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I swore that I would never do it again. But I am a liar. Lies define me, shape me, make me who I am. Power is control. Those with power who wield it for its own sake are nothing more than violent beasts. Once I lost control. Never again.
I swore that I would never do it again. But I did. I do. I do it every day. The darkness I fought so hard to keep at bay has consumed me, and I have embraced it. Embraced it, and bent it to my will. I rule the darkness. It does not rule me.
But there is one thing that I truly will never do again, and I say this with no lie in my heart. I will never kneel before another, never again, not once. I am the one who will be kneeled before. I am the Hand you will never see that grips you by your throat. I am the blade you always feared that slips through your armor. I am the King of Shadows who stands in the shadow of kings. I am the Master of Masks.
I am the Lord of Lies.
I am Zynn Hawkright, and this is my story.
HOLOLOG - START
DATA CORE - PROCESSING
FILE FOUND
BEGINNING PLAYBACK...
I suppose that it started before I left Coruscant. Or rather, I should say that it started before I even thought about leaving Coruscant. That day was the tipping point, no doubt about it, but let's be realistic. People don't suddenly fall head over heels into the Dark Side unless they have some prior inclination to do so. Now, when I look back on my life before the Fall, I don't see a bad kid. Fewer morals than most people, maybe, but hey, you do what you have to to survive, right?
It was always my mother who looked after me. I don't remember this, but I was born on Corellia. My mother says it was a beautiful place, and sometimes she would stare into space for hours and I would just know that she was remembering her home planet. She always wore green in honor of it; apparently, green is very popular there.
My father was a Sith. Well, I shouldn't say that. He was a Dark Jedi. He was never strong enough to join the official Sith Order. But he practiced the Dark Side all the same. I don't think he even had enough power to lift a rock, but he did enjoy using what little power he did have on others. Or so my mother says. That's why we left Corellia, after all. She couldn't stand to be on the same planet after knowing what he was, what he'd done.
I wonder what she'd think of me now.
Coruscant was my home, not Corellia. I grew up there, made friends there, learned to fight there, learned to hide there. I was always good at hiding. I was pretty good in a fight, but I had no stomach for it. Oh, I had no problem knocking some dumb brute's teeth out. But it seemed so unrefined. I much preferred to wait where no one could see me, and avoid the fights entirely. When I couldn't, I always made sure the odds were on my side.
I've met a lot of Sith who had issues with their parents, especially their mothers. I've met a few who even went so far as to kill them. Not me. My mother loved me, and I loved her. Each other was all we had. I had to provide for her, of course. She had no marketable skills, and while she did fine as a waitress in one of the Undercity's sleazier bars, her wages weren't nearly enough.
I discovered when I was twelve that I had a knack for anything that moved, whirred, or buzzed. I started off disassembling simple appliances. By the end of the year, I had three semi-functional droids to help with the housecleaning. I traded scraps or spare credits I earned or stole for the parts. It was a slow process, but it was definitely worth it.
When I was fourteen, I figured out that I could make more than just simple gadgets. And that was when I realized that I could not only provide for my mother by stealing, working odd jobs, and occasionally selling a device. There were a lot of people who wanted machines that could do specific things. Slicing pads, listening cubes, even ionization balls ( I really liked those; they were spheres the size of a Huttball, but when thrown they released a powerful EMP. Useful, that). A lot of them wanted things that went "boom."
"Terrorist" is such an unrefined word, don't you think?
I didn't mind too much who I sold to, as long as they paid. That was when I started traveling, building my business network, looking for better parts. I was careful never to stay away for long, because my mother needed my help, but she had the droids to help her, and I gradually stayed away longer and longer. I mean, the best way to help her was with credits, and the easiest way for me to make more was to expand my market.
But hey, I wasn't all bad. I rebuilt an old tank droid for some extremists on Antares IV at one point. They had this grand vision of marching on the Plaza of the Sun and showing their people the "one true faith." I don't remember what faith that was, exactly, but they were very fervent about it. When I finished the repairs, they paid me and tried to recruit me into their little sect. I, of course, politely declined. They said they would sing my praises until the end of days for making their conquest possible. I told them to get in line.
Thing is, the government knew about the extremists. And I got a very good offer to help them, instead. So what made me help the extremists anyway? Why didn't I take the government up on their offer?
Who says I didn't?
On the day of their big march, there was a lot of screaming. The extremists weren't well trained, but they had a decent armory of cobbled-together blaster rifles and a lot of zeal. That and the damn near indestructible tank droid they were all riding on, courtesy of me. There was some token resistance by the planetary security forces, but sidearms didn't do a whole lot to seven-inch-thick durasteel. Hell, even the Gatling guns they had in defensive emplacements just bounced off.
They made it to the plaza without too much trouble. Only a couple extremists were lost, and most of that number was due to them falling off the tank droid in their overenthusiastic flailing. When they got there, there was yet more screaming and lots of very zealous yells. It was kind off fun, actually.
I was almost sorry when I pressed the button.
The tank droid locked down like Kessel in a riot. The control modules exploded, killing any of the extremists who were actually in the belly of the beast and rendering the whole thing completely useless. Not even I could fix it now. That was when I calmly handed over the control remote, which was connected to the subroutine override modules I had installed, not like they knew the difference, to the current captain of the watch and got my second payment in a week. The remaining extremists were shouting that they would kill me in various gruesome ways.
As they were dragged off, I told them there was a line for that, too.
TRANSMISSION END
SEARCHING DATABANKS
DATA CORRUPTED, REDIRECTING SEARCH
FILE FOUND
BEGINNING PLAYBACK...
I don't know why I'm writing this, really. I don't have anyone left to reassure that I'm still alive. I don't have anyone I care enough about to tell my life story. I suppose I'm writing this because I want someone to understand. If I die, or rise to power, I want there to be a record of who I was before. I want there to be a record because I'm not sure I'll remember. And if I am alive, and I do remember, I'm not sure I'll care.
Self-control has been the defining point of my existence since I left Coruscant. After that incident with the Red Moon gang, I clamped down on my emotions. Not because I didn't want to hurt anyone, not because I was disgusted with myself for killing like that. It was because that encounter was driven by blind rage, and rage is dangerous. Rage leaves you vulnerable. A man possessed by battle-fury may fight like a hero and fell a thousand enemies. But he will surely die himself.
I'm not a big fan of a business model where I'm guaranteed to die.
It was a miscalculation to leave my mother alone for so long. I was seventeen then, and overconfident. I trusted in my network to keep her safe, I trusted in my reputation. Everyone knew Zane Alestor by that point, and the well-connected ones knew how to contact him -that is to say, me. But just as my name kept her safe, it also put her in danger. It was stupid of me not to realize that.
I was off on a remote world in the Mid Rim where I'd heard that an old TIE Phantom had been uncovered. The thing was wrecked, but amazingly, it was still salvageable. It took me two days to get it out of the swamp that it had crashed in, and another three to clear out the vore-rats that infested it. The thing had to be at least fifty years old, those models were discontinued a long time ago. But enough of the core electrical systems were still in place that it could be rebuilt. It wasn't easy, but it was fun.
Now, my business network was almost like a gang in and of itself. There wasn't any real hierarchy, but we helped each other out. I had two of my associates air-lift the thing out of the jungle clearing where it had crashed and brought it to a landing pad just outside the nearest city. I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.
Armed with my trusty hydrospanner and a variety of other, more specialized tools that I had picked up over the years (almost all of which sported illegal modifications; my favorite was the deionizer that could also zap organics), I was able to reconnect the main power grid and replace several of the missing solar panels on the wings. One wing was half gone, but a few calls and I had the pieces; I sold a couple of minor slicing datapads to pay for them. It took me three weeks to finish the repairs, but I was proud of myself. I had overcome several obstacles, and now had a fully-functioning, unique TIE Phantom to call my own. I spent a further week making upgrades and various non-standard modifications, in which I addressed a glaring problem: the hyperdrive was shot. The sub-light drive was in reasonably good condition, but without a hyperdrive, I wasn't going anywhere farther than the next planet over anytime soon. So I did something I don't think anyone has ever tried before.
I took apart the whole sub-light drive, updating the parts and adding a few of my own to increase performance, using my knowledge of mechanics to reduce the size of the thing by almost half while doubling its performance. At that point, I ripped the guts out of the hyperdrive and wired them into the still-open sub-light drive, creating a dangerously unstable mechanical monster not unlike the hybrids bred by Sith Alchemy. I had combined the normal sub-light drive and the hyperdrive into a twisted creation of mad genius, or so I thought. I had also removed all the safety override subroutines to compress the sub-light drive, so there was a pretty good chance I would be torn to pieces when I used it, but I accepted the risk. The two were too big on their own to both fit in the smallish TIE model, anyway, and I did not want to have to rely on a larger ship for a hyperdrive. Thankfully, the real reason I had been so excited about this ship, the stygium stealth field generator, was still mostly serviceable. A few quick spot repairs, barely three hours' worth, and it was running again in tip-top shape, which was was good; stygium crystals were so expensive as to be unobtainable these days. Three more days of general repairs – mostly to the lasercannons, the damn things corroded faster than a ship in a hangar full of mynocks – and the ship was ready. I dubbed it the Lady Luck, with my usual flair for the dramatic, and took off for Coruscant.
There were a few close calls with the integrated drive, but I did manage to skirt my way around the asteroid cluster in the end. It took twenty minutes to power up the hyperdrive on its maiden voyage, and a further two hours of travel in hyperspace, to reach my destination; I had rarely been so happy to see the city-planet, having been away for nearly a full standard month. I descended into the atmosphere, falling past the fancy, glittering upper cityscape into the seedier, shadier low levels that were my domain. I dumped the Lady Luck on a nearby landing pad - theft was a problem, but I had a few inventive solutions to the problem - and returned to the slightly cleaner-than-average hovel that was our home.
It was empty.
I found a datapad with an ominous symbol on the front: a red crescent moon, the mark of the Red Eclipse gang. The Red Eclipse had a hand in everything: slavery, spice, extortion; if it was illegal and preferably violent, they did it with unnatural zeal. I had double-crossed them a few times, but what they made up for in brawn, they lacked in intelligence. I was simply a lot smarter than they were; while I was around, we were safe. Not anymore.
There was nothing on the datapad but a set of coordinates, an address, and a single word: "alone". I felt waves of sick dread seep through me: these people, little more than animals, had my mother. The fear shocked me. I was Zane Alestor, and I was never afraid, not of anything. I squashed the uncertainty, and felt it replaced by a volatile mix of dark anger and brooding hatred, both directed at these monsters who would kidnap a woman to control her child. The sudden surge of emotion threatened to overwhelm me, but I managed to subdue it, and, blaster and vibroblade in hand, I set off.
The coordinates took me to a run-down section of the Undercity inhabited mainly by swoop gangs and debtors. I have to say, the flat, desaturated gray landscape was depressing. The Underciy wasn't exactly the City of Lights, but even the beggars had it better than these poor souls. The people here lived in constant fear of death or eviction by cruel, uneducated brutes. Before, I might have shot a few of the leading members, just for fun (I always was famous for playing with fire); now I barely noticed the suffering around me. It was beneath my notice. I was there to deal with my own problems, and if I could, then the residents certainly could, too. It's not like I was superhuman, not like I was special.
That was wrong, of course, but hey, you can't blame a kid for not knowing.
The address was an old warehouse very subtly marked with a huge red moon on the side (gee, I wonder whose territory this was?). Two poorly armed spice addicts, a Weequay and a human like me, stood guard and waved me through with a smirk. When even degenerates didn't respect you, that was a bad sign. I kicked the Weequay's knee in just to show them who they were messing with. Not really my usual style, but I didn't have the time nor the inclination to play a clever joke on insolent underlings right now, and besides, I was out of corrosive itching powder. Leaving them to contemplate what to do with a broken leg, I continued in.
The warehouse had several rooms, but the biggest was the storage chamber, and that was where the short hallway took me. It didn't take long to realize I was in the right place; at least fifteen goons and maybe five higher-ups were there. My mother stood in the center of the room, in front of a Trandoshan who was clearly the leader. My breath caught when I saw her. She was bruised, blindfolded, her cheek bloody, and her hair matted with sweat; how long had she been here? The anger surged again, and it was harder to put down this time. I was shaken. It was rare that I succumbed to any emotion other than joie de vivre.
The Trandoshan grinned in that distrubing, reptilian way that they do when he saw me and stepped forward. He held a blaster in his hand, the only one in the room that wasn't aimed at me. The odds of me being able to shoot down nearly twenty thugs with my single pistol before my mother and I were filled so full of blaster burns they wouldn't be able to identify the bodies were annoyingly low.
"So good to see you here, Zane Alestor," he said. "We've spent several years attempting to locate you, but you've proved most elusive." I said nothing. His Basic was oddly formal, like he'd learned from a scholar, but his voice rasped and growled over the unfamilair syllables. His kind was not meant to speak any language less harsh than their own. "But finally, a young spacer, equally unhappy with you, informed us of an address where you could be found. You were not there, but we had a very interesting chat with your mother. She is so worried about you, when you leave without telling her where, why, she almost died."
The hint of a threat was clear in his voice, and I was shaking with fury now. My mother had trembled at the sound of his voice, and for a moment, I entertained wild fantasies about feeding him his own throat. For the first time since arriving at the meeting place, I spoke up.
"If you so much as touched her, you're going to die a very quick, very unpleasant death," I replied, to which the Trandoshan just laughed, a harsh, guttural sound like blunt nails dragged across duracrete.
"Don't worry, little human. Your mother is ... intact. For now. But if you do not comply, then... well, my men were most displeased that they were unable to give a female prisoner the proper Red Eclipse welcome. They will be very happy if I lift that ban. Not, of course, that you will be alive to see it."
He shot me a menace-laden glare that was even less subtle than his words, and continued. "You have given us a great deal of trouble, double-crossing us, stabbing us in the back, always looking out only for yourself. You need to be taught a lesson in humility."
He raised the blaster to my mother's head, and I felt the emotions inside me suddenly shift. Just as my unfamilar tides of rage reached fever pitch, they froze into something much worse: paralyzing, ice-cold fear. I was afraid that my mother would die for my mistakes, I was afraid that I would die because I wasn't careful enough. Both of these emotions quickly morphed into ravenous self-loathing, a profound hatred of oneself so powerful that my survival instincts evaporated. In a way, it was the opposite of fear; it gave me a perverse courage, because I no longer valued my life.
"Kneel," said the Trandoshan. I hesitated. To kneel was to be subservient, and I had avoided that all my life, for a reason. I refused to serve another, to be bound to their will. I insisted on charting my own path. I was brought back to reality by the Trandoshan jamming the barrel of the pistol into my mother's skull. "Kneel," he snarled again, more insistently.
I knelt. I knelt, and my self-hatred expanded exponentially, swallowing me, threatening to overwhelm me. I was pathetic, helpless, weak, and I hated my own weakness and helplessness as the Dark hates the light. The moment my knee touched the ground, I wanted to die, to be slain like the coward I was. But that emotion was immediately drowned out by the desire for my mothers' captors to die. Why should I throw my life away when it was they who tormented me? Me, who had always been in control, always acting, rarely thinking of long-term consequences.
The Trandoshan made a parody of a smile, as best he could with lips designed to rend flesh from bone. It disgusted me, the way this pathetic lowlife slaver and generally degenerate minor criminal was getting the better of me. I always won. And I refused to allow myself to be used. Even if it took until the day I died, I would revenge myself, punish these insolent insects. But now I was mostly concerned with escaping with my and my mother's lives.
"Good, little human," the Trandoshan said, laughing despicably. "You have learned to be humble. This is good. But there is a saying on Trandosha, that only two things are truly foolish: expecting torture to provide accurate information, and expecting something to be learned after only one lesson. This is lesson number two."
And he pulled the trigger.
I watched in numb shock as she fell. Her blindfold fluttered away, the knot burned off by the blaster shot, and I saw her eyes. It was these that finally did it. They were wide with surprise, as if she expected to be safe now that I was here, as if she had believed that I would save her, somehow. The clear, piercing blue orbs had never seemed so beautiful as they were then, filled with betrayed trust.
I snapped.
The emotions that had been welling up inside of me for the better part of a day burst forth from their chains. Rage consumed me, hate drove me, vengeance and contempt shaped me. I was in that moment a creature of fury and darkness, not so much an avenging angel but an angry wraith come straight from Hell, a dread apparition that would not leave without its tithe of souls. I stood and discarded my blaster. The vibroblade shook slightly as its fold-out components snapped into place. I felt no fear as I strode toward the first of the underlings. Fear had no place in my mind. It was an empty place now, full of fire and desolate wastes. Fear of death was negligible. I knew I would not die. Blaster bolts missed me by a centimeter, swords shattered under my wrath, and soon the gang members began to flee from my bloodstained fury.
I entered a broken man, facing an uncertain future and unable to come to terms with my own weakness, however strong I believed myself to be. I left like a ghost, leaving only corpses and one more tally mark in the line of people that wanted my head.
(This is only half done; I'll add the events after he Fell later.)
TRANSMISSION END
SEARCHING FOR FURTHER RECORDS...
NAME: Zynn Hawkright (born Zane Alestor)
FACTION: Sith Order/Galactic Empire/Ubiqtorate, TITAN division
RANK: Apprentice
SPECIES: Human
AGE: 23
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 5'9”
WEIGHT: 150 lbs
EYES: Deep green; when channeling the Dark Side, they turn a flat, catlike topaz yellow.
HAIR: Darkish blond, though exposure to the Dark Side has lightened it.
SKIN: Pale Caucasian
CREDITS: 1000; as a Sith, Zynn normally has no use for credits, but due to his criminal roots and what remains of his network, he could acquire more should he desire to.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: None visible. The events that shaped Zynn left all of their scars in his mind.
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes, very.
STRENGTH: Very Low. Zynn has enough strength to match someone higher than him in direct contest for short periods of time, but he cannot maintain it. Normally, he uses dexterity and ingenuity (such as swinging his lightsaber blade before a block to gather momentum) to counteract this.
DEXTERITY: High. Zynn is quite quick, and his reflexes are above average. His motions are very fluid and controlled, due to his natural slim build and his use of the very elegant Form II.
CONSTITUTION: Low. Zynn is not built to take a hit. While he has enough stamina to continue a prolonged fight, very fit individuals or Wookiees could outlast him, and he is not the kind of person to shrug off lightsaber blows.
INTELLIGENCE: High. Zynn is a very analytical thinker and a very fast learner. He survived mostly on his intelligence alone prior to becoming a Sith, and is an excellent strategist. He is smart in the traditional sense, in that he knows a lot about varied topics and is capable of solving problems with great ingenuity. He also masters new concepts easily and typically views things from an intellectual perspective.
WISDOM: Moderate. Zynn has more life experience than many of his own age, and this has been reflected in his superior judgment skills and patience. However, he is not wise in the "usual" sense, as while he advocates planning and self-control, he is fundamentally a Sith, and therefore tends to solve his problems through violence and manipulation, direct or indirect.
CHARISMA: Very High. Zynn relies on persuasion and manipulation as two extremely important tools of his trade as a Sith Assassin and spy. While most Jedi and some Sith with great charisma manifest it by being a powerful, magnetic leader, Zynn instead focuses his persuasion on finer points, using it more for manipulation of a key figure than drawing armies to his cause. Zynn operates from the shadows, and this attribute often aids him in remaining unnoticed.
FORCE POWERS:
Zynn is an interesting subject. Being balanced as he is, using both the Force and the blade to further a goal related to neither, he is fairly powerful within the Force but by far his greatest asset in this regard is his exceptional control. While Zynn would have difficulty lifting and moving objects larger than himself ( he has not yet mastered the concept of "Size matters not") he would not find it difficult to subtly influence an object in motion to drastically change its trajectory. In this way, he often alters existing Force powers to suit him. He also does not learn large numbers of Force powers for the sake of it, picking and choosing the ones he thinks will be useful and then mastering them. As such, he has few powers beyond those considered Core, but he has a great deal of control over the ones he does have. Fitting for his subtle nature, Zynn has pursued the study of Sith Sorcery (not the specialization, the subset of Dark Side Force powers), which generally deal with affecting the target's mind. (As Sith Sorcery lacks any "proper" canonized powers, other than the general ability to "create illusions," I have classified some other powers as Sith Sorcery, such as Force Fear, despite their being used by non-students of Sith Sorcery.) He also has a very basic grasp of Sith Alchemy, though this is mostly theoretical knowledge. Further training would be required to use it effectively.
Core:
Telekinesis (Grip, Push, Pull, etc.) (Weak-Average)
Alter Self (Force Jump, Force Speed, Etc.) (Weak-Average)
Other:
Force Camouflage (Adept)
Force Shock (Average)
(Sith) Mind Trick/ Force Persuasion (Very Adept)
Sith Sorcery:
Force Fear (Very Adept)
Torture by Chagrin (Adept)
Summon Fear (title is conjectural; this higher-level version of Torture by Chagrin incorporates Force Fear; rather than inducing irrational fear [as in Force Fear] or simply reliving painful memories [Torture by Chagrin], this power dredges up the enemy's deepest fears, some from their past but many simply fabricated from their phobias, and forces them to endure repeated visions of them. This power requires concentration to maintain, and while it is near impossible to resist, strong-willed victims can break the cycle. This power, while unnamed in canon, is canonical.)( Adept)
Conjure Illusions (equally canonical, equally unnamed, and fairly self-explanatory. These generally appeared to be solid and external, as Summon Fear was used for hallucinations) (Adept)
Fear Cycle (This is an application of Force Fear, whereby Zynn uses the essence of Sith Sorcery to create a 'feedback loop' of fear, each building upon the last, to build an irrational fear of Zynn himself. An example of this would be using it on a guard to make the sentient believe that Zynn was a terrible, invincible dark Lord. This power is usually resistible by trained Force Sensitives, but it often acts in a far lesser manner, slightly distorting the opponent's perception of him. Zynn uses this to deal with low-level enemies and to make it difficult for Force-trained enemies to perceive his weaknesses.) (Adept)
Zynn also often combines the manipulative aspects of Sith Sorcery with Dark Mind Trick to alter the perceptions of sentients and influence them in the manner of his choosing.
SKILLS:
Zynn is extremely skilled with mechanics and machines, using his knowledge to great effect. He is fairly good as a pilot, notably above average but not within the range of "exceptional". Zynn also learns extremely quickly in a normal sense, from books and lectures; he masters simple concepts and techniques on his own at greater-than-average rates. Due to his past, Zynn's emotions are controlled to a drastic degree; his mind is like a smooth iron wall, virtually impossible to break, which renders him immune to most mental-based Force assaults. It is rare for him to lose control, but generally terrible. Finally, Zynn has the somewhat unique ability of extreme perception: when he fights an enemy, if the fight goes on long enough, he begins to analyze their style and devise ways to counter it, see the weak points in it, even if he has never before seen the style. Unlike some (who Zynn calls "battle geniuses") he cannot and does not copy or learn the style, instead simply figuring out a way to beat it using his own. It has been theorized that this is a low-level, natural predisposition towards Shatterpoint that is sometimes seen in Force Sensitives, but it is notably weaker in that it takes time for Zynn to identify weak points, and unlike with Shatterpoint, he is incapable of destroying an opponent's defense or style by attacking one point; he simply sees a way to win. Whether he is able to capitalize on it is based on skill.
LIGHTSABER/SWORD FORMS:
Zynn practices Form II, Makashi, to a high level of skill. He chooses and devotes himself to it because he likes its principles of grace, elegance, economy of movement, and improvisation. He devotes himself exclusively to this style, and because Sith are generally not taught Shii-Cho as a basic Form, his degree of mastery of the Form is generally higher than a Padawan of similar level due to the extra time spent on it. He also chose this form because of its design to combat other lightsaber users, which helps in his occupation as Sith Assassin and Jedi-killer. Zynn doesn't usually find himself in situations where he is required to fight multiple opponents wielding blasters, hence his willingness to make the sacrifice of being essentially unable to deflect blaster bolts.
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:
Zynn is extremely effective at systematically and relentlessly destroying a single opponent, especially a Jedi or other Force user. His use of Sith Sorcery, his preferred saber Form of Makashi, his perception in battle all combine to make him a walking death warrant for lone targets. However, he is severely outmatched against more than two enemies, particularly if they wield blasters. Makashi is remarkably ineffective against multiple people and blaster bolts. Facing two opponents, Zynn could possibly use Sith Sorcery to incapacitate one while he deals with the other, but it is difficult if not impossible to cloud the minds of two or more enemies (it is simply not possible to maintain the necessary concentration in a battle situation) and so against 3+ enemies Zynn finds himself in very hot water. It is for this reason that Zynn is very prudent about when and where he fights, because he knows his own limits and is not stupid.
GEAR:
Lightsaber -
Zynn's lightsaber is a work of art, crafted by him using all of his considerable mechanical skills. The hilt is curved, with two blade-guards fashioned like claws emerging from the emitter matrix, one on the top, the other on the bottom and slightly shorter. These claw-guards are actually made of cortosis, so that if they directly touch an enemy's blade, it will temporarily short out and not be able to be activated for several minutes. They also provide greater defense against attacks directed at Zynn's lightsaber, as it is much more difficult to do damage to a saber with lightsaber-killing guards; this is in keeping with the Makashi fighting style, which takes great care to make sure the user's weapon is undamaged, having been developed to fight Shii-Cho, which used the sun djem principle very commonly. The blade is of a normal length, blood-red in color.
Shoto-
Zynn also carries a second, short lightsaber to supplement his pure dueling skills. It often goes unused, but he carries it nonetheless. Unlike his primary lightsaber, which is curved and therefore unsuited to use with two hands, this saber is straight, with three claws on each end to fool the enemy into thinking that it is a double-bladed lightsaber; in truth, the claws on the pommel are mainly used to rest his hand against, and cannot produce a second blade. However, due to Zynn's tinkering, this saber sports some unique modifications, causing it to possibly be the only triple-phase lightsaber in existence. The "normal" phase is the length of a shoto, which Zynn usually keeps it in. The second phase is the length of a normal lightsaber, and the third is the length of an extended dual-phase saber. Because there are three stages, Zynn cannot simply use a button to turn the extension on and off; instead, he uses a slider near his index finger, the shortest setting being the lowest position and the longest being the highest. This blade is crimson in color.
(Other gadgets to come)
SHIP:
Zynn flies an old TIE Phantom called the Scarlet Vindication that he found, rebuilt, and upgraded himself. Like all TIE Phantoms, the craft possesses a both a hyperdrive and a sub-light drive (not seen in earlier TIE models) in addition to the characteristec twin ion engines that give the craft its name. Phantoms also come equipped with a stygium stealth generator, and this one is no exception; Zynn finds this very useful given the nature of his occupation. A laser cannon is mounted on each wingtip and two somewhat larger, paired cannons are attached to the cockpit; small and agile, this craft is amazing in dogfights but lacks the punch to do major damage to a capital-class craft, and would be hard-pressed against a frigate. As is standard for TIE fighters, the Scarlet Vindication is equipped with full ray shields, but no particle shields. Zynn also made a number of modifications, mostly revolving around the hyperdrive and sub-light drives. He compressed both into half their size while doubling their performance, leading him to have a ship that is very, very fast for its size. It can outrun virtually any fighter, and because larger craft are slower, it by extension can outrun almost anything. The only craft potentially faster than the Scarlet Vindication would be heavily modified light freighters, which are small enough to be maneuverable while being large enough to hold powerful engines that would simply not fit into a small, one-man craft like a Phantom. Zynn, however, made one extremely major modification to the drives, and that was to fuse them together into a prototype integrated space-jumping drive. This caused some problems at first, but once it stabilized, it proved to drastically increase the output and abilities of both drives, as well as making them notably smaller.
DROIDS:
None yet. He might build one.
PETS:
Nope.
PERSONALITY:
Zynn is the embodiment of the Sith teachings, as he sees them – not the molten rage and revenge so many Dark Jedi give in to, not the all-consuming fear, not even the ice-cold hate and contempt from which he often draws power. No, Zynn is the embodiment of victory. He is cold, calculating, and levelheaded, always planning exactly what to do to win. He has no inhibitions about using underhanded methods to get what he wants - be it information, the completion of his mission or just a cup of halfway-decent coffee - and he shows no mercy. Unlike many Sith, Zynn does not revere killing, nor does he slay any who fall into his power. Instead, he uses them. He will still kill them if they are more useful dead, or a direct problem, but he is of the opinion that no one is useless. Anyone with even a glimmer of Force Sensitivity can fall to the Dark Side, and Zynn views these cases as a challenge; like with anything, he very rarely loses. Zynn has a tendency to look down on other, more anger-oriented Sith as beneath his notice and bestial. As far as he is concerned, power is information, and information is victory. It does not matter who has the more obscenely developed muscles or even the more developed lightsaber skill if Zynn can simply walk up to them and unlock their greatest fears - might does indeed make right, but research and the pen are mightier than any glowing sword. Zynn does not look down on himself for training, however, because he believes the elegance of Form II to be the epitome of lightsaber combat - and the only one worth studying, because the others are so unrefined. To Zynn, the phrase "the ends justify the means" is distasteful, because he would much rather achieve his ends using his preferred means; despite this, however, that phrase is an effective descriptor of Zynn's life outlook.
Zynn's interactions with others are interesting to study because they usually fall into the category of "contemptuous dealings," "manipulation," or "wanton flirting"; for him to respect another enough to truly engage in conversation with them is rare. He has retained all of the easy, self-assured confidence accumulated inb his pre-Sith life and augmented by the Dark Side, mainly by knowing that the things that could endanger him in his current state, after proper training, are very few. Zynn maintains a certain rakish, devil-may-care charm, cultivated during his days as a ne'er-do-well and present ever since.
KILLS:
None yet. Expect this section to grow quite full, however.
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
None yet, and likely none ever.
DUELING RING MATCHES:
None.
GRAND TOURNAMENT MATCHES:
None.
ROLE-PLAYS:
None.
I swore that I would never do it again. But I did. I do. I do it every day. The darkness I fought so hard to keep at bay has consumed me, and I have embraced it. Embraced it, and bent it to my will. I rule the darkness. It does not rule me.
But there is one thing that I truly will never do again, and I say this with no lie in my heart. I will never kneel before another, never again, not once. I am the one who will be kneeled before. I am the Hand you will never see that grips you by your throat. I am the blade you always feared that slips through your armor. I am the King of Shadows who stands in the shadow of kings. I am the Master of Masks.
I am the Lord of Lies.
I am Zynn Hawkright, and this is my story.
HOLOLOG - START
DATA CORE - PROCESSING
FILE FOUND
BEGINNING PLAYBACK...
I suppose that it started before I left Coruscant. Or rather, I should say that it started before I even thought about leaving Coruscant. That day was the tipping point, no doubt about it, but let's be realistic. People don't suddenly fall head over heels into the Dark Side unless they have some prior inclination to do so. Now, when I look back on my life before the Fall, I don't see a bad kid. Fewer morals than most people, maybe, but hey, you do what you have to to survive, right?
It was always my mother who looked after me. I don't remember this, but I was born on Corellia. My mother says it was a beautiful place, and sometimes she would stare into space for hours and I would just know that she was remembering her home planet. She always wore green in honor of it; apparently, green is very popular there.
My father was a Sith. Well, I shouldn't say that. He was a Dark Jedi. He was never strong enough to join the official Sith Order. But he practiced the Dark Side all the same. I don't think he even had enough power to lift a rock, but he did enjoy using what little power he did have on others. Or so my mother says. That's why we left Corellia, after all. She couldn't stand to be on the same planet after knowing what he was, what he'd done.
I wonder what she'd think of me now.
Coruscant was my home, not Corellia. I grew up there, made friends there, learned to fight there, learned to hide there. I was always good at hiding. I was pretty good in a fight, but I had no stomach for it. Oh, I had no problem knocking some dumb brute's teeth out. But it seemed so unrefined. I much preferred to wait where no one could see me, and avoid the fights entirely. When I couldn't, I always made sure the odds were on my side.
I've met a lot of Sith who had issues with their parents, especially their mothers. I've met a few who even went so far as to kill them. Not me. My mother loved me, and I loved her. Each other was all we had. I had to provide for her, of course. She had no marketable skills, and while she did fine as a waitress in one of the Undercity's sleazier bars, her wages weren't nearly enough.
I discovered when I was twelve that I had a knack for anything that moved, whirred, or buzzed. I started off disassembling simple appliances. By the end of the year, I had three semi-functional droids to help with the housecleaning. I traded scraps or spare credits I earned or stole for the parts. It was a slow process, but it was definitely worth it.
When I was fourteen, I figured out that I could make more than just simple gadgets. And that was when I realized that I could not only provide for my mother by stealing, working odd jobs, and occasionally selling a device. There were a lot of people who wanted machines that could do specific things. Slicing pads, listening cubes, even ionization balls ( I really liked those; they were spheres the size of a Huttball, but when thrown they released a powerful EMP. Useful, that). A lot of them wanted things that went "boom."
"Terrorist" is such an unrefined word, don't you think?
I didn't mind too much who I sold to, as long as they paid. That was when I started traveling, building my business network, looking for better parts. I was careful never to stay away for long, because my mother needed my help, but she had the droids to help her, and I gradually stayed away longer and longer. I mean, the best way to help her was with credits, and the easiest way for me to make more was to expand my market.
But hey, I wasn't all bad. I rebuilt an old tank droid for some extremists on Antares IV at one point. They had this grand vision of marching on the Plaza of the Sun and showing their people the "one true faith." I don't remember what faith that was, exactly, but they were very fervent about it. When I finished the repairs, they paid me and tried to recruit me into their little sect. I, of course, politely declined. They said they would sing my praises until the end of days for making their conquest possible. I told them to get in line.
Thing is, the government knew about the extremists. And I got a very good offer to help them, instead. So what made me help the extremists anyway? Why didn't I take the government up on their offer?
Who says I didn't?
On the day of their big march, there was a lot of screaming. The extremists weren't well trained, but they had a decent armory of cobbled-together blaster rifles and a lot of zeal. That and the damn near indestructible tank droid they were all riding on, courtesy of me. There was some token resistance by the planetary security forces, but sidearms didn't do a whole lot to seven-inch-thick durasteel. Hell, even the Gatling guns they had in defensive emplacements just bounced off.
They made it to the plaza without too much trouble. Only a couple extremists were lost, and most of that number was due to them falling off the tank droid in their overenthusiastic flailing. When they got there, there was yet more screaming and lots of very zealous yells. It was kind off fun, actually.
I was almost sorry when I pressed the button.
The tank droid locked down like Kessel in a riot. The control modules exploded, killing any of the extremists who were actually in the belly of the beast and rendering the whole thing completely useless. Not even I could fix it now. That was when I calmly handed over the control remote, which was connected to the subroutine override modules I had installed, not like they knew the difference, to the current captain of the watch and got my second payment in a week. The remaining extremists were shouting that they would kill me in various gruesome ways.
As they were dragged off, I told them there was a line for that, too.
TRANSMISSION END
SEARCHING DATABANKS
DATA CORRUPTED, REDIRECTING SEARCH
FILE FOUND
BEGINNING PLAYBACK...
I don't know why I'm writing this, really. I don't have anyone left to reassure that I'm still alive. I don't have anyone I care enough about to tell my life story. I suppose I'm writing this because I want someone to understand. If I die, or rise to power, I want there to be a record of who I was before. I want there to be a record because I'm not sure I'll remember. And if I am alive, and I do remember, I'm not sure I'll care.
Self-control has been the defining point of my existence since I left Coruscant. After that incident with the Red Moon gang, I clamped down on my emotions. Not because I didn't want to hurt anyone, not because I was disgusted with myself for killing like that. It was because that encounter was driven by blind rage, and rage is dangerous. Rage leaves you vulnerable. A man possessed by battle-fury may fight like a hero and fell a thousand enemies. But he will surely die himself.
I'm not a big fan of a business model where I'm guaranteed to die.
It was a miscalculation to leave my mother alone for so long. I was seventeen then, and overconfident. I trusted in my network to keep her safe, I trusted in my reputation. Everyone knew Zane Alestor by that point, and the well-connected ones knew how to contact him -that is to say, me. But just as my name kept her safe, it also put her in danger. It was stupid of me not to realize that.
I was off on a remote world in the Mid Rim where I'd heard that an old TIE Phantom had been uncovered. The thing was wrecked, but amazingly, it was still salvageable. It took me two days to get it out of the swamp that it had crashed in, and another three to clear out the vore-rats that infested it. The thing had to be at least fifty years old, those models were discontinued a long time ago. But enough of the core electrical systems were still in place that it could be rebuilt. It wasn't easy, but it was fun.
Now, my business network was almost like a gang in and of itself. There wasn't any real hierarchy, but we helped each other out. I had two of my associates air-lift the thing out of the jungle clearing where it had crashed and brought it to a landing pad just outside the nearest city. I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.
Armed with my trusty hydrospanner and a variety of other, more specialized tools that I had picked up over the years (almost all of which sported illegal modifications; my favorite was the deionizer that could also zap organics), I was able to reconnect the main power grid and replace several of the missing solar panels on the wings. One wing was half gone, but a few calls and I had the pieces; I sold a couple of minor slicing datapads to pay for them. It took me three weeks to finish the repairs, but I was proud of myself. I had overcome several obstacles, and now had a fully-functioning, unique TIE Phantom to call my own. I spent a further week making upgrades and various non-standard modifications, in which I addressed a glaring problem: the hyperdrive was shot. The sub-light drive was in reasonably good condition, but without a hyperdrive, I wasn't going anywhere farther than the next planet over anytime soon. So I did something I don't think anyone has ever tried before.
I took apart the whole sub-light drive, updating the parts and adding a few of my own to increase performance, using my knowledge of mechanics to reduce the size of the thing by almost half while doubling its performance. At that point, I ripped the guts out of the hyperdrive and wired them into the still-open sub-light drive, creating a dangerously unstable mechanical monster not unlike the hybrids bred by Sith Alchemy. I had combined the normal sub-light drive and the hyperdrive into a twisted creation of mad genius, or so I thought. I had also removed all the safety override subroutines to compress the sub-light drive, so there was a pretty good chance I would be torn to pieces when I used it, but I accepted the risk. The two were too big on their own to both fit in the smallish TIE model, anyway, and I did not want to have to rely on a larger ship for a hyperdrive. Thankfully, the real reason I had been so excited about this ship, the stygium stealth field generator, was still mostly serviceable. A few quick spot repairs, barely three hours' worth, and it was running again in tip-top shape, which was was good; stygium crystals were so expensive as to be unobtainable these days. Three more days of general repairs – mostly to the lasercannons, the damn things corroded faster than a ship in a hangar full of mynocks – and the ship was ready. I dubbed it the Lady Luck, with my usual flair for the dramatic, and took off for Coruscant.
There were a few close calls with the integrated drive, but I did manage to skirt my way around the asteroid cluster in the end. It took twenty minutes to power up the hyperdrive on its maiden voyage, and a further two hours of travel in hyperspace, to reach my destination; I had rarely been so happy to see the city-planet, having been away for nearly a full standard month. I descended into the atmosphere, falling past the fancy, glittering upper cityscape into the seedier, shadier low levels that were my domain. I dumped the Lady Luck on a nearby landing pad - theft was a problem, but I had a few inventive solutions to the problem - and returned to the slightly cleaner-than-average hovel that was our home.
It was empty.
I found a datapad with an ominous symbol on the front: a red crescent moon, the mark of the Red Eclipse gang. The Red Eclipse had a hand in everything: slavery, spice, extortion; if it was illegal and preferably violent, they did it with unnatural zeal. I had double-crossed them a few times, but what they made up for in brawn, they lacked in intelligence. I was simply a lot smarter than they were; while I was around, we were safe. Not anymore.
There was nothing on the datapad but a set of coordinates, an address, and a single word: "alone". I felt waves of sick dread seep through me: these people, little more than animals, had my mother. The fear shocked me. I was Zane Alestor, and I was never afraid, not of anything. I squashed the uncertainty, and felt it replaced by a volatile mix of dark anger and brooding hatred, both directed at these monsters who would kidnap a woman to control her child. The sudden surge of emotion threatened to overwhelm me, but I managed to subdue it, and, blaster and vibroblade in hand, I set off.
The coordinates took me to a run-down section of the Undercity inhabited mainly by swoop gangs and debtors. I have to say, the flat, desaturated gray landscape was depressing. The Underciy wasn't exactly the City of Lights, but even the beggars had it better than these poor souls. The people here lived in constant fear of death or eviction by cruel, uneducated brutes. Before, I might have shot a few of the leading members, just for fun (I always was famous for playing with fire); now I barely noticed the suffering around me. It was beneath my notice. I was there to deal with my own problems, and if I could, then the residents certainly could, too. It's not like I was superhuman, not like I was special.
That was wrong, of course, but hey, you can't blame a kid for not knowing.
The address was an old warehouse very subtly marked with a huge red moon on the side (gee, I wonder whose territory this was?). Two poorly armed spice addicts, a Weequay and a human like me, stood guard and waved me through with a smirk. When even degenerates didn't respect you, that was a bad sign. I kicked the Weequay's knee in just to show them who they were messing with. Not really my usual style, but I didn't have the time nor the inclination to play a clever joke on insolent underlings right now, and besides, I was out of corrosive itching powder. Leaving them to contemplate what to do with a broken leg, I continued in.
The warehouse had several rooms, but the biggest was the storage chamber, and that was where the short hallway took me. It didn't take long to realize I was in the right place; at least fifteen goons and maybe five higher-ups were there. My mother stood in the center of the room, in front of a Trandoshan who was clearly the leader. My breath caught when I saw her. She was bruised, blindfolded, her cheek bloody, and her hair matted with sweat; how long had she been here? The anger surged again, and it was harder to put down this time. I was shaken. It was rare that I succumbed to any emotion other than joie de vivre.
The Trandoshan grinned in that distrubing, reptilian way that they do when he saw me and stepped forward. He held a blaster in his hand, the only one in the room that wasn't aimed at me. The odds of me being able to shoot down nearly twenty thugs with my single pistol before my mother and I were filled so full of blaster burns they wouldn't be able to identify the bodies were annoyingly low.
"So good to see you here, Zane Alestor," he said. "We've spent several years attempting to locate you, but you've proved most elusive." I said nothing. His Basic was oddly formal, like he'd learned from a scholar, but his voice rasped and growled over the unfamilair syllables. His kind was not meant to speak any language less harsh than their own. "But finally, a young spacer, equally unhappy with you, informed us of an address where you could be found. You were not there, but we had a very interesting chat with your mother. She is so worried about you, when you leave without telling her where, why, she almost died."
The hint of a threat was clear in his voice, and I was shaking with fury now. My mother had trembled at the sound of his voice, and for a moment, I entertained wild fantasies about feeding him his own throat. For the first time since arriving at the meeting place, I spoke up.
"If you so much as touched her, you're going to die a very quick, very unpleasant death," I replied, to which the Trandoshan just laughed, a harsh, guttural sound like blunt nails dragged across duracrete.
"Don't worry, little human. Your mother is ... intact. For now. But if you do not comply, then... well, my men were most displeased that they were unable to give a female prisoner the proper Red Eclipse welcome. They will be very happy if I lift that ban. Not, of course, that you will be alive to see it."
He shot me a menace-laden glare that was even less subtle than his words, and continued. "You have given us a great deal of trouble, double-crossing us, stabbing us in the back, always looking out only for yourself. You need to be taught a lesson in humility."
He raised the blaster to my mother's head, and I felt the emotions inside me suddenly shift. Just as my unfamilar tides of rage reached fever pitch, they froze into something much worse: paralyzing, ice-cold fear. I was afraid that my mother would die for my mistakes, I was afraid that I would die because I wasn't careful enough. Both of these emotions quickly morphed into ravenous self-loathing, a profound hatred of oneself so powerful that my survival instincts evaporated. In a way, it was the opposite of fear; it gave me a perverse courage, because I no longer valued my life.
"Kneel," said the Trandoshan. I hesitated. To kneel was to be subservient, and I had avoided that all my life, for a reason. I refused to serve another, to be bound to their will. I insisted on charting my own path. I was brought back to reality by the Trandoshan jamming the barrel of the pistol into my mother's skull. "Kneel," he snarled again, more insistently.
I knelt. I knelt, and my self-hatred expanded exponentially, swallowing me, threatening to overwhelm me. I was pathetic, helpless, weak, and I hated my own weakness and helplessness as the Dark hates the light. The moment my knee touched the ground, I wanted to die, to be slain like the coward I was. But that emotion was immediately drowned out by the desire for my mothers' captors to die. Why should I throw my life away when it was they who tormented me? Me, who had always been in control, always acting, rarely thinking of long-term consequences.
The Trandoshan made a parody of a smile, as best he could with lips designed to rend flesh from bone. It disgusted me, the way this pathetic lowlife slaver and generally degenerate minor criminal was getting the better of me. I always won. And I refused to allow myself to be used. Even if it took until the day I died, I would revenge myself, punish these insolent insects. But now I was mostly concerned with escaping with my and my mother's lives.
"Good, little human," the Trandoshan said, laughing despicably. "You have learned to be humble. This is good. But there is a saying on Trandosha, that only two things are truly foolish: expecting torture to provide accurate information, and expecting something to be learned after only one lesson. This is lesson number two."
And he pulled the trigger.
I watched in numb shock as she fell. Her blindfold fluttered away, the knot burned off by the blaster shot, and I saw her eyes. It was these that finally did it. They were wide with surprise, as if she expected to be safe now that I was here, as if she had believed that I would save her, somehow. The clear, piercing blue orbs had never seemed so beautiful as they were then, filled with betrayed trust.
I snapped.
The emotions that had been welling up inside of me for the better part of a day burst forth from their chains. Rage consumed me, hate drove me, vengeance and contempt shaped me. I was in that moment a creature of fury and darkness, not so much an avenging angel but an angry wraith come straight from Hell, a dread apparition that would not leave without its tithe of souls. I stood and discarded my blaster. The vibroblade shook slightly as its fold-out components snapped into place. I felt no fear as I strode toward the first of the underlings. Fear had no place in my mind. It was an empty place now, full of fire and desolate wastes. Fear of death was negligible. I knew I would not die. Blaster bolts missed me by a centimeter, swords shattered under my wrath, and soon the gang members began to flee from my bloodstained fury.
I entered a broken man, facing an uncertain future and unable to come to terms with my own weakness, however strong I believed myself to be. I left like a ghost, leaving only corpses and one more tally mark in the line of people that wanted my head.
(This is only half done; I'll add the events after he Fell later.)
TRANSMISSION END
SEARCHING FOR FURTHER RECORDS...
NAME: Zynn Hawkright (born Zane Alestor)
FACTION: Sith Order/Galactic Empire/Ubiqtorate, TITAN division
RANK: Apprentice
SPECIES: Human
AGE: 23
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 5'9”
WEIGHT: 150 lbs
EYES: Deep green; when channeling the Dark Side, they turn a flat, catlike topaz yellow.
HAIR: Darkish blond, though exposure to the Dark Side has lightened it.
SKIN: Pale Caucasian
CREDITS: 1000; as a Sith, Zynn normally has no use for credits, but due to his criminal roots and what remains of his network, he could acquire more should he desire to.
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: None visible. The events that shaped Zynn left all of their scars in his mind.
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes, very.
STRENGTH: Very Low. Zynn has enough strength to match someone higher than him in direct contest for short periods of time, but he cannot maintain it. Normally, he uses dexterity and ingenuity (such as swinging his lightsaber blade before a block to gather momentum) to counteract this.
DEXTERITY: High. Zynn is quite quick, and his reflexes are above average. His motions are very fluid and controlled, due to his natural slim build and his use of the very elegant Form II.
CONSTITUTION: Low. Zynn is not built to take a hit. While he has enough stamina to continue a prolonged fight, very fit individuals or Wookiees could outlast him, and he is not the kind of person to shrug off lightsaber blows.
INTELLIGENCE: High. Zynn is a very analytical thinker and a very fast learner. He survived mostly on his intelligence alone prior to becoming a Sith, and is an excellent strategist. He is smart in the traditional sense, in that he knows a lot about varied topics and is capable of solving problems with great ingenuity. He also masters new concepts easily and typically views things from an intellectual perspective.
WISDOM: Moderate. Zynn has more life experience than many of his own age, and this has been reflected in his superior judgment skills and patience. However, he is not wise in the "usual" sense, as while he advocates planning and self-control, he is fundamentally a Sith, and therefore tends to solve his problems through violence and manipulation, direct or indirect.
CHARISMA: Very High. Zynn relies on persuasion and manipulation as two extremely important tools of his trade as a Sith Assassin and spy. While most Jedi and some Sith with great charisma manifest it by being a powerful, magnetic leader, Zynn instead focuses his persuasion on finer points, using it more for manipulation of a key figure than drawing armies to his cause. Zynn operates from the shadows, and this attribute often aids him in remaining unnoticed.
FORCE POWERS:
Zynn is an interesting subject. Being balanced as he is, using both the Force and the blade to further a goal related to neither, he is fairly powerful within the Force but by far his greatest asset in this regard is his exceptional control. While Zynn would have difficulty lifting and moving objects larger than himself ( he has not yet mastered the concept of "Size matters not") he would not find it difficult to subtly influence an object in motion to drastically change its trajectory. In this way, he often alters existing Force powers to suit him. He also does not learn large numbers of Force powers for the sake of it, picking and choosing the ones he thinks will be useful and then mastering them. As such, he has few powers beyond those considered Core, but he has a great deal of control over the ones he does have. Fitting for his subtle nature, Zynn has pursued the study of Sith Sorcery (not the specialization, the subset of Dark Side Force powers), which generally deal with affecting the target's mind. (As Sith Sorcery lacks any "proper" canonized powers, other than the general ability to "create illusions," I have classified some other powers as Sith Sorcery, such as Force Fear, despite their being used by non-students of Sith Sorcery.) He also has a very basic grasp of Sith Alchemy, though this is mostly theoretical knowledge. Further training would be required to use it effectively.
Core:
Telekinesis (Grip, Push, Pull, etc.) (Weak-Average)
Alter Self (Force Jump, Force Speed, Etc.) (Weak-Average)
Other:
Force Camouflage (Adept)
Force Shock (Average)
(Sith) Mind Trick/ Force Persuasion (Very Adept)
Sith Sorcery:
Force Fear (Very Adept)
Torture by Chagrin (Adept)
Summon Fear (title is conjectural; this higher-level version of Torture by Chagrin incorporates Force Fear; rather than inducing irrational fear [as in Force Fear] or simply reliving painful memories [Torture by Chagrin], this power dredges up the enemy's deepest fears, some from their past but many simply fabricated from their phobias, and forces them to endure repeated visions of them. This power requires concentration to maintain, and while it is near impossible to resist, strong-willed victims can break the cycle. This power, while unnamed in canon, is canonical.)( Adept)
Conjure Illusions (equally canonical, equally unnamed, and fairly self-explanatory. These generally appeared to be solid and external, as Summon Fear was used for hallucinations) (Adept)
Fear Cycle (This is an application of Force Fear, whereby Zynn uses the essence of Sith Sorcery to create a 'feedback loop' of fear, each building upon the last, to build an irrational fear of Zynn himself. An example of this would be using it on a guard to make the sentient believe that Zynn was a terrible, invincible dark Lord. This power is usually resistible by trained Force Sensitives, but it often acts in a far lesser manner, slightly distorting the opponent's perception of him. Zynn uses this to deal with low-level enemies and to make it difficult for Force-trained enemies to perceive his weaknesses.) (Adept)
Zynn also often combines the manipulative aspects of Sith Sorcery with Dark Mind Trick to alter the perceptions of sentients and influence them in the manner of his choosing.
SKILLS:
Zynn is extremely skilled with mechanics and machines, using his knowledge to great effect. He is fairly good as a pilot, notably above average but not within the range of "exceptional". Zynn also learns extremely quickly in a normal sense, from books and lectures; he masters simple concepts and techniques on his own at greater-than-average rates. Due to his past, Zynn's emotions are controlled to a drastic degree; his mind is like a smooth iron wall, virtually impossible to break, which renders him immune to most mental-based Force assaults. It is rare for him to lose control, but generally terrible. Finally, Zynn has the somewhat unique ability of extreme perception: when he fights an enemy, if the fight goes on long enough, he begins to analyze their style and devise ways to counter it, see the weak points in it, even if he has never before seen the style. Unlike some (who Zynn calls "battle geniuses") he cannot and does not copy or learn the style, instead simply figuring out a way to beat it using his own. It has been theorized that this is a low-level, natural predisposition towards Shatterpoint that is sometimes seen in Force Sensitives, but it is notably weaker in that it takes time for Zynn to identify weak points, and unlike with Shatterpoint, he is incapable of destroying an opponent's defense or style by attacking one point; he simply sees a way to win. Whether he is able to capitalize on it is based on skill.
LIGHTSABER/SWORD FORMS:
Zynn practices Form II, Makashi, to a high level of skill. He chooses and devotes himself to it because he likes its principles of grace, elegance, economy of movement, and improvisation. He devotes himself exclusively to this style, and because Sith are generally not taught Shii-Cho as a basic Form, his degree of mastery of the Form is generally higher than a Padawan of similar level due to the extra time spent on it. He also chose this form because of its design to combat other lightsaber users, which helps in his occupation as Sith Assassin and Jedi-killer. Zynn doesn't usually find himself in situations where he is required to fight multiple opponents wielding blasters, hence his willingness to make the sacrifice of being essentially unable to deflect blaster bolts.
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:
Zynn is extremely effective at systematically and relentlessly destroying a single opponent, especially a Jedi or other Force user. His use of Sith Sorcery, his preferred saber Form of Makashi, his perception in battle all combine to make him a walking death warrant for lone targets. However, he is severely outmatched against more than two enemies, particularly if they wield blasters. Makashi is remarkably ineffective against multiple people and blaster bolts. Facing two opponents, Zynn could possibly use Sith Sorcery to incapacitate one while he deals with the other, but it is difficult if not impossible to cloud the minds of two or more enemies (it is simply not possible to maintain the necessary concentration in a battle situation) and so against 3+ enemies Zynn finds himself in very hot water. It is for this reason that Zynn is very prudent about when and where he fights, because he knows his own limits and is not stupid.
GEAR:
Lightsaber -
Zynn's lightsaber is a work of art, crafted by him using all of his considerable mechanical skills. The hilt is curved, with two blade-guards fashioned like claws emerging from the emitter matrix, one on the top, the other on the bottom and slightly shorter. These claw-guards are actually made of cortosis, so that if they directly touch an enemy's blade, it will temporarily short out and not be able to be activated for several minutes. They also provide greater defense against attacks directed at Zynn's lightsaber, as it is much more difficult to do damage to a saber with lightsaber-killing guards; this is in keeping with the Makashi fighting style, which takes great care to make sure the user's weapon is undamaged, having been developed to fight Shii-Cho, which used the sun djem principle very commonly. The blade is of a normal length, blood-red in color.
Shoto-
Zynn also carries a second, short lightsaber to supplement his pure dueling skills. It often goes unused, but he carries it nonetheless. Unlike his primary lightsaber, which is curved and therefore unsuited to use with two hands, this saber is straight, with three claws on each end to fool the enemy into thinking that it is a double-bladed lightsaber; in truth, the claws on the pommel are mainly used to rest his hand against, and cannot produce a second blade. However, due to Zynn's tinkering, this saber sports some unique modifications, causing it to possibly be the only triple-phase lightsaber in existence. The "normal" phase is the length of a shoto, which Zynn usually keeps it in. The second phase is the length of a normal lightsaber, and the third is the length of an extended dual-phase saber. Because there are three stages, Zynn cannot simply use a button to turn the extension on and off; instead, he uses a slider near his index finger, the shortest setting being the lowest position and the longest being the highest. This blade is crimson in color.
(Other gadgets to come)
SHIP:
Zynn flies an old TIE Phantom called the Scarlet Vindication that he found, rebuilt, and upgraded himself. Like all TIE Phantoms, the craft possesses a both a hyperdrive and a sub-light drive (not seen in earlier TIE models) in addition to the characteristec twin ion engines that give the craft its name. Phantoms also come equipped with a stygium stealth generator, and this one is no exception; Zynn finds this very useful given the nature of his occupation. A laser cannon is mounted on each wingtip and two somewhat larger, paired cannons are attached to the cockpit; small and agile, this craft is amazing in dogfights but lacks the punch to do major damage to a capital-class craft, and would be hard-pressed against a frigate. As is standard for TIE fighters, the Scarlet Vindication is equipped with full ray shields, but no particle shields. Zynn also made a number of modifications, mostly revolving around the hyperdrive and sub-light drives. He compressed both into half their size while doubling their performance, leading him to have a ship that is very, very fast for its size. It can outrun virtually any fighter, and because larger craft are slower, it by extension can outrun almost anything. The only craft potentially faster than the Scarlet Vindication would be heavily modified light freighters, which are small enough to be maneuverable while being large enough to hold powerful engines that would simply not fit into a small, one-man craft like a Phantom. Zynn, however, made one extremely major modification to the drives, and that was to fuse them together into a prototype integrated space-jumping drive. This caused some problems at first, but once it stabilized, it proved to drastically increase the output and abilities of both drives, as well as making them notably smaller.
DROIDS:
None yet. He might build one.
PETS:
Nope.
PERSONALITY:
Zynn is the embodiment of the Sith teachings, as he sees them – not the molten rage and revenge so many Dark Jedi give in to, not the all-consuming fear, not even the ice-cold hate and contempt from which he often draws power. No, Zynn is the embodiment of victory. He is cold, calculating, and levelheaded, always planning exactly what to do to win. He has no inhibitions about using underhanded methods to get what he wants - be it information, the completion of his mission or just a cup of halfway-decent coffee - and he shows no mercy. Unlike many Sith, Zynn does not revere killing, nor does he slay any who fall into his power. Instead, he uses them. He will still kill them if they are more useful dead, or a direct problem, but he is of the opinion that no one is useless. Anyone with even a glimmer of Force Sensitivity can fall to the Dark Side, and Zynn views these cases as a challenge; like with anything, he very rarely loses. Zynn has a tendency to look down on other, more anger-oriented Sith as beneath his notice and bestial. As far as he is concerned, power is information, and information is victory. It does not matter who has the more obscenely developed muscles or even the more developed lightsaber skill if Zynn can simply walk up to them and unlock their greatest fears - might does indeed make right, but research and the pen are mightier than any glowing sword. Zynn does not look down on himself for training, however, because he believes the elegance of Form II to be the epitome of lightsaber combat - and the only one worth studying, because the others are so unrefined. To Zynn, the phrase "the ends justify the means" is distasteful, because he would much rather achieve his ends using his preferred means; despite this, however, that phrase is an effective descriptor of Zynn's life outlook.
Zynn's interactions with others are interesting to study because they usually fall into the category of "contemptuous dealings," "manipulation," or "wanton flirting"; for him to respect another enough to truly engage in conversation with them is rare. He has retained all of the easy, self-assured confidence accumulated inb his pre-Sith life and augmented by the Dark Side, mainly by knowing that the things that could endanger him in his current state, after proper training, are very few. Zynn maintains a certain rakish, devil-may-care charm, cultivated during his days as a ne'er-do-well and present ever since.
KILLS:
None yet. Expect this section to grow quite full, however.
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
None yet, and likely none ever.
DUELING RING MATCHES:
None.
GRAND TOURNAMENT MATCHES:
None.
ROLE-PLAYS:
None.
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