Paraffin

Star Wars: When Light Meets Dark (A Knights of the Old Republic Tale)

Can't wait to see what she 'looks' like to a miraluka. :P

Star Wars: When Light Meets Dark (A Knights of the Old Republic Tale)

Assuming the mercenary is on the sith pay roll I think that makes it a 3 v 3 split. Happy to see a cast of pragmatists over the mustache twirlingly evil darksiders that sometimes pop out of the woodwork.

And thanks for the vote of confidence Glass. I leaned into the healing/torture heavy character when I noticed the gap for it. Decided it best if she was defined by recuperation and pain herself.

Initially I was going to make her a lightsaberless gun jedi that bent the path her shots took with the force.

Star Wars: When Light Meets Dark (A Knights of the Old Republic Tale)

PENHEVA MAGYTH

Name: Penheva Magyth

Species: Vuvrian

Gender: Female

Age: 34

Appearance: The folk of Vurdon Ka are notoriously fragile, long limbed, and thinly stemmed in their physiques; Penheva no exception. She stands a sylphish six foot-five (Two meters in more accepted measurements) which is itself entirely unremarkable for her ilk, oblonged head dappled with an asymmetrical assortment of eyes varying in size and color. Of these twelve the most prominent is a vivid orange, starkly contrasted by pale green and amaranthine orbs on either side. From to toe-tip to antenna a forgivably forgettable female of the Vuvrian persuasion--up until the accident that accelerated her to the forefront of a galactic conflict. The sheer extent of her injury and disfigurement necessitates a suite of prosthetics and life support systems, many of which are incorporated into the hoverchair she predominantly occupies. Though moving under her own volition is not beyond her the task itself never-the-less subjects the budding sith to monumental physical strain.

Occupation: Sith Acolyte / Former Merchant

Teacher: Woldgarm Gul

A sagely Thisspiasian of uncharacteristically genial disposition for someone aligning themselves with the Sith. More grey than dark he sees the Jedi as the aggressors in this and prior conflicts, feeling the pragmatic teachings of the 'so-called' dark side have been forced to their extremes due to a precedent of persecution. Coerced into saving Penheva's life upon feeling her strong force sensitivity and potential he has taken ownership of it, the opportunity taken to remold her during a continued recovery.

EQUIPMENT

Life Support System - A black, semi-spherical contraption that hovers clumsily over uneven terrain. Regulates and monitors many bodily functions but serves chiefly to mitigate the ever-present agony that would otherwise cripple its occupant.

Modular Helmet - A functional if frightening cludge of military and medical monitoring equipment purpose made to fit Penheva's peregrine peepers. A dirty dozen of meticulous monocles working in concert to construct a comprehensive image of her surroundings from sight, sound and several senses unfamiliar. In some ways it still falls short of the sensitivity flayed from her in the accident and in other ways it exceeds it, in her own words 'it's like looking at the world through someone else'.

Forbearance - A custom slugthrower built piecemeal with the sort of selective nature most force-inclined reserve for lightsabers. Sturdy and reliable this long gun has a respectable rate of fire, revolving cylinder and out ranges any blaster available on the open market. Able to chamber explosive, incendiary or less-than-lethal mercy rounds the material nature of these munitions make them much more difficult to deflect that a searing bolt of light. In short, Jedi were in its sights long before it was finished.

LIGHTSABER

Succor - A small broad bladed blue affair that barely runs the breadth of an open hand, though she would sooner surrender than bring it to bear against an able bodied opponent. Rather than residing on a belt this simple saber has a place of prominence upon her rifle as a bayonet.

Abilities
Lightsaber Mastery: 1
Healing/Torture: 10
Force Mastery: 1

Lightsaber Form: Soresu

Other Skills:

+ Savvy Merchant and negotiator
+ Persuasive Speaker
+ Educated
+ Mechanically Inclined
+ Connections: Vuvrian Relief Organizations

Personality: At current several strong emotions vie for dominance within Penheva, a result of her own attempts to reconcile a desire for vindication against the pacifism that has been ingrained in her. This discordance has proved a boon to her master, allowing him to guide her down darker paths with little urging. She sees herself as a good and generous person greatly wronged and just in her jihad against the Jedi order, having constructed an argument strong enough to persuade herself. This enmity extents itself to their allies and sympathizers with a victim's fervor, precious little mercy for those that would deny this vengeful Vuvrian the reprisal that is hers by right.

Ironically it was her want to dismantle the order with as little bloodshed as possible that saw her attain such mastery of malediction and torture, the path of least harm twisted to the cold logic of her master. Even with something so simple as a suggestion trussed with the power of the force his acolyte found herself reflexively sharing the suffering that had become her constant companion. Rather than refine her technique Woldgarm nurtured this aberrant gift from its nascency, tempered her resolve to use it and slowly sured his own defenses through exposure. Thus it is her own justification that in so doing she simply makes a misguided and reluctant few aware, truly aware of the pain the Jedi order propagates.

She is at her core compassionate, and perhaps this is the most dangerous detail of all.

HISTORY

A merchant of no great renown Penheva peddled inoffensive wares within the inner-rim and delighted in the exchange of thought and culture this allowed her. Once a vibrant and outgoing jokester she was optimistic when profits were lean and charitable when there was plenty, preferring relief missions to a vacation proper. In fact it was during one of these routine non-profit runs that she would suffer at the hands of an over-eager padawan.

Veering from the familiar route to respond to a distress signal she came across a disabled Thisspiasian craft adrift in space and when no reply was forthcoming over the channels steeled what little resolve she had to investigate. No sooner had she arrived than her sensitive skin was crawling with the sensation of something volatile venting into the interior at an alarming rate and the man who would become her master contacted her over the ship's intercom. Trapped in a partially collapsed section of the vessel Woldgarm would need her to help with certain repairs before it was safe for him to relocate; the majority of which she managed before a second ship blared into sensor range.

A jedi by his own admission Penheva never laid so much as an eye on the padawan that carelessly authored her destruction, having only a youthful voice to ascribe to the memory. This stranger had gloated on finding his quarry--though in a subtle and sanctimonious manner--during which it became clear he intended to board. There was a frightening certainty that sunk in as she assessed the situation, outgoing communications having been low on the list of essential systems up until just that moment. Since her own ship was currently docked with the damaged vessel the only way in was cutting through the bulkhead, a dangerous prospect considering the whole ship was set to go up like tinder. Wanting to flee but knowing full well she wouldn't reach her ship in time to relay the communicae the Vuvrian chose instead to finish the last leg of repairs and urged the unseen occupant to rush for an escape pod.

Shortly after an explosion rocked the upper decks and she was engulfed in the liquid agony of rushing flames.

It was a month before she awoke to more than the fleeting awareness of her ruined body and a year before she could stomach sitting up. From then it took the span of a second for her to accept the Sith's offer, he had but dangle the promise of a slight returned.

FateFallen - Dark Souls-Inspired Sci-Fi Medieval RP (FULL ATM)

Ophidatl

⟡ ⟡ ⟡

< OPHIDATL >
^{❰ FEMALE ⟡ VAGRANT ❱}

_{A P P E A R A N C E}

A ductile doctrinaire of firm, fixed, inflexile figure; at once all curves and right angles. Her sultry swells suggest the sensual scenery of the female form so much as they can, each obscured beneath an obfuscating wreathe of unmelting ember-ice. Preserved within this pristine prismed prison her prim and preening personage presents a vast and vaunted vain veneer, itself an air she holds unchallenged--both sacrosanct and insincere. Beautifully boreal. Falsely fragile. A hypocrisy of hoarfrost huddled beneath the faded banner of a great forgotten house in hidden hope of warmth; that distant and disturbing longing that lingers like a livid and estranged lover within the savaged annuls of her mind.

_{B I O G R A P H Y}

Fractals. Scars. A Lichtenberg figure formed from the passage of lightning. Bits. Pieces. Enough of her past remains to call it by any name but that which it is. Too close to be lost, too distant to be known. A collection of conundrums. A stranger in stranger's skin. Ophidatl: that is the who, a creature convoluted by colliding 'whats'. Rightly proud, but wronged. Betrayed? Betrayer? There is no why. A bittersweet pang of guilt guts her, guides her; flensed of the forbearance atonement oft affords it exists only as an infuriatingly ethereal notion. Certain only that she was either the victim of some great grievance, or its architect. Suspicion abounds: an insidious shadow, the all eclipsing moon.

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

Swaggeringly vainglorious and as enveloped in paranoia as she is ice Ophidatl never the less stands at odds with the inclination that she should be loved. Not as something to be self obtained but as an esteem to which she is owed. Adulation is her birthright, though the whys elude her there is a surety to savor in feeling so and an indignation to be had in its absence. Dulled though they are her eyes behold others as much more paltry things than herself, their means and merit markedly beneath the standing that has slipped from her foremind.

_{E Q U I P M E N T}

⟡ <Remains of a Scepter>

An eroded haft of indeterminate material once etched with graven imagery. Now only tactile inspection infers that any engraving at all ever twined o'er this hefty heirloom of office.

_{M I S C}

⟡ <Material Zenosyne>

A faceted effulgent sorrow in light of which the sands of time sift faster. In her hours of reflection Ophidatl stares into this all consuming mote.

Into Darkness - A Dungeon World Adventure

Blows cobwebs off keyboard

Posted.

Into Darkness - A Dungeon World Adventure

Zogolli all but glowered across gloom laden lair to the wee wilder whom had hurried the whole of them here, heated stare looking like it could reduce her forever frozen limb to melt-water with its intensity. A vigil he maintained as Serah spun around and struggled out a terse translation for the many eyed-enigma of an animal. The foreign swordsman slowly chewed his bottom lip as he endured the explanation then with a crisp gesture excused himself from the discourse, the formal flourish flowing from finger to forearm. Angling away from the assemblage of adventurers he sured a stranglehold of a grip around the haft of a small hatchet and with an unflinchingly cold expression beat the tool into oblivion against the unyielding stone wall of the creature's sanctum. After indulging whatever urge had overtaken him he spoke--seemingly satisfied--combing a calloused hand over his nose and mouth as he redressed his tone with lazy slur that accompanied his composure.

"Serah dear." he began, taking a knee to bring his kohl shrouded eyes level with the druid's own haunting gaze. "Do forgive the...unsightly tantrum, but I felt it the most expedient way to impress upon you the gravity of an inconvenient reality of our situation." Zogolli smiled a frustrated smile as he said this, gestures alert and animated enough to announce he wasn't as calm as he now pretended. "You're very likely the only one of us that can navigate this unsightly gnarl of a copse--I know I can't." he sussed out in the characteristic near whisper of his, casting a glance over his shoulder as if hoping his other companions were waiting until just this very moment to announce a similar prowess. "What if sweet Lino had dropped his gong or our lovely Alexanria had tripped over that preposterous robe of hers, Hm? I can't very well be expected to be in two places at once, no matter how quick I may be." Forcing a chuckle and authoring a preemptive nod he leaned a bit closer, dropping his octaves until he housed a final statement within a viscerally quite hush he reserved for none but the halfling herself. "I hate nothing more than when other force my hand."

Having said his peace the man sprung up to his full height, heaving his voice at the others with a simple "So!", itself a terse attention grabbing intonation that would be hard pressed not to live up to his intentions. "Consensus is key, I suppose. Tasked as we are with meting out an esteemed textile magnate's mangler summary justice I for one am of a mind to murder my way through the monsters and mysterious that would keep me from such directly. Few things are as beautifully decisive as a sword blow after all." With a prominent pause he placed a wagging finger between himself and the others, addressing them all even if his eyes lingered on their Aabranian mystic and her all but emblematic nightshade motiff. "Certainly--strangely--some of you find this notion disagreeable, perhaps I am at fault for not expecting it. I can be comfortable with this, but surely you won't begrudge me if beforehand, now for instance, I impose a simple askance in the interest of your safety and my own."

A long sip from the bota housing his water ration delayed him, punctuated by an apologetic is noncommittal shrug of shoulder. "Which of you are cowards then? I feel it more prudent to know now."

Lost:

• Axe

Into Darkness - A Dungeon World Adventure

Similarly. I can understand your (perhaps undo) apprehension Aristo. A tabletop game like Dungeon World exists naturally in a state of quick-fire 'what do you do' moments that can be hard to translate to the comparatively glacial pace of play-by-post. I'll throw up a Zog-post after Serah's reply, assuming I don't think up something clever to pigeonhole in before then.

Into Darkness - A Dungeon World Adventure

Exactly, Zog initially shirked away from Serah tugging at his hand, but given that it was essentially a route (everyone else was running) he reluctantly followed. He's woefully lost in the woods without the druid anyhow, but loathe to admit it

Into Darkness - A Dungeon World Adventure

Ended up losing the first draft, sorry to say I've saddled you with the abridged version.

Into Darkness - A Dungeon World Adventure

The skin on the back of Zogolli's neck prickled up as surely as if it were stretched across the very drums that echoed out around them, a discordant cacophony pierced by riotous fifing and crashing towards them like a wave. It was enough to upheave a sound stomach and urge even the surest foot to flight. It staggered him that such a place persisted so close to the kingdom proper--be it cowardice or negligence the Aabranians were a permissive people. Were that the Wilderdeep on Dosvea's doorstep it would have long ago been torn out at the roots, the earth salted and all else put to the pyre. Soon he was smiling despite the dire straights; it was an assumption he owed to himself to live up to.

He had turned to face the unseen foe, though in truth the sickening dissonance that announced it descended from all sides. That the feline had fled was cursory to his concern, Zogolli had planted his feet. When Serah seemed set to follow suite she was likewise ignored, freeing his hand from the Druid's efforts to see him err before the battle soon to be upon them. With Alexandria adding to the growing route however he swallowed the bitter truth that at best he was left with a musician and mountebank at his side. "Milkhearted to a man." he mused ruefully before putting boot to bush and gaining the ground he'd lost by laying in wait. He hated how they made him feel like a herdsman with an ill tempered flock.