. He doesn't hold grudges, or care much for petty politics or wars of faith. He respects only strength, and desires only power. He equates both of these things with success, given his training instilling in him a fierce sense of competition and his past giving him an unstoppable will to keep on breathing no matter what. He's a survivor, concerned with building a saga the likes of which will be sung about long after his own bones have turned to dust.
Harren isn't much of an articulate talker, being curt and to the point. While he smiles and jokes freely at times, Harren is prone to vicious berserker rages in combat - there are times when he is simply no longer present, taken over entirely by bloodlust. In this state pain only serves to further fan the flames, the only way to calm him down is by ensuring his enemies are dead and there's nothing left to fight, or incapacitating him. If he says something, he means it, Harren keeps his word and his honour, though he has his own definition of what honour might be compared to your average Deucalian, given his oddball upbringing. He knows nothing of his Deucalian heritage, or next to nothing at least - not having taken part in any of their culture or rites of passage since The Varg didn't think them important, but is what they might call "thick blooded". Ironically enough if Harren hadn't have turned out to be force sensitive, and therefore almost universally hated among his people, he may well have one day turned out to be their salvation.
As it is? He bears them no ill will. He just thinks them weak, failed. He is determined to not share their fate.
He isn't full of malice, like some Sith - actually coming across as quite amiable (in an uncivilised sort of way) if he takes a liking to you. He doesn't hold grudges, or care much for petty politics or wars of faith. He respects only strength, and desires only power. He equates both of these things with success, given his training instilling in him a fierce sense of competition and his past giving him an unstoppable will to keep on breathing no matter what. He's a survivor, concerned with building a saga the likes of which will be sung about long after his own bones have turned to dust.
Harren isn't much of an articulate talker, being curt and to the point. While he smiles and jokes freely at times, Harren is prone to vicious berserker rages in combat - there are times when he is simply no longer present, taken over entirely by bloodlust. In this state pain only serves to further fan the flames, the only way to calm him down is by ensuring his enemies are dead and there's nothing left to fight, or incapacitating him. If he says something, he means it, Harren keeps his word and his honour, though he has his own definition of what honour might be compared to your average Deucalian, given his oddball upbringing. He knows nothing of his Deucalian heritage, or next to nothing at least - not having taken part in any of their culture or rites of passage since The Varg didn't think them important, but is what they might call "thick blooded". Ironically enough if Harren hadn't have turned out to be force sensitive, and therefore almost universally hated among his people, he may well have one day turned out to be their salvation.
As it is? He bears them no ill will. He just thinks them weak, failed. He is determined to not share their fate.
[*]Durasteel Lightsaber - a rugged and inelegant design, Harren’s lightsaber is his primary weapon. He forged it of durasteel, and consequently the hilt itself is a dangerous improvised weapon even with the blade sheathed.
[*]Deucalian Hunting Knife - a vicious long knife, designed for skinning, gutting and the peeling of scales. It’s also weighted for throwing, in a pinch.
[*]Vibrodagger - A standard imperial pattern vibrodagger, weighted for throwing.
[*]Deucalian Wanderer’s Rags - A set of black lightly armoured Deucalian clothes protecting Harren’s forearms, torso and shins, with phrik gauntlets and a mantle of dark grey fur about the shoudlers.
[*]ZA-13 Blaster Pistol
[*]Sith Marauder Armour
[*]Deucalian Hunting Knife - a vicious long knife, designed for skinning, gutting and the peeling of scales. It’s also weighted for throwing, in a pinch.
[*]Vibrodagger - A standard imperial pattern vibrodagger, weighted for throwing.
[*]Deucalian Wanderer’s Rags - A set of black lightly armoured Deucalian clothes protecting Harren’s forearms, torso and shins, with phrik gauntlets and a mantle of dark grey fur about the shoudlers.
[*]ZA-13 Blaster Pistol
[*]Sith Marauder Armour
Sagas of the Witch of Rhen Var
- Uprising on Hutta - Going out the Turnpyke ― A vicious aerial raid upon a spice trading outpost on the Pyke world of Obah Diah ― • COMPLETE - REWARD: ONE TECH THREAD
- Uprising on Hutta - A Snout Full ― A team of Sith Acolytes perform a nighttime assault on a Hutt slaving compound, freeing the Gamorreans enslaved there. ― • COMPLETE - REWARD: ONE TECH THREAD
- Uprising on Hutta - Flies on a Wall ― Harren and his newfound comrade, Doz Noth, attack a Hutt palace as part of a team under the oversight of Arianna Marris, Sith Crusader. ― • COMPLETE
- No Honoghr Among Noghri ― Harren, Doz and his newest comrade, a fellow Deucalian named Agmundr, conduct a little off the books "shopping" on the Noghri homeworld. ― • IN PROGRESS
- Bring The Rain ― Harren was sent as part of the battlegroup in the assault on the rebel base of Naboo - tasked with laying beacons for the fleet in orbit to dial in bombardments from. ― • COMPLETE
- Signal Received ― Harren receives a strange distress signal from the River Moon of Al'doleem. Knowing in his heart what it means, he investigates. ― • COMPLETE
- Sleeper Simulant ― Harren joins the sorceress Arianna Marris upon the blighted world of Dathomir, there to steal magical secrets and further both of their understandings of the force. ― • COMPLETE
- Pursuing the Arcane ― At the request of Lord Varyn Rask himself, Harren accompanies the infamous Sith on a hunt for an ancient darkness... ― • IN PROGRESS
- Shadow Falls ― Joining with Saorise Kallig, a Sith from the Imperial Republica, a combined Sith strike team ventures into the ruins of the Jedi Temple of Tython - there to desecrate the place forever in the name of the Dark Side. ― • IN PROGRESS
- Slaking One's Thirst ― Taking a winding route to meet up with Arianna Marris to begin their efforts in the Old Empire's campaign to take Coruscant, Harren stops off on the backwater world of Ejolus and meets an unlikely character. ― • IN PROGRESS
- Corsin - Teething Pains ― Taking a winding route to meet up with Arianna Marris to begin their efforts in the Old Empire's campaign to take Coruscant, Harren tracks down a junior acolyte on her first mission - just because he can. ― • IN PROGRESS
- Speak Softly ― Once more assigned to Arianna Marris, Harren takes an active role in the Coruscant offensive - Darth Vrael's effort to reunite the Empire once and for all. They travel to Datar, in order to secure Vrael's fleet safe (and secret) passage to the core. ― • IN PROGRESS
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