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vamp

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Biographical information

Homeworld
Age

Dathomir
18


Physical description

Species
Gender
Height
Mass
Hair color
Eye color
Skin color
Cybernetics

Human
Male
1.9 meters
70 kilograms
Black
Blue
Pale white
None


Chronological & political information

Affiliation(s)

Master

The Sith Eternal
__Legionnaire
None


.
Cinere Autem

Cinere Autem was a male human who fought as a Sith Eternal during the Force Eternal era.



Biographytextext
______________________________________________________________________texttexttext

Raised in the swamplands of Dathomir in a shack far from any other intelligent life forms, Cinere Autem was born into a line of dark siders that stretched back generations, all the way to the failed project known as the First Order. Fallen out of grace and forever branded as traitors, a small group of individuals that had once fought among the ranks of the former faction fled to Dathomir. They settled down there, slowly raising families of their own. But none stayed for long, eventually heading back out into the Galaxy, wanderlust getting the better of them. Eventually, only Cinere's parents remained, and he was raised in solitude.

As was custom by now, he was raised to be a warrior, despite the fact that they had no cause to fight for. It was a simple life, free from drama but with an overbearing boredom. It was no wonder that everyone always left, and Cinere soon began to understand and plan his own departure. Not keeping it a secret from his parents, he continued to learn all knowledge they had to hand down to him, eventually boarding a shuttle and heading out into the Core worlds, searching for something to do, a reason to exist.

It was not easy to find at first, but his time was certainly not wasted. Formerly a stranger to large groups or socializing, he became fascinated with the underground scene on Coruscant, spending his time partying in the lower levels and prowling the scaffolding late at night with groups of people he considered his friends. Mind clouded, he slowly stopped finding a reason to exist and just existed, spending his time focusing on the now and seeking temporary happiness.

As things began slowing down and Cinere found that life wasn't as exciting before, he began exploring new things, seeking new entourages. It was then that he fell in with a group of dark siders among the lower levels—all novices seeking to be a part of something big. Eventually, word spread of machinations in the Unknown Regions, and it didn't take long before they were readying up for the journey to Exegol.

Not all of them made it. The dark siders each left separately, believing that this journey must be completed alone to weed out the weak from the strong. Many perished, dying of hunger or finding themselves robbed and killed by pirates. Cinere hopped from shuttle to shuttle, sometimes as a stow away, making his way further and further away from the Core. He flew a stolen starfighter into Exegol, where he became a part of the Sith Eternal.​


Personality & Traits
______________________________________________________________________________________________

A bit arrogant and occasionally loud mouthed, Cinere has been starved of attention and now seeks to make it up by being the cool guy. Like most Sith, he loathes compromise, even leaning toward not accepting it, but he practices a healthy does of pragmatism—fully aware that, sometimes, the best thing to say is nothing at all. But only sometimes.

Powers & Abilitiestexttext

__________________________________________________________________________texttexttext


Hand to Hand Combat — There aren't many things you can use to fight with on Dathomir. One of the first things Cinere was taught and has been refining for a long time is hand to hand combat, having studied several martial arts. Even without the Force, he can stand his ground in a street fight.​

Force powers — Like most Force users, he has been tapping into the Force for as long as he's been breathing, his parents having pushed lessons onto him the moment Cinere's sensitivity was obvious. Using it is second nature by now.​

Cunning — While other Sith would prefer to break through an enemy with sheer force, Cinere knows when to hang back and use other means, not afraid to throw some sand in someone's eyes.
______________________________________________________________________________________________

Equipment
• Red dual phase lightsaber

Assets
Ship



Roleplay Threadstexttext

__________________________________________________________________________


Chapter I: Initiate

1. Thread link — Thread description here, though there are no threads so this is the only text available.
 
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vamp

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CINERE AUTEM'S ARMOR

Made out of scraps from other sets of armor, Cinere has managed to craft himself a qualitative outfit that protects the vitals while leaving room for him to move around unhindered. Lacking attachments, nothing about it is too different from the millions others worn around the Galaxy.

LEGALITY

Nothing about the set is illegal.

INTENT

To have a write up for Cinere's armor.

RESTRICTIONS
None.

TYPE & COVERAGE

Type: Medium

Coverage:
  • Head: Duraplast mask covering mouth and back of head
  • Torso: Duraplast that wraps around the body from shoulders to hips, covering the entire torso.
  • Back: Back part of the torso armor.
  • Upper Arms: Duraplast covering arms.
  • Lower Arms: Phrik gauntlets covering hands and forearms.


FUNCTIONS


None

 

vamp

dark side aficionado
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Biographical information

Homeworld
Age
Aliases

Nar Shaddaa
21
Jpho, the Typhoon


Physical description

Species
Gender
Height
Mass
Hair color
Eye color
Skin color
Cybernetics
Scars


Human
Male
1.85 meters
70 kilograms
Brown
Brown
White
None
Various blaster scars


Chronological & political information

Affiliation(s)

Master

Independent
__Criminal
None


.
| Jon Typho |

Jon Typho was a male human smuggler, pilot, hitman, and slicer living during the Force Eternal era. The son of two criminals and born on the Smuggler's Moon, it was no surprise to any that he chose this career, being equipped with the skills needed from an early age. He went solo when his parents died when they tried to ambush a deal between two gangs but found themselves in over their heads.



Biography

"Do you hear that?"

A light pattering of rain had been sprinkling over the metal sheets that served of a roof for them for the past half hour but that was not what he was referring to. A man—red-faced and tense, beads of sweat falling from his green hair down onto his cheeks—stared out the window, then turned around abruptly toward a pink-haired woman next to him. "Do you hear it, Amira?" His eyes scanned her to see if she was as excited as she was.

"No, Xavier." Amira smiled nevertheless because she could never not smile when she saw her husband beaming like a child. It was only a few things that got him this worked up and none of them legal. Tonight was no exception.

He swatted at the air with one hand, eyes outside the window again. "Calm, Amira. It's the calm before the storm."

"A storm that won't fuck us over in the end, hopefully."

"What's the worst that can happen? We do stuff like this every few months." Nothing could bring him down, which was a bit worrying for Amira. He always did this, getting excited about jobs, and it made him get careless. So far it hadn't backfired, but it had the potential too.

"Whatever you say, honey." She turned around and reached for the blaster on the table next to her. She checked its battery and then holstered it, also grabbing her jacket off the chair and slinging it over her shoulders. "Almost time to go. Max is waiting in the car."

Xavier pulled his hood up and stuffed a cloth into his pocket, making his way to the door. He exited first, then Amira, who stopped for a moment to look back at their home before she switched the light off. It was shabby, but it was clean (she'd made sure of it) and it had served them well all these years. She hoped to come back to sleep in her own bed tonight.

The two stepped outside in the rain and walked a few meters to the corner of the street, their wet footsteps echoing behind them. Opening the doors of a speeder waiting for them, the two got in the backseat silently.

"I thought you weren't gonna come." Jon turned toward them, big grin on his face. "Was about to go take the speeder back."

***

Violent gunfire rocked the steel wall behind him, the sparks falling onto the bare skin of the back of his neck. Xavier's eyes were frantic, going back and forth through the warehouse, trying to spot her frame somewhere. Risking it a little, he poked his head out from behind cover. He spotted Amira on the other side of the building, making a run for it. Nodding to himself, he ducked back down just as a bolt whizzed past the top of his head. Stick to the plan.

Xavier bolted up and ran as fast as his legs could carry him toward the exit, taking cover whenever he could. He was just about there when suddenly he found himself on the ground. A metal crate had flown in right from the edge of his vision, slamming into him with enough force to break several ribs. Gasping for air, he tried to lift his head to look around, but was stopped by pressure on his windpipe. His confusion increased when he heard a strange noise—a hiss, then a sort of whir, like the sound speeders make when they whizz past you at high speeds. Could it be—

"Sith," he gasped out. Like most other residents of the Smuggler's Moon, he had spent his life more concerned over the criminals around him rather than on some religious zealots on the other side of the Galaxy, even considering them a sort of overblown myth, so the realization was a shock.

"I wouldn't waste any of my breaths if I were you." The last thing Xavier registered was a sharp pain in his chest. "They are among your last."

***

Elsewhere, his wife was fighting back three mercenaries from behind an overturned speeder. Managing to take one out, she rolled out from behind cover and dodged a bolt in a mad charge to a more advantageous position. Just like her husband, the only thing on her mind was escape to the rendezvous point. And just like her husband, she found herself flying through the air like a bird with broken wings. Amira crashed into the stone floor face-first, scraping against it for a few meters. Blood in her eyes and a sharp, screaming pain erupting from her chin, she struggled dazedly to get up, but couldn't. A sudden kick to the head silenced her forever.

***

Their son was still waiting in the speeder. Music played softly out of the speakers, muting the rain outside and the various blaster shots that had been ringing out for the past 4 minutes unbeknownst to him. Jon was wondering why they were taking so long and staring at the watch. In a few minutes, he was supposed to leave according to the rules they'd set beforehand, but that was not happening.

Or so he thought. He saw the hooded figure leaving the warehouse his parents had come into, followed by a few troops carrying two body bags.

A loud thud echoed through the car as he slammed his fists down on the dashboard. And then he screamed.
Personality & Traits

Jon likes to pretend he has no flaws whatsoever, maintaining a wall up to prevent anyone from seeing the fact that he is, indeed, very flawed. He tries to be funny but sometimes comes off as immature. When he puts his mind to it, Jon can be surprisingly intelligent, but he's found that exhibiting intelligence never gets you anywhere good so he feigns ignorance to prevent others from taking advantage of him.

Used to running from authorities, he's become a nomad. Jon can never stay in one place for long and he gets extremely bored if he doesn't have anything to do. He has a good deal of different hobbies, only about 2 of them completely legal.

Jon lives in the present, unbothered by the consequences of his actions up until they smack him in the face. Still, he wouldn't have it any other way because, after all, he's here for a good time, not a long time.​


________________________________________________

Equipment

He's got no reason to carry a gun, but when walking home late at night, Jon remains strapped with a hold-out blaster, just in case the scum of the lower levels decide to have a go at the pretty boy in the suit. Usually close by—either in his speeder or in his office—he's got a VBP-11 at the ready. Other than that, he carries the usual: commlink, datapad, wallet, keys, and always—and I mean always—a bag of spice and a deathstick, tucked away in a small box in the inside of his suit.​

Roleplay Threads

1. Thread name — Thread description.
 
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vamp

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_N A M E
CINERE AUTEM

F A C T I O N
SITH ORDER

_R A N K
MARAUDER

_S P E C I E S
HUMAN

_A G E
19

_H E I G H T
1.9 M

_W E I G H T
70 KG

_G E N D E R
NONBINARY

_F O R C E_ S E N S I T I V I T Y
YES



B I O G R A P H Y

CoO7lNiXgAAnr4j.jpg
Note: Cinere uses he/him and occasionally they/them pronouns

Raised in the swamplands of Dathomir in a shack far from any other intelligent life forms, Cinere Autem was born into a line of dark siders that stretched back generations, all the way to the failed project known as the First Order. Fallen out of grace and forever branded as traitors, a small group of individuals that had once fought among the ranks of the former faction fled to Dathomir. They settled down there, slowly raising families of their own. But none stayed for long, eventually heading back out into the Galaxy, wanderlust getting the better of them. Eventually, only Cinere's parents remained, and he was raised in solitude.


As was custom by now, he was raised to be a warrior, despite the fact that they had no cause to fight for. It was a simple life, free from drama but with an overbearing boredom. It was no wonder that everyone always left, and Cinere soon began to understand and plan his own departure. Not keeping it a secret from his parents, he continued to learn all knowledge they had to hand down to him, eventually boarding a shuttle and heading out into the Core worlds, searching for something to do, a reason to exist.


It was not easy to find at first, but his time was certainly not wasted. Formerly a stranger to large groups or socializing, he became fascinated with the underground scene on Coruscant, spending his time partying in the lower levels and prowling the scaffolding late at night with groups of people he considered his friends. Mind clouded, he slowly stopped finding a reason to exist and just existed, spending his time focusing on the now and seeking temporary happiness.


As things began slowing down and Cinere found that life wasn't as exciting before, he began exploring new things, seeking new entourages. It was then that he fell in with a group of dark siders among the lower levels—all novices seeking to be a part of something big. Through them, he was introduced to the bands of Force users slowly coming together into what has now become the Sith Eternal.

P E R S O N A L I T Y _ & _ T R A I T S

A bit arrogant and occasionally loud mouthed, Cinere has never really been taught how to act around people. He’s pragmatic and quick to learn new things, skills which have ensured he doesn’t perish in the slums of Coruscant despite having spent his life on Dathomir. Like most Sith, he loathes compromise, but unlike most Sith, he isn't a bumbling idiot. He dislikes overconfidence, both in his peers and in his enemies, viewing hubris as one of the worst flaws one could have.

Generally charismatic without meaning to, he’s learned how to interact with others but tends to keep people at a distance, preferring to only look out for himself. His adaptability is his greatest strength, a result of living day to day for years; he knows to keep an open mind and always find a way.

Neutral evil.

S T A N D A R D _ E Q U I P M E N T


⇀ Red dual phase lightsaber[/SIZE][/SIZE][/INDENT]
Cinere's armor

Other Tools
⇀ N/A

Personal Assets
⇀ N/A
 
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vamp

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Veles was a bit surprised to have been on point with his estimate, and a little more surprised to find that he was closer to her age than he'd thought. He knew most bars in the Galaxy were 18+ for humanoid species so it wouldn't be an issue, though there were some less civilized conservative worlds where it was 21+. Everyone tended to avoid those, because they weren't as fun regardless.

As he noted that getting her into a bar wouldnt be difficult, she turned away briefly and he caught a glimpse of her face right before. Was she blushing? Social cues were always difficult for him, especially with species other than humans. One time he'd mistaken a Twi'lek's offended lekku gesture with flirting and he'd gotten the shit kicked out of him in the back of the building later.

He grinned as he could already tell there was a cough building up in her chest, and she stifled it casually into her sleeve. He'd been there. "First time I hit one of these I coughed so hard I had tears streaming down my face and I got made fun of for 3 days," he offered to make her feel better. He hadn't seen that group in a long time, and last he'd heard most of them had either been arrested or killed. It was a stark reminder that despite the glamor and fancy lights, Coruscant was just as much urban jungle as Nar Shaddaa, only its higher levels were much richer. Then again, he'd never been to the Smuggler's Moon's upper levels.

"Killing puppies? Sure, we can t--Oh, okay, so you've got something against that? It is an art, Malou!" He scoffed, hoping the sarcasm wasn't lost on her. "But yes, clubs are fun. There's a few in Sith space, but most of the good ones are either on Nar Shaddaa or Coruscant. Probably something to do with so many lifeforms living compressed with each other."

 
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vamp

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DYxLNseX0AAR7Da

_N A M E
FENARIS MALECO

F A C T I O N
FIVE SYNDICATES

_R A N K
SCOUNDREL

_S P E C I E S
HUMAN

_A G E
21

_H E I G H T
1.85 M

_W E I G H T
70 KG

_G E N D E R
MALE

_F O R C E_ S E N S I T I V I T Y
NO

_A L I A S
JACKO



B I O G R A P H Y

The life of a smuggler was not an easy one. There were a lot of occupational hazards that would deter any half-sane organic lifeforms from becoming a part of the criminal world; there was the issue of dying in gunfights, of course, but there were also smaller, more trivial matters that made it seem unappealing. Rude, trigger-happy clients. Extreme weather, from braving sandstorms with a 3 ton load in the back to leading caravans of goods through frozen wastelands. Other smugglers, greedy and drooling at the idea of snatching your payload just before it reaches its destination, robbing you of the profits. Your own compatriots, should they prove to be unreasonable. It was an ugly world, and the only thing that made it worth the while was the profit.

It requires a thick skin and your wits to be about you at all times. It was physically and mentally demanding. Some days, you’d get back to your ship and lay down in bed, staring up at the ceiling and cursing the day you made the choice to forsake your chance at a legal, peaceful life. Many, perhaps most, people had the opportunity to make a choice. Others didn’t. Others were forced into it by unfortunate circumstances, stripped of their innocence on a day that was as normal as any other.

Beats slavery. But did it really? Is it not like being a slave in a way, chained down to this lifestyle despite its vile side effects?

He sighed, grinding his teeth, gaze set hard on the durasteel above him. Yes. Yes it is. But acknowledging his plight was the first step to letting it get the best of him. And Rash could not afford that. He could not afford to be weak.

***

It started, as most unfortunate turns of events do, with his parents. Marissa and Jacko, two of the noblest people in the galaxy, their lives tinged by a sense of pure-humbleness. Two hard workers, with an ethic above all others. Two wandering travelers, so deeply in love that they could not help from bringing another into the world, a testament of their togetherness. A manifestation of their passion.

They were not bad parents. As far as anyone could be concerned, they were great parents. They were not strict like so many others were, battered down by lives of hardship, drained of energy and given no other choice than to hold some resent for their child. They were not negligent. They loved their child as much as they loved each other, and it was felt. The boy that they brought into the world knew he was their shining jewel. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe his perfect childhood ruined him, because it made life so harsh once it was taken away.

His parents were nomads, living in the Outer Rim, scavenging and buying things cheap to sell to travelers from the rest of the Galaxy. Unlike many others, they made an honest living. They avoided trouble and dealt with things morally. They were friendly with strangers, something that is not applauded in the Outer Rim. Kindness makes you into a laughingstock.

But not in their case. Marissa and Jacko were loved by those around them, the regular customers and the merchants they tended to brush elbows with from time to time. No one tried to stiff them, because everyone knew how reputable they were. Of course, there were outliers. But anyone that was a thorn in their side was run out of town by the others. It was a peaceful life. Too peaceful for the Outer Rim.

It was on a calm day on Tatooine that a traveler sought shelter in their improvised home, a small network of tents that they had set up for the few weeks they’d be there, selling this and that. The two never refused a traveler who asked for something as small as a place to rest their head for a few nights, and the traveler was welcomed with open arms and good food. Fen could remember peering at the man from behind his mother’s apron, his childish curiosity peaked by the brown cloak and shiny, curved knife on that bantha-hide belt. He should have known.

Night time rolled quickly as his parents socialized with their guest, drinking and chatting in between customers. Business was slow in that part of the planet, which made settling down there for a bit peaceful but lucrative. The lack of civilization made people desperate, and they’d spend good money on things they need. His parents were smart.

In the dead of the night, long after the last candle had gone out and the last glass had run empty, that a gurgle broke the silence of the desert, followed by a crash. The child awoke with a start, his gut screaming at him that something was deeply, horribly wrong. He was about to go back to sleep, though, until he heard his father’s voice.

”Marissa? M--“ His voice was cut short, followed by another gurgle, like the sound of someone trying to clean the back of their throat with water. Fen broke out of his sheets and out of the room, adrenaline coursing through his veins, thoughts running through his childish brain. Were his parents in trouble? But that was impossible. His parents were invincible.

The common area was a mess when he got there. Blood had stained their fur carpets, a deep puddle slowly soaking through into the sand beneath. At its center, his mother, her hands to her neck, covered in a slick liquid that looked black in the darkness. A few meters away, his father, face-down and unconscious, more liquid underneath him. Above his father, the stranger, hood drawn, knife in hand and covered in that same strange substance. Fen did not connect the dots immediately, but he did not even get the chance to either way. There was now sand in his eyes and mouth, his extremities burning and uncomfortable. The stranger had kicked sand at him.

He choked and stumbled around, hands desperately rubbing at his eyes, mouth struggling to spit the grimy substance out. A voice broke the silence now, from somewhere to his right. ”Hey! We got here first you piece of shit!”

A pew pew rang out through the tent, the sound deafening in the dead of the desert night. A thud, and then silence. Rash opened his eyes, but someone pulled a bag over his head. They picked him up, and he could feel himself being carried despite his kicking. He opened his mouth and screamed until his throat was sore and only a rasping exhale of air came out. He clawed and shoved, but nothing happened. Then, he felt himself being thrown up.

He hit something hard, his head banging on durasteel. And then it all went black.

***

”No. You can’t refuse! We saved your life, you ungrateful sack of bantha shit!”

”That’s no way to talk to a child, Rek!”

”See if I give a sh-!”

The door slammed shut, a hand pulling the man outside by the scruff of his neck. Fen studied his surroundings resignedly, his eyes burning from crying for hours. He was in a small room, walls and floor covered in steel. He felt like he was in a metal coffin. Apparently this is how spacefaring lifeforms lived. He hated it, even though he’d only been on a ship for a few days. He’d vomited the contents of his stomach several times during the few hours, but his body slowly got used to it. His mind did not.

His parents had never taken him with them on their space travels, instead leaving them with a family friend on Tattooine. He was supposed to step on a ship for the first time with them, in a year or two when he was ready to begin helping with the family business. But he’d been robbed of that too.

The door slid open again. A blond woman stepped inside, dressed like the typical Outer Rim traveler. Fen had seen many people like her buying things from her parents. The man that killed them had looked the same.

”Sorry about him. He’s been living like a savage for a long time, so he’s forgotten how to act around people. You know how it is.” She spoke with the casualty that not many used when speaking with children. She only realized that when Fen did not respond, staring her blankly.

”Oh! Yeah, sorry.” The woman stepped closer, toward the seat in front of Fen. He recoiled and dug deeper into the wall he was resting his back on. A strange look flashed across the woman’s face. Pity?

”No, no. It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you. My name is Renna. What’s your name?”

”Y-you killed them.” He replied, his voice hoarse, face hard.

***

He grew to understand, eventually. It was not this crew that killed his parents, it was the stranger. They had just happened by and heard the commotion. Perfectly reasonable. Fen grew to become a member of the team because he had no choice. He would starve to death in the desert if he left them, and either way--they saved his life. Or so they said. He began learning all sorts of things, from how to shoot a blaster to what parts of a speeder could be taken off to stash things into. He learned how to make a fake ID. How to lie to someone without your body language giving you away. Fen dived deeper and deeper into this world, living in the underbelly of the galaxy, no more than a useful insect like a spider. Annoying, but useful to those who needed his services. He split profits with the team, of course, because they all worked together.

It took him a few years to ask questions.

***

”We saved your life you useless piece of sh-“ Metal on flesh and bone. A crack came out of the impact, then nothing more. Rek was still awake and alive, except now his nose was broken and bleeding just like the few others cuts on his face from the scuffle of tying him up. The veteran smuggler stared Fen dead in the eyes, the hatred on his face displayed openly, his teeth bared.

”Why were you there the night they died? What were you doing in the middle of the desert? Just wandering around?” He already knew the answer. Fen was nothing if not perceptive, and he was bound to overhear things if the people on this crew didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut when they got drunk. It had taken a few years, but the inevitable had happened.

”I know about the artifact,” he spoke again, breaking the long silence that had begun settling in. ”And you would have killed them too, if he hadn’t.”

No response. Rek was looking down at Fen’s boots. He was about to kick him the face, but he finally spoke.

”Yes.”

And it was all he needed to hear. Rek died instantly as the bolt hit him in the forehead. And then another. And another. He kept pressing the trigger, unable to stop, turning the man’s face into nothing more than a charred, bubbling mess of flesh and bone. The smell of burning meat filled the room. He tossed the blaster aside, dashing outside. He vomited on the hallway.

S T A N D A R D _ E Q U I P M E N T

DG-34 Peacemaker Blaster Pistol
Fen's armor

Other Tools
⇀ N/A

Personal Assets
⇀ The 'Belly of the Beast’
 
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vamp

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890cfcc5282be03977b2d061b1b04bb9f9903c21r1-480-201_00.gif
DYxLNseX0AAR7Da
BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

---Homeworld
---Age

--- Tattooine
--- 21

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

--- Species
--- Gender
--- Height
--- Mass
--- Eye Color
--- Hair Color
--- Skin Color
--- Force Sensitivity

--- Human
--- Male
--- 185 cm
--- 80 kg
--- Black
--- Brown
--- Fair
--- Negative

KNOWN AFFILIATIONS

--- Faction
--- Organizations


--- Five Syndicates
--- Black Sun

--
Fenaris Maleco (pronounced /phen-ah-ris mah-lehcoh) was a human male smuggler and bounty hunter from the planet Tattooine. He was raised on the desert planet by Marissa and Jacko Maleco, two wandering merchants and scavengers. Although his family was respected in their circles and by clients, the acquisition by his father of an expensive artifact put them in the crosshair of several gangs of raiders from the Outer Rim, which ultimately resulted in a brief gunfight in their home and the murder of both of his parents. Fenaris was “taken in” by the victorious gang but not told of the circumstances that lead to his orphaning. He was subsequently trained to be a top smuggler, learning and honing skills in hiding products, ship mechanics, flying, gunfighting, hand to hand fighting, negotiation, hacking, and other useful things for those living on the other side of the law to know.

He lived with the gang for a period of time, eventually learning that, though they weren’t the ones to kill his parents, they likely would have done so for the artifact, and their killing of his parents’ assassin was only done for their own convenience, ensuring it fell into their hands. In the following nervous breakdown, he killed the crew he had been working alongside, slaughtering them while they were under the influence of alcohol and spice. He later sold the ship and bought a light freighter of his own, dubbed the Belly of the Beast and started taking on smuggling jobs for miscellaneous clients, as well as a few low-importance contracts for the Black Sun.

His knowledge in fields related to smuggling have helped Fen in ensuring a reliable service for his clients, though he struggles with the lifestyle that has been thrust upon him.

B A C K S T O R Y
The life of a smuggler was not an easy one. There were a lot of occupational hazards that would deter any half-sane organic lifeforms from becoming a part of the criminal world; there was the issue of dying in gunfights, of course, but there were also smaller, more trivial matters that made it seem unappealing. Rude, trigger-happy clients. Extreme weather, from braving sandstorms with a 3 ton load in the back to leading caravans of goods through frozen wastelands. Other smugglers, greedy and drooling at the idea of snatching your payload just before it reaches its destination, robbing you of the profits. Your own compatriots, should they prove to be unreasonable. It was an ugly world, and the only thing that made it worth the while was the profit.

It requires a thick skin and your wits to be about you at all times. It was physically and mentally demanding. Some days, you’d get back to your ship and lay down in bed, staring up at the ceiling and cursing the day you made the choice to forsake your chance at a legal, peaceful life. Many, perhaps most, people had the opportunity to make a choice. Others didn’t. Others were forced into it by unfortunate circumstances, stripped of their innocence on a day that was as normal as any other.

Beats slavery. But did it really? Is it not like being a slave in a way, chained down to this lifestyle despite its vile side effects?

He sighed, grinding his teeth, gaze set hard on the durasteel above him. Yes. Yes it is. But acknowledging his plight was the first step to letting it get the best of him. And Rash could not afford that. He could not afford to be weak.

***

It started, as most unfortunate turns of events do, with his parents. Marissa and Jacko, two of the noblest people in the galaxy, their lives tinged by a sense of pure-humbleness. Two hard workers, with an ethic above all others. Two wandering travelers, so deeply in love that they could not help from bringing another into the world, a testament of their togetherness. A manifestation of their passion.

They were not bad parents. As far as anyone could be concerned, they were great parents. They were not strict like so many others were, battered down by lives of hardship, drained of energy and given no other choice than to hold some resent for their child. They were not negligent. They loved their child as much as they loved each other, and it was felt. The boy that they brought into the world knew he was their shining jewel. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe his perfect childhood ruined him, because it made life so harsh once it was taken away.

His parents were nomads, living in the Outer Rim, scavenging and buying things cheap to sell to travelers from the rest of the Galaxy. Unlike many others, they made an honest living. They avoided trouble and dealt with things morally. They were friendly with strangers, something that is not applauded in the Outer Rim. Kindness makes you into a laughingstock.

But not in their case. Marissa and Jacko were loved by those around them, the regular customers and the merchants they tended to brush elbows with from time to time. No one tried to stiff them, because everyone knew how reputable they were. Of course, there were outliers. But anyone that was a thorn in their side was run out of town by the others. It was a peaceful life. Too peaceful for the Outer Rim.

It was on a calm day on Tatooine that a traveler sought shelter in their improvised home, a small network of tents that they had set up for the few weeks they’d be there, selling this and that. The two never refused a traveler who asked for something as small as a place to rest their head for a few nights, and the traveler was welcomed with open arms and good food. Fen could remember peering at the man from behind his mother’s apron, his childish curiosity peaked by the brown cloak and shiny, curved knife on that bantha-hide belt. He should have known.

Night time rolled quickly as his parents socialized with their guest, drinking and chatting in between customers. Business was slow in that part of the planet, which made settling down there for a bit peaceful but lucrative. The lack of civilization made people desperate, and they’d spend good money on things they need. His parents were smart.

In the dead of the night, long after the last candle had gone out and the last glass had run empty, that a gurgle broke the silence of the desert, followed by a crash. The child awoke with a start, his gut screaming at him that something was deeply, horribly wrong. He was about to go back to sleep, though, until he heard his father’s voice.

”Marissa? M--“ His voice was cut short, followed by another gurgle, like the sound of someone trying to clean the back of their throat with water. Fen broke out of his sheets and out of the room, adrenaline coursing through his veins, thoughts running through his childish brain. Were his parents in trouble? But that was impossible. His parents were invincible.

The common area was a mess when he got there. Blood had stained their fur carpets, a deep puddle slowly soaking through into the sand beneath. At its center, his mother, her hands to her neck, covered in a slick liquid that looked black in the darkness. A few meters away, his father, face-down and unconscious, more liquid underneath him. Above his father, the stranger, hood drawn, knife in hand and covered in that same strange substance. Fen did not connect the dots immediately, but he did not even get the chance to either way. There was now sand in his eyes and mouth, his extremities burning and uncomfortable. The stranger had kicked sand at him.

He choked and stumbled around, hands desperately rubbing at his eyes, mouth struggling to spit the grimy substance out. A voice broke the silence now, from somewhere to his right. ”Hey! We got here first you piece of shit!”

A pew pew rang out through the tent, the sound deafening in the dead of the desert night. A thud, and then silence. Rash opened his eyes, but someone pulled a bag over his head. They picked him up, and he could feel himself being carried despite his kicking. He opened his mouth and screamed until his throat was sore and only a rasping exhale of air came out. He clawed and shoved, but nothing happened. Then, he felt himself being thrown up.

He hit something hard, his head banging on durasteel. And then it all went black.

***

”No. You can’t refuse! We saved your life, you ungrateful sack of bantha shit!”

”That’s no way to talk to a child, Rek!”

”See if I give a sh-!”

The door slammed shut, a hand pulling the man outside by the scruff of his neck. Fen studied his surroundings resignedly, his eyes burning from crying for hours. He was in a small room, walls and floor covered in steel. He felt like he was in a metal coffin. Apparently this is how spacefaring lifeforms lived. He hated it, even though he’d only been on a ship for a few days. He’d vomited the contents of his stomach several times during the few hours, but his body slowly got used to it. His mind did not.

His parents had never taken him with them on their space travels, instead leaving them with a family friend on Tattooine. He was supposed to step on a ship for the first time with them, in a year or two when he was ready to begin helping with the family business. But he’d been robbed of that too.

The door slid open again. A blond woman stepped inside, dressed like the typical Outer Rim traveler. Fen had seen many people like her buying things from her parents. The man that killed them had looked the same.

”Sorry about him. He’s been living like a savage for a long time, so he’s forgotten how to act around people. You know how it is.” She spoke with the casualty that not many used when speaking with children. She only realized that when Fen did not respond, staring her blankly.

”Oh! Yeah, sorry.” The woman stepped closer, toward the seat in front of Fen. He recoiled and dug deeper into the wall he was resting his back on. A strange look flashed across the woman’s face. Pity?

”No, no. It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you. My name is Renna. What’s your name?”

”Y-you killed them.” He replied, his voice hoarse, face hard.

***

He grew to understand, eventually. It was not this crew that killed his parents, it was the stranger. They had just happened by and heard the commotion. Perfectly reasonable. Fen grew to become a member of the team because he had no choice. He would starve to death in the desert if he left them, and either way--they saved his life. Or so they said. He began learning all sorts of things, from how to shoot a blaster to what parts of a speeder could be taken off to stash things into. He learned how to make a fake ID. How to lie to someone without your body language giving you away. Fen dived deeper and deeper into this world, living in the underbelly of the galaxy, no more than a useful insect like a spider. Annoying, but useful to those who needed his services. He split profits with the team, of course, because they all worked together.

It took him a few years to ask questions.

***

”We saved your life you useless piece of sh-“ Metal on flesh and bone. A crack came out of the impact, then nothing more. Rek was still awake and alive, except now his nose was broken and bleeding just like the few others cuts on his face from the scuffle of tying him up. The veteran smuggler stared Fen dead in the eyes, the hatred on his face displayed openly, his teeth bared.

”Why were you there the night they died? What were you doing in the middle of the desert? Just wandering around?” He already knew the answer. Fen was nothing if not perceptive, and he was bound to overhear things if the people on this crew didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut when they got drunk. It had taken a few years, but the inevitable had happened.

”I know about the artifact,” he spoke again, breaking the long silence that had begun settling in. ”And you would have killed them too, if he hadn’t.”

No response. Rek was looking down at Fen’s boots. He was about to kick him the face, but he finally spoke.

”Yes.”

And it was all he needed to hear. Rek died instantly as the bolt hit him in the forehead. And then another. And another. He kept pressing the trigger, unable to stop, turning the man’s face into nothing more than a charred, bubbling mess of flesh and bone. The smell of burning meat filled the room. He tossed the blaster aside, dashing outside. He vomited on the hallway.
A P P E A R A N C E & S K I L L S
Chiseled and disheveled, Fen may be considered attractive by conventional standards, although some may turn their nose up at his appearance--and for understandable reasons. A persistent 5-o’clock shadow covers his strong jawline, a byproduct of his lack of motivation for even the most basic of things, such as shaving. His long hair appears a bit unkempt, as he does not even have a single comb on his ship. He’s relatively buff as a result of the heavy lifting he does for jobs, but an unhealthy lifestyle and drinking have ensured he is not going to be reaching bodybuilder levels anytime soon.

He’s skilled in things from hacking and informatics to flying and gunfighting, having a few years of experience in the criminal world. He is a good liar, having perfected the craft being forced to keep a straight face when feeding authorities false information. He’s determined when he takes a job, despite his distaste for the stress of criminal living, and he longs for a sense of belonging and satisfaction with his life.
B E L O N G I N G S
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TRANSPORTATION

--The XS-800 Light Freighter, 'The Belly of the Beast'

DROID(S)

--TBD, 'TBD'

WEAPONS

--DG-34 Peacemaker Blaster Pistol
----- ⇁ Two Power Packs
--BM-792 ZOK-10 Hunting Rifle
----- ⇁ Two Power Packs
--Nacht-5 Smoke Grenade
----- ⇁ Three

ARMOR

--Fen's armor

MISC

--Datapad
--Personav
--StarX Emergency Repair Kit

 

vamp

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On the edges of the Galaxy, a world lies forgotten.

It has been decades since a being has step foot on the world's blackened soil. Decades, time in which it has simply waited, its lava bubbling and exploding, the Dark side flowing freely, unhindered by pitiful concepts like purity. Decades in which its creatures have lived untouched, free to expand and to reclaim their home.

Fortress Vader has stood, like a guardian, a ghastly monolith upon Mustafar's fierce skyline. The base built by the Dark One, Lord Vader himself, has become nothing more than a memento, a sign of our past left foolishly behind. It is up to us to reclaim it, to reclaim our past and our artifacts, to reclaim our former glory. It is time for the Sith to begin taking back what is theirs.

Marauder Cinere Autem is seeking a group of individuals to follow his lead on this project, to take the initiative and reclaim Fortress Vader--and Mustafar--for the Sith Order.

What Was Ours Is Ours Once Again


Scoping Out the Waste — Ask/Self-DM — 2-3 people —NOT STARTED — It would indeed be foolish to descend upon Mustafar with all of our limited resources, to stroll in without first knowing what awaits us. A few brave souls must recon the land, observing the perimeter around Fortress Vader and probing inside to ensure it lays ripe for the taking.

Home of the Dark One — Ask/Self-DM — @Cinere Autem + 1 or 2 more —NOT STARTED — The ground is clear for landing. The soil begs for us to master it. The Dark side calls to us. It is time to descend upon Mustafar, to march through the gates of the Fortress and to reclaim it from the elements.

Evicting the Primitive — Ask/Self-DM — 2-3 people — NOT STARTED —It seems the Fortress has not laid empty all this time. That is to be expected. A Darkghast has claimed the catacombs below the Fortress as its home, having lived off smaller creatures and fed on the pure darkness of the location. Seek it out and eliminate it. Its head will serve as the first decoration of the refurbished Fortress.​

OOC NOTES:

» First come, first serve.

» 2-3 players per thread

» Sign up with a link to your CS or subaccount

» Strict 48 hour posting limit on all threads
 
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vamp

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VG2b7SW.png

General information​
Type
Culture
Owner(s)


Location(s)
Armor
Sith
..• Lord Momin
..• Darth Vader

Unknown

Physical & technical specifications​
Protection type

Range
Light

N/A

Lore information​
Type

Site lore

.

The Mask of Lord Momin​

"Never believe any of your creations are perfect. Only believe the next one could be."
—Darth Momin

The Mask of Lord Momin was a dark side artifact that originally belonged to the notorious and brilliant sculptor and intellectual Sith Lord Darth Momin. After crafting a superweapon capable of destroying an entire city, Momin was killed by Jedi and his consciousness became trapped in the mask. It lay dormant in the Jedi archives on Coruscant for many years until Darth Sidious' rise to power, when the former Chancellor inspected the Jedi artifacts. Sidious gave the mask as a gift to Darth Vader, who took it to Mustafar. The mask tricked Vader and resurrected its owner, but Vader killed Momin. The last known location of the mask was on Sidious' ship, Imperialis, which was since been destroyed.
Contents
1.Overview

2. Intent

Overview

Sith Lord Darth Momin and his history are shrouded in deep mystery, a sinister story prone to speculation. There are a few key facts that are known to be fact, however. Momin was a notorious artist, imprisoned due to his ghastly pieces, but freed by a Sith Lord to serve as her apprentice. As he learned about the Dark side and formed his own beliefs, Momin grew to find that in his opinion, one who calls themselves a Master of the Dark side, is doing it a disservice, as the Sith are the ones who are meant to be serving the Force, not the other way around. Thus, he killed his Master and sought to do his own research.

Not much is known about the period after that, but eventually the Sith Lord amassed such power that he was able to craft a superweapon capable of destroying a city, claiming that the Dark side itself had commanded him to do so. After the destruction, he was killed by the Jedi, but losing control of his powers, he managed to imprison his consciousness in his helmet. The Jedi stashed it in the archives on Coruscant, where it was found by Darth Sidious a long time later.
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Darth Momin resurrected.
Sidious gifted Vader three things on one fateful day--though many historical accounts only focus on the first two. A ship and Mustafar are the most well known of the gifts, but the third has seemingly fallen through the cracks of history due to its perceived irrelevance. The Mask of Lord Momin was the third gift, and it is imperceivable foolish to consider its awe-some power irrelevant.

The Mask possessed Vader's chief Imperial architect, Colonel Alva Brenne. It possessed her apprentice, Roggo, who Vader found wearing the mask and struck him down. In the few brief minutes that the mask had been active, it had used Roggo's body to draw up the first ever draft plans of the now-notorious Fortress Vader. His interest perked, the Darth harnessed the powers of the mask to have his Fortress built, though it took much trial and error. On the ninth try, the mask was successful in designing a fortress to serve as a fork that siphons the Dark side properly, making use of the locus of dark power under it. However, it tricked Vader, resurrecting its original owner. Lord Momin attempted to kill him, but only managed to seriously wound before being crushed by a rock by Vader's hand.

The mask was then stored on Sidious' Imperialis, where it foiled the plans of a few infiltrators, who were forced to program the ship to self destruct and flee. Since then, the Mask of Lord Momin has disappeared from records, and none truly know where it is.

As for its powers, the mask is a fearsome object, possessing Darth Momin's very consciousness inside. It is capable of possessing the weaker willed without even touching them, controlling them and forcing them to put it on so that it may exercise greater power over them. The mind inside it is a brilliant one, and the mask could, alternatively, serve as an absolute treasure trove of information otherwise lost to history. Dark siders can use it to further their knowledge and learn how to further their attunement to the Force by seeking the advisement of Darth Momin, but taming it is not only difficult, but possibly impossible. Those brave enough to do business with the mask run a very high risk of being overwhelmed by the corruption, should they not be able to protect their will.

Intent

To add another powerful Sith artifact that comes directly from canon.
 

vamp

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How Does It Work?

1. When you start the match, you flip a coin to see who gets the first attack

2. Before the attacking post, both players roll a d20
-Whoever wins the roll wins the round, and the difference between rolls is what determins the severity of the attack​

3. If the defender wins, half of the difference is carried over into the next round and added as a buff to their attack

4. 3 rounds won is a KO
- When KOd, the loser flips a coin. If heads, they can get up and keep fighting with a 50% debuff to their rolls. If they get up again after another KO, that is another 25%​

Example:

Player 1 rolls a 10 for attack, Player 2 rolls a 15 for defense. Player 2 wins the round, and with a difference of 5, 2.5 will carry on and add to Player 2's attack. Player 1's attack is a fail.

Next round, Player 2 rolls to attack. They roll a 9, while Player 1 rolls a 10. Player 2 receives an additional 2.5 from their past round, bringing it up to a 11.5. Their attack is just barely a success, but they win the round.

 
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vamp

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BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

---Homeworld
---Age

---Coruscant
--- 21

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

--- Species
--- Gender
--- Height
--- Mass
--- Eye Color
--- Hair Color
--- Skin Color
--- Force Sensitivity

--- Human
--- Male
--- 175 cm
--- 70 kg
--- Black
--- Brown
--- Fair
--- Positive

KNOWN AFFILIATIONS

--- Faction
--- Organizations


--- Independent
--- Holonet Herald

--
Jako Kuranabe (pronounced /Jak-o-K-ura-na-be/) was a human male journalist and political activist from the planet Coruscant. He was raised in the middle levels and then later in the lower levels when his family's house was foreclosed. The harsh transition from average citizen to street urchin hardened him, though none know exactly what happened. He has thus far refused to comment.

With such an unstable childhood, he chose to major in something stable--Political Science, where he was accepted on a full ride. Then, he tried to get into the field, only to find that he would not be able to find any junior-level positions. So, he settled on working as a political columnist on a famous tabloid news channel. Such is life.

B A C K S T O R Y
He was not born into the high-level life of flashing camera shutters and expensive champagne parties. Jako was born on the middle levels, which was not necessarily a bad thing, truth be told. All of his needs were met, more or less, and the only glaring issue in his life was some girl he cried about for a few months. Things were okay.

Until a mild economic crash in the Coruscant stock market caused by the rise of the Sith Empire made his family lose their home and they were forced onto the lower levels. Jako spent the last years of high school there, associating with all sorts of slimy individuals and dodging thrown bottles on the way home from school. It was a huge change from his initial childhood, and left quite a mark on the young journalist-to-be. He finished school and began attending college on a full-ride to one of the private upper levels universities, where he began to mingle with the lifestyle. Majoring in political science, he wanted to become a politician or an activist. The end of university and a degree acquired decided what he will be.

A tabloid news reporter for the Holonet Herald. It was not an ideal job, it was one that he loathed because it reminded him of the sliminess of the lower levels. Still, it was his open door so he took the opportunity.

lorem ipsum etc etc
A P P E A R A N C E & S K I L L S
Youthful looking and handsome, one would not even be able to tell that Jako spent a few years in the lower levels. His appearance is very important to him, to the point of what some might argue is reminiscent of the typical upper-level vanity. He likes dressing up, and is constantly wearing designer suits and extravagant pieces, which has earned him a good bit of media attention in a few fashion magazines. He has the pages clipped on his bedroom wall, of course.

B E L O N G I N G S
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TRANSPORTATION

--Consular-class diplomatic cruiser, the 'Dove'

DROID(S)

--H7D series droid, 42-H7D aka "Vex"

WEAPONS

--WESTAR-35 blaster pistol

ARMOR

--N/A

MISC

--Datapad
--Personav

T H R E A D S

JOURNALIST

#THREAD​

PRESS

#THREAD​
 
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vamp

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effd1b92ff16889b199bcd4d9d3078b9.jpg
BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

---Homeworld
---Age

---Mandalore
--- 21

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

--- Species
--- Gender
--- Height
--- Mass
--- Eye Color
--- Hair Color
--- Skin Color
--- Force Sensitivity

--- Human
--- Male
--- 181 cm
--- 70 kg
--- Blue
--- Blond
--- Fair
--- Negative

KNOWN AFFILIATIONS

--- Faction
--- Organizations


--- Mandalorians
--- Clan Solus

--
Lax Solus (pronounced /L-eh-x Sol-uhs/) was a human male Mandalorian from the planet Mandalore. He came from a long line of Mandalorian warriors tracing back to War Councilor Drace Solus himself, the legendary commander part of the clan that terrorized the Sith Empire for years. Lax was born into a family of proud Mandalorians and raised to conform to the traditions and religion.

He remained on Mandalore after turning 18, spending the time training in a military academy, then left to work as a hired gun to partake in conflict, echoing his father's beliefs that the never-ending war for justice is what builds character, and that a true warrior should always seek out battle. Despite his activity throughout the Galaxy, Lax still finds time to come home, and operates from the planet.


B A C K S T O R Y
The masses of fierce warriors that brought empires to their knees. The armor-clad beasts, the barbarians that have spent their entire history struggling to tear civilization to shreds. The remarkable guns who have kept the Galaxy's underbelly in business for centuries, and have aided in orchestrating countless power grabs.

There are many ways to perceive the Mandalorians, and they are the subject of much controversy. Most everyone in the Inner Rim will have an opinion regarding their neighbors, despite having most likely never met one. Those in the Outer Rim, the ones who do interact with the Mandalorians daily, will tell you they have no opinion, on account of them being such solitary and secretive people.

As a people, they have been shrouded in mystery and legend, treated as some sort of myth. But they are real people, with real lives, who grow and live according to a set of unique beliefs that cement them--in their opinion--to be the Galaxy's finest.

Lax is one of them. He was born on Mandalore, to Mandalorian parents, and grew up according to Mandalorian beliefs. He played with blasters ever since he was an infant, made his own vibro-blades when his age wasn't even in double digits. Despite the blatant danger, and the arguable effect such activites can have on a young mind, his parents actively encouraged his penchant for combat, putting him in training just as he was starting school.

He excelled, slowly becoming a disciplined--and perhaps a bit rowdy--young man, intelligent and fierce as any of the greatest Mandalorians the Galaxy has met--or so his mother claimed. Lax was not fortunate enough to travel to Concord Dawn and tame his own dire badger as is custom due to dwindling animal populations on the moon, but he had gone through every other trial and tribulations of a soldier of Clan Solus and excelled.

He finished military academy two years after finishing academic studies. An expert on combat strategy with the skills of an unforgiving warrior, he set out to become a bounty hunter as most others his age did. It was not a path he had wanted for himself--the Mandalorian would have thrown on his armor and headed to wrangle the Empress with his bare hands if he could--but it was the only thing he could do to at least experience the conflict that his father said built character.

A P P E A R A N C E & S K I L L S
Handsome and youthful despite harsh bootcamps and many bruises, Lax is in top shape for a 21 year old. Exercising daily and running a strict diet, he takes great care of his body in hopes of promoting a healthy mind. He knows how to operate a ship's cockpit like a navyman, can hit a womprat from the other side of a podracing track and has crawled through more swamps than a dragosnake.

His mind stays sharp, fueled by years of education that he threw himself into. He knows to name all the major planets on a map, or to assemble a blaster from pieces, practicing on every model he comes across. Lax keeps himself up to date on politics and researches history in his free time.

He is very determined on making himself the "ideal warrior" in hopes of partaking in another Crusade that some murmur about in taverns. Lax lives fueled by a mixture of disdain for the Sith, honor of his roots, and spite, but is not a very bitter person to most.

Many claim Mandalorians are not sociable. That is not true. Though a very exclusive group, Mandalorians are known to throw the craziest parties, and form the tightest bonds--so is the relation between warriors. To dar'manda, he may come off as cold and reserved, though he is perfectly aware that partaking in the Galactic society around requires interacting with strangers, so he is a tad warmer than most other Mandalorians.

His hatred for Force-users extends to Jedi and not just Sith, remaining not only skeptical but outright hostile when it comes to Jed. He loathes Jedi and their allies, and thus harbors dislike for the Republic and Free Worlds Alliance. His political views were many and varied, and he loved to share them with strangers in exchange for drinks in a cantina.

B E L O N G I N G S
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TRANSPORTATION

--N/A

DROID(S)

--N/A

WEAPONS

--2x thermal detonators
1x flashbang grenade


ARMOR

--N/A

MISC

--Datapad
--Personav

T H R E A D S

JOURNALIST

#THREAD​

N/A

#THREAD​
 
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1. Home of the Dark One - COMPLETE - Cinere and Darth Caelestis take Fortress Vader.
2. One Man's Trash - COMPLETE - Cinere defeats a Jedi while hunting for the Mask of Lord Momin. Rather than kill the Jedi, he spares the man, reasoning that it wouldn't be smart to attract attention while in enemy space.
3. For Lack of a Better Activity - COMPLETE - Enlisting the help of an Acolyte, Cinere hunts for an ancient Sith artifact.
4. Consorting with the Queen of Darkness - COMPLETE - He meets with the Empress and asks to learn nightsister magick.
5. Bone and Flesh - ONGOING - Cinere partakes in an underground fistfighting tournament.
6. Interactions with Darth Momin - SOLO - After having retrieved the Mask of Lord Momin in the fight on Ord Mantell, Cinere takes it deep into the bowels of Fortress Vader, where he attempts to communicate with it but things go south.
7. Zavus Turnyras: Round 1, Match 2 - ONGOING - Cinere fights in the first round of the Zavus Turnyras Sith tournament.
8. Beneath Steel Poles and Imperial Banners - ONGOING - A meeting between Ashla Ti and Cinere is interrupted as the Acolyte sees a figure from her past, and Cinere follows.
9. Goose Chase - ONGOING - Cinere finds himself entangled in a drama of bar brawls and ancient Sith artifacts when he encounters a stranger on a desert planet and the two men have to shoot their way out.

PRESS

1. Fall of Firrerre
2. Retaliation at Denon
 
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A BLOOD RED SKY SETS IN...

. . .
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HALLOWE'EN ON DATHOMIR

I
t is almost the season. Hallowe'en draws near for Sith space, and the Shadow is growing stronger on Dathomir, its 4 moons full and growing brighter. Some even say that it is like the planet itself is waking from a deep slumber, and so are the creatures within. Wander through a dense forest of black, leafless trees with branches that stretch toward the blood-red sky like spidery legs. Tiptoe around hulking beasts and lethal critters until you reach a valley. There, you will find a dark mansion, forgotten by time, made of the same ebony wood that grows here on Dathomir. Make your way over the trembling bridge and through the creaky door and find out what the house has to hide.

Participants will engage in a series of combative and peaceful activities and their vitals monitored as part of an ongoing Sith experiment to test how fear can be amplified and harnessed. They are to be dropped without rations or supplies on Dathomir and given coordinates for the mansion, and will make their way to the building where they will enter and explore, running into several obstacles set to analyze their reaction--both physical and mental.

Only once you have reached the bowels of the building and pressed the red button in its basement will you escape the horrors--should you live. So come one, come all, to celebrate Hallowe'en, the Sith way, and leave Dathomir with a tale to horrify.

Hallowe'en on DathomirASK/DMNOT STARTED — The main event--a suspenseful trek through the mysterious forests on Dathomir, followed by a train of horrors as participants adventure into a strange mansion.​

OOC NOTES:
» Death disabled.
» I will put up an opener on October 1st and will DM from the Storyteller account.
» Sign up with a link to your CS or subaccount.
» 48 hour posting limit encouraged but not required.
 
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Jabiimese Civil War​
Date

Place

Outcome







108-110 ABY

Jabiim

Communalist victory
•Opposition forces unconditionally surrender​
•Formation of the First Planetary Council​

Combatants​
Red Star Corps

Pyke Syndicate (alleged)​
Royal Guard

Planetary Peacekeeping Forces

Commanders​
Commander Luke Jorval† (RSC)
King Alduin Kero† (RG)​
General Huk Lomari (PPF)

Strength​
Red Star Corps
100,000 ground troops
10 squadrons
•10 bombers
•100 fighters​
100 hovertanks
300 walkers​

Pyke Syndicate
Unknown​
.
.
.
.
.
.




Royal Guard
25 mi ground troops
5 squadrons
•15 bombers
•45 starfighters​
200 hovertanks
1,000 walkers​

Planetary Peacekeeping Forces
100 million ground troops
25 squadrons
•50 bombers
•250 starfighters​
800 hovertanks
3,000 walkers​
Casualties​
Red Star Corps
20,000 ground troops
2 squadrons
80 hovertanks
159 walkers​

Pyke Syndicate
Unknown​



Royal Guard
20,000 ground troops
2 squadrons​

Planetary Peacekeeping Forces
500,000 ground troops
15 squadrons​
Lore information​
Type

Site lore

.
Jabiimese Civil War​

"Ten soldiers wisely led will beat a hundred without a head."
—Old Jabiimese proverb​

The Jabiimese Civil War, also known as the War of Three Nations was a civil war that started in 108 ABY and ended in 110 ABY. It was the largest armed conflict in the history of Jabiim, with over 100 million of the world's 2 billion population actively engaged in the battles and 1.3 billion affected by or providing to the war effort. Leaving hundreds of thousands dead and lasting over a 2 year period, it was a grueling time for Jabiim, which ultimately ended with a Communalist victory.

History

As a planet rich with mountains bearing ore, Jabiim was quickly discovered to have the potential of a real industrial powerhouse, and whoever controlled it would have a spectacular asset. It was the mining companies that rose first, the market brutal and unforgiving. Monopolies rose and fell, and it fluctuated for several centuries. Eventually, the companies settled in as permanent members, with varying degrees of notoriety and property. The economic sector grew, and then came the desk jobs, and the thousands of quickly but highly developed cities, bustling with activity.

The market was owned by a handful of companies who had essentially divided the spoils amongst themselves. Worker movements rose and fell, and new ideas were brought in from the Galaxy and spread in these cities. Soon, the Communalist Party rose up and joined Jabiimese politics, to the dismay of the royalist parties that currently controlled the planet. The monarchy had made a deal with the companies in hopes that if they leave each other alone or help out every once in a while, they would both prosper.

It was the execution of a prominent member of the Red Star Corps, the Communalist Party's underground paramilitary wing to spark the conflict that lead to a fall of dominoes into the bloodiest civil war that ravaged Jabiim in its history. The execution prompted protests, which were quenched by local law enforcement--the Planetary Peacekeeping Forces. Eventually the war was declared in a scathing message live on the planet's local media.


The War

"The guerilla must move amongst the people as a fish swims in the sea."
—Communalist writer and General Kel Hunor​

Within a day of the broadcast, the streets had become a battleground for the PPF and the Royal Guard against the Red Star Corps. The RSC had adapted guerilla tactics to take over core locations in the urban sprawl but also within the mines, which the worker knew like the back of their hand. This resulted in little losses for the RSC, and their careful, well planned hits resulted in the tide of the war turning toward them.

The Communalist question was eventually presented to the collaborating PPF and Royal Guard. The companies more or less owned the PPF if you considered their chain of command, and had begun to grow further and further away from the Royal Guard's leadership, and the strain in relations was further accentuated when they discovered they have differing opinions on how to end this civil war. The PPF was aiming for a more peaceful, concise attitude, but the Royal Guard was intent on swift, brutal action. They grew apart, and 9 months into the war, the Royal Guard turned on the PPF in a famous event--hundreds of the PPF's leadership and influential people dragged through tribunals and imprisoned. The war quickly turned into a free for all, which only made the RSC thrive.

latest

Writer and guerilla tactician Jag Novadream in combat.
The Communalists suffered a harsh defeat in the Battle of Jarak, which lasted 3 days and resulted in the death of RSC Commander Luke Jorval, a figurehead for the movement. The battle took place in the forests that cover the planet, massive valleys between the mountains. They lived a communal lifestyle, as the name implies, sharing what resources they gathered from nature and wasting little. The silence was rarely shattered by opposition troops attacking due to the difficult nature of finding their camps.

After a year and a half of brutal fighting, it quickly began to become clear that it was nearing its end when the Communalists successfully breached the royal palace and captured King Alduin, who was executed in a controversial broadcast. The PPF fought back for another half year, depleting what little resources they had left and facing more and more desertions by the day. In the end, their army imploded into mutinies, and its General was turned over to RSC forces. He was given a trial and imprisoned for life, and the Communalists moved to secure power.


Aftermath

The end of the war was declared by the First Planetary Council, a large legislative gathering elected directly by the citizens, and opposition forces were quickly wiped out, either through peaceful assimilation, or waves of arrests and few executions. Equipment was seized, trenches filled, and safehouses repurposed, and the FPC governed the economy through the use of technology and the insight of the planet's brightest minds. The Jabiimese had finally achieved prosperity. The Free World Alliance had not taken part in the conflict, and it was not even mentioned in the Galactic Senate, though the arrival of a new Senator raised many eyebrows and filled up the news cycle for a good week.

With the King executed, royal forces desperately searched for someone that was part of their monarch's bloodline, but the search came short; the King did not have any children or lover, and his family was all dead. The Royal Guard dissolved easily in the aftermath, and remaining pockets of resistance were wiped out by local militias.

The PPF was in large part arrested or executed for their various crimes during and before the war. The swift hammer of justice struck down hard until fairness for all had been assured.


Alleged Pyke Syndicate involvement

Allegations of Pyke Syndicate involvement erupted when empty spice mines were discovered in the mountains completely depleted of resources. Though not rich in spice, Jabiim nevertheless was put to the test by someone aiming to decide if it was worth claiming. When the civil war broke out, the PPF and Royal Guard were accused of turning a blind eye to Pyke Syndicate activities and taking bribes. Though vehemently denied, there was truth to the claims, and they were tried upon arrest as the war slowly grew to an end. Though never outright seen waving flags and holding banners, most can agree that the Pyke Syndicate--whether through independent mercenaries or scoundrels that had pledged loyalty to the Syndicate--took part in the many battles across the planet's surface.

Intent

To flesh out the lore of a usually unmentioned planet and provide interesting context for political RP.
 
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..............[ mati ]........................[ frax ]
Mati Frax

S E N A T O R of Jabiim
during the Force Eternal Timeline





Essential information

Name mati frax
Gender male
Age 27
Species human
Force-sensitivity negative

Faction free worlds alliance
Rank senator
Party centralized communitarian communalist party (cccp)

Height 1.89 m
Weight 60 kg
Hair color blond
Skin color fair



Biography

The torch of liberation has not always burned brightly. Sometimes it never burned at all, snuffed out by the heavy fist of oppression, the stifling feeling of entire populaces kept on a leash. Mati was raised in the industrial squalor of a family of miners on Jabiim, introduced from an early age to the overwhelming and seemingly immutable injustices of their planet and the Galaxy at large. His father died in a mine collapse, leaving him and his mother alone in the world, their already struggling family sent only deeper into the poverty they had known for years before he was born. As he grew up, he found within him a burning passion for fighting back, a fervent desire for not just his liberation, but the liberation of all around him who suffer. Deeply empathetic perhaps to a fault, he spent his time helping his community and taking part in efforts to alleviate the suffering they endured.

It was through these communitarian efforts that he was first introduced to Communalist teachings, and he took an interest in the literature, learning to read by analyzing them voraciously. This was back when talk of revolution was not even considered, when hopelessness hung over them like a storm cloud. Though it did not remain so.

Taking inspiration from the Rebellion and politics from the literature they read, those around him began to organize into a movement, first scattered and aimless, eventually unified and determined. He was there during the first protest, during the ensuing riot, the mass arrests that followed only to cement his belief that what they were doing was right. Unfaltering in the face of a world of enemies, he united with his folk to take part in the organization of the largest political movement the planet of Jabiim had ever seen.

When war broke out, he was already trained. People knew the time to formally fight back was coming, and so they had prepared. Mati was there in the jungles and the forests, in the mines and in the streets, ambushing convoys and military bases, disrupting the supply chain and becoming more than just a thorn in the monarchy and the PPF's side. There were not many ranks through rise through due to the nature of their movement, but he grew to become a leader for those around him--not a legend known to the whole planet, but someone who took charge and could get things done.

When the war was won and the dust settled, he entered the political world, becoming a member of the First Planetary Council. His history as a war hero and oratory skills got him elected by the FPC to represent Jabiim in the Free Worlds Alliance, a position he gladly accepted.


Personality

personality here

Skills

skills here

Assets & gear

assets & gear here​


Relationships

v Enemy | = Neutral | ^ Ally |

relationships here​


Threads

T i t l e - H e r e
1. thread​
2. thread​
3. thread​
 
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Prayer to Kad Ha'rangir

O, Kad Ha'rangir.
O, Destroyer God.
O, you Warden of Progress, you Bringer of Change, you Defender of Conflict--
Hark my words I beg, and guide me through the battlefield.
Instill in me the strength to stand my ground in the face of adversity;
Temper my mind to be unbreakable, my soul to remain pure;

From the lush golden plains of Concord Dawn to the heart of Keldabe;
From the core the the Outer Rim;
From my mind to my heart to my soul;
I shall invade, pillage and burn;
I shall ravage civilizations and fortify my home;
In the name of my Gods and my people I shall stain beskad and soil with blood
So that the way never fades, so that I am never subjugated.

Hark my words, Kad Ha'rangir,
And sharpen my mind and blade,
So that I may carry your word to the far reaches of the void.


The Prayer to Kad Ha'rangir (also known as the Warrior's Prayer) was an ancient Mandalorian prayer of unknown origin that was passed down among the people of Mandalore even before the beginning of recorded history. Learned or at least heard by both civilians and soldiers alike, it is one of many similar religious sayings, and held in high
 

vamp

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tumblr_natz1ywKqd1rhuccro1_500.gifv
0520-Dune-Timothee-Solo-Tout.jpg


BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

--- Homeworld
--- Age
--- Naboo
--- 26


PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

--- Species
--- Height
--- Mass
--- Eye Color
--- Hair Color
--- Skin Color
--- Force Sensitivity

--- Human
--- 178 cm
--- 68 kg
--- Hazel
--- Black
--- Fair
--- Negative


KNOWN AFFILIATIONS

--- Faction
--- Organizations


---ISC
---Naboo Royal Families

--

Kai Veruna (/kah-ee-veh-ru-nuh/ ) was a human noble and the Senator of Naboo following the democratic ousting of Queen Emilia Parnelli. He is one of the prominent masterminds of the Veruna family, a clan of nobles that was well established in Naboonian politics though their influence had stagnated until his election as Senator. Having been raised living the typical life of a noble, it became his steadfast belief that he belonged in politics and grew to have a burning determination to put the Veruna name on the map again, their family having faded into obscurity.

Raised in Theed, he had the luxury of a very delicate childhood, in which he was taught to enjoy the finer things in life, to spent his time gazing at art and sketching in the garden. Kai took an interest in sparring, and grew to be a decent duelist who was always practicing alone or with a trainer, though rarely accepted challenges from others.

Youthful and idealistic, he was never afraid to make waves or speak his mind, happy to step on toes whenever needed or whenever he felt like it. Despite his upbringing he was never spoiled--rather, his choice to disregard the opinions of others whenever he saw fit was merely a result of his resolve.

He was the first son of Fae and Finik Veruna, the eldest out of three shining children. Succeeding in his studies and every hobby he took up, the shadow of Kai was large over his youngest brother, who grew to resent the way he seemed to always grab the attention for himself wherever he went. Kai, however, did not particularly care, leaving him with a strained relationship with his sibling that they were all much too proud to rectify. That aside, he got along very well with his parents and sister and everyone else in the family, hence his appreciation and respect of the family name.


B A C K S T O R Y
Out of all the things in the Galaxy one can be born as, the eldest son for two nobles in a family of minor nobility is certainly not very bad. Kai Veruna was born with a silver spoon at his lips, one that he cast away time and again. He resented being treated like he was so fragile and delicate, though he took full advantage of the facilities that he was gifted with. By the time his younger sister was born, he had already grown used to the lifestyle that they'd been placed into by providence, and was coming to terms with what his destiny would be as a noble in the Veruna family.

This was a lot for a child that was just beginning his schooling, but Kai had always been exceptionally bright. Inquisitive and determined, he took a hands-on approach to learning about the world, creating hypotheses just to test them. He particularly enjoyed his political education classes, and the boy quickly took to diplomacy like a fish to water. Silver tongued and subtle, he molded himself into the ideal politician, and learned how to say exactly what people wanted him to say--but he did it only when he wanted something from them that required their full cooperation. Otherwise, he was his own person, with his own aspirations and machinations, and perhaps the most striking aspect of his personality was that he did not take no for an answer.

Though his younger brother resented him, Kai had a thriving relationship with his sister, and the two spent their entire childhoods together, completely inseparable. They studied together and played together, and even when they partook in the activities that they did not share a common interest for, they were still together, Kai slashing and stabbing his sword into mannequins while Sandé read.

Calamity struck when they were both teenagers and their youngest brother perished in a freak speeder accident, snuffed out of life at the unripe age of 5. Nevertheless, this only served to bring the two even closer to one another. Sandé and Kai grew to become an unstoppable duo, known in Naboo's political world even when they were both just finishing up the Legislative Youth Program.

After that, Sandé was selected by the ISC's Refugee Agency whereas Kai chose to delve into local politics, making connections that he knew would grow to be valuable over the years to come as a representative for the Veruna family, one of several. Eventually, both of them were elected for public office--Kai for Senator, Sandé for Queen.


A P P E A R A N C E & S K I L L S
Kai appears youthful and striking, a prince-like figure that possesses an exceptional mind. It is his mind that is his greatest weapon, and the noble has spent his entire life sharpening his wits and absorbing as much information as possible to ensure that he will have the upper foot over every single person he meets. Though not particularly judgmental, he certainly could be when spited or when he puts his ambition to it, but Kai generally does not care about what other people do very much. He also does not care about their feelings or aspirations, though he would never say that to their face.

To others, he is charismatic and charming, a presence that can instantly put anyone at ease with a disarming smile and clever remark. It is only his sister that truly understands him and has seen all the dimensions of Kai, every part of his personality from the lightest to the darkest. Likewise, he knows his sister much better than anyone else, and is protective over her but knows to stand out of her way because Kai knows she is strong and can handle herself.


]
R E L A T I O N S H I P S
🢛 Enemy/Dislikes | 🢜 Neutral | 🢙 Ally |


🢙 Sandé Veruna -- Kai's younger sister and his last living sibling, Sandé is perhaps the only person that he actually cares about. When thinking, he does not only think in his interest, but Sandé's as well, and considers her an extension of him and himself an extension of her on a fundamental level.​
B E L O N G I N G S

TRANSPORTATION

-- 'Theedian Jewel,' Baudo-class star yacht

DROID(S)
-- TZ-3PO, main attendant
-- AC-D3NB, security

WEAPONS
-- None

ARMOR
-- None

MISC
-- Estate in Theed
-- Datapad
-- Personav[/size]
T H R E A D S

THE SENATOR FROM NABOO


1. Thread Title - in progress - Description.



N/A


1. Thread Title - in progress - Description.



PRESS





 
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╚═════════════════════════════════════════
Sith Mutagenic Formula
from the Wretched Grimoire, author unknown
╔════════════════════════════════════════════════════
╟Type: Potion
╟Culture: Sith
╟Specialization: Sith Sorcery
╟Alignment: Dark side of the Force
╟Common Ingredients: Bleeding Gut, Drengir seed, Ro Hypa venom, others
╟Preparation time: 3 days

Đescription

Sith Mutagenic Formula was an umbrella term for a type of potion concocted through the use of Sith sorcery that could have varying effects based on what ingredients were used to make it. Though the ingredients were different in some iterations, the ritual remains the same. Its uses ranged from the enhancement of flesh-molding rituals to the manipulation of the biological make-up of organic lifeforms to create what are known as 'Sith abominations.' Due to the complexity and power required for rituals requiring Sith mutagenic formulas, the recipes were only prepared by skilled Sith sorcerers, and individuals taking on the process unprepared oftentimes found that the adverse effects were disastrous--from the creation of dangerous failed abominations to the tainting of one's blood leading to death if not purged from the body.

The process to prepare the solution took 3 days, and it was to be administered every day for 7 days for it to be fully effective. According to the Wretched Grimoire:

"One can perform partial mutagenic alterations upon themselves or a living creature, physically mutating their body chemistry. This mutagen is unstable and will lose its potency if not utilized after 24 hours from its creation. One must apply this mutagen to a living creature in small doses, the process of which is volatile and lengthy, requiring 7 days of your focus. At the end of this time, they must engage in a ritual of binding through which they channel the dark side of the Force to force the body to assimilate the substance."​

Those seeking to use the potion to perform body alterations such as the attachment of limbs, removal or replacement of organs, healing of scarred flesh, or purposeful harming of the body at a fundamental level used Ro Hypa venom, derived from the Ro Hypa lizard on Mataou, a liquid created within the reptile's body that had medicinal properties. The recipe likewise called for the use of Ro Hypa scales, fang of Krykna, and various lesser herbs that were not as dangerous to come by.

In other cases, a Sith mutagenic formula would be administered to a victim before a ritual to alter its biology, turning them into a Sith abomination. In such situations, the formula was administered by force through the mouth or nasal cavity, and administered for 7 days for maximum efficacy; the use of the formula was not necessary, though it ensured a smoother process by making the body more malleable to horrific manipulation. This required the use of Bleeding Gut, a herb commonly found on Dathomir, mixed with the powdered claw of a rancor, water from a dark side nexus, and pig rodent whiskers, resulting in a brackish, dark liquid with a consistency similar to slime.

Sith mutagenic formulas were essentially an entire group of different potions of varying effects, and their use hinged only on proper preparation and the power of a skilled dark Force practitioner, at least as strong as a Sith Lord and with previous sorcery experience.

Ŀimitations

Sith mutagenic formulas are notorious for their failures, though that is only due to lackluster preparation or the improper performing of the binding ritual. Another severe limitation was their particularly unstable composition, which caused them to lose potency within 24 hours if not used, resulting in ruined batches and ingredients.

The exceptional difficulty of coming across the necessary ingredients--such as claw of a rancor or water from a dark side nexus--is a sufficient barrier in preventing the weak from even attempting to create the potions, though those unfazed quickly find themselves overwhelmed when it comes to what follows. Improper preparation can result in serious adverse effects that commonly lead to death or permanent disfigurement. In worse cases, a failed ritual can lead to consequences for the practitioner attempting it, such as the spell backfiring and resulting in horrific transformations.

ƚntent

To provide Sith sorcerers with a new type of potion with flexible uses, from poisoning to limb re-attachment or even the enhancement of rituals to create abominations. As stated in the article, only those as powerful or more powerful than a Sith Lord can successfully prepare a formula, and they must be specialized in Sith sorcery.

 

vamp

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96604d52a0cd2937315ba527b0fa5f80.jpg
aaf984bfa4563b9aa56755946d804d8a.jpg


BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

---Homeworld
---Age

--- Orsimer Prime
--- 22


PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

--- Species
--- Height
--- Mass
--- Eye Color
--- Hair Color
--- Complexion
--- Force Sensitivity

--- Orcolan
--- 210 cm
--- 85 kg
--- Gold, black sclera
--- Black
--- Green
--- Positive


KNOWN AFFILIATIONS

--- Faction
--- Organizations

--- Sith Empire
--- N/A

--
"When your hand is empty, your only option is to armor up!"

- Orcish saying

Gar'rosh Derthag (/gah-roh-sh-dehr-thah-g/), also known as Gar was an orc Sith Champion, hunter, and warrior from the planet Orsimer Prime. Born into a Northern tribe, he was raised in the tundras, where wild beasts roamed freely, hardened by the elements. He was the only son of the village's warchief, and the burden of expectations was placed upon his shoulders from his birth, and his life revolved around strength. The tribe was composed mostly of hunters and warriors, tough and bloodthirsty, and his Force sensitivity was spotted quickly by one of the Guçlu in his village. His parents rejoiced, as neither of them had been gifted in this way and they'd hope their son would be different. He was trained in the ways of the Force, and unlike the weaker tribes in the South, his taught him to use the Force offensively, to fight enemies to the death and accept no surrender. None in his village even knew about the existence of blaster or lightsabers; instead, they fought using massive broadswords or axes, emphasizing raw strength in every aspect of combat.

For his rite of passage at 16, he was taken along for a raid on a rival village, and Gar'rosh fought brutally side by side with the men he had grown up around. His trial was simple but challenging--he was to fight one on one with the village warchief, a hulking behemoth of a man who was renowned in their region for his cruelty and martial prowess. Armed with a broadsword and leather armor, Gar'rosh took down the older orc in a bloody duel that lasted little over an hour. At the end, covered in grime and gore, he embedded the tip of his sword into his opponent's head at last, and returned home a hero on the shoulders of his compatriots.

The tribe never received visitors, as off-worlders never had reason to venture so far North into the dangerous wastes, so Gar'rosh had never seen a non-orc in his entire life until a pirate ship crash-landed in the fields on the outskirts of the village. Awestruck by the different species and complex technology, Gar'rosh regarded them with curiosity but kept his distance, hostile to outsiders as many orcs were. Their warchief--his father--chose to spare them with the promise that they would repair their craft and leave, giving them a week.

Three days had not passed when their village was struck by a brutal raid from three other tribes at the same time, and the chaos that ensued lead to a battle that lasted an entire day. The aftermath saw most of his tribe wiped out, his father executed in the square, and the village burned down, but Gar'rosh, wounded and traumatized, managed to escape, turning to the only ones that could help him--the pirates. Though hesitant at first, he agreed to join them on the condition that they would take him off-world, and he left the atmosphere of Orsimer Prime for the first time at the age of 17. His raw strength and iron will was revered by the rest of the crew, who held him in high regard and taught him things about the Galaxy. He learned to wield a blaster, to pilot a ship, to raid convoys and deceive law enforcement.

He was with the crew for two years before they made a fatal mistake by trying to raid the ship of a Sith. The only one who survived, again, was Gar'rosh, only because the Sith sensed his use of the Force in combat and noted his already-burgeoning corruption--he was the perfect apprentice. Except Gar'rosh did not want to be anyone's apprentice, and he wanted to answer to no one. He resisted from the day he was taken against his will and until the day several months later that he was at last overcome by rage and slaughtered his "master." Feeling no shame, he burned the corpse on a remote world in the Outer Rim and left it there, then wandered the Galaxy for a few months before he realized that, despite his unpleasant experiences with his master, he felt more at home among the ranks of the Sith than anywhere in the Galaxy save for Orsimer Prime.


A P P E A R A N C E & P E R S O N A L I T Y
With skin green as the water in the swamps of Dagobah and eyes like the lava rivers of Mustafar, Gar'rosh certainly looks like the part of an orc that strayed too far down the path into darkness. Whereas most orcs would be opposed to offensive uses of the Force, he has no such reservations, having been raised in a tribe of exceptionally dedicated warriors who were never afraid to play dirty. Though on Orsimer Prime this meant he was viewed as dishonorable, the rest of the Galaxy does not care, and he's content with that.

His village was hated by their neighbors due to their brutality and success in pushing their will onto others. This, in turn, made him a harsh person who does not care about the opinion of others, does not like being told what to do, and would rather die than bend the knee in front of a foe. Though his travels through the Galaxy have somewhat softened his aversion to non-orcs, he still retains the core aspects of his identity as an orc, which makes him fit into the Sith ranks perfectly.

Headstrong and independent, Gar'rosh is a lone wolf who is a perfect example of the average orc. Always willing to get blood on his blade and never flinching in the face of conflict, he pushes through where others are too weak to continue. Not squeamish in the least, he takes great pleasure in mutilating his enemies and pours his emotions into the way he fights, channeling his rage which, coupled with his raw strength, turns him into a hulking brute capable of tearing limbs apart with his bare hands.

He takes great pride in his martial prowess and cares for his weapons, body, and mind above all, dedicating his time to improving them because it is his belief that it is the formula for becoming a better warrior. He dedicates himself to the never-ending search for power, his deepest desire being becoming an unstoppable being who can enforce his will onto others as he sees fit.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S
🢛 Enemy/Dislikes | 🢜 Neutral | 🢙 Ally |

🢙 Character Name -- Description.​

🢜 Character Name -- Description.​

🢛 Character Name -- Description.​
B E L O N G I N G S

TRANSPORTATION

-- 'Ship name,' Ship class ship type

DROID(S)
-- TBD

WEAPONS
-- Red lightsaber
-- Orcish broadsword (functionally identical to vibroswords in PvP)

ARMOR
--Gar'rosh's armor

MISC
-- Datapad
-- Personav
T H R E A D S

CHAMPION

1. Thread Title - in progress - Thread description.

???

??. ????

PRESS

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