Painus' Prophesied People

[Painus]

Biographical information​

Homeworld
Age
TBD
23

Physical description​

Species
Gender
Height
Mass
Hair color
Eye color
Skin color
Force Sensitive
Level
Human
Female
5’0
123lbs
Blonde
Brown
Almond Tan
No
1

Chronological and political information​

Affiliation(s)



Theme
Voice
· Mandalorians †
___· Basic Bitch †
· Mandalorian House †
___· House X †
· Mandalorian Clans †
___· Clan Y †

_

.
Amyra Kryze

Excerpt · Biography · Personality and Traits · Talents · Miscellaneous

Leandros is the child of a slave born again into a new culture -- the Mandalorians. Rescued at a young age from near death, he believes that in a hypothermia-induced vision he was chosen by the destroyer god Kad Ha'rangir. The god has decreed the time and manner of Leandros' death, and somewhere out there is the Beast that will kill him. It is his given duty to seek out this creature and face it head on. Until that time, however, he must serve his people faithfully with the grim determination of a man who knows his whole life will be war; that no force under heaven will excuse him from assuming his place in line of battle and clashing sword-to-sword, helmet-to-helmet with the enemy.

_

▵Biography

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▵Personality and Traits

Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Bamf mando chick Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Bamf mando chick Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Bamf mando chick Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron Stupid dumb idiot moron

▵Talents

Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick Bamf mando chick

▵Equipment

• Personal Armor
• Blaster 1
• Blaster 2
• Melee Weapon
• 1 x grenade
• 1 x grenade
• 1 x grenade
• 1 x grenade
• 1 extra reload per firearm
• All grenades are otherwise hidden in pouches
• Ship
• Droid
• Speeder

▵Scars, Tattoos, and Other Markings

• None yet

▵Roleplays

__1. Thread 1
__2. Thread 2
__3. Thread 3
__4. Thread 4
__5. Thread 5

 

[Painus]

Biographical information​

Homeworld
Age
Serenno
21

Physical description​

Species
Gender
Height
Mass
Hair color
Eye color
Skin color
Force Sensitive
Reputation
Human
Female
5’1
113lbs
Black
Green
Fair
Yes
Unknown

Chronological and political information​

Affiliation(s)
Theme
Voice

· Sith Eternal †
___· Guardian †
· Melkor Damask †
___· Apprentice †

_

____ Ana D'Amico

__"If the path to salvation leads through the halls of purgatory, then so be it."

B I O G R A P H Y

Ana is a bastard child born out of wedlock to a minor noble on Serenno. Her name meant nothing, her family’s reputation meant nothing, and what fortune they had was sealed away tight by her dreadful miser of a father. Her mere existence was a stain on the family’s honor, and what little respect she might have had would be squandered on antiquated notions of family prestige. However great a shame she was, her father could not bear to put the child up for adoption or have her whisked away in the dark to regions unknown, and so he devised a plan to keep the child’s birthright unknown to her throughout her life and keep her close by as a scullery maid. For most of her life, she was ignored by all but her father, who had her educated in private, but never revealed that he was her father. To cover his tracks, he believed that posing as if he wanted an affair with the girl would provide sufficient justification for his keen interest in her upbringing. Though her mother did not know of the “affair,” she still viewed the girl with indignation and disdain, seeing her as nothing more than a reminder of her husband’s infidelity, though she, too, kept her identity a secret.

Ana was schooled in areas of classical antiquity, though the information did not spread beyond the lore of the planet. She was also tutored in stringed instruments, though her passion rested in painting and art. To satisfy his bastard daughter, her father provided her with an easel and paint with which to practice in private. She never knew that his love for her extended beyond anything physical, but it would have killed the father to see his first child removed from his life.

As her life went on, Ana’s desire to know more intensified, and soon her studies included things of a more esoteric nature. Her father had an extensive library on matters of the occult, and would occasionally allow her access, if only for a moment or two of privacy with her as she poured over forbidden lore. The more she delved into the arcane, the more her obsession with it grew. Her sleep was plagued with nightmares and dark visions of matters man was not meant to know, and, though she was a mere scullery maid, she pressured the man who employed her into allowing greater access to the library, an attempt which was met with stern refusal. Unbeknownst to her, this pull to the occult was influenced by her family’s natural ties to the Dark Side of the Force – for theirs was a foul history that had been struck from history books some generations back – and it began to manifest as she became a young woman.

Her life, as small and insignificant as it was, would be changed when the Muun Melkor arrived at her family’s humble estate. A man possessed with an insatiable lust for all things profane and esoteric, he requested access to her father’s library in the hopes of finding out a key piece of information on a relic he had been chasing. As fate would have it, Ana found herself having snuck into the library to digest more information when the host and his guest entered. This violation of his sanctum enraged her father, who moved to handle the matter violently. Before her father could do any lasting harm to her, Melkor, who sensed the girl’s inclination towards the Force, intervened. In exchange for taking the girl away with him, he would allow her father to both live and keep his paltry collection of dusty tomes. The man reluctantly agreed, and, with tears of rage and love in his eyes, watched his first, bastard daughter be taken away from his life. Though she never officially had a surname, she ended up adopting her family’s surname as her own, still blissfully unaware of her birth.

Melkor of clan Damask, as he made himself known to her, offered Ana salvation and knowledge the likes of which she would never have known on Serenno, if she only accepted his offer of tutelage. Eager to delve into the mysteries of the greater galaxy, she eagerly accepted. What quickly followed was her induction into the Sith Eternal as a Guardian, with Melkor as her cruel instructor. While ignorant to the great big galaxy she inhabited, Ana now follows her mentor and strikes out on her own, hunting down artifacts and knowledge of the Dark Side with the fervor of one who has been given the opportunity of a lifetime by a callous seducer of the Dark Side.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Now a free woman, Ana conducts herself with the poise and elegance one might expect a noble would, not a scullery maid. She was surrounded by higher society her entire life and was given a noble’s education in private, and thus she has broken the chains of her previous life and acts like the noble she always dreamt of being. She is, generally, a polite and convivial individual, since she has yet to fully succumb to the allure of the Dark Side. Still, a streak of obsequious behavior makes itself present whenever around her master, for she fears the man and wishes to remain in his good graces, what few there may yet be.

She knows little of the Dark Side, but her desire to learn about the things better off unknown drives her actions. She has an insatiable lust for knowledge that is met only by her love for art, and the two often find themselves intertwined in her work.

A P P E A R A N C E

Ana is a fairly small woman. Lithe, sinewy muscle frames her body and her skin is generally blemish-free, betraying her younger age. Sharp, angular facial features define her face, and two venom-green irises sit deep within their hollow sockets, standing in stark contrast with her pale skin. Further accentuating her paleness is her raven-black hair which is often loosely fastened in a bun or ponytail of some kind.

She trends towards darker clothing, often of more elegant make, and has no outward signs of any marked Dark Side corruption, though whatever paleness might arise from such could easily be dismissed as her natural complexion.

P O W E R S_ A N D_ A B I L I T I E S

Where other members of the Sith Eternal might rely on their prowess in martial combat, Ana instead focuses on matters of the mind and the Force. Though her grasp of her powers is still tenuous at best, she is far more comfortable manipulating the invisible energy around her to achieve her own ends instead of clashing blade-to-blade with the enemy. Her interests lie more in Sith alchemy and magic, and she hopes to unlock the profane powers that both would grant. In her time under the tutelage of Melkor, she has gained a mild proficiency in a number of Force powers with such a list growing daily.

While she may be more mentally inclined, she has not neglected her martial training and has learned to fight with a single bladed lightsaber, just like many other members of the Sith Eternal. The advantages her small stature grant her in battle are myriad, but it also requires her to get closer to enemies with a greater reach than she had, so she has worked on becoming more agile and quick, rather than relying on brute force or armor to defend herself. Like her master, she reserves her lightsaber as a last resort in battle, hoping that, through the Force, she can submit her foes before they get close enough to engage.

Her other skills are less remarkable. She has a love of the arts and regularly paints and plays stringed instruments. She is also, in her opinion, a rather fine cook, and often spends time gardening or otherwise finding the freshest ingredients for her food. Her ship was even outfitted with a small hydroponics tray with which she grows various plants. As far as flying is concerned, her skills are fairly abysmal, given that she never left her home world until Melkor took her, and she relies on the assistance of her droid co-pilot to do maneuvers more advanced than going from point A to point B. Additionally, her secret education has taught her the skills necessary to decipher ancient languages, and her collection of esoteric literature grows with each visit to a new planet.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

+ — Ally | | o — Neutral | | - — Enemy/Rival

+ Melkor Damask (Mentor)​

Note: This list only documents significant relationships Ana has developed.

E Q U I P M E N T

Below is a listing of Ana's gear and assets.

Gear

• Single-bladed lightsaber (red)
• Assorted robes and clothing
• Datapad
• Wrist commlink

Miscellaneous Equipment

• BD-510 Stargale light courier
• BG-series astromech droid (Beegee)

R O L E P L A Y S

Great Big Galaxy

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[Painus]

Ha’rangir’s Chosen​

Ha’rangir’s Chosen, or Ha'rangir b Gaanla in Mando'a, is an ancient monastic order revived by Field Marshal Leandros Solus once he discovered their existence during his pilgrimage across Mandalore. They draw members from all clans, ignoring petty rivalries and alliances, under the singular banner of religious devotion. They are the chosen warriors of Kad Ha'rangir, and it is through their devotion and zeal that they bring the flames of eternal war to the rest of the galaxy in the name of the Mandalorian people. The Chosen's headquarters is the isolated Black Keep, located near one of the peaks of the many mountains on Mandalore.

Description​

Ha’rangir’s Chosen was created thousands of years ago during the First Crusading Era, when the Mandalorian religion was first established. A select group of Mandalorians found themselves so deeply-invested in their faith and their hatred for their enemies that they swore a solemn oath to ensure the spread of their religion and the destruction of their foes. Since those days, the Chosen has stood as an honored and elite monastic organization among the Mandalorians. Ancient oaths and bonds were made with the early clans, requiring them to send to the Chosen their most-devout and elite soldiers so that they could train them further and prepare for the eternal crusade. For centuries, various clans considered serving in the Chosen to be either an immense honor or nothing more than an inconvenience as their best fighters were conscripted.

However, as with all things Mandalorian, at the time of the Sith usurpation of Mand'alor, the Chosen were purged and forgotten about for the next five centuries. Stories related to their exploits were removed from the archives, and they generally were presumed extinct. The members themselves, finding it too shameful to be under Sith rule, all took the Oath of Oblation for the entirety of the Mandalorian people and threw themselves into battle after battle against the Jedi until they were annihilated, hoping that their sacrifice would be penance enough in the eyes of Kad Ha'rangir.

Now, Leandros Solus has (read: will, in a plot TBD), discovered their ancient Black Keep high in the mountains of Mandalore on his pilgrimage to atone for his own shame. The Keep itself was relatively maintained; snow aside, the stone was built to last and the harsh weather kept most animals from ruining the place. Within the great hall, he discovered an immense fire, still burning after thousands of years via natural gas. The ancient inscriptions dub it the Flame of Kad Ha'rangir, causing Leandros to search with great curiosity what the purpose of such a fortress was. Having done his own research and looking through the Keep's personal archives which were kept surprisingly intact, he discovered their divine purpose and their grim fate. Invigorated by the prospect of reviving such an honorable order, he collected close comrades and those he knows are of pure faith, eager to bring about the return of the Ha’rangir’s Chosen. From there, he will invoke the ancient oaths and debts of honor agreed upon generations ago to enlist more soldiers ready and willing to fight in the name of their gods.

Upon joining the Chosen, aspirants are first required to pledge their loyalty to the Catade Kalyr during the Ceremony of Apocryphon, which takes place in the Black Keep’s great hall where the Eternal Flame burns. The Catade Kalyr (or a D’iuya’a, if present) will place a wrought-iron brand in the Eternal Flame to heat as the Oath is administered. Other members of the Chosen will look on as the aspirant is then branded on the left pectoral with the symbol of the Chosen. Once the ordeal is considered concluded, the aspirant is welcomed with open arms into the Chosen as a Chosen and a soldier against the enemies of Mandalore.

Their armor is then repainted in a way so as to allow others to know whether or not they are in the Chosen, typically by painting the left arm of the armor entirely black, the color of justice, though other means of signifying their inclusion in the Chosen have been noted in the past. Such examples include placing the symbol of the Ardent Flame on the armor in some manner, whether it be paint or scrimshaw, attaching an external piece of equipment to the armor – such as a cloak, poncho, or other covering – that has the iconography of the Chosen on it, and more.

Despite their religious zeal, they are one of the most-inclusive factions among the Mandalorian people. With the exception of Force users, they will not shy away the faithful. Too numerous are the enemies of Mandalore and too vast is the galaxy for the Chosen to be picky about its members. So long as they are of pure faith and swear the oaths upon joining, all are welcome.

Oaths

The Oath of Initiation The Oath of Eternal Crusade Dam Urnu’a

• Hark ye, who are pure in the eyes of the Three Gods. Hark now, as I, your loyal Orator, recite this, the Oath of Initiation, of one of Their most holy Mandalorian Warriors.
  
  Let it be known by all dominions, powers and authorities, that the bearer of this seal, Brother/Sister <Name> of <Clan>, has taken the most sacred The Oath of Initiation, and has been seconded to the Ha’rangir’s Chosen until such time of his/her death, or until the specifics of his/her oath shall be considered and proclaimed to be discharged.
  
  On the honor of your clan, your Mand’alor, and the gods, you are sworn to destroy the Sith, confront the myriad enemies of the Mandalorians, and obey the most solemn vows of the Conclave. You will watch in the dark places, you will safeguard the night, and annihilate the vile Sith and bring unto them the judgment of Mandalore. You will stand as the bulwark upon which the Mandalorian people persist, from now, unto the ending of the universe.
  
  The bearer of this oath will be accorded the utmost honor in word and deed. Let all know that the gaze of Kad Ha’rangir and the spirit of the Manda of bygone eras shall follow the bearer wherever he/she deigns to tread, so that even in death, they shall know his/her name.
  
  So, it is sealed, by word, blood, and deed, by the grace of the Conclave, the Chosen of Kad Ha’rangir, and the Oaths of your Clan.
  
  We bring justice by beskad, by bolt, by flame. In Kad Ha'rangir's name, suffer not the foe to live!
• This oath has been altered to fit with the modern enemy of the Mandalorians – the Sith
  
  It is not the Horrors of War that trouble me – it is the Unseen Horrors of Peace.
  A thousand worlds, ten thousand wars.
  There is no respite, there is nowhere to hide. Across the galaxy there is only war.
  There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter and the laughter of thirsting gods.
  
  
  I take up the Blade – my enemies will stand before me bathed in blood.
  I take up the Blaster – my enemies will kneel before me wrapped in smoke.
  I take up the Flame – my enemies will lie before me engulfed in fire.
  Our enemies are mortal no longer. I will face them squarely and without flinching from duty; Mercy for such as them is self-deception.
  
  To be Unclean – that is the Mark of the Sith.
  To be Impure – that is the Mark of the Sith.
  To be Abhorred – That is the Mark of the Sith.
  To be Reviled – That is the Mark of the Sith.
  To be Hunted – That is the Mark of the Sith.
  To be Purged – That is the fate of the Sith.
  To be Cleansed – For that is the fate of all Sith.
  
  Cursed is that which writhes in the dark places – We take up arms against it.
  Cursed is the voice which whispers in the night – We deny it. We drown out its lies with hymnals of battle.
  Cursed is the eye which lurks in the shadows – We blind it.
  Damned is he who pays heed to the word of the Sith.
  By the manner of their death we shall know them.
  
  
  Over the faithful, fear has no dominion.
  The sublime Duty of all is to serve the gods and die in their name.
  I seek honor with each act so that I may know no fear.
  
  I am the Shield against which the Darkness falters.
  The People of Mandalore look to me for protection.
  I am the Death of our foes, the Wrath of the gods; let there be none more fervent than I.
  The dead cannot cry out for revenge; it is a duty of the living to do so for them, and my cry will rend the heavens.
  My righteous fury comforts me and guides my blade.
  Should I fall in battle, let there be no doubt of the glory of my deeds or the purity of my soul.
  By the manner of my death am I judged.
  
  Blessed is the body purposed for war.
  I journey on an Eternal Crusade to bring the light of Kad Ha'rangir to all.
  
  
  Let worlds tremble before the might of the Chosen!
  Let the galaxy burn in our wake!
  For the Chosen! For Mandalore! For Kad Ha’rangir!
  
• 1.The Chosen is first a Mandalorian and swears unwavering loyalty to the Chosen.
  
  2. S/He must resolutely defend the Flame;
  
  3. S/He must faithfully obey his/her Mand’alor so long as that obedience does not conflict with allegiance to the Chosen;
  
  4. S/He must love his/her home of Mandalore;
  
  5. S/He must maintain unrelenting war against the enemies of Mandalore;
  
  6. S/He must never flee from the enemy;
  
  7. S/He must keep his/her pledged word;
  
  8. S/He must be unafraid of death;
  
  9. S/He must show contempt for the weak, for they are lacking in their faith;
  
  10. S/He must at all times champion the good against the forces of evil.

Structure​

The ranking structure of the Chosen is unique in that it ignores the external rank of the Mandalorian in matters related to the Chosen itself, essentially giving the member a dual-rank for use within and without the Chosen. It is possible, for example, to be both a Field Marshal and a Chosen, or a Marauder and D’iuya’a. Such is the mutual respect between members of the Chosen that they are capable and willing to look beyond the matter of the outside rank or role of a fellow Mandalorian in favor of adhering to the order’s structure in certain matters. This includes the Mand'alor, who, despite their role as the sole ruler of the Mandalorians, is still considered an ordinary member fulfilling their duty within the Chosen. There are no special passes afford to those within, for they are all equal in their devotion.

Mouse over the rank to see its translated name.

• Jidte — The most common member of the Chosen, these foot soldiers carry out the daily duties of the order. They are well-versed in all forms of combat, for it is their duty to bring fire and death to the enemies of Mandalore. Once they have shown enough valor in combat and have proven themselves worthy of promotion, they may be considered for advancement to Lirsa-Bakiya’r.
  
• Lirsa-Bakiya’r — Lirsa-Bakiya’r is an honored rank amongst the Chosen, a title and responsibility awarded in recognition of those Chosens who have proven their mettle in the heat of battle time-and-time-again. These select individuals are singled out and awarded the title of Lirsa-Bakiya’r, along with the privilege of leading a squad into the fires of war. Lirsa-Bakiya’rs undergo additional special training in leadership and tactics and are assigned to Ditiyaras, acting as their right hands by providing flexibility and helping to direct their peers in engagements.
  
• Ditiyara — Ditiyaras are the officers of the Chosen, tasked with enforcing the will of the D’iuya’as and ensuring that morale among the juniors is kept high. They are commonly found on the front lines leading the others in glorious battle or directing operational efforts. Selection to become a Ditiyara is an immense honor, for it signifies that the Chosen selected is skilled in both battle and leading others. They are granted a greater degree of autonomy and may carry out tasks given to them in any manner they see fit.
  
• D’iuya’a — D’iuya’as are senior Ditiyaras who sit on the Inner Circle with the other D’iuya’as and the Catade Kalyr. Their authority is vast, though not absolute, and they are the primary drivers of the Chosen’s activities once given a goal to reach by the Catade Kalyr. They are commonly found managing the strategic side of things, though it is not uncommon at all to find these senior leaders on the front lines guiding their peers in glorious battle. D’iuya’as often hold a second honorific, signaling their area of expertise. For example, there may be the Master of the Forge, War Master, High Chaplain, Master of the Watch, or Master of the Fleet.
  
• Catade Kalyr — The supreme leader of the Chosen. Their word is law among the others, though they do not work alone. Their Inner Circle consists of a few D’iuya’as who advise the Catade Kalyr in their matters. For the most part, the Catade Kalyr sets a general direction for the Chosen, relying on his D’iuya’as and Ditiyaras to enforce their will and get things done. Ascension to the role of Catade Kalyr is a sign of the Mandalorian’s incredible devotion to the gods and the cause of the Eternal Crusade, most often manifesting in the form of a glorious vision from Kad Ha’rangir after the death or exile of the current Catade Kalyr.

Special Ranks

Ucar Firekeeper Ohtavietr

• The Ucar, or “Oblatia” in Basic, is a unique rank.
  
  The oath of willing sacrifice for the sins of another. A Chosen who takes up this oath seeks not to atone for some direct misdeed of their own, but through profound spiritual conviction to take on the weight of another’s sins, most commonly a blood relative, some infamous ancestor or stain on their family line, or, more rarely, for the past transgression of a friend, a people, or a whole world.
  
  Although they seek ultimate atonement by the manner of their death, the onus on them is to atone through their deeds, most specifically in defeating Mandalore’s great enemies—combating and defeating the enemies of the Chosen without regard to self, injury or hardship. Through the Ucar’s battles, victories and ultimately the manner of their death, they hope to gain for the object of their sacrifice some measure of forgiveness in the eyes of the gods.
  
  Ucar are accorded a respectful distance and honored place in the prayers of their fellow Chosens. They are viewed as pilgrims on a dark and lonely road, but at the end of which lies a shining goal. The Ucar themselves often seem mercurial compared to other Chosens, quick to righteous anger, stubborn, independent, and brought to a life of endless wandering in search of the foe.
  
  Those who are bound by the Oath of Oblation are driven by a fury that can tolerate neither sin, nor deviation, nor lapse in purity. This righteous anger is fueled by the bitterness of having sacrificed that which others throw away. The Ucar has damned themselves and destroyed their purity so that they can serve the gods and Mandalore, while the lost and damned that they hunt have fallen not for duty, but because they are selfish, deluded, and weak. Not only are they blasphemous, but they have scorned the purity that the Ucar craves and can never again have.
  
  Becoming an Ucar is an act of self-annihilation in which the past is burnt away, faith voided, and a new life begun in bitterness and the ashes of purity. They are undone, and their souls shattered by what they believe they must do. In the creed of the Ucar, the moment at which a servant of the three gods willingly accepts damnation, and the loss of their purity, is a moment at which they must accept that they are dead. All their hopes, fears, and dreams are annihilated in the act of willing damnation. From this moment on, all that they were is gone, and they rise reborn as a damned thing of fury and righteous purpose.
  
  A Player Character who wants to take the oath would have to go before a Ditiyara at minimum and must be vetted by their superiors to judge the validity and intention of the oath. This is to make certain that the Chosen will not take the sins of another lightly, throw their life away in the first engagement, and accomplish nothing, but also to ensure that the weight of sin is something worth atoning for and not just some imaginary or minor transgression. They must accumulate an equivalent level of redemptive deeds to wipe the slate clean. So while a glorious death is still the end goal, the Ucar needs to keep a conscious tally of what contributes to the overall redemption of their oath, so they will only throw their lives away if it is actually worth doing so. In many cases they will find that their task can never be completed given the magnitude of the original sin, causing them to go on an eternal pilgrimage in the hopes that killing enough enemies will one day let them atone for the sins they bear.
• The Firekeeper is an honored caretaker of the Black Keep and is charged with the defense of it. For the most part the Firekeepers themselves never leave Mandalore, and only rarely leave the Black Keep. It is the Firekeepers that decide who may enter the Black Keep, and when.
  
  Selected among the most-veteran of the Chosens, these stoic and proven guardians spend their days roaming the halls of their ancient fortress, ensuring the Eternal Flame is never at risk of dying. Their lives are that of constant meditation, training, and defending the Keep, offering their skills to the Inner Circle if needed. On top of this, it is their sacred duty to defend any of the relics that the Chosen may store inside the sanctums of the Keep. So revered are the Firekeepers and their duties among the Chosens that it is considered a crime to speak ill of or disrespect the Firekeeper in any matter, for without them the Keep would again fall into disrepair.
  
  Due to the restrictive nature of this rank, it is not allowed to Player Characters. Instead, only NPCs are allowed to be Firekeepers in order to have a constant garrison at the Keep while the PC members go off and do things. If you absolutely, positively want to be a Firekeeper PC, it can be worked out, though your PC must first be a veteran Chosen either through IC or backstory methods.
• The Ohtavietr, or Chaplain in Basic, is an integral member of the Chosen and answers directly to the D’iuya’as and Catade Kalyr. They are charged with overseeing the spiritual purity and fulfillment of the Chosen, as well as ensuring morale among the warriors never wavers. Often the most fanatical in their beliefs among a group of the devout, the Chaplain's role is to root out heresy, inspire other Chosens by chanting a litany of verses, maintain the Chosen’s relics (alongside the Firekeepers) and traditions, and instill a righteous fury among their brothers and sisters. They still hold whatever rank they achieve within the Chosen and may continue to advance - they are just granted the supreme duty of spiritual guidance.
  
  Compared to the rest of the Chosen, an Ohtavietr bears many motifs of the mortality and frailty of a warrior on their armor, which incorporates the Mandalorian color for mourning – Grey. This serves as a reminder to their brothers and sisters that, no matter what, they will one day die and join the Manda, and that they ought to welcome their coming demise with an open heart.
  
  This rank is fully accessible to Player Characters, though they would first need to be vetted by the Catade Kalyr in order to assure the purity of their faith. As the spiritual caretakers of the Chosen, it is paramount that they are steadfast and loyal in their beliefs, lest corruption plant its sinister roots within the Chosens.

Assets​

Due to the Chosen's relative obscurity in the galaxy at large and the centuries of neglect, it maintains but a few assets:

Bases

• Ne'tra Kranak (Mandalore) (To be discovered via plot)

Assets

It currently has a small population of members, of which twelve are Leandros' personal retinue. These twelve, steadfast in their faith and veterans of many conflicts, are chosen as the first Firekeepers of the Chosen.

Additionally, Leandros, the current (would-be) Grand Master, has under his command a fleet of Mandalorian warships due to his service in the name of his people. These warships serve in the Chosen's interests so long as those interests align with those of the Mandalorians.

Roster​

Catade Kalyr:

• Leandros Solus

D’iuya’a:

Ditiyara:

Lirsa-Bakiya'r:

Jidte:

Intent​

Leandros is doubtlessly the most fervent member of the Mandalorians (that I've noticed, anyways). As such, I wanted him to go on a pilgrimage after the loss of his armor in order to atone, discovering the ancient fortress of the Chosen in the process. This sub-faction would allow for other religious characters to work together regardless of clan affiliation and do cool things like CRUSAED.

 

[Painus]

Biographical information​

Homeworld
Born
Forgotten
65XX BBY

Physical description​

Species
Gender
Height
Mass
Hair color
Eye color
Skin color
Human
Male
1.8542 meters
83.91 kilograms
Blonde
Blue
Fair

Chronological and political information​

Affiliation(s)




Theme
Voice
· Mandalorian House †
___· House Kryze †
· Mandalorian Clans †
___· Clan Ordo †

_

.
hingle mcringleberry

Excerpt · Biography · Personality and Traits · Talents · Miscellaneous

Amaranthus is the child of a slave born again into a new culture -- the Mandalorians. Rescued at a young age from near death, he believes that in a hypothermia-induced vision he was chosen by the destroyer god Kad Ha'rangir. The god has decreed the time and manner of Amaranthus' death, and somewhere out there is the Beast that will kill him. It is his given duty to seek out this creature and face it head on. Until that time, however, he must serve his people faithfully with the grim determination of a man who knows his whole life will be war; that no force under heaven will excuse him from assuming his place in line of battle and clashing sword-to-sword, helmet-to-helmet with the enemy.

_

▵Biography

Perhaps it was fate that ordained my village be raided. Burned, razed to the ground by those we thought our allies. Perhaps it was fate that sent me, my cousin, and the near-blind elderly slave I took to calling "Uncle" into the wilderness to fend for ourselves. Before, on my father's farm, we had caught wild birds to make breeding pairs or to hold for an hour before returning them to freedom. Now we ate them. "Uncle" made us devour everything but the feathers. We crunched the little hollow bones; we ate the eyes, and the legs right down to the boot, discarding only the beak and the unchewable feet. We gulped eggs raw. We choked down worms and slugs. We wolfed grubs and beetles and fought over the last lizards and snakes before the cold drove them underground for good. We gnawed so much fennel that to this day I gag at a whiff of that anisey smell, even a pinch flavoring a stew. My cousin grew thin as a reed.

For a time in autumn we tried surviving on the seacoast, sleeping in caves and combing the sloughs and marshes. You could eat there at least. There were shellfish and crabs, mussels and spinebacks to be prised from rocks; we learned how to take gulls on the wing with stakes and nets. But the exposure was brutal as winter came on. Uncle began to suffer. He would never let his weakness show to my cousin and I when he thought we were looking, but I would watch his face sometimes when he slept. He looked seventy. The elements were hard on him in his years; all the old wounds ached, but more than that he was donating his substance to preserve ours, my cousin's and mine. Sometimes I would catch him looking at me, studying a tilt to my face or the tone of something I had said. He was making sure I hadn't gone crazy or feral.

In the winter hills we were starving. Uncle was getting weaker. I took to stealing. I would raid a shepherd's fold at night, fighting off the dogs and snatching a kid if I could. Most of the shepherds carried crude weapons. Bolts and arrows would whiz past me in the dark. Uncle hated to see me turning into a thief. If only I had known.

I got caught trying to steal a lamb. She was a fat prize, pegged for market, and I got careless going over a wall. The dogs got me. The men of the farm dragged me into the mud and nailed my arms to a board the size of a door, driving tanning spikes through both of my arms. I was on my back, screaming in agony, while the farm men lashed my kicking, flailing legs to the board, vowing that after lunch they would castrate me like a sheep and hang my delicates upon the gate as a warning to other thieves. Uncle and my cousin crouched, hidden, up the hillside; they could hear everything.

I begged the farm men to release me, to end my agony. I would do anything and I described it all at the top of my lungs. I cried out to all of the gods in a shameful little boy's voice piping up the mountainside. I knew the others could hear me. Would their love for me impel them to dash in and be nailed alongside me? I didn't care. I wanted the pain to end. I begged the men to kill me. I could feel the flesh and bones torn and shattered by the spikes. Blood oozed from my wounds like the drool from a ravenous hound, seeping lazily off the board and staining the dirt beneath me.

A fist shattered my cheek. The men set the tanning board upright, angled against a wall, and there I squirmed, impaled, for the sun's endless crawl across the sky. Others gathered around to watch me scream, to tear my rags and poke at me, to urinate on me. Dogs would sniff my soles, emboldening themselves to make a meal of me. I only stopped wailing when my throat could cry no longer. I was trying to tear my arms right through the spikes, but the men lashed me tighter so that I could not move. When at last their growling bellies drove my tormentors indoors for supper, my cousin slipped down from the hill and cut me free. The spikes would not come out of my arms; she had to blade the wood off the frame with a rusted dagger. My arms came away with the nails still through them. I was carried off like a weakling babe.

That winter was the coldest I could remember. Sheep froze in the high pastures. Twenty-foot drifts sealed the passes. Deer were driven so desperate with hunger that they straggled down, skeleton-thin and blind from starvation, all the way to the shepherd's folds, and presented themselves for slaughter. We stayed in the mountains, high up. We slept in dugouts that shepherds had abandoned or in ice caves we chopped out with our stone axes, lining their floors with pine boughs and huddling together beneath our cloaks in a pile like puppies. I begged them to abandon me, let me die in peace in the cold. They insisted that they take me down to town, to see a physician. I refused. Never again would I place myself before a stranger, any stranger, without a weapon in my hand. Did doctors possess a more exalted sense of honor than other men? What payment would they demand? What profitable turn would he discover in a slave and a crippled boy? What use would he make of a starving thirteen-year-old girl?

Only gods and heroes can be brave in isolation. A man may call upon courage only one way, in the ranks with his brothers-in-arms, the line of his clan and his city. Most piteous of all states under the stars is that of a man alone, bereft of the gods of his home and his people. A man without a clan is not a man. He is a shadow, a shell, a joke and a mockery. That is what I have become now. No one may expect valor from one cast out alone, cut off from the gods.

At night, bouts of fever alternated with fits of teeth-rattling ague. I contorted in my cousin's arms, with Uncle's bulk enwrapping us both for warmth. I called out again and again to the gods but received no whisper in reply. They had abandoned us, it was clear, now that we no longer possessed ourselves.

One fever-racked night, perhaps ten days after the incident at the farm, the others wrapped me in skins and set off foraging. It had begun to snow and they hoped to use the silence and luck to take unawares a hare or convey of grouse. This was my chance. I resolved to take it. I waited until they had moved beyond sight and sound. Leaving cloak and furs behind for them, I set out barefoot into the storm. I climbed for what felt like hours but was probably no more than five minutes. The fever had me in its grip. I was blind, yet guided by an infallible sense of direction. I found a place amid the pines and knew this was my spot. A profound sense of decorum possessed me. I wanted to do this properly and be of no trouble to the others.

I picked out a tree and set my back against it so that its spirit would conduct mine safely out of this world. I felt Death advancing for me. Feeling ebbed from my loins and midsection. When the numbness reached the heart, I imagined, I will pass over. Then a terrifying thought struck me. What if this was the wrong tree? What if my tree was over there, or that one down there? What if I chose wrong, and my spirit would be doomed to wander the planet for eternity? I tried to get up, but I no longer had command of my body. I was failing even in my own death. Just as my panic and despair reached their apex, I was startled to discover a man standing in the grove directly above me!

Some part of my brain reasoned beyond the desire for him to help me; what was a man doing here, standing in this storm? I blinked and willed him away, but no, this was no dream. Whoever this was, he was really there. The thought foggily came that he must be a god. It occurred to me that I was acting impiously to him. I should have responded with terror or awe! Something in his posture, I think, suggested that I ought not give up the bother. I knew he was going to speak, and whatever came forth would change my life, either here or in the next. I must listen with all my faculties and forget nothing.

"A mind without purpose," he spoke with a quiet majesty that could be nothing other than the voice of a god, "will wander in dark places."

What a strange thing to say.

I pondered what he meant by this, until my vision cleared and I could see his appearance. Spikes protruded from his armor, and in his hands he clasped a mighty war-axe of elegant design.

The destroyer.

Kad Ha'rangir.

The destroyer's eyes probed mine, gently, for one final instant. Had I understood? His glance seemed to inquire not so much "Will you now serve me?" as to confirm the fact, unknown to me heretofore, that I had been in his service all my life.

I felt warmth returning to my midsection and the blood surging like a tide into my legs and feet. I heard shouting from below and knew someone had found me. They reached me, scrabbling over the snowy crest and into the grove of pines. "What are you doing up here alone?" I could hear them ask, slapping my cheeks as if to bring me out of my daze. My eyes focused upon the visors of their helmets, forming that immaculate T-shape adorned by the god Kad Ha'rangir.

Clan Ordo, they called themselves.


▵Personality and Traits

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nulla sit amet nulla augue. Nunc non nibh ut ligula varius sodales ut nec tellus. Integer ac viverra massa. Suspendisse pellentesque nulla in blandit ultrices. Quisque nec blandit orci. Aliquam eget lacus vel sem imperdiet semper. Aenean semper, nibh in facilisis dictum, velit ipsum consectetur diam, vitae aliquet metus nisi ultrices tellus. Vivamus in diam lobortis, fringilla risus non, hendrerit urna. Phasellus vel nisi erat. Donec diam tortor, feugiat at ex in, auctor tempus libero. Praesent et lacinia sem. Duis mauris mauris, semper ut feugiat hendrerit, sodales sed ex. Sed vulputate interdum est a finibus. Etiam porta pretium metus, sit amet lacinia elit aliquam non.

Aliquam fringilla tempor eleifend. Curabitur vitae est ac nisl volutpat malesuada vel id justo. Maecenas ac dapibus massa, quis interdum tellus. Nulla aliquam lectus vitae rhoncus finibus. Quisque varius felis non malesuada venenatis. Suspendisse potenti. Pellentesque sed rutrum arcu. In ornare nisl lorem, vitae hendrerit lectus facilisis ut. Vestibulum ac eleifend justo, sit amet dignissim urna. Aenean ac metus a ligula fermentum suscipit.

▵Talents

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nulla sit amet nulla augue. Nunc non nibh ut ligula varius sodales ut nec tellus. Integer ac viverra massa. Suspendisse pellentesque nulla in blandit ultrices. Quisque nec blandit orci. Aliquam eget lacus vel sem imperdiet semper. Aenean semper, nibh in facilisis dictum, velit ipsum consectetur diam, vitae aliquet metus nisi ultrices tellus. Vivamus in diam lobortis, fringilla risus non, hendrerit urna. Phasellus vel nisi erat. Donec diam tortor, feugiat at ex in, auctor tempus libero. Praesent et lacinia sem. Duis mauris mauris, semper ut feugiat hendrerit, sodales sed ex. Sed vulputate interdum est a finibus. Etiam porta pretium metus, sit amet lacinia elit aliquam non.

Aliquam fringilla tempor eleifend. Curabitur vitae est ac nisl volutpat malesuada vel id justo. Maecenas ac dapibus massa, quis interdum tellus. Nulla aliquam lectus vitae rhoncus finibus. Quisque varius felis non malesuada venenatis. Suspendisse potenti. Pellentesque sed rutrum arcu. In ornare nisl lorem, vitae hendrerit lectus facilisis ut. Vestibulum ac eleifend justo, sit amet dignissim urna. Aenean ac metus a ligula fermentum suscipit.

▵Equipment

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nulla sit amet nulla augue. Nunc non nibh ut ligula varius sodales ut nec tellus. Integer ac viverra massa. Suspendisse pellentesque nulla in blandit ultrices. Quisque nec blandit orci. Aliquam eget lacus vel sem imperdiet semper. Aenean semper, nibh in facilisis dictum, velit ipsum consectetur diam, vitae aliquet metus nisi ultrices tellus. Vivamus in diam lobortis, fringilla risus non, hendrerit urna. Phasellus vel nisi erat. Donec diam tortor, feugiat at ex in, auctor tempus libero. Praesent et lacinia sem. Duis mauris mauris, semper ut feugiat hendrerit, sodales sed ex. Sed vulputate interdum est a finibus. Etiam porta pretium metus, sit amet lacinia elit aliquam non.

Aliquam fringilla tempor eleifend. Curabitur vitae est ac nisl volutpat malesuada vel id justo. Maecenas ac dapibus massa, quis interdum tellus. Nulla aliquam lectus vitae rhoncus finibus. Quisque varius felis non malesuada venenatis. Suspendisse potenti. Pellentesque sed rutrum arcu. In ornare nisl lorem, vitae hendrerit lectus facilisis ut. Vestibulum ac eleifend justo, sit amet dignissim urna. Aenean ac metus a ligula fermentum suscipit.

▵Roleplays
__1. Thread One
__2. Thread Two
__3. Thread Three

color = #FBB117 "beer"

 

[Painus]

.

Cyrus Solus

______ "Witchscar"

► SPECIES: Human

► GENDER: Male

► AGE: 28 standard years

► HOMEWORLD: Socorro

► FACTION: Independent

► HEIGHT: 1.85 meters

► WEIGHT: 83.9 kilograms

► FORCE-USER: No

► THEME: Theme

► VOICE: Dee Bradley Baker​

Cyrus Solus (better known as "Witchscar") was a male Mandalorian warrior. Trained by a small covert of Mandalorian survivors on Socorro prior to their unfortunate purge, Witchscar now finds himself to be the lone survivor of his enclave. Traveling the galaxy in search of others of his kind, as well as a greater sense of purpose, Witchscar is a Mandalorian fundamentalist; adherence to the Resol'nare and a firm belief in the three gods of the culture serves as the bedrock of his ideals. He lives his life as a Mandalorian ought to: as both hunter and prey; a man who knows his life will be nothing but constant, unremitting war.

BIOGRAPHY

Blue.

Reliability. Honor. Loyalty. These are a Mandalorian's chief virtues. Since my birth into the clan, I was raised on the values of one's word. A Mandalorian who did not live up to their word was a hu'tuun - a coward. To lose one's honor is worse than death. A dishonorable Mandalorian would never join the Manda, would never join their ancestors beyond the grave. Fear of being forbidden from joining the ranks of such storied Mandalorians as Leandros and Raz Solus, Tarre and Pre Vizsla, and Bo-Katan Kryze kept us firmly in line, and rarely would we break our bond.

The clan elders taught me this ideal, raised me to be a man of my word, no matter the cost. I grew to love the loyalty of my brothers and sisters in the covert; each one would live and die for the rest of us. We were raised to think of ourselves as a hand. Each of us was a finger, and without the others we were useless. Alone, a finger can't grasp, or control, or form a fist. We are nothing on our own, and everything together. That is the strength of the clan. Brothers all, one indominable heart forged in the fires of death. We would bear the weight of glory together. This is the way.

Silver.

Mourning the dead. Remembrance for the fallen, but knowing they live within the Manda. I was not on Socorro during the purge of the covert. To this day, I feel nothing but shame that I could not be there to die alongside my people. I do not know why or how it all happened, though I do know my people took down ten killers for every Mandalorian that fell in battle. I will never forget the stench of death in the enclave upon my return; bodies were stripped, defiled, piled, and burned as a warning to all who would follow after their killers. I spent hours recovering the dead and burying them in accordance with our customs so that they might join our ancestors. With each body buried, I felt my desire for vengeance grow, my lust for blood increase.

They say the universe plays sick, twisted jokes on us. Solus is Mando’a for ‘one,’ and there I stood as the sole survivor of my enclave, almost as if it was the cruel hand of destiny guiding my story. I felt sick from my survival, but my duty to avenge the fallen and exact justice came before my personal feelings. With a final farewell to my home, I set off for the greater galaxy, hot on the trail of the scum who did this to me. I swore it on the graves of the fallen, and that is a vow I would not break.

Black.

Justice. Vindication. That was the Mandalorian way when wronged. We are not a peaceful people; we never could be. Ours is a life of constant, unremitting conflict wherever we can get it. If there is nothing to fight, we fight ourselves until a new challenger arises. Once a Mandalorian swore vengeance and justice, there was no turning back. They would spend their lives hunting down a single person across the galaxy if it meant bringing them to justice.

It took seven years, but I honored my vow. The one thing I remember most about the end of it all was how… quiet it was. I said nothing; not when I flew to Tatooine, not when I marched to that pirate compound, and certainly not when I left behind nothing but ash and dust. When it was all over, when my people had been avenged, the only thing I remember was the silence of the Dune Sea. There was nothing, not even wind, that violated the sanctity of the moment. It was like the universe had ordained my revenge. I never returned to Socorro, not like I needed to; every Mandalorian who has ever died was within my soul, watching and judging me for the actions I committed in my life.

As I finished the final strokes of paint on my armor, I took the time to reflect on my life up to this point. I thought I would feel a measure of satisfaction at exacting my vengeance, but I just felt hollow, like it was nothing more than a chore to complete. Even now, I can smell the burning bodies and see the panic in their eyes as they took their final breaths, not even aware of why the angel of death had visited them that fateful day. It didn’t matter anyways. I was freed from my vow, and I had the entire galaxy at my feet, ready to be explored. I know that one day I’ll find others just like me, and maybe one day I’ll find a new home.

Until that day, I am as my name dictates: Solus – one man amongst trillions.

PERSONALITY AND TRAITS

Cyrus, better known as “Witchscar,” is a tall human male of unknown complexion or beauty, for he never removes his helmet around outsiders in accordance with his culture’s customs. He wears his armor as if it were his second skin as dictated by the Resol’nare, and its use is as much religious as it is practical. He remains fiercely loyal to this practice as a result of decades of instruction.

He is a simple Mandalorian, truth be told. Fiercely loyal to his people and his culture, it takes an immense amount of effort for him to warm up to someone he deigns to be an “outsider.” Once someone finds themselves on his good side, however, he is willing to go to the ends of the galaxy if it meant defending them or their honor. To that end, he may come across as foolishly noble, but only if it coincides with his Mandalorian ideals. At other times, he may seem distant or cold, especially around aruetiise – outsiders. He's especially cold around Force users, who he feels are unnatural and violate the mundane nature of the universe.

As a Mandalorian, Witchscar respects straightforwardness, honor, courage, and martial prowess. Cowardice and dishonor are fates worse than death in his eyes, and he is willing to go to extremes if it means avoiding these grim fates. In battle, he is a calculated and callous killer, more interested in the glory of combat than any other purpose for fighting. The quest for eternal glory means constantly searching out for more and more respectable battles, and he’s willing to sell his services for the chance at earning his place within the Manda. He’s not a mere brute, however, and his conscience does, at times, plague him. He avoids innocent death where he can, but accepts that there are risks in war, though it doesn’t make him any less ill when these risks manifest.

He has a deep-seated desire for the companionship and closeness that other Mandalorians can offer him. Since the purge of his enclave, he has constantly searched for meaning in the galaxy, moving from world to world, selling his services as a mercenary and bounty hunter just in the hopes of finding more Mandalorians. It is a great big galaxy, and when he’s surrounded by crowds of outsiders is when he feels the most alone.

POWERS AND ABILITIES

Like others of his kind, his talents are firmly nested in the realm of the application and management of violence. He is well-trained in a diverse number of skills related to his lifestyle, chief of which is his strength of arms.

He is trained to use a variety of blasters in combat, though his preference is for the up-close-and-personal nature of blaster pistols, preferring to see his enemy before he kills them. That being said, he’s still an adept sharpshooter and prides himself in his ability to hit targets at range. Additionally, he enjoys the more visceral nature of close quarters combat, often preferring to close the distance using his pistols before engaging his foe in melee, knowing that the shock trooper methods employed by the Mandalorians are enough to send most foes running.

Finally, he is an appropriately-skilled pilot and prefers to do all his flying himself without relying on a droid. Though he lacks Force sensitivity, he still has the honed reflexes of a lifetime warrior, and every flight mission is another opportunity to improve those skills.

EQUIPMENT

Equipment

• Medium Mandalorian Armor
• A280C blaster rifle, 2 spare power packs
  • (with Ascension gun attachment)
• DE-10 blaster pistol, 1 spare power pack
• DE-10 blaster pistol, 1 spare power pack
• Vibro-knife
• SB-17 Fusioncutter
• 1 Frag Grenade **
• 1 Concussion Grenade
• 1 Smoke Grenade
• Imagecaster holoprojector
• DTX-1977 Infomaster datapad

Vehicles

• 74-Y Speeder Bike*
• Firespray-31 Interceptor Craft

* only if specifically listed in the thread
** all grenades/ammo otherwise hidden in utility pouches

ROLEPLAYS

1. Blank
2. Blank
3. Blank
4. Blank
5. Blank

 

[Painus]

Cyrus Solus

 

[Painus]

Cyrus Solus

 

[Painus]

Cyrus Solus

 

[Painus]

Ylva Bjarndyr

 

[Painus]

.

Tavana Trace

► SPECIES: Human

► GENDER: Female

► AGE: 28 standard years

► HOMEWORLD: Coruscant

► FACTION: Five Syndicates

► HEIGHT: 1.70 meters

► WEIGHT: 66.2 kilograms

► FORCE-USER: No

► THEME: Theme​

Tavana Trace was a female scoundrel who lived in the Force Eternal era. Born in 107 ABY to a single mother in the lower levels of Coruscant, Tavana now finds herself a member of the Zaa Fenn crime family based out of Eriadu. Disillusioned with the state of the galaxy, Tavana refuses to serve for corrupt politicians and corporations that care only about those with the money to be important on their worlds. Fiercely independent and beholden to none, she seeks the downfall of those with whom she has a vendetta. Everything between that is just a means to an end.

BIOGRAPHY

PERSONALITY AND TRAITS

POWERS AND ABILITIES

EQUIPMENT

Equipment

• Medium Mandalorian Armor
• A280C blaster rifle, 2 spare power packs
  • (with Ascension gun attachment)
• DE-10 blaster pistol, 1 spare power pack
• DE-10 blaster pistol, 1 spare power pack
• Vibro-knife
• SB-17 Fusioncutter
• 1 Frag Grenade **
• 1 Concussion Grenade
• 1 Smoke Grenade
• Imagecaster holoprojector
• DTX-1977 Infomaster datapad

Vehicles

• 74-Y Speeder Bike*
• Firespray-31 Interceptor Craft

* only if specifically listed in the thread
** all grenades/ammo otherwise hidden in utility pouches

ROLEPLAYS

1. Blank
2. Blank
3. Blank
4. Blank
5. Blank

 

[Painus]

t

 

[Painus]

Biographical information​

Homeworld
Age
Weik
32

Physical description​

Species
Gender
Height
Weight
Hair color
Eye color
Skin color
Force Sensitive
Human
Male
6’2
205lbs
Dark brown
Green
Fair
Yes

Chronological and political information​

Affiliation(s)
Theme

· Jedi Order †
___· Jedi Knight †

_

____ Eirik Sunwielder

"For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother eternal."​

B I O G R A P H Y

It is said that the creatures of the frigid mountain fjords and chaotic wastes of northern Weik are forged hot against an anvil of ice. The nomadic clans of the farthest reaches of this inhospitable land test their mettle against predatory creatures, nature’s terrible wrath, and the cruelty of their fellow wanderers day after day, both to survive and to earn eternal glory. Daily life is simple, but unforgiving – hunting for food, warring against rival clans, and constant movement as to not remain an idle treat form the nexus of polar Weiklander life. In times of idleness, when the winds do not blow harshly, the sagas of ancient heroes are sung in festhalls and toasts are raised in honor of fallen warriors. Few of the northern clans dare to remain in place, and the few that do pride themselves on being the bulwark against the raving warbands and ferocious monstrosities prowling the cruel places where darkness reigns supreme.

The cursed city-state of Braag stood staunchly as the bastion of the northern wastes. Its citizens, a hardy folk, accepted their role as wardens against evil with grim resolve, for it is they who hold back the more barbarous tribes of occultists steeped in Dark Side worship from invading the southern lands. The city is said to be cursed – or blessed, from a certain point of view – with an unusually-high birthrate of those Force sensitive, or the wyrdtouched. One such star-marked child was Eirik of the Arlings, born under the Everburning Sun, which was interpreted by the seers as an auspicious sign.

Eirik’s upbringing was a crucible of training and trials. From the age that he could walk, he was taught to wield a weapon, for the threat of the Dark Side berserkers of the north loomed constantly over the heads of all in Braag. For most of his formative years he was taught to stalk prey and hunt, fight with axe, sword, and bow, and, most importantly, drink and boast. Though born among peers and comrades in Braag, Eirik still felt that he was a pariah for his star-marked birth, and many of his younger victories over his contemporaries were dismissed as having been gained because of his connection to the wyrd.

Still, fortune favors those marked by fate, and an adolescent Eirik found himself confronted with the mystical Paladins of the Adamite Tower on visit to the cursed city. Sensing his innate connection to the Force, Eirik was bartered-for and released into their custody to be raised and trained under their goodly care. Brought farther south than he ever could have hoped to visit, Eirik dwelled in the Adamite Tower for some years under the tutelage of the Light-aligned Paladins in a land untainted by frost but under constant threat of sorcerous evils.

The saga of the barbaric northlander, now under the care of the esteemed and chivalrous Paladins, was far from over, though, for fate still deigned to intervene in his life. A wayward visit by outlanders riding steel dragons was believed to have been the first sign of the calamitous end times. The truth, however, is that these foreign dignitaries had found themselves guided by the Force from the stars afar and that they named themselves Jedi. Though the fully-fledged Paladins were far too old to be taken and trained as Jedi, the young Eirik was a perfect candidate. In exchange for supplies, armor, and weapons, Eirik was once again bartered away to another sect of Force-users to be raised and trained as a warrior of the Light. He took on the name Sunwielder, in honor of the Sunfire Swords used by the Paladins, so that he might not forget their part in his life-saga.

It has been nearly two decades since Eirik last saw his home deep in Wild Space, but he carries the torch of his northern people proudly. Now a Jedi Knight, he roams the galaxy, yearning for glory, battle, and to bring about an era of goodly prosperity in the name of the Jedi.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

A child of myriad cultures, Eirik is nonetheless true to his birthplace. Encapsulating the ideal of the noble barbarian, he bears the mannerisms and behaviors of savage northlander, chivalrous Paladin, and staunch Jedi. More given towards martial and active matters than the book-learning of the savants or the idle contemplation of the monks, Eirik could certainly be considered maverick by his comrades in the Order.

Possessed of a saturnine disposition, he is a reserved, grim individual who holds little patience for tyrants and bullies. His upbringing was filled with cruel trials and tribulations in defense of the meek, and he judges his own worth in how he combats the evils around him and how he conducts himself in the face of adversity. He has been sculpted by the warriors of polar Weik, the knights of the Adamite Tower, and the wizard-monks of the Jedi Order into an unusual amalgam of barbarian-turned-knight.

Not given towards higher educational pursuits, he is nonetheless interested in the esoteric and the arcane – in stars and their unusual portents. He still maintains the old traditions of his home, and many of his quirks might come across as odious to those without a tribal, deeply superstitious upbringing.

Loyalty is important to him, and there are fewer ways to forge lifelong bonds with another than in the crucible of combat. He is slow to trust outsiders but shows little hesitation when embracing kith and kin. His word is his bond, and he places a great weight on the importance of these oaths once given. It is difficult to shake him from something once he has given it purpose in his mind, and he refuses to cower before fear or uncertainty, instead seeing all strange things as a new challenge to surmount.

He likes to cook and drink. Don’t tell anyone, but he’s got a crippling sweet tooth and will absolutely destroy some candied treats.

A P P E A R A N C E

Eirik possesses a warrior’s physique. Thick cords of muscle line his bulky frame, honed by years of violence and athleticism. Venom-green irises rest beneath stern eyebrows, a world-weariness to them belying his years. A trimmed beard takes up most of his face, concealing the squared, angular facial features and various small cuts and nicks beneath. Across his body is a gnarled webwork of knotted, pinkish scars, aging bruises, and all other manner of physical sign of toil and conflict. If these seemed to cause him any discomfort, he did not make it readily apparent.

He tends towards more practical clothing. He’s certainly not the image of the ideal Jedi, but he doesn’t particularly care. The galaxy needs its heroes, and it can’t be picky on what it gets.

P O W E R S_ A N D_ A B I L I T I E S

Raised among a society of warriors, Eirik prides himself on his martial might, whether it be with blade, blaster, or brawling. Force-enhanced senses and reflexes gives him an edge against the mundane and he revels in the excitement that is brought about in a good scrap.

He does not allow himself to become slave to the Force, though, and prefers to keep his reliance on it as minimal as possible to avoid undue corruption or influence. That is not to say that he avoids using it wholly, but he does not consider himself equal among the consulars and others whose fighting style relies on overuse of the Force.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

+ — Ally | | o — Neutral | | - — Enemy/Rival

o Whoever (Whatever)​

Note: This list only documents significant relationships Eirik has developed.

E Q U I P M E N T

Below is a listing of Eirik’s gear and assets. Commonplace utility items are implied to be carried on his person. All grenades and equipment are otherwise safely stored.

General Loadout

• Lightsaber, Blue
• Vibro-dagger
• 1x Frag, Smoke, Concussion, PL-50 Stun Gas Grenade
• Datapad
• Commlink

Miscellaneous Equipment

• BD-510 Stargale Light Courier (The Sunfang)
• R7-series astromech droid

R O L E P L A Y S

The Saga of Eirik Sunwielder

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[Painus]

Biographical information​

Homeworld
Age
Csilla
27

Physical description​

Species
Gender
Height
Weight
Hair color
Eye color
Skin color
Force Sensitive
Chiss
Female
5’8”
138lbs
Black
Red
Blue
No

Chronological and political information​

Theme
Affiliation(s)
· CEDF †
___· Lieutenant †



· Imperial Security Bureau †
___· Agent †

_

____

Erra'ali'nuruodo​

"Many are the faces of the enemy, and many are the hands which do its work."​

B I O G R A P H Y

BIOGRAPHY HERE

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Personality here

A P P E A R A N C E

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P O W E R S_ A N D_ A B I L I T I E S

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R E L A T I O N S H I P S

+ — Ally | | o — Neutral | | - — Enemy/Rival

o Whoever (Whatever)​

Note: This list only documents significant relationships Aalin has developed.

E Q U I P M E N T

Below is a listing of Aalin's gear and assets. Commonplace utility items are implied to be carried on her person. All grenades and other pieces of equipment are otherwise safely stored.

General Loadout

• BM-548 Blaster Rifle
• JMRN M19 Handgun
• Vibro-dagger
• 1x Frag, Smoke, Concussion, PL-50 Stun Gas Grenade
• Datapad
• Commlink

Miscellaneous Equipment

• CEDF Uniform
• ship placeholder
• droid placeholder

R O L E P L A Y S

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• blank
• blonk
• blunk
• blenk
• sometimes blynk