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[fancybox2]
Full Name: D'Taka Rah Jann
Age: Mid-20s
Species:Mirialan
Homeworld: Mirial
Height: 5'7 ft
Weight: 138 lbs
Eye Color: Blue (L) Orange (R)
Hair Color: Black
Skin Tone: Green
Force Sensitive: Yes
Theme: Warsaw -- Dessa
SO: Anything that moves.
Gender: Somewhere in between.
Pronouns: They, xi, xir...
Voice: ------
APPEARANCE
Rah is of modest height, neither imposing nor diminutive. Xir frame is a bit on the lean side with muscle definition but xir are clearly not padded with large muscle mass. However, despite this xir body hides incredibly strength and speed in the form of extensive internal cybernetics. The only visible sign of them would be the hair-thin scars that run in various lines all around xir body except the face, colored a slightly lighter green than the surrounding skin. Other scars dot xir skin, including a curved burn scar on xir upper abdomen.
Being a Mirialan, Rah has several tattoos on xir body. The most prominent is the dark blue geometric one on xir chin that marks xir as a member of the highest priest caste in xir society. Both legs are covered in the same dark blue in a geometric tattoo from about knee to the tops of xir feet. On xir left forearm is an abstract geometric one and on the right upper arm are two thick stripes, both pieces in Rah’s signature dark blue.
Xi walks the line between male and female in both manner and dress. Xir facial features are slightly feminine yet not overly so, to the point where depending on the outfit, makeup, and hair, Rah pass as male. Self-branded as a clothes whore, xi often wears outfits that would be outlandish on anyone else. The only constant to xir style is there is no constant. One day xi will be wearing heels, a miniskirt, and a crop top, but on the next day xi will be wearing the most dapper of suits. Well, there are perhaps two constants: the absence of the color red, and a certain love for circle-framed glasses.
PERSONALITY
"Those that do not aspire do not notice their chains.
Those that do not move do not leave their cells."
Rah is a forceful personality, commanding a large presence in their aura and demeanor despite lacking extreme physical height. They are open and honest more often than not and this can sometimes backfire with the Sith's secretive culture. Always direct and straightforward, they speak with brevity and purpose, slang or profanity frequently coloring their phrases. Most importantly, Rah's inner drive is to remain independent and in control of their own destiny. They regard the overbearing influence of others on their life, when it is not invited or warranted as in the case of a mentor, as stifling and even insulting.
The Mirialan sometimes has problems with being excessive and going to extremes in various areas of their life or in the way they react to things, finding it hard to strike a medium. Rah also has a strong sadistic streak which they keep suppressed out of fear of losing trust or favor with fellow Sith. When stressed or angry they are intense, overpowering and unwilling to self-limit. Sometimes they are emotionally abusive. However when at their best they are a natural leader and protective of those directly under them, being ready to step into the line of fire for them if need be. They firmly believe in mythology and the influence of spirits on everyday life, but will not accept it as an excuse for bad things happening when it could be a person's own fault. Interests include metalworking, martial arts, and Mirialan culture and history.
In most things Rah is neither the best nor the worst, being able to at least hold xir own against most opponents around her skill level. Xi is lucky in that xi possesses a very strong connection to the Force and finds it easier than many warriors to use it in battle beyond simple telekinetic applications. However, compared to the skills of a seasoned Jedi Consular or Sith Sorcerer who relies heavily on their Force powers in combat and Rah can look like an amateur.
.
.
.
.
.
What little I choose to remember I hold as insignificant, but I might as well tell you to appease your constant nagging. I was born on Mirial in the fifth month of our religious calendar. My father’s name was Tsaru Jann, a head priest at a prominent Viomara (house of worship). He was soft-spoken and meticulous, but stern when it was required. My mother, Limal, was a typical priest’s wife and supported her husband in temple duties. I had two other siblings, a brother three years older named Athanan and a sister two years younger named Javija. Athanan was always the “good child,” the model standard who I’m sure even a Jedi could not attain. Javija was the baby of the family. Being the middle child, I often felt forgotten and whatever I was going through was second to my father’s priestly duties. Athanan, Javija, and I lived in constant fear of committing one of the many sins outlined in our holy book, and even more so of being found out.
I lived a sheltered life, for better or worse. My siblings and I attended a private religious school taught by nuns and were forbidden from consuming any unapproved secular media. This included holobooks, music, news publications, or anything else. What hurt us the worst was how our parents kept us ignorant of the troubles of the outside world. I had little knowledge of both the Sith or Jedi, the Republic, or the religious violence that centered around my father and the lesser priests of our sect.
When I was about fourteen, I was at the local market by myself at midday. It was always a crowded, bustling place except for the times nearly everyone, including the shopkeepers, took a break for one of the three daily prayers. Suddenly the ground began to shake and distant explosions could be heard in the background. The next thing I remember I was lost in the crowd and someone's arm wrapped around my neck and waist. I was so small I couldn't break free of my captor. Feeling something sharp in my neck, my vision blurred and I passed out.
When I came-to I awoke in a tiny cell in the belly of a starship, alone except for the children of a few other priests, some of whom I went to school with. Shock collars decorated our necks and stun cuffs graced our wrists. I had know idea who captured me, where I was, or why any of this happened. Little did I know, we were victims of sentient trafficking, captured by a subset of extremists who thought bombing a public place and kidnapping children of prominent religious leaders was a good way to show their power.
We were in captivity for close to a standard week. We docked at what we were told to be Thalassia, then sold to a group of slavers who were eager to have us. I quickly learned to things: Young slaves, particularly Mirialans, are desirable because we learn quickly and our natural flexibility makes us good dancers; and when you cannot successfully to defend your rights, your rights cease to exist.
Save me and a girl and Aedomi, the slaves were auctioned off. I never saw them again. Us two remaining were reserved for the Blood Lord of the Thalassian Slavers guild, partially for our specific tattoo patterns that identified us as children of the highest religious caste on Mirial. This made us worth more, and for the the Blood Lord only the best would do. We were sent to live at his estate. Our names were stripped from us and we were given new ones that changed as our duties and ranks in the house changed. At times when things were particularly bad, we might be given two or more in a month. If we used our real names, forgot a task, or spoke in our native languages we were beaten. This happened to me on a semi-regular basis.
I always resented being owned by another, having someone else control my destiny, but I could do nothing about it. Four years as a slave changes you. I was always willful and sure of myself, but my hot-headed nature was molded by necessity to be inward and more exacting. Yet there was no time where I decided to craft a plan to run away, simply a single breaking point where pent anger led me to snap. Aedomi and I were rehearsing a difficult dance that we were to perform in celebration of our Lord's birthday. After what seemed like a fifth time of being switched on the leg by the head slave for what I thought I was a minor mistake, I growled back. A dark and intoxicating presence took over me, and as if an external force was controlling my body by puppet strings, I struck out at her and telekinetically threw her back several meters. This left her in a daze but snapped me out of my momentary trance. I realized what I had done and without another moment passing I bolted. There was no way I was going to contemplate the possible punishments if I were caught-- a hamstringing or worse.
Where would I go? Thalassia was not the friendliest world for slaves. Perhaps not as bad as I hear it is in Hutt Space, but still bad enough if I was found out by authorities they would ship me right back to the estate like I was no better than an animal. The only thing I could think of in my frenzied state was boarding a starship and heading several sectors away. Getting off the estate was the most difficult part. That required me first borrowing a maintenance vehicle and shooting a few people with a stun pistol I found. They were kept by certain staff as precautions in case one of the many dangerous pets of our Lord got loose. Once on the road I was able to make it to a starport. How did I, with no money, manage to gain board on a starship, you ask? Some things are better left unstated.
I asked the captain were they were headed. Turns out they were headed to Ord Radama to deliver raw materials. I was neither delighted nor distressed to learn this, though I was cautioned that it was a Sith-controlled world. What little I heard of the Sith I was not in opposition to, as some of the rumors I encountered on Thalassia was that Sith often were willing to take in former slaves if they proved themselves worthy--whatever exactly that entailed. I had no other options.
After docking at Ord Radama's premier spaceport the ship was inspected for the various contents the captain was promised to deliver. I was then allowed to part ways and eventually found my way at what appeared to be an administrator's office. Being as brazen as I anyone could conceivably be, I requested information on how to possibly gain admittance into the Sith. Perhaps that was a strange question to ask, judging by the way I remember he looked at me, but at least I got what I thought I wanted. Being interrogated and assessed by the Sith Brotherhood is something no one and nothing could have prepared me for. It was clear at once that I was Force-sensitive, a topic I had only rudimentary knowledge of even after being raised in a highly-religious household. Then again, my people has no great Force-using tradition like so many other cultures across the galaxy. It was also clear, more to them than to me, that I possessed the beginnings of Sith beliefs, fostered by both my own nature and my time as a slave. The fundamental truth: Rights were not given, they were made. If you couldn't defend them or yourself, you had no right to keep them. You had to make people respect them and respect you with no guarantee their reverence would last if it was ever expressed at all.
They presented me with two options: Enter the ranks of the Sith Lords as an acolyte, or learn to serve the Sith within the Sacred Band of Ziost with the risk that because I had potential in the Force, I might be forced into the Sith Lords anyway. I chose the former on a whim, understanding that once I made my decision it would be too late to turn back. With that pinnacle moment I was altering the course of my life forever.
My training began the moment I stepped off the shuttle. I was branded as an oddity with my green skin, different-colored eyes, and refusal to conform to standard gender constructs. Slavery had prepared me well for both the taunts and the long days of training with no end in sight. Perhaps to my benefit I did not stand out in any skill, avoiding both undue attention from the instructors for prowess and the scorn of being one of the weak. This was about to change, for a training exercise in one of the old Massassai temples deep in the jungles on Yavin 4 proved to be almost fatal. There were hidden mines that someone triggered, causing walls and the ceiling of the structure to fall upon us. I sensed that the several in our party were killed instantly, the rest of us left to slowly die in agony. I myself was trapped from the neck down, pinned and unable to move my limbs that lied at very unnatural angles. It was several hours before we were found. The rest of my memories surrounding this time is a disorganized collection of medication-addled images, as fractured as my bones. Many of the survivors including myself required intensive surgery and implants. My own injuries were repaired with experimental rybocoarse woven into my muscles and wrapped around my bones. I still bear the scars, thin incision lines that are near-invisible except in bright light. I was considered one of the lucky ones. My spine was not fractured by the impact and I didn't lose any limbs.
I also bear the scars to my reputation. Back then it was worse, the lot of us considered lost causes as we fell behind in our training with the many hours we had to spend in the medbay for recovery and physical therapy. It was a wonder I ever gained a master, a mid-ranking Sith named Meraha who also happened to be a Mirialan. Compared to me he was a living artwork, his skin covered in a complex tapestry of tattoos marking his numerous accomplishments. I only had a few, one on my chin, one on my chest, and a few on my arms. I was urged to take up a nimble and acrobatic lightsaber style that capitalized on the Mirialan's natural flexibility. This coupled with my training as a dancer complimented me well. On my own I chose to learn a secondary form, Soresu, to provide better defense. My master was gracious enough to teach me how to dual wield and how to utilize Trakata, a method that relies on the lightsaber's unique property of being able to turn on and off instantly. Ever exacting was his instruction, incorporating many of the beliefs of our shared culture into the philosophy of the Sith Brotherhood. Most importantly, it included his reverence for our religion's 'devil' figure, Vituan. He was the patron god of darkness, opposition, and change. He did not necessarily represent death, but he served as a foil for all the other deities that stood for life, peace, and light. Vatuan's name was branded on my back at the conclusion of my training with Meraha, marking my movement from a lowly acolyte into the position of a fully-fledged Sith.ex.
--utility belt
--rebreather
--heavy blaster pistol
--standard blaster pistol
--Fighting knives
--lightsabers x 2 - red blade, operational underwater, phrik
--armor
--ship
--swoop bike
--rations
--encrypted datapad
--comlink
--various grenades
RAH JANN
[/fancybox2]
Age: Mid-20s
Species:Mirialan
Homeworld: Mirial
Height: 5'7 ft
Weight: 138 lbs
Eye Color: Blue (L) Orange (R)
Hair Color: Black
Skin Tone: Green
Force Sensitive: Yes
Theme: Warsaw -- Dessa
SO: Anything that moves.
Gender: Somewhere in between.
Pronouns: They, xi, xir...
Voice: ------
APPEARANCE
Rah is of modest height, neither imposing nor diminutive. Xir frame is a bit on the lean side with muscle definition but xir are clearly not padded with large muscle mass. However, despite this xir body hides incredibly strength and speed in the form of extensive internal cybernetics. The only visible sign of them would be the hair-thin scars that run in various lines all around xir body except the face, colored a slightly lighter green than the surrounding skin. Other scars dot xir skin, including a curved burn scar on xir upper abdomen.
Being a Mirialan, Rah has several tattoos on xir body. The most prominent is the dark blue geometric one on xir chin that marks xir as a member of the highest priest caste in xir society. Both legs are covered in the same dark blue in a geometric tattoo from about knee to the tops of xir feet. On xir left forearm is an abstract geometric one and on the right upper arm are two thick stripes, both pieces in Rah’s signature dark blue.
Xi walks the line between male and female in both manner and dress. Xir facial features are slightly feminine yet not overly so, to the point where depending on the outfit, makeup, and hair, Rah pass as male. Self-branded as a clothes whore, xi often wears outfits that would be outlandish on anyone else. The only constant to xir style is there is no constant. One day xi will be wearing heels, a miniskirt, and a crop top, but on the next day xi will be wearing the most dapper of suits. Well, there are perhaps two constants: the absence of the color red, and a certain love for circle-framed glasses.
PERSONALITY
"Those that do not aspire do not notice their chains.
Those that do not move do not leave their cells."
Rah is a forceful personality, commanding a large presence in their aura and demeanor despite lacking extreme physical height. They are open and honest more often than not and this can sometimes backfire with the Sith's secretive culture. Always direct and straightforward, they speak with brevity and purpose, slang or profanity frequently coloring their phrases. Most importantly, Rah's inner drive is to remain independent and in control of their own destiny. They regard the overbearing influence of others on their life, when it is not invited or warranted as in the case of a mentor, as stifling and even insulting.
The Mirialan sometimes has problems with being excessive and going to extremes in various areas of their life or in the way they react to things, finding it hard to strike a medium. Rah also has a strong sadistic streak which they keep suppressed out of fear of losing trust or favor with fellow Sith. When stressed or angry they are intense, overpowering and unwilling to self-limit. Sometimes they are emotionally abusive. However when at their best they are a natural leader and protective of those directly under them, being ready to step into the line of fire for them if need be. They firmly believe in mythology and the influence of spirits on everyday life, but will not accept it as an excuse for bad things happening when it could be a person's own fault. Interests include metalworking, martial arts, and Mirialan culture and history.
ABILITIES
.
.
.
.
.
BACKGROUND
I lived a sheltered life, for better or worse. My siblings and I attended a private religious school taught by nuns and were forbidden from consuming any unapproved secular media. This included holobooks, music, news publications, or anything else. What hurt us the worst was how our parents kept us ignorant of the troubles of the outside world. I had little knowledge of both the Sith or Jedi, the Republic, or the religious violence that centered around my father and the lesser priests of our sect.
When I was about fourteen, I was at the local market by myself at midday. It was always a crowded, bustling place except for the times nearly everyone, including the shopkeepers, took a break for one of the three daily prayers. Suddenly the ground began to shake and distant explosions could be heard in the background. The next thing I remember I was lost in the crowd and someone's arm wrapped around my neck and waist. I was so small I couldn't break free of my captor. Feeling something sharp in my neck, my vision blurred and I passed out.
When I came-to I awoke in a tiny cell in the belly of a starship, alone except for the children of a few other priests, some of whom I went to school with. Shock collars decorated our necks and stun cuffs graced our wrists. I had know idea who captured me, where I was, or why any of this happened. Little did I know, we were victims of sentient trafficking, captured by a subset of extremists who thought bombing a public place and kidnapping children of prominent religious leaders was a good way to show their power.
We were in captivity for close to a standard week. We docked at what we were told to be Thalassia, then sold to a group of slavers who were eager to have us. I quickly learned to things: Young slaves, particularly Mirialans, are desirable because we learn quickly and our natural flexibility makes us good dancers; and when you cannot successfully to defend your rights, your rights cease to exist.
Save me and a girl and Aedomi, the slaves were auctioned off. I never saw them again. Us two remaining were reserved for the Blood Lord of the Thalassian Slavers guild, partially for our specific tattoo patterns that identified us as children of the highest religious caste on Mirial. This made us worth more, and for the the Blood Lord only the best would do. We were sent to live at his estate. Our names were stripped from us and we were given new ones that changed as our duties and ranks in the house changed. At times when things were particularly bad, we might be given two or more in a month. If we used our real names, forgot a task, or spoke in our native languages we were beaten. This happened to me on a semi-regular basis.
I always resented being owned by another, having someone else control my destiny, but I could do nothing about it. Four years as a slave changes you. I was always willful and sure of myself, but my hot-headed nature was molded by necessity to be inward and more exacting. Yet there was no time where I decided to craft a plan to run away, simply a single breaking point where pent anger led me to snap. Aedomi and I were rehearsing a difficult dance that we were to perform in celebration of our Lord's birthday. After what seemed like a fifth time of being switched on the leg by the head slave for what I thought I was a minor mistake, I growled back. A dark and intoxicating presence took over me, and as if an external force was controlling my body by puppet strings, I struck out at her and telekinetically threw her back several meters. This left her in a daze but snapped me out of my momentary trance. I realized what I had done and without another moment passing I bolted. There was no way I was going to contemplate the possible punishments if I were caught-- a hamstringing or worse.
Where would I go? Thalassia was not the friendliest world for slaves. Perhaps not as bad as I hear it is in Hutt Space, but still bad enough if I was found out by authorities they would ship me right back to the estate like I was no better than an animal. The only thing I could think of in my frenzied state was boarding a starship and heading several sectors away. Getting off the estate was the most difficult part. That required me first borrowing a maintenance vehicle and shooting a few people with a stun pistol I found. They were kept by certain staff as precautions in case one of the many dangerous pets of our Lord got loose. Once on the road I was able to make it to a starport. How did I, with no money, manage to gain board on a starship, you ask? Some things are better left unstated.
I asked the captain were they were headed. Turns out they were headed to Ord Radama to deliver raw materials. I was neither delighted nor distressed to learn this, though I was cautioned that it was a Sith-controlled world. What little I heard of the Sith I was not in opposition to, as some of the rumors I encountered on Thalassia was that Sith often were willing to take in former slaves if they proved themselves worthy--whatever exactly that entailed. I had no other options.
After docking at Ord Radama's premier spaceport the ship was inspected for the various contents the captain was promised to deliver. I was then allowed to part ways and eventually found my way at what appeared to be an administrator's office. Being as brazen as I anyone could conceivably be, I requested information on how to possibly gain admittance into the Sith. Perhaps that was a strange question to ask, judging by the way I remember he looked at me, but at least I got what I thought I wanted. Being interrogated and assessed by the Sith Brotherhood is something no one and nothing could have prepared me for. It was clear at once that I was Force-sensitive, a topic I had only rudimentary knowledge of even after being raised in a highly-religious household. Then again, my people has no great Force-using tradition like so many other cultures across the galaxy. It was also clear, more to them than to me, that I possessed the beginnings of Sith beliefs, fostered by both my own nature and my time as a slave. The fundamental truth: Rights were not given, they were made. If you couldn't defend them or yourself, you had no right to keep them. You had to make people respect them and respect you with no guarantee their reverence would last if it was ever expressed at all.
They presented me with two options: Enter the ranks of the Sith Lords as an acolyte, or learn to serve the Sith within the Sacred Band of Ziost with the risk that because I had potential in the Force, I might be forced into the Sith Lords anyway. I chose the former on a whim, understanding that once I made my decision it would be too late to turn back. With that pinnacle moment I was altering the course of my life forever.
My training began the moment I stepped off the shuttle. I was branded as an oddity with my green skin, different-colored eyes, and refusal to conform to standard gender constructs. Slavery had prepared me well for both the taunts and the long days of training with no end in sight. Perhaps to my benefit I did not stand out in any skill, avoiding both undue attention from the instructors for prowess and the scorn of being one of the weak. This was about to change, for a training exercise in one of the old Massassai temples deep in the jungles on Yavin 4 proved to be almost fatal. There were hidden mines that someone triggered, causing walls and the ceiling of the structure to fall upon us. I sensed that the several in our party were killed instantly, the rest of us left to slowly die in agony. I myself was trapped from the neck down, pinned and unable to move my limbs that lied at very unnatural angles. It was several hours before we were found. The rest of my memories surrounding this time is a disorganized collection of medication-addled images, as fractured as my bones. Many of the survivors including myself required intensive surgery and implants. My own injuries were repaired with experimental rybocoarse woven into my muscles and wrapped around my bones. I still bear the scars, thin incision lines that are near-invisible except in bright light. I was considered one of the lucky ones. My spine was not fractured by the impact and I didn't lose any limbs.
I also bear the scars to my reputation. Back then it was worse, the lot of us considered lost causes as we fell behind in our training with the many hours we had to spend in the medbay for recovery and physical therapy. It was a wonder I ever gained a master, a mid-ranking Sith named Meraha who also happened to be a Mirialan. Compared to me he was a living artwork, his skin covered in a complex tapestry of tattoos marking his numerous accomplishments. I only had a few, one on my chin, one on my chest, and a few on my arms. I was urged to take up a nimble and acrobatic lightsaber style that capitalized on the Mirialan's natural flexibility. This coupled with my training as a dancer complimented me well. On my own I chose to learn a secondary form, Soresu, to provide better defense. My master was gracious enough to teach me how to dual wield and how to utilize Trakata, a method that relies on the lightsaber's unique property of being able to turn on and off instantly. Ever exacting was his instruction, incorporating many of the beliefs of our shared culture into the philosophy of the Sith Brotherhood. Most importantly, it included his reverence for our religion's 'devil' figure, Vituan. He was the patron god of darkness, opposition, and change. He did not necessarily represent death, but he served as a foil for all the other deities that stood for life, peace, and light. Vatuan's name was branded on my back at the conclusion of my training with Meraha, marking my movement from a lowly acolyte into the position of a fully-fledged Sith.ex.
EQUIPMENT
--rebreather
--heavy blaster pistol
--standard blaster pistol
--Fighting knives
--lightsabers x 2 - red blade, operational underwater, phrik
--armor
--ship
--swoop bike
--rations
--encrypted datapad
--comlink
--various grenades
[/b]
Last edited:
