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I was a test tube baby. Certainly not the first in this galaxy, and certainly not the last. But I was the last of Project Koshu'juntu, or Fireborn when translated from ancient Sith. The project was funded solely by Sith Master Verius Crowden, a sorcerer and accomplished alchemist. As the story goes, he was dissatisfied with what the Sith had become, and that popular teachings were watered down. Furthermore, the few apprentices he did have either didn't survive his training, or died shortly after reaching Crusader rank. So he deduced that it wasn't the training that was faulty, it was his students. Don't ask me how he reached such a whacked conclusion. I haven't yet understood.
Master Crowden took virtually all the wealth he had and poured it into a new genetic-engineering endeavor to create the "Perfect" Sith. As I said, I certainly wasn't the first to be created. There were dozens before me--male, female, those capable of asexual reproduction--but most did not survive past the first years. Those that did were driven mad by flash training and were exceptionally weak in the Force, if they were sensitive at all. I was the only one to survive to age five, growing at an accelerated rate that would eventually taper off in my teens. I remember little, if any life at this age, except for playing in the jungles of Dromun Kaas with my clone, Anne-Victoria. She too survived and thrived, coming into existence a few years after me. Ali, our surrogate mother, carefully watched over us and did what she could to protect us from Crowden's antics. But her rule was harsh and fast, and devoid of love that only a true mother can give. For her motivations to keep her “children” safe was selfish and self-preserving, to keep herself safe from her Master’s wrath.
When I was about eight or nine, he suddenly left on a research sabbatical. Nothing much changed in our lives, except for the reprieve from his terrifying presence. We heard nothing from him for months, then a year, then two years.
Then came that call that changed everything.
Ali (and us too, I learned later) was held to Crowden under a service contract similar to the ones used to export Twi’lek slaves off of Ryloth and into Imperial space. We weren't property, technically. Technically. But our contracts could still be bought and sold, and with it our lives.
Crowden had died, foolishly attempting to bind force ghosts to himself for their power. And in the process of funding his little “hobbies,” his personal wealth was diminished and sent his estate careening into debt. The result of this? We three were sold, along with everything else he owned.
Another Sith bought us, this time a Master named Taba’io Kushapur. We were shipped to the agriworld Shawti, where slavery was legal. Nearly as soon as we stepped off the shuttle onto the dusty, desert ground, bronze slave collars were fitted to our necks, brands were seared on our shoulders, and we were separated. I joined many others in the fields, picking dates, tea, and cotton as fast as my small hands could manage. If any of the slaves weren't productive enough at the end of the day come weighing time, we were punished. Sometimes by extra work, but more often by the whip. That was our master’s favorite. When he was visiting, he made everyone stop and gather at the whipping post to watch whomever might be punished that day. It was like he fed off the victim’s tears and cries of pain.
I was enslaved for some years before Ali was able to devise a way to help me escape. Under the guise of needing an extra pair of hands, she and I made our way to the village's marketplace. She was a kitchen slave, so this activity was on her daily roster of chores and not at all suspicious. Ali led me right past the merchant’s stalls, however, and after slipping into a dark alley quickly ran to the spaceport just outside of the city walls. Before I knew what was happening, she kissed my forehead and whispered, “Long days and pleasant nights.”
“May you have twice the number,” I automatically responded, as the spacer grabbed my arm and towed me into the waiting ship. That was the last time I ever saw her.
My first years at the Sith academy on Ziost were a whirlwind. At first I was just another face in the sea of young hopefuls, not especially noteworthy except for my bright orange hair and fiery temper. Things began to turn once I had my first lightsaber class. My instructors offered to teach me more, and soon I had found my first and only love. After gaining proficiency in Shii-Cho, I chose Djem-So and Shien to be my primary forms. They complemented my aggression and agility while perfectly expressing my pragmatism-- Ataru, otherwise, would have been my first choice. I was constantly practicing my ass off for years, honing my natural skills to a deadly precision.
Eventually I became a regular favorite in the dueling ring, besting nearly all my opponents with apparent ease. The times that I did lose, it was not because of lesser skill, but from my impatience and latent rage. At the recommendation of my mentors, I entered a tournament open to experienced acolytes and new Crusaders.
That was the dumbest decision I've ever made.
I made it to the finals, the fan-favorite. Potential masters loved me, promising coveted apprenticeships and lavish gifts should I win. My opponent was my direct opposite: scrawny, melodramatic, and an aspiring sorcerer. In the ring we were equal but opposing forces. I would beat him back with my sabers, only to have him send me wheeling backwards with his crackling lighting and magic spells. Impatience grew from an itch I couldn't scratch to an all-consuming need to win, so I did what I did best: fracked it up. With a single jump that would have impaled him, I put everything on the line and lost. He caught me with his invisible hand and with three "Zzzz-hisss" preformed a messy mau-kei before throwing me in the dust and burning me with his conjured fire.
After months in an induced coma, I woke to learn that I had been disgraced and thrown aside like a cracked water vessel. Offers of training had been rescinded. My promotion application was suspended indefinitely. And I was now a cripple. It would be another year of painful surgeries, therapy, and shame before I would be back at full strength. If ever.
On my first solo mission since my accident, I met a man on Dargulli that would change my life. After an ill-fated duel we made a pact to be inseparable Master and Apprentice, scarring each other to seal our commitment. I still carry that burn with me today. Noster Eden was his name, a mysterious, hardly-speaking neanderthal of a man that somehow understood my dissatisfaction when no one else could. I only ever saw him twice, but he instilled in me the drive that I needed to keep going after my world had fallen down around me.
Not long after I met Satsuki, another warrior with a similarly troubled past and overbearing sister. We became instant friends, and I my heart I knew I would have given everything to help her if she asked. I loved her like one loved a hero, in the hopes that she would attain everything I could not. It was like the way Jedi Master Atris loved the Jedi Exile, Meetra Surik. If I ever needed proof to believe that history repeats itself, this would convince me.
But one day she was gone. No goodbye, no word, no trace of her. Like she never existed. Again my world fell down, but this was a private and terrible thing, for I could not show it. My face was a facade of apathy and disdain for her memory, a painful lie and a bitter pill to swallow. Satsuki betrayed me--betrayed us and everything we were. It was clear that whatever trouble she had gotten herself into, she either didn't want my help, or didn't trust me enough to ask.
As if to answer my wishes, a word came, with a single set of coordinates and a time. Naboo. A final fight to try and save her life from her sister, Master Satoryu the raving murderer. Hellbent on killing her sister and everyone that stood in her way. I left everything to go, risking my position, earned reputation, and my own personal safety. They were all nothing compared to a chance to rescue my friend. I was totally willing and ready to die for her if need be. Of course, the need never came. She died, and I held her still-warm body in my lap as I wept.
I left the Sith not long after that, like a thief in the night. Taking only what I needed, I headed into Hutt space and started a new, miserable life. It's a miserable existence, honestly. I spend most of what I earn on booze and spice, mainly deathsticks. It's the only thing to keep the voices away, cutting off my Force connection and with it, my guilt.
MUIRGHEAL AHN
NAME MUIRGHEAL AHN / / AGE TWENTY-SEVEN / / GENDER AGENDER / / STATUS FUGITIVE • EX-SITH• LOST
Theme | Accent
NAME MUIRGHEAL AHN / / AGE TWENTY-SEVEN / / GENDER AGENDER / / STATUS FUGITIVE • EX-SITH• LOST
Theme | Accent
“And they burned, with a great and terrible fire! But it wasn't of Darkness...
It was of Light.”
It was of Light.”
LEGACY THE ROGUE
Master Crowden took virtually all the wealth he had and poured it into a new genetic-engineering endeavor to create the "Perfect" Sith. As I said, I certainly wasn't the first to be created. There were dozens before me--male, female, those capable of asexual reproduction--but most did not survive past the first years. Those that did were driven mad by flash training and were exceptionally weak in the Force, if they were sensitive at all. I was the only one to survive to age five, growing at an accelerated rate that would eventually taper off in my teens. I remember little, if any life at this age, except for playing in the jungles of Dromun Kaas with my clone, Anne-Victoria. She too survived and thrived, coming into existence a few years after me. Ali, our surrogate mother, carefully watched over us and did what she could to protect us from Crowden's antics. But her rule was harsh and fast, and devoid of love that only a true mother can give. For her motivations to keep her “children” safe was selfish and self-preserving, to keep herself safe from her Master’s wrath.
When I was about eight or nine, he suddenly left on a research sabbatical. Nothing much changed in our lives, except for the reprieve from his terrifying presence. We heard nothing from him for months, then a year, then two years.
Then came that call that changed everything.
Ali (and us too, I learned later) was held to Crowden under a service contract similar to the ones used to export Twi’lek slaves off of Ryloth and into Imperial space. We weren't property, technically. Technically. But our contracts could still be bought and sold, and with it our lives.
Crowden had died, foolishly attempting to bind force ghosts to himself for their power. And in the process of funding his little “hobbies,” his personal wealth was diminished and sent his estate careening into debt. The result of this? We three were sold, along with everything else he owned.
Another Sith bought us, this time a Master named Taba’io Kushapur. We were shipped to the agriworld Shawti, where slavery was legal. Nearly as soon as we stepped off the shuttle onto the dusty, desert ground, bronze slave collars were fitted to our necks, brands were seared on our shoulders, and we were separated. I joined many others in the fields, picking dates, tea, and cotton as fast as my small hands could manage. If any of the slaves weren't productive enough at the end of the day come weighing time, we were punished. Sometimes by extra work, but more often by the whip. That was our master’s favorite. When he was visiting, he made everyone stop and gather at the whipping post to watch whomever might be punished that day. It was like he fed off the victim’s tears and cries of pain.
I was enslaved for some years before Ali was able to devise a way to help me escape. Under the guise of needing an extra pair of hands, she and I made our way to the village's marketplace. She was a kitchen slave, so this activity was on her daily roster of chores and not at all suspicious. Ali led me right past the merchant’s stalls, however, and after slipping into a dark alley quickly ran to the spaceport just outside of the city walls. Before I knew what was happening, she kissed my forehead and whispered, “Long days and pleasant nights.”
“May you have twice the number,” I automatically responded, as the spacer grabbed my arm and towed me into the waiting ship. That was the last time I ever saw her.
My first years at the Sith academy on Ziost were a whirlwind. At first I was just another face in the sea of young hopefuls, not especially noteworthy except for my bright orange hair and fiery temper. Things began to turn once I had my first lightsaber class. My instructors offered to teach me more, and soon I had found my first and only love. After gaining proficiency in Shii-Cho, I chose Djem-So and Shien to be my primary forms. They complemented my aggression and agility while perfectly expressing my pragmatism-- Ataru, otherwise, would have been my first choice. I was constantly practicing my ass off for years, honing my natural skills to a deadly precision.
Eventually I became a regular favorite in the dueling ring, besting nearly all my opponents with apparent ease. The times that I did lose, it was not because of lesser skill, but from my impatience and latent rage. At the recommendation of my mentors, I entered a tournament open to experienced acolytes and new Crusaders.
That was the dumbest decision I've ever made.
After months in an induced coma, I woke to learn that I had been disgraced and thrown aside like a cracked water vessel. Offers of training had been rescinded. My promotion application was suspended indefinitely. And I was now a cripple. It would be another year of painful surgeries, therapy, and shame before I would be back at full strength. If ever.
On my first solo mission since my accident, I met a man on Dargulli that would change my life. After an ill-fated duel we made a pact to be inseparable Master and Apprentice, scarring each other to seal our commitment. I still carry that burn with me today. Noster Eden was his name, a mysterious, hardly-speaking neanderthal of a man that somehow understood my dissatisfaction when no one else could. I only ever saw him twice, but he instilled in me the drive that I needed to keep going after my world had fallen down around me.
Not long after I met Satsuki, another warrior with a similarly troubled past and overbearing sister. We became instant friends, and I my heart I knew I would have given everything to help her if she asked. I loved her like one loved a hero, in the hopes that she would attain everything I could not. It was like the way Jedi Master Atris loved the Jedi Exile, Meetra Surik. If I ever needed proof to believe that history repeats itself, this would convince me.
But one day she was gone. No goodbye, no word, no trace of her. Like she never existed. Again my world fell down, but this was a private and terrible thing, for I could not show it. My face was a facade of apathy and disdain for her memory, a painful lie and a bitter pill to swallow. Satsuki betrayed me--betrayed us and everything we were. It was clear that whatever trouble she had gotten herself into, she either didn't want my help, or didn't trust me enough to ask.
As if to answer my wishes, a word came, with a single set of coordinates and a time. Naboo. A final fight to try and save her life from her sister, Master Satoryu the raving murderer. Hellbent on killing her sister and everyone that stood in her way. I left everything to go, risking my position, earned reputation, and my own personal safety. They were all nothing compared to a chance to rescue my friend. I was totally willing and ready to die for her if need be. Of course, the need never came. She died, and I held her still-warm body in my lap as I wept.
I left the Sith not long after that, like a thief in the night. Taking only what I needed, I headed into Hutt space and started a new, miserable life. It's a miserable existence, honestly. I spend most of what I earn on booze and spice, mainly deathsticks. It's the only thing to keep the voices away, cutting off my Force connection and with it, my guilt.
INVENTORY Cybernetics& physical modifications
Ivaris is muscular and sturdily built despite her short stature, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. With masculine facial features, she can easily pass as genderless or as a man. After leaving the Sith, she underwhent a mastectomy, removing the double-d's that were a source of unwanted attention and great disphoria about her body. They had always felt out of place and not quite her own. Now she doesn't feel pressured to identify as fully female, or act as such.
Her physical capabilities have been dramatically increased with cybernetic implants, including a cardio-muscular package, superstruct skeletal reinforcement, and cybernetic lungs.This means her strength and speed have been increased threefold, though in normal circumstances she holds back since is possesses an attention-grabbing ability. Additionally, her left arm and leg are cybernetic, currently covered in synthskin. Embedded in her forearms are ejectable claws that come through between her knuckles. There are also scalpel-like blades underneath artificial nails ejectible in the same manner as the claws. Both are made of durasteel.
Hair is frequently dyed, though her natural color is a coppery red. A nasty burn scar used to cover the left half of her face, and raised whip scars criss-crossed her sides and back. This has been corrected by going under the knife. Tattoos often seem to cover her body and the patterns frequently change, but it is actually carefully-applied printed synthskin. Sometimes her scars are concealed with a layer of synthskin as well.
Ivaris is not one clear species, but features from various races can be picked out: Horns (sometimes surgically removed, though they grow back) and a pain tolerance in the manner of a Zabrak; Two livers, a digestive system that can digest cellulose, and a lattice bone structure (unknown species); Pointed ears like a Sephi and possible long lifespan.
Her physical capabilities have been dramatically increased with cybernetic implants, including a cardio-muscular package, superstruct skeletal reinforcement, and cybernetic lungs.This means her strength and speed have been increased threefold, though in normal circumstances she holds back since is possesses an attention-grabbing ability. Additionally, her left arm and leg are cybernetic, currently covered in synthskin. Embedded in her forearms are ejectable claws that come through between her knuckles. There are also scalpel-like blades underneath artificial nails ejectible in the same manner as the claws. Both are made of durasteel.
Hair is frequently dyed, though her natural color is a coppery red. A nasty burn scar used to cover the left half of her face, and raised whip scars criss-crossed her sides and back. This has been corrected by going under the knife. Tattoos often seem to cover her body and the patterns frequently change, but it is actually carefully-applied printed synthskin. Sometimes her scars are concealed with a layer of synthskin as well.
Ivaris is not one clear species, but features from various races can be picked out: Horns (sometimes surgically removed, though they grow back) and a pain tolerance in the manner of a Zabrak; Two livers, a digestive system that can digest cellulose, and a lattice bone structure (unknown species); Pointed ears like a Sephi and possible long lifespan.
— misc. inventory —
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