Marf's Madhouse

[Marf]

Marf's Madhouse


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CONTENTS:​

Andromeda - Tortured Sith Warrior, Darth Vader clone.

Serebin Thel - Nefarious Sith Sorcerer, Drain Life junkie.

Lola Day - Twi'lek rogue, smooth criminal.

 

[Marf]

Adagio for Strings - The Elephant Man1. MOCKINGBIRD DON'T SING

The room was small and unmarred, devoid of distractions or visual stimulation. Walls of stark white seemingly morphed into each other’s corners and shaped an eternally shrinking cage. A chair was bolted coldly to the floor, fashioned with a hole and situated above a steel pail for her to relieve herself. Anti-force restraints strapped her wrists and ankles in place. The child sat with no trace of motion, save for infrequent exasperated breaths. Her body was numb, almost fixated to the chair on which she was tied during the day, and throughout the night. She had little to look at and nobody to talk to, for weeks on end.

Sensations steamed from the fibres of her mind and pulsated through her every nerve. To be modified, to endure unnatural limits and to be mutilated in the most impersonal of ways had been her only idea of escape. Cold steel, large needles, the endless parade of tubes and rubber gloves invading every morsel of her small person. Sensations that gripped her as she slept in her cage. A stale gasp exited her cracked lips. If only one day she would succumb to the testing. If only one day she should fail, then the creator would terminate her.

She rolled her large eyes towards the right side of the room. Her head hung almost limply over the back of the chair as she strained to gaze upon the small, narrow window the testers had forgot to cover. She saw space. Hundreds of stars, dotted infrequently against an endless violet scape. It was the most beautiful and wondrous thing her eight-year-old mind could comprehend. To any other person, the night sky was as ordinary as the ground they walked upon. To Andromeda, it was the only definite sign she had that there was life beyond the walls.

Space was the sight of life. It was what hope looked like.

The battle between terrible, enclosing walls and a limitless galaxy raged on every day. It was her first battle, her first conflict and the promise of an adventure in a greater world, a better world, won every time. That was how Andromeda learnt to fight. When the pain would not stop coming to her, all she had to do was imagine the stars and how one day, she would touch them.

Ivory pedestals clopped fashionably against the hard floor. Their echo was horrifying, and caused Andromeda to abruptly sit upright. Although she was exhausted from agony and hunger, the tormenting, sharp clip-clopping of those infernal shoes never ceased to wake her. The sound grew louder, in time with the quickening of the girl’s breath. Hot tears swelled from her fluttering eyes, sweat dampened like mildew on her forehead and neck as she hopelessly fidgeted in the chair, scanning the room for a non-existent escape.

“Dreaming again are we, Subject #9?”

A curly-toed shoe entered through the open door, followed by the lulling swish of luxury silk. Short, plump and approaching his late sixties, Darth Sadeon always dressed immaculately, even in the lab. His Arcanist’s robes were deep burgundy and worn underneath a capelet with a high collar, fastened with a clasp bearing his personal emblem; a Sorcerer’s hood above two crossing syringes. On his head was a pointed headdress, decadent rings adorned his wrinkled fingers. His eyes were luminescent yellow, the veins around them blackened by his perversion in the Dark Side.

Andromeda’s desperate fidgeting suddenly halted when she realized it was futile. The creator spoke to her in his flawlessly eloquent, yet strained old voice. In this realm, Darth Sadeon was God, the being that had designed and conceived Andromeda’s existence. There was not a single thing, nor a person, nor an instrument, nor an operation that was not under his strict control. Her very appearance, her gender-ambiguity was all attributed to his creative genius. Darth Sadeon was not merely an alchemist, he was an artist, a master of quality and aesthetic. Andromeda saw no artist, only a monster, the villain personally responsible for her misery.

“I am impressed with you.”

Striding forward on his pedestal shoes, Sadeon approached his subject deathly, until his wrinkled and bejewelled hand was hovering over the child’s head. Andromeda’s small body vibrated with terror, and a second emotion which she had recently begun to exhibit, rage. Her passion had begun to bloom so violently, the ninth cyborg was kept isolated. Andromeda’s breathing accelerated, as Sadeon’s fingers caressed her cheek. As the artist fawned over his masterpiece, Andromeda pursed her lips and spat vigorously on the Sith Lord’s silk robes.

Sadeon did not move. Andromeda gazed upon the Arcanist’s still frame, before he delivered a veritable, Force-assisted slap to the side of her face. The girl’s head was whipped to the side, blood gurgled from her nose and lips. As she hung her head limply, Andromeda gazed at the floor, spitting blood and fluid from her bruised mouth, she refused to even acknowledge Sadeon’s presence. She already knew he would never kill her, nor ever allow her to die. He had far too much respect for his own work.

The respect was not mutual. A nemesis had been borne from this debauched creature. He spoke once more, before turning to leave with a swish of his robes.

“Someday you will learn to appreciate me.”

Ⓟ​

Neji - Elfen Lied2: MY NAME IS ANDRO

A sharp clang echoed through the sparse halls of the laboratory as the vibrosword hit the floor. Andromeda stood before the weapon she had violently discarded, irritably clutching her pale blue hospital gown. The training area was wide, with high ceilings and a balcony from which scientists and alchemists could survey the training of the subjects. They had been training for hours, and Andromeda’s mood was growing foul.

“You little shit! Pick up the bloody weapon!”

The loud, lower-class accent of Lord Vemirous boomed throughout the hall. A Sith Juggernaut, he had been assigned to the project to train the subjects. Major Vemirous, as he was known to his military kin, was Sadeon’s dog. Once a great combatant, Vemirous’ body and mind had been ruined by the Sorcerer’s mental invasion. Fat and unstable, his personality was now split in two, with one half being that of a down to earth and level-headed strategist, the other being controlled by Sadeon’s essence, causing Vemirous to regress into a violent and animalistic state whenever his superior commanded it, or not.

“You want to go back into the pressure chamber? Do you?!”

A large hand struck the back of Andromeda’s head. Froth vomited from her mouth, her head dizzy with pain and fatigue. Every inch of being ached with slow, penetrative agony. Her skeleton was mechanical, which meant it did not grow along with her organic flesh. Every few months, the subjects’ entire inner-frames had to be reconstructed, or their bodies would atrophy and they would die. The process was excruciating and would have to be repeated until Andromeda was fully grown.

Vemirous barked again and she responded by promptly blowing a raspberry, spraying the fat Warrior’s armour in the process. Andromeda had discarded her fear. She didn’t have the energy to be afraid anymore. There were no more indignities or torture this girl could suffer at the hands of this monster. Her head hung limply and slowly her eyes moved upwards to meet his own. There he stood, perched upon the balcony, a cigarette held between his ghastly fingers. Vemirous’ voice seemed to drown in the pause of Andromeda’s glare connecting with Sadeon’s yellow gaze. Tapping cigarette ash down onto the level below, Sadeon slunk away from the railing.

After a few minutes, the Sorcerer-Lord emerged from the doorway on the training level. His ivory pedestal shops clopped rapidly as he swished along the polished white floor. After exchanging words with his Dragon, the deviant alchemist stood before Andromeda. In no time at all, the rage she felt melted into heart-palpitating fear. Sadeon was using the Force to make her submit. As Andromeda’s grasp on her hospital gown tightened, Sadeon revealed his black painted teeth.

“Subject #9, do as your instructor commands.”

He spoke without a hint of aggression. Sadeon was confident that Andromeda would follow his orders when she had refused everyone else’s. She was his sculpture, his mechanical doll and only he could turn the key. Andromeda did nothing in response.

“You don’t learn do you, subject #9?”

Anger seethed within her conscience like foam on boiling water. Not once had Sadeon ever referred to her by her name, it was to remind her of what she was, a numbered piece in his portfolio.

“My name is Andro.”

Her words were stammered. It was the nickname Vemirous had given her when Sadeon was not around. She was afraid, but she would not accept being called “Subject #9” one more time. Darth Sadeon stood upright, his lips slightly parted in frustration.

“What did you say?”

There was a pause as the Arcanist cocked his head and eyed Andromeda patronisingly. She spoke again, the words were barely audible whimpers escaping bruised and seeping lips.

“My name is Andro and I hate you.”

Darth Sadeon gave a dismissive sigh and turned on his shoes to walk away, leaving a confused Vemirous standing before Andromeda. She peered towards Sadeon’s back, he stopped by the door way to light another cigarette.

“Vemirous, punish her. Make sure she never talks back again.”

For years, Andromeda has absorbed and collected every manner and nuance of her surrounding company. She had listened to the Sith Lords bicker and mimicked their obscenities. She had followed Sadeon’s provocativeness and disrespect for all other sentient beings. Her body had been taken, but her mind had been fuelled. Lord Vemirous looked at Andromeda like a stupid dog interpreting it’s owners command. He appeared confused, and marched towards her once he had gathered his thoughts.

Fat fingers grasped her hair while another was shoved violently into mouth. Audible squeaks were all she could utter in defence, as Vemirous’ brutal grip on her head tightened with animalistic strength. Andromeda’s senses became blurred. Pain suddenly clouded her every shred of thought and vision. A mirage of red exploded before her fluttering eyes as Vemirous ripped her lower jaw clean from its’ sockets. The child’s mangled head was dropped cruelly onto the hard floor. Everything was silent, all colours and objects had become muted as she struggled to comprehend her surroundings amidst the pain.

Then there was noise.

“Bloody fuck! You’ve ruined my work you savage shit!”

Rage pulsated throughout the very structure of the room. Darth Sadeon was furious. His shouting was distinctive with audible distress and anguish. His masterpiece was destroyed. Poor Vemirous, his personalities too mangled with the desire of each, it had been impossible for him to make a logically thought out decision.

“You told me to make her never talk back again! So that's what I did!!!”

Andromeda lay limply on the cold floor, a gaping hole raped into her lower face from which a limp tongue was splayed. Agonized breaths were released from her naked vocal structure as she slowly drowned in a pool of bubbling, sanguine liquid. Tears of indignation scalded her ruined countenance, borne from a newly developed place that has been found within her, shame. She was damaged goods, hideous and perfect. Darth Eluson rejected the finished product. Andromeda would pay back Darth Sadeon’s commission year by year, not as a Sith, as a freak.

Ⓟ​

Making the List - Schindler's List3: HIDEOUS AND PERFECT

She stood firmly in the doorway of the General’s chambers, massive durasteel boots placed side by side. Her armour was the thickest black, the lights reflecting in its’ slick polish, a formal red cape hung from her pauldrons and across her breastplate. Sharply raising a gloved, she saluted the man at the desk and the doors were closed behind her. Lowering her arm to hold it behind her back, she strode forward to meet him, her gait long and dominant. As she stood before her commanding officer, memories were triggered in the deep end of her conscience as she was reminded of who he was

Darth Ekage, the Juggernaut who had purchased her from the Arcanist’s Fair. He had saved her from a life of further degradation and indignity and transformed her from the bully magnet that had entered the academy, to the outstanding creature that now stood in his chambers. She was Andromeda, Warrior of the Sith, the youngest Sergeant under Ekage’s command. He was a kind man, perhaps he had seen his days of violence and notoriety, but had matured since, adopting a controlled and familial persona.

Ekage offered Andromeda a welcoming grin, while placing a thick cigar in his mouth and lighting the end. He was celebrating, and Andro knew why. War had come to the galaxy, which meant the Warrior ranks of the Sith were back in work. The spell had been pushed back into the shadows, and the saber had the floor. Ekage addressed his subordinate in a warm tone, his accent rough and ashy like the smoke from his cigar.

“You look well, Andro.”

“Thankyou, Sir.”

There was a brief before Andromeda’s response, it irked her to receive unnecessary praise, she found it patronising, but she knew Ekage was trying to be subtle.

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty, Sir.”

The General took a long drag on his cigar as he paused to think. Andromeda knew the war was not the reason he had summoned her. The matter was personal, it concerned her commission.

“You… received your final round of modifications?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Andromeda sighed painfully, she hated the subject. The past was of no more concern to her, but unfortunately it was still a very real burden. Relief at least found her, for she would never have to undergo the horrendous procedure again, or endure the agony of having her organic body outgrow her mechanical skeleton. At six feet and two inches, she was a grown adult and stood only just two inches short of Ekage himself. It was unfortunate for other reasons. Andromeda’s initial purchase and further repairs and modifications had cost Ekage a fortune. He was in a serious debt which he could not afford to pay back.

Out of nowhere, the temperature in the room plummeted. A sickening presence lingered on the air, and the calm Juggernaut froze in his seat. Swearing under his breath, he hastily stubbed out his cigar in a panic. Andromeda remained still, her breastplate rising with every delayed breath. The sound of ivory clopping against the hard floor echoed behind the door. Every clop was agonizing and a building nausea swirled in the imposing Sith Warrior’s stomach.

“Hello again, subject #9.”

Andromeda’s thoughts were thrown back to a place she thought she had left a decade ago. The harrowing noise of carnival music and the cruel laughter of the Arcanist’s Ring in their decadent finery echoed in the back of her mind. Her jawless face and atrophied limbs on display for their mockery, she was naked and afraid. Ekage and Sadeon conversed, but they sounded very far away.


“How are you finding your purchase, General?”

Her eyes shot open, alongside the release of a hasty gasp. Andromeda was back in the room.

“She’s magnificent.”

Darth Sadeon paused his response, his eyes fixated on Andromeda like a vain sculptor relishing in the mastery of his own piece. When Sadeon spoke, he words were a chilling, barely audible whisper.

“Magnificent... and expensive.”

The Sorcerer-scientist moved a glare towards Ekage, while reaching into his robes a producing a piece of paper, one which Andromeda assumed contained the details of her commission. Sadeon handed the sheet to Ekage, who eyed the writing regretfully.

“You owe me quite a bit of money, General.”

“This is cost for the original purchase?”

Ekage pointed to a section of the paper. Sadeon leaned over to correct him in response.

“Neoow. This is the cost of the original purchase, this is the cost for all of the modifications. I’ll throw in the jaw for free, because that’s just the kind of nice person I am.”

Mockery dripped unsubtly from the Arcanist’s tone and it did not mask any frustration. Andromeda didn’t understand how somebody so rich could still retain such greed, before it dawned on her. Sadeon was not greedy, he already had far too much money, he was attached to his work like a writer to their meticulously crafted character. Andromeda had been the finest specimen he had ever made, and he was not willing to part with his favourite piece so easily, especially for a discounted price.

“Andromeda will pay back her commission by fighting for me.”

Receiving her new jaw had been the happiest day of Andromeda’s life, but it didn’t last long. The treatment of her fellow Acolytes would proceed alongside miserable skeletal enhancements as she grew. Despite everything, she owed Ekage her life and her ability to talk again. He was the closest thing to a real parent Andro had ever had.

“Very well. If she injured or damaged until then I shall repair her personally, free of charge. Until the commission is fully, she is still my property.”

A pang of dread coursed up Andromeda’s spine, any wrong move could have her back in Sadeon’s hands, but she knew by now a fortune was on the line, and he wouldn’t be so hasty to conduct malpractice. The elephant in the room was on her mind and finally, the subject spoke up.

“Um… what if I die?”

Darth Sadeon stood still in what seemed to be dread and anxiety. The thought of losing his greatest work was apparently unbearable to him.

“If Andro is killed….” Ekage said, confident, “you pay back every last cent of the commission to the Warrior sect.”

“Deal.”

Ekage signed the form and handed it back towards Darth Sadeon’s decadently jewelled hand. The Sorcerer had been hesitant, but he was confident his monster would never be killed. To the sincere relief of both Andromeda and her superior, Darth Sadeon took the document and bid them farewell. The General rose from chair and approached Andromeda, his chrome armour glistening in the bright lights, he placed firm hand on her pauldron and spoke to her with a regretful, yet realistically optimistic tone.

“Sorcerer, Assassin, Jedi, Republic, all of the galaxy is our enemy… Sith with a thousand enemies. If they defeat us, they will kill us, or worse, but first they must defeat us. Warrior, Sith with the swift warning. Be strong, be full of passion and you will never be destroyed.”

 

[Marf]

Mysterium Tremendum - Oneiroid Psychosis

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Image by Raiwen on Fiverr. Please do not use artwork.​

NAME: Serebin Thel
FACTION: Sith Order
RANK: Sith Sorcerer
HOMEWORLD: Dromund Kaas
FORCE-SENSITIVE: Yes

SPECIES: Human
GENDER: Male
ORIENTATION: Heterosexual
AGE: 24
HEIGHT: 5'8"
WEIGHT: 130 lbs

Personality​

Quiet and unassuming, feline and poised, Serebin Thel is an ethereal embodiment of the Dark Side. Seductive and intriguing, mysterious and entrancing, he is attractive to onlookers and highly deceptive. He behaves with haughty dignity and elegant dominance, never raising his voice or resorting to aggression. He asserts his power with words, or the Force. Ambitious and privately assertive, Serebin’s goals lie in enhancing his power in the Dark Side, and only that. He is far too selfish to be concerned with the war and only uses it as a scapegoat to consume lives. He is obscenely arrogant and believes himself to be beyond the concerns of the faction as a whole, and dismisses the common Sith to pursue his own life.

Despite his almost delicate demeanour, Serebin is a heartless and sickeningly amoral pilgrim of Sorcerer-class depravity. He is a veritable psychopath, incapable of compassion or emotional affection. He is charming and polite, but only towards those he attempting to manipulate. Otherwise, he is callous, intolerant and receives gratification from mocking individuals who are beneath his intellectual level. Serebin’s sense of humour is indirect and dry, he speaks with an airy, monotonous tone and adores sarcasm. He is impeccably eloquent, but still uses vulgar expletives in his speech. Cynical and petulant, he is easily bored and constantly complains.

Serebin is disgusted by other beings for the most part, preferring to avoid them on a regular basis. In turn, he takes great pleasure from things which are deceased, inanimate or spiritual, as they are entirely within his control and do not possess feelings or opinions which will irritate him. For this reason, Serebin’s passions and skillset revolve entirely around manipulating the Force, as it is not a sentient entity, or a physical combatant. Serebin’s moods and lifestyle are highly erratic and depend on whether he has recently drained a soul. If he has, he is studious and more professional and level-headed, if he hasn’t, he is an absolute mess, and is far more aggressive than usual.

Serebin prefers law and order over chaos, but only if he is the one making the orders. He desires peace over conflict, but only so he can do whatever wants. He is astoundingly intelligent, but apathetic about the rest of the galaxy. He does not care however, as he too absorbed in his sorcery, and too disinterested in other Sith or what they are doing to even bother with their nonsense. As a child, Serebin was highly distant and rarely cried, except for when he was held. After being raised in a house of Sith Sorcerers, Serebin became accustomed to excessive cruelty and deplorable behaviour from a young age. He manipulates compulsively and commits crimes against the general populace, for no other reason than to amuse himself.

After years of studying Force essences, Serebin is incurably addicted to the Drain Life technique and spent his teenage consuming the souls of vulnerable young women. The effects of the technique have ravaged Serebin’s body and mind, influencing his heinous behaviour and dysfunctional lifestyle. He is consistently unhealthy, suffering from chronic fatigue and struggling to put on weight. His sleep cycle is woefully dysfunctional and he is often awake all hours of the night while sleeping during the day. To deal with the need to drain Force essences, he constantly smokes cigarettes, eats cakes, drinks absinthe and engages in casual sex with strangers, or purchases prostitutes.

Despite being a terrible person to his core, Serebin is capable of enjoying social interaction with like-minded Sith or Sith who he deems as intelligent as himself. At just twenty-four, Serebin may well have already rendered himself immortal. The idea is both intriguing and confronting to him. Serebin is captivated by the wider universe, the Force and whatever lies beyond that, but ironically will hesitate to even go outside. Handicapped by wretched physical health and a terrible existential crisis, Serebin’s evil has formed from frustration and painful curiosity which has yet to be sated. Seeking to continue his study of Force essences, the young Sorcerer has made the pilgrimage from his homeworld of Dromund Kaas to Moraband, the Sith world of the dead.

⚜​

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Prologue​

The high strung Assassin leaps to his watery death off the misty bridge over Ragnos river. His ankles displayed, the hem of his robe held in a melodramatic pause before he ceases his chaste and impoverished existence. The cyborg Warrior welcomes his fall on the battlefield rather than submit to a life of biological mutilation. He is victorious, for he dies on his feet with a weapon in his hand, rather than in a cage, his mind and body invaded by drugs and machines. So often do Sith accept death with gleeful tears and open arms as a long-awaited escape from their wretched livelihoods, one must wonder, why?

Why do we want to live forever?

Since the dawn of first Empire, the Sorcerer sect has been regarded as the highest class of Sith. We are creatures beyond the mortal world. We do not pray for death so typically as our weaker underlings, for it takes only the most powerful, only those of the strongest mind to embrace the surreal sickness that is forever. Equivalent exchange is the first rule of our sorcery, if something is gained, something of equal value must be sacrificed. What then, do we sacrifice in exchange for eternal life?

I will tell you.

The morning my mother and I approached the wide stone bridge over Ragnos river was like any other. Kaas City mornings were always frigid and that day had been no exception. Dampened mist clung to the air, muting the view of all surroundings. Call it a cultural Sorcerer-class trait, but I shall admit it is a weakness that I am curious. Despite my mother’s protest, I wrenched my hand from her own and ran ahead towards the centre of the bridge. I was greeted by a figure in tattered black robes gazing almost fixedly into the murky distance.

I had never seen a Sith before, so I halted in my steps for fear of disturbing him. We had heard fearsome tales of Sith, of their cruelty and prowess. The figure before me could not have been any different from the popular stereotype. His hands shook violently, he wore nothing on his feet and he appeared to be weeping. My young person stood in hypnotized bewilderment before this creature, who had not appeared to have even noticed me. As I heard my mother approach from behind, the man in tattered robes took one step upon the short of the bridge and threw himself into the black water far below.

To say that I felt nothing would be untrue, a glorified cliché at best. It was surprise, if anything. My childhood had never been marred by tragedy, I had never been scorned by the cruel hand of another. I had never witnessed death before, so I had no idea what it looked like. Even know I can remember thinking how surreal it seemed, how theatrical. When I ran over to the wall of bridge, I saw his black robes splayed across the water’s surface as he floated lifeless down the river. It was ethereal and haunting, almost dreamlike. It was beautiful.

 

[Commissar Brett]

Can I borrow that template for the character? (I'm very lazy and yours I like the most so far)

 

[Marf]

@Commissar Brett

Sure, it's just an ordinary fancybox pimped out with different fonts and colours. For fonts see here, for colours see here. You've also got symbols here.

 

[Commissar Brett]

@Commissar Brett

Sure, it's just an ordinary fancybox pimped out with different fonts and colours. For fonts see here, for colours see here. You've also got symbols here.

Danke, it's always a courtesy to ask first though

 

[Marf]

@Commissar Brett

Well, it's really Bee you should be thanking, she created the original fancybox template. No worries anyhow.

 

[Taz]

Like Andro's new look. Did you do the art ?

 

[Marf]

Like Andro's new look. Did you do the art ?

Haha oh god no. I commissioned it from Trinugyen on Fiverr. Glad you like it though!

 

[Marf]

So I finally went and filled this out. I hope to add more soon, but for now there's a little sneak peak of my characters.

 

[Gamov]

Really like Andromeda's new look.

 

[Marf]

@Gamov

It's easily my favourite piece I've ever commissioned. I've already ordered another from the same artist. I'm also going for a 1940's/wartime theme for her profile this time, instead of the cybergoth stuff.

Also I've been so fucking lazy lately I just copied the summary from her old profile, but I will add new material soon.

EDIT: Added in a little bit at the end of Andro's summary which better describes her.

 

[Gamov]

@Marf

She sounds like she'll get along with my SBZ grunt pretty well. They share some similarities insofar as personality and conduct are concerned - at least from what's been presented thus far anyway.

Andro's done some growing up though, it's evident. Looking forward to seeing her in action again.

 

[Marf]

So like, check out my characters guys. Updated heaps since I first made this thing.

I started writing Andro's profile but could not bloody stop, I forgot how much I love writing about her. Can't wait to take her on space adventures.

 

[Marf]

Uhhh, so, I made the decision to go ahead and change Andromeda's name. Her old one was just too long and I felt like "Andro" was too tongue-in-cheek. So get used to Aeda before the timeline starts :p

 

[Noctyr]

O.o That's gonna take some getting used to....

 

[Marf]

@Noctyr

Lol, couldn't deal with it for more than 20 minutes so I changed it back. Hypomania > it's a bitch.

Andromeda suits her I think, it's distinctive and epic, which I reckon is appropriate for the character.

 

[Crosis]

Looking really good Marf!

 

[Marf]

Woot new character up! I finally got around to working on my Twi'lek lady.

 

[Richie B.]

@Marf would you be interested in RPing with me, I have a ex Jedi, turn Sector ranger (marshals of the republic if we get enough people to join) and who has stopped using the force because he stopped believing in the will of the force. He is kind of rough and has a bad past, yet deep down he is a good person, yet he is deep down a optimistic person he rarely acts on it.

Also because I see your more into character story than PVping (both of which I need serious work on) was hoping to get some advice and learn a bit from hands on experience from you.