[CHAR] Star Wars: The Heretic

[Flagg]

Name: Adamantious Xen
Species: Human
Sex: M
Profession: Pirate lord who moonlights as a Rebel admiral
Reason for being present in the Bitter End: He runs the place

Looks

Personality Description: Scoundrel, borderline drunk, crazy like a fox, maybe a bit force-sensitive

Skirmish over Ulam

The long hull of the Ancestral Right cut through the void like an immense predator through the deep. A cloud of vulture droids swarmed around its hull. Agile, dumb and easily replaced, even TIE squadrons could slice with ease through these relics of the Clone Wars. Embedded in the swarm, however, were the Admiral's prized weapons: X-Wings in escort formation, dangerous not only to distracted TIEs but even to the Empire's beloved capital ships.

The rest of the Rebel fleet- an eclectic mix of aging Seperatist vessels, stolen Imperial cruisers, and a few Alliance escorts of modern design- followed in Ancestral Right's wake.

Admiral Xen stood not on his ship's bridge, but in the elevated observation chamber that made the Providence-class's profile so distinctive. Command staff of all races, even droids, bustled around him, busy with the business of looming bloodshed. Xen's eyes tracked the progress of his vessels across a holo-projection of Uslam's orbit, occasionally glancing to the chamber's large windows for confirmation of the virtual display, on which the red daggers were closing in.

The Moff's fleet was advancing on them from three sides, meaning to trap them against Uslam itself. There was a narrow gap in the Imperial alignment, highlighted on the holo-display- through which the rebels might flee without trading fire with the attackers.

Admiral Xen had a low opinion of the Moff's abilities, but not low enough to see such an obvious flaw in his opponent's formation as anything other than a trap. More to the point, he had no interest in retreating without killing some Imperials first. He studied the holo-display.

The VSD Punisher was the nearest vessel to hand, advancing in the shadow of the ISD Vronksr. Xen had his target.

"All vessels: the destroyer Punisher is our pound of flesh. She dies before we jump, and anyone who jumps before I give the word, I hunt down. You'll wish the Imperials had gotten to you," said Xen on the fleet's command channel, "Hutt formation, please- heavy up front, nice thin tail. You may absolutely begin firing when in range."

The comms channel filled with "ayes!" and "yes sirs!"

"Intruder and Cutlass Squadrons," said Xen.

"Reporting in," crackled the COs of two fighter-bomber squadrons noticeably absent from the rebel formation, hidden among nearby asteroids and orbital debris.

"You know what to do," said Xen.

"Yes Admiral."

"Sir," said a lanky Duro to Xen's right, "Transmission from the enemy fleet incoming."

The Admiral arched an eyebrow, "Let's hear it then."

A holo-projection of Moff Whyte replaced the battlefeed in front of Xen. He did not transmit an image of himself back.

“This is Moff Wyte. I advise you stand down and surrender now, fighting only prolongs the inevitable, this is your first and final warning.”

"We've been warned, gents!" said Xen to the command staff, to general laughter. Whyte's holodisplay flickered out.

"Would you like to respond, sir?" asked the Duro lieutenant.

Xen turned to the window, where the serrated dagger hull of the Punisher grew larger by the second against the huge white orb of Uslam. A flicker of turbo-laser fire, still inaccurate at this range, lashed out at the rebel formation from the ship. In the distance, the Vronksr was cruising at full speed to support its smaller cousin.

"We'll let our guns do the negotiating," said the Admiral, "Open fire."

****

The observation chamber was dark, like the nave of a temple, the only light coming from the blue glow of the central holodisplay, Uslam's pale radiance, and the turbolaser exchange taking place just beyond the thick glass windows.

Admiral Xen stood at the holo-projector, where the ferocious and silent battle outside was playing out in miniature before him. His head was bowed, like a man at prayer.

He was not praying.

His narrowed eyes were tracking the markers for Intruder squadron as they completed their run on Punisher. He watched as the squadron CO's X-Wing flashed red, then was gone, and as the XO's ship spun masterfully out of flak and tracer fire, taking out two TIEs in the same number of seconds.

Clang. The XO's callsign was Clang.

The Admiral tilted his head a moment, seemed to consider something, then straightened up. Outside, Punisher drew near, venting flames and atmosphere from at least four serious holes punched in her hull by Cutlass and Intruder. Good sized, but not fatal. Xen would see to that. Behind Punisher loomed Vronskr, already directing long-range fire at the rebel flag-ship, shrugged off for the moment by the Right's intact shields.

The battery exchange between Xen's battlegroup and the Punisher intensified as the rebels closed on the Star Destroyer. The Imperial vessel's forward shields glowed red, with ragged tears beginning to open along the energy seams.

"Alright, get in close and ugly," said Xen, "Keep Punisher between us and Vronskr."

The Right's captain shot back a terse acknowledgement from the bridge.

"All vessels," said Xen, "get your shots in on the Victory destroyer, then jump. Scimitar and Saber squadrons stay with me, keep those TIEs off the Right and use the vulture-screen to absorb fire. When I jump, you jump. Intruder, Cutlass, Broadsword and Stranger squadrons, get out of here."

Acknowledgments crackled in over the comms. The Right pulled alongside Punisher and let loose a catastrophic broadside, popping the Imperial ship's shields in a bloom of azure and crimson light.

The rebel fleet unloaded on the un-shielded Victory as one by one ships disappeared into hyperspace, fleeing to relative safety. Not all of them were so lucky. Vronskr's guns claimed the Corellian corvette Ashland and the Recusant destroyer Gamekeep as they powered up to jump.

Xen watched their icons disappear on his display. He spat onto the deck with a sneer.

Meanwhile, his flagship and Punisher danced, the rebel ship pivoting constantly to keep out of Vronskr's line of fire. The space between Punisher and Ancestral Right was a blinding flurry of scarlet and jade. Explosions raked Punisher's failing hull and the vessel began to come apart, its serrated-dagger frame splitting crookedly.

Vronskr- eager for a chance to take the rebel flag ship- fired on its lesser cousin, obliterating it and sinking a row of shots into the Right's prow, setting scores of decks ablaze.

There was an azure flash, and it was over. The Right was gone.

Xen had fled. The only rebel ships remaining were a handful of suddenly mindless vulture droids and the burning husk of Gamekeep spinning in the void, amid the vast smoldering ruin of Punisher.

Uslam's orbit belonged to the Empire once more.

****

"...and finally, Gamekeep, with all 120 souls," said Lieutenant Mavdi, looking up from his dataslate to the Admiral.

Xen sucked his teeth and shook his head, "Butcher always takes his bill."

The Admiral was quiet for a long moment. He was sprawled lazily across the Captain's Throne in the center of the command bay, legs draped over the left armrest, a goblet wine stolen from the Moff's cellars on Uslam in his be-ringed hand.

"Hers was higher, though," he said at last, and sipped his wine, "Not that she cares an ounce for her scraping little lackeys. She'd shoot 'em all into space if it got her an audience with the old witch doctor on the throne."

The command staff paid him little attention as they busied themselves with their tasks. The half-sober pontifications of Adamantius Xen were just another fact of life in the Alliance to Restore the Republic.

Ancestral Right was idling in deep space, the hyperdrive cycling and preparing to fire once more to take them to the Bitter End, the not-so-affectionate nickname rebel deckhands used for Xen's base of operations deep in the Semiramis Asteroid Cluster. Only a handful of the fleet from Uslam clustered around the Right, the others had made other jumps to pre-designated deadzones. It was Xen's practice never to jump directly between a base or stronghold and an engagement, to confound enemy trackers. Since joining the Alliance, Xen had been given jammer systems designed to prevent Imperial hyperspace plotting, but a pirate's instincts are hard to overcome with new toys.

"We're ready to jump sir," said Mavdi.

"Take us home."

Name: Callidus
Species: Human
Sex: M
Profession: Jedi Master? Sith Lord?
History: The man known as Callidus --or, perhaps, Darth Callidus-- was thought by some on the Jedi High Council to have been a Jedi Master named Valens Sarethi, who disappeared several decades before the Clone Wars. At the time Sarethi had been presumed dead.

During the Clone Wars, some on the Council discovered evidence that Sarethi was stil alive, fallen to the Dark Side, and had taken the name Callidus. Just why they believed this is now unclear.

Since the fall of the Jedi, only confused rumors remain, though the Imperial Inquisition are searching for a heretic dark side user they believe to be the same man.

Reason for being present in the Bitter End: Is he?

Looks

[Auz]

Name: Gin'ibak'aosame
Species: Chiss
Sex: Male

Profession: Gray Jedi, Jedi Sentinel/Investigator

Reason for being present in the Bitter End: Finishing the final job given to him by the Jedi Order, pursue Callidus to know if he has truly fallen to the Dark Side and if so, bring him to justice.

Looks

Personality Description:

During his younger days in the Order, Gin was always a bit of a larrikin, rebelling against his teachers in small, yet annoying ways. There was one master, however, whose teachings always resonated with the Chiss. What began out of a childlike fascination of a shared similarity in name, Qui-gon quickly became an idol for the young boy as Gin took a serious fascination with his work, including the masters criticisms of the order.

The young Chiss had always understood why he was offered up by his parents to the Jedi for having ‘the Sight’, but did find himself at times missing being among those who resembled him. As such he spent a lot of time alone, choosing instead to tinker with his lightsaber and hone his force awareness skills.

As with most beings in the universe, the transition into adulthood was both abrupt and filled with hardships. Major heartbreak and the devastating loss of the Jedi Order has left Gin reeling and in pain. He has lost sight of the teachings of the Jedi, seeing the flaws in their ways as the reason for their ultimate destruction. Though to say he has fallen to the Dark Side would not be true. Instead he seeks balance, he is angry about the injustice done to the Order, he is passionate for his former lover and he seeks to do right in the galaxy, which has since become a cold and cruel place. Gin’s strong sense of duty is now what drives him, to finish what he started and find balance in the process.

With the title of Jedi Sentinel/Investigator, Gin also possesses the skills and knowledge of problem solving, critical thinking, attention to detail, keen understanding of sapient species behaviour and psychology and excellent tracking abilities. The majority of his force powers have been sharpened to exacerbate this.

Character Bio:

In the closing days of the Republic, hearsay snaked its way through the Order with word that Jedi Master Valens Sarethi was in fact alive. Impossible, the council was quick to dismiss such rumours as nothing but whispers in the dark, firmly believing that such nonsense would dissipate in the shadow of galactic war. They should’ve known better than to underestimate their former colleague as theories began to spread like wildfire in the Temple of Coruscant, with each iteration getting wilder and wilder. First he was a fallen Jedi who went by the name of Callidus, then a Sith Acolyte, then a Sith Lord and finally a Sith Lord, Darth Callidus, who was drawing up a new Order.

Preposterous, the Force did not echo with such darkness and so the council held true to their belief, until the theft of the Jedi Temple’s Vault. What was taken is still unknown to this day but the act was so blatant and audacious that it forced the Master's hand.

As such Jedi Shadow Ashuvehe was assigned a new, fresh faced Padawan, Gin'ibak'aosame and both were tasked with following Callidus into the Unknown Regions of the galaxy. Gin was chosen for both his emerging abilities as a Sentinel and Investigator, and the fact that Chiss were quite a common site in the Unknown Regions. Ashuvehe, a Mirialan, was a well renowned agent of the Jedi Shadow arm of the Order, despite being quite young herself, leaving the council quite confident in their ability to find the wayward Jedi.

Venturing into the unknown, the two quickly formed a bond with their skills as Jedi meshing together seamlessly. As their time pursuing Callidus went on, Gin and Ash slowly became infatuated with one another. With them being so far out from the Order and away from its strict teachings, love quickly blossomed. Gin was quick to stray, pointing out the flaws in their doctrines, while Ash was torn between the two, fearing that their love would lead to the Dark Side.

Despite the confusion, the two still remained effective in their pursuit, cornering Callidus on an urban world in the Unknown Region. They had narrowed down his location to a city on the planet's surface and were preparing for apprehension when a message from the order came through. The Masters had grown more desperate, sensing that a critical moment in the war was approaching and they needed all hands on deck to finish the fight. Ash was asked for an evaluation of Gin’s skills, if he was ready to become a Knight, then she would have to return to known space, while the Chiss would be ordered to follow Callidus but not to engage him. Once this critical moment had passed, Ash would return and together they would confront Callidus.

Gin protested this, saying that if they moved quickly, they could capture Callidus and return together. Ash was much more hesitant, telling Gin she could not disobey direct orders and that even if they returned together, this would mean they could no longer be a couple. The young Chiss raged at the notion and upended their room, cursing the Order. Ash’s fears had been realised, seeing that the Dark Side’s influence had begun to grow as a result of their love. In the middle of the night she left, leaving a small message as to why and stating that another Jedi would return to capture Callidus. She begged Gin not to follow her and keep to their teachings but also said she would always hold a special place in her heart for him.

Gin, though heartbroken, did as commanded. It was only when a massive disturbance among the force was felt, as well as Ash being in pain, that Gin abandoned his post. Returning to known space, the young Chiss quickly learned that the order had been destroyed, receiving the message from Obi-Wan to hide and survive. Gin attempted to look for Ash but the destruction of the Republic and the ruthless nature of the Empire left little evidence of any sort of trail.

Accepting defeat, Gin did as he was asked, hiding on backwater worlds and surviving by any means necessary. All until the rumours of Callidus’s infamy surfaced once again, once again he had stolen something of value but from the Emperor himself. Gin wasted no time in taking up pursuit once more, hopeful that if Ash was still alive, she would do the same but also seeking redemption in the eyes of his dead brothers and sisters.

A hologram projected snapshot of Ashuvehe

[seonhyang]

Name: Sira Hayan
Species: Zeltron
Sex: Female
Profession: Rebel Spy | Smuggler (cover)
Reason for being present in the Bitter End: Sira is a frequent sight in the Bitter End, contacting her peers in Rebel Intelligence and running supplies for her comrades from the criminal hub. As of late, she’s been looking for Callidus in the hope that he can be persuaded to share secrets stolen from the Empire.

Looks: A Zeltron woman of modest height with a warm disposition, Sira smiles easily and is quick to laugh. Her long violet hair usually hangs straight and loose, framing soft features; her face lacks the deep creases of weathered spacefarers, making her age rather difficult to determine at first glance. Though she cuts an unimposing figure in the den of iniquity that is the Bitter End, she walks confidently, with a sway in her step.

Rarely seen disheveled or dirty, she prefers to dress rather flamboyantly for a smuggler. Sira’s brightly-colored jackets, short-heeled boots, and tailored clothes nod to her people’s fondness for the finer things in life while stopping short of ostentatiousness. She carries her blaster and knife discreetly and rarely wears anything under which she could not conceal a weapon.

While Sira presents a colorful face to the world, she can change her demeanor as easily as she changes clothes. She has entered the Bitter End under various names in the past, as a grimy fixer, a struggling merchant, and a mute dancer in a Hutt’s retinue.

Art under the cut

Personality Description:
On the surface, Sira is sunny and confident. She eagerly provides an ear to listen to just about anyone looking to share their story over a few drinks. Her empathy makes her a social chameleon, easily mirroring the dispositions of those around her. While her wit can be dry and cynical - not unusual among criminals - she doesn’t use it as a shield. Even commiseration is an opportunity to connect with others and break down the walls between people. Despite her apparent confidence, she is slow to object when other people underestimate her. After all, she is all too accustomed to - and even expects - the assumption that she is too airheaded, impulsive, or decadent to be a threat.

Beneath her calm façade, Sira is shaken by the struggles of the Rebellion: poor, beholden to criminals, beset on all sides. Her empathy magnifies her comrades’ depression; she copes with hopelessness by indulging in simple pleasures like clothes and expensive drinks. Though she used to do as she pleased without questioning herself too thoroughly, she has found herself troubled by the moral quagmire of her occupation as of late. As a result, she has turned to Jomu Sathwe for spiritual advice. She isn’t quite sure that she believes everything that he talks about, but she wants to believe in something.

Character bio:
Born Mana Vystra, Sira would only come to change her name much later in life. Growing up on Zeltros, her parents were entertainers who earned their keep catering to wealthy off-world tourists, Sira longed to escape the world of dancing and pouring drinks. When she learned that politicians and aides would loosen their lips after enough drinks served with a wink and a smile, she made a small business selling secrets. After raising enough money to escape her homeworld and taking a one-way flight to Huttspace, where she used her charm to worm her way through the ranks. Gathering and selling intelligence for various employers came easily to her when she adopted the unassuming guise of a servant or a performer. Back then, her loyalty only belonged to the highest bidder. Over a few years, she was able to earn a decent amount of credits, and with a little wise investment and lucky gambling, she managed to live a lavish lifestyle, attending luxurious parties and schmoozing with criminals from around the Galaxy.

Her charmed life ended when two of her former employers met and discovered that the same Zeltron had worked for them both, selling the secrets of each to the other. Both crime lords cornered her, and Sira feared that she would have lived the rest of her life in chains had a Rebel admiral not paid them off and taken her off their hands. Impressed with her record, he had decided that her skills could serve the Rebellion and offered her a deal: she could keep her freedom as long as she signed up with Rebel Alliance Intelligence. She agreed.

Though she was reluctant at first, the idealistic sentiment of the Rebel Alliance grew on her over time. The Rebellion promised a freer, fairer world in which people like her would not have to resort to crime in order to escape a life of entertaining petty bureaucrats and voracious drug lords. She took the alias “Sira Hayan” and stepped into her new life as if Mana Vystra had never existed. Sira has now been smuggling for years in the shadier corners of the galaxy, but she keeps a low profile, rarely lingering anywhere long enough to make much of a name for herself. The Bitter End, her favorite haunt, is the sole exception. There she's known for her amiable professionalism and for buying drinks for drifters and strangers with stories to tell, including the mendicant Jomu Sathwe, whom she considers to be her drinking buddy.

[Fiscbryne]

Name: Jomu Sathwe
Species: Human
Sex: Male
Profession: Mendicant; ostensibly a Guardian of the Whills
Reason for being present in the Bitter End: Jomu is an itinerant monk who begs for alms, sings half-remembered prayers of the Disciples of the Whills, and—for the few who will accept it—offers spiritual advice in the Bitter End. He lingers in the Bitter End because of the kyber trade there—the kyber provides him a stronger connection to the Force while Adamantious Xen’s opposition to the Empire allows him to practice his faith freely.

Looks:
A jovial mendicant garbed in the charcoal kasaya traditional to the Guardians of the Whills. Though he diligently crops his black hair short like other monks, his clothing is often in disarray with his robe usually half-open and the red antaravasa underneath darkened at its hem from years of begging, fighting, and travel. Regardless, he remains quick-witted and strong with his tongue sharp, his body honed, and his movements those of a well-trained fighter.

His dark eyes are quick and perceptive; as a Guardian he has ever been fonder of the here-and-now than the mysteries of the Force, though historically that has often meant nights at the tavern. His face flushes quickly with drink—when not begging or singing, he is usually seen pink in the face with a bottle of Corellian liquor in his hand, bent-double over some game of dice.

Not to remain unarmed when begging or when gambling among pirates and outlaws, he bears the traditional weapons of the Guardians of the Whills: a powerful lightbow (its accompanying impeller gauntlet on his left arm), a staff of uneti-wood with a kyber sliver in its cap, and an unerring faith in the will of the Force.

Portrait of Jomu Sathwe

Personality Description:
For a monk, Jomu is terribly unorthodox. He is a Guardian of the Whills fonder of his nightly Corellian liquor and sabacc than his daily begging. Though usually amicable, he is quick to argue when it comes to matters of faith, eager to probe others for their thoughts and to play devil’s advocate. He is suspicious of both the CIS and the Republic but reserves his ire for the Empire’s brutality. Above all else he believes in oneness with the Force, stressing the interconnectedness of all living beings. Though he recognizes the necessity of violence at times, he has a distaste for killing and prefers to avoid bloodshed if possible.

Character Bio:
Born on Jedha, Jomu Sathwe was inducted into the Guardians of the Whills as a boy and completed the seventh duan of the order after a decade of practice much to his master’s chagrin. Like others of his order, he had become skilled in body and mind—but he grew fond of drink and other luxuries uncharacteristic of the Guardians, eschewing much of the order’s traditions as an ill-favored iconoclast. Much of his time was spent not in the Temple of the Kyber but rather in the surrounding bars of Jedha City. Despite his irreverent attitude, however, he was tolerated because of his knowledge of the Force and his genuine desire to help pilgrims to Jedha wherever they might be—but just barely. Soon after completing the seventh duan of the Guardians of the Whills and constructing his lightbow, he became dissatisfied with life on the isolated moon of Jedha. Without any warning, he set out from Jedha with no possessions save the robes on his back, his alms bowl, and his monk’s weapons, feeling for the will of the Force and helping those in need—and giving the other Guardians back on Jedha a sigh of relief.

In his travels, he has made something of a name for himself—though more as a reprobate gambler than as a monk. Still, he professes to be a Guardian of the Whills in spirit if not in name, offering both spiritual guidance to the few at Bitter End willing to entertain his musings on the Force as well as protection for those who cannot défend themselves.

[Wrathhog]

Faceclaim
Name: Hannah 'Bel' Deccol
Species: Human
Sex: Female
Profession: Smuggler

Reason for being present in the Bitter End:

Word 'round the galaxy is that a fellow named Callidus has a hefty bounty on his head. She's not after him, though, Bounty Hunters are sure to come by the dozen and she tries not to get in their way, usually. The Bitter End is the beautifully shady establishment where she finds most of her clients and work, and Bel wasn't so daft as to cause trouble there. At least, not the kind of trouble that would get her the boot, permanently. Besides, it's the artifact and not the man himself that's got her interest.

You bet your plumpy behind that Bel's gonna take that job with a self-assured smirk firmly planted on her face.

Physical Description:

Tall and built like an Ox, Bel gets her nickname for the friendly smile no one's ever managed to wipe off her face. Even on your knees, staring down the barrel of her blaster, that dimpled grin is the last thing you'll see.

Personality Description:

Known to be the friendliest merc in the galaxy, Bel is known for her aloof personality. You could say she's amassed a reputation for being a clutz and unknowingly finding herself at the wrong place at the wrong time. All the time. But, her tactical know-how and ability to devise a plan on the go are what has kept her alive all these years.

Trust doesn't come easy, in this line of work, the only person she trusts is her sister. You'll rarely see her working with other smugglers, mercs, or bounty hunters, and she hates having to rely on others to get the job done. However, her clients know that her word is gold and she'll never break a promise. If she takes a job, promising that she's going to get you those hundred imperial riffles, you'll get your one hundred imperial riffles. It doesn't matter that she might have to fly and land her rundown ship in an asteroid field, or blast her way through mercs and bounty hunters—she'll get the job good and done, that you can be sure of.

She doesn't appreciate dishonesty, and if she was a fool to believe such lies then she'll be the first to congratulate whoever for playing her so well, while pointing the barrel of her gun at their forehead, of course. Maybe she'd throw a wink in there too.

Her ability to stay cool and calm in most situations is highly regarded as her best quality amongst the shady folks she hangs around, and yet her inability to remain serious even in the most dire of situations can definitely grind some gears. Most specifically, her sister's very rusty and worn gears.

Clothes
Blaster

Character bio:

Creds don't choose sides, and neither does Bel. The more strict the Galactic Empire gets, the better for smuggling. If someone's willing to pay a small fortune for something as trivial as spices, Bel will happily oblige and deliver it straight to your door if you ask nicely. The more restrictions there are, the more creds she receives.

Bel was adopted by a household compromised of a gentle mother and one rowdy older sister, Samantha. Bel became a smuggler, while her sister joined the Imperial Military. An unlikely duo to be sure, but family comes first, and together they've managed to become the most reputable military-grade weapon and armaments smugglers on their side of the galaxy. Fooling the Empire and profiting from their strict regiment in one swift move.

Who ever said blood was thicker than water? Well, they were very wrong.

Short IC scene: Family Ties

Bel's found herself in restraints, arms tied in front of her and her precious blaster taken by the imperial soldier currently leading her through the vast hangar bustling with activity. A group of troopers march to her left and enter a large ship. A ship she knows damn well is holding enough goodies to get her the best luxury pad on Coruscant.

She scoffs. Plans change.

"The restraints are a little tight, Captain." Bel complains to her captor as the barrel of a rifle is pushed into her back to edge her along. It's far from a gentle maneuver.

"Would you rather make the trip in a carbonite coffin?" The soldier replies drily and Bel promptly rolls her eyes at the passive-aggressive comment she knows was coming.

"I'm telling mom." This comment whispered between clenched teeth and is followed by a heavy boot hitting Bel's shin. "Ow."

Bel's sister is a bit of a method actor when it comes to role-playing in such situations.

"Prisoner?" Samantha's superior questions as they both come to a stop in front of him. He doesn't look up at either of them, preoccupied with something on the datapad he's scrolling through.

"Commander," Sam's using her formal voice, Bel notices. "This low life smuggler somehow managed to sneak in here." The statement punctuated by another rough push.

Bel scoffs again.

Yeah, real great method acting. You ass.

He nods. "Bring her to the holding cell. We'll send someone to interrogate her." He most likely makes a note to strengthen the security, especially around the large weapon shipment.

Plans change.

"Right away, sir."

They both sigh in relief as they walk past him and exit the hangar.

"That was way too close," Sam breathes out the moment they enter the cramped cell that holds an odd smell Bel can't quite distinguish.

"You didn't have to put 'em on so tight you know," Bel grumbles as she rubs the reddened wrists now free of the restraints.

Sam merely offers a shrug in response, nonchalant. "It adds to the realism."

Bel's blue eyes narrow when they catch the subtle quirk of her sister's lips.

"Sure."

[Blitzy]

Name: Zejinn Xasur
Species: Falleen
Sex: Male
Profession: Crime Lord
Reason for being present in the Bitter End: Runs a large organised criminal syndicate from the End that operates in local space.

Looks:

Zejinn Xasur

Personality Description: Zejinn is a shrewd opportunist, with little concept of morality or loyalty. His decision making is whimsical and simply dictated by who is benefitting him most at the time, financially or otherwise. While he is friendly, sarcastic and endearing when spoken to alone, thanks in no small part to the powerful infatuating pheromones the Falleen can secrete, people who believe he is no threat often only live to make the mistake of doing so once. It is easy to think you have Zejinn figured out, but as soon as you do, he is like to do something unpredictable purely for the sake of keeping you guessing. A meeting with Zejinn could end with a handshake as easily as it could end with a blaster bolt to the back of the head.

He is the head of the End's single largest crime syndicate, with a number of people on his payroll from petty thieves and smugglers to professional mercenaries and gunrunners. Much of the illegal activity conducted on the End goes through him, or his people. If there is something illegal to be done, Zejinn has people doing it. Anything from selling pirated holo-tapes to providing hit services and selling narcotics is covered by Zejinn's expansive network, having already absorbed many of the smaller gangs on the asteroid into the fold of his own syndicate. Zejinn is no up-jumped smuggler prince playing at being the king; a unique combination of intelligence, charm, business sense and near sociopathic fixation on power and control make Zejinn an incredibly dangerous figure in the End's criminal underworld.

Character Bio:

Zejinn was born on the planet of Falleen in the Mid Rim, the second son of the minor noble House of Xasur. His father served as a courtier to a prominent Falleen nobleman, while his mother was the retainer of the same nobleman's wife, and it was through their occupations that the two met, bonded and eventually gained titles and prestige. Even from a young age, the signs were there for what Zejinn Xasur would become. He craved control and respect, and hated competition, refusing to submit to life in the shadow of his older brother. His motivations were mostly financial, and he had a fantastic nose for an opportunity and an even better sense for gauging risk. Zejinn showed little interest in the intrigue and politics of the Falleen courts. He studied cybernetics and medicine at a higher level, qualifying as a certified medical practitioner and showing great promise with his advances in scientific study.

Due to his contempt for the feudal way of life that his parents expected him to grow into, Zejinn was eventually sent on a tour of the Mid Rim and Galactic Core. A common practice for young Falleen nobles, tours such as these were often employed to expose the Falleen to the filth that occupied other worlds and help to reinforce the deep prejudices and sense of racial superiority that was instilled in them from birth. While his parents hoped Zejinn would return with a new-found sense of superiority and a drive to engage with the lifestyle they had chosen for him, they were left disappointed. Zejinn never returned to Falleen. Having seen the galaxy away from the pressures of his own society, Zejinn was awestruck by the diversity of galactic civilisations and decided to turn his back on his people and their isolationist attitudes, sensing the opportunity to claim freedom, power and wealth away from his homeworld. He nomadically travelled the galactic core, working on Corellia, Duro, Chandrila, Alderaan and many more, gaining experience and insight.

Zejinn was eventually appointed a Science Officer and tasked with leading a research team developing combat cybernetics to improve upon the abilities of Republic soldiers. Stationed initially on Brentaal IV, the team was eventually moved closer and finally to Coruscant itself. Zejinn despised his position. He was earning money disproportionately low for the time and effort put in and was constantly reporting and bowing to superiors who did their best to control the rogue researcher and restrict his brilliance. Partly out of spite, and partly sensing a lucrative financial opportunity, Zejinn put feelers out into the underworld on Coruscant. All of a sudden, state-of-the-art Republic tech started to find its way onto X-tier black market trading platforms, and thanks to a complicated network of associates, it was never traced back to Zejinn. Not bound by any ties to family or faction, even despite his work for the Republic, he had absolutely no qualms and about selling tech or info to the highest bidder, regardless of whom that bidder was working for, as long as the risk posed to himself was nominal. Over a decade, Zejinn amassed substantial wealth and began to gain repute in Coruscant's criminal underworld. Eventually, he fell in with the Confederacy of Independent Systems, earning lucrative money by developing tech for the Republic, and then selling it to the other side under the table.

Alas, all good things must come to an end. After almost five decades of extortion, bribery and black market dealing, Zejinn Xasur was exposed by a Republic Intelligence operation. Calling on a network of contacts, Zejinn managed to vanish from Republic space, smuggled far away from Coruscant and into C.I.S. space. Not long after, the Clone Wars erupted, and the Republic fell to be replaced by the first Galactic Empire, under the control of the Sith. Zejinn settled on the Bitter End, an asteroid=based city under C.I.S. control with a reputation for its roaring black market trade in Kyber. Sensing opportunity knock once again, Zejinn quickly set about establishing himself using what he had learned from his criminal involvements on Coruscant, putting money in the right pockets and a knife in the right back until he found himself at the head of his very own syndicate, dominating the End's criminal underworld and ensuring a healthy share of his profits landed in the pocket of his most generous patron, Adamantious Xen, all in the good name of the Rebellion. Zejinn has maintained comfortable control, amassing fortune and prestige, but recently, rumours of the arrival of Callidus have put Zejinn on high alert.

[Nib]

Name: Astroth Kas'serin

Species: Arkanian

Sex: Male

Profession: Archeologist/Historian

Reason for being present in the Bitter End: Seeking possible tutelage from Callidus or at least a chance to study what he “acquired” from the Emperor's vault.

Looks

Personality Description: Some would describe Astroth as an arrogant man, but he would describe himself as driven and confident. Because of this those around him believe he is transparent and vapid, but this is far from the truth. Despite his apparent arrogance, Astroth is a skilled liar, much better at manipulating and navigating a conversation than people think he is. He fervently, some would say obsessively, seeks out historical texts on both the Jedi and the Sith, ones left intact and uncensored from the hands of the Empire. In his pursuit he has become accustomed to navigating black markets in various systems and has developed relationships with information brokers across the galaxy.

Character bio:

• Raised in relative luxury, not quite noble but father was a higher up in Czerka Corp.
• Became obsessed with history and “taboo” subjects such as the ancient Sith and the Jedi.
• Studied to be an archeologist and historian.
• Discovered ancient Sith artifacts and realized he was Force-Sensitive.
• Used the ancient texts and artifacts he found to minimally train himself to use the Force.

[Sessamaru]

Name: Syn Dumarr

Species: Human

Sex: Male

Profession
Dark Jedi | Bounty Hunter | Xen's Business Associate

Reason for being present in the Bitter End

A two-fold plan: To seek the buyer of the stolen lightsaber and retrieve the ancient Jedi artifact for his own ends and to seek the potential thief, the rumored "Heretic Sith," Darth Callidus, to slay and officially become a Sith Lord himself.

Looks

Syn is a tall man (6'2") with a slender build. He is athletically fit and possesses an acrobat's grace, all of which allows him to perform magnificent and demanding feats as both a Dark Jedi and a bounty hunter. His hair is black and falls to his waist, his forelocks cut above his eyebrows so not to obscure his sight. Tan skinned, Syn appears to be a man who grew up on a desert world.

The bounty hunter had kept his original black jedi robes, removing the sleeves and replacing the traditional Jedi outer robe with a hooded, sleeveless long coat. In addition, he modified his appearance further by commissioning durasteel armor (sans pauldrons) to wear over the robes and tabard, along with a unique helmet.

Held on his back by a magnetic holster, Syn possesses a blaster rifle-- a modified Westar-35 Blaster Carbine. In his right durasteel thigh plate is a built-in pistol holster for his DC-17 Hand Blaster, which was modified with a longer barrel. On his main belt is a lightsaber which emits an orange blade.

After becoming a bounty hunter, Syn got a tattoo of a black chain that wraps around his left bicep.

Personality Description

Syn is a cold individual with a professional disposition. Prone to being silent and only speaking when necessary, the Dark Jedi's confident and stoic demeanor provides him with an intimidating presence. Described as being highly intelligent and bold, Syn never shies away from danger-- however, he is never reckless. On both the battlefield and in everyday life, Syn is always a strategist and tactician; always manipulating, always misleading. Always having the upperhand.

Cynical and callous, Syn has little regard for life and is quick to distrust others. He keeps his concerns to himself and always seeks to exploit those he believes are plotting against him. Despite his dark nature, Syn keeps his word when he gives it; though if his promises endanger him, he will seek alternative ways to circumvent these promises. A survivor first and foremost, Syn is selfish and cautious, unwilling to compromise if there is a greater risk to him and his goals. Pragmatic, Syn will use whatever he can to survive or to gain whatever he desires. To him, everything is a weapon, a tool, for his own grand schemes.

Unlike most others that had fallen to the dark side, Syn seems to keep himself in a perpetual state of calm and refuses to act on his emotions. Rather, he exploits his own emotions as a tool to achieve his own ends, using them as fuel for his actions. Syn seeks complete dominance, not just over the galaxy by means of shadows, but over the idea of the self and the dark side. Thus, he can be seen as both patient and cruel, as well as secretive and introspective.

Despite his ambitious goals, Syn is content being a bounty hunter. As a bounty hunter, he is able to collect credits and information with ease, as well as raise his reputation as a fearsome individual; a fact that pleases him greatly.

Character bio

Syn Dumarr was brought to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant at a young age. Raised as a youngling, Syn became a Padawan to a purple-skinned twi'lek Jedi Knight by the name of Xara Anube. During his time as her Padawan, Syn had grown close to his master at the nascent of the Clone Wars and had learned her style of Form II [Makashi], which possessed elements of Form III [Soresu]. Syn, however, favored Form III to such a degree that he inverted his master's style to suit his own. He was regarded by his master as a prodigy in lightsaber combat; however, he was also seen as a troublemaker due to his naive and inquisitive nature.

During the Clone Wars, Syn would often be separated from his master for missions. This brought great strain to the Padawan, as he did not desire to be away from Anube. Despite his victories as a commander, the toll of those many battles had resonated deep within him. The loss of the innocent and the presence of the dark side brought about by death echoed around him. Near the war's end, Syn was no longer the bright eyed and curious padawan-- but a worn down soldier disillusioned of the Jedi teachings. During their last mission, Xara Anube sought to put the young man at ease, though her attempts were batted aside by Syn's newfound cynicism.

When the clones turned on the pair of Jedi, Anube had Force pushed Syn over a cliff in an effort to save him. As he fell, for just a single instant, Syn saw his master gunned down by their entire battalion. Syn survived his fall with the help of the planet's locals; though they should have let him die. Nightmares of the war and visions through the Force plagued the young padawan as he lay unconscious in a bed and his attendant had the misfortune to be present when he awoke. The young woman died as Syn crushed her throat with the Force. Dead was Syn the Jedi Padawan; now arose the Dark Jedi Syn Dumarr.

The war had been pointless. The Jedi had failed. The galaxy had betrayed him. In his grief, Syn performed a vile act of killing everyone who attempted to help him. Whether or not any remaining clone troopers had discovered the sanctuary did not concern Syn. He only cared about leaving the galaxy to its fate. He sought the Outer Rim.

Upon arriving on Tatooine, Syn spent some time hiding before his grief solidified into a crystalline goal. His ultimate revenge against an uncaring galaxy. He would master the dark side, he would rule and undermine the newly founded Empire, and in its place, among the dead and the shadows, he would have his own empire truly worthy of a Sith Lord. However, like any other war, he needed an important weapon. A weapon that could win wars. He needed information.

Thus began his career as a bounty hunter.