Post by Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy on May 21, 2011 20:42:05 GMT -5
Name: Varulla’aba (Alias: Dia Amersu, Midnight)
Age: 26
Race: Twi’lek
Birth place: Ryloth
Height: 5’ 6”
Weight: 133 lbs
Eye Color: Green
Hair Color: None
Appearance:
Varulla’aba is a slender and lithe Twi’lek woman, of roughly average height and a little less weight than most, with the build of a dancer. She has rather slender facial features that are slightly innocuous even. Her lekku, or headtails, are shapely, and fall to her mid-back, with decorative rings of color on them. Like all Twi’leks, she has no eyebrows, however, ever since her early days as a teenager she has had them tattooed on, at her master’s ‘request.’
Of all her assets, her very best are her eyes. They are large, green, and extraordinarily expressive. She can express volumes with a single look, and they are truly the windows to her soul. They look old, and you can tell with a single glance she’s seen a lot in her life. At times though, they can have an almost childlike innocence to them, though more commonly they seem sad or guarded.
Her other main asset is her skin. It is a rare white color, almost like alabaster, and extremely smooth and healthy. It would be incorrect to call it flawless however, as her major aesthetic insecurity pertains to it. The skin on her back is crisscrossed with a web of scars. They are relics of her cruel master when she was a slave, and though age has faded them slightly, they are still extremely noticeable on her pale skin. As such, she avoids exposing her back as much as possible.
Also worth mentioning is her voice, which is silky and melodious, though in anger or displeasure it can turn into pure ice or fire depending on the circumstance. Generally it is a good guide to her mood though, with a default of relative calm and a collected sound.
Var has wardrobe in a rather monochromatic color scheme, revolving around the color black. Her favorite item of clothing is a set of modified Echani light armor, a fiber armor of black and grey, which provides reasonable protection against blaster fire and small bullets and knives. She likes the snug, firm quality of it a great deal. The one constant companion to her outfits are a pair of boots, black and snugly fitting over her calf. She often adds a pair of mirrored aviator style sunglasses, particularly when dealing with sunny locations or ones with lots of glare.
Her other chief outfits are a black swoop-racing suit that protects against kinetic impacts, extreme heat, and G-forces (which she pairs with goggles to prevent debris from hitting her, and taping her lekku together to prevent them from hitting each other and bruising), and her two departures from pure black: tan cargo pants with a black tank top with a corporate logo for use when doing mechanical work (though she’s only a learner) or where there’s a chance of dirtiness occurring, and her one special possession: a set of red and black lingerie, complete from the stockings up. It holds a special place in her heart, as it makes her feel truly beautiful.
She doesn’t generally put any effort into her appearance beyond bathing, but she looks presentable despite all that, having a natural poise and beauty. She carries herself that way too, smoothly and fluidly, moving with an effortless and catlike grace.
Another near-constant companion for her, who she takes with her everywhere she can, is her pet raven, Eleanor. The bird is quite large, with a five foot wingspan, and is entirely black, from beak to claws. Eleanor plays off of Var’s emotions and feelings quite well, and knows to nuzzle her friends and caw loudly at her enemies. She isn’t keen on being touched, and will sometimes peck intruding hands. Var, however, can touch her with impunity.
After her escape from the Republic, she set about rebuilding her lightsaber, which rests at her belt almost constantly, a reassuring presence. She also took up the sport of target shooting, buying a ResCorp DMRS-100 slugthrower. She found it was a useful way to blow off steam without breaking any laws.
Her absolute pride and joy is her swoop bike, an Incom SRI-2300A racing swoop. Hers is jet black, a flat semi-gloss tone dark as the night sky. She adores it, and can’t imagine racing without it.
Personality:
Varulla’aba is a complicated young women, with a pained past irreconcilable from her identity, no matter how hard she tries. Her childhood still threatens to dominate her, which she constantly struggles with. Her formative experiences don’t quite define her as a person, but they compose an unhealthy portion of what she is, at the expense of what most ‘normal’ people might experience.
She is often quite insecure, from her looks to her skills, sometimes to the point of resentment, but generally merely warranting an inward wince. She frequently reacts poorly by lashing out at others when cornered, or when she feels outnumbered or outclassed.
Var isn’t exactly a moral person, and believes at the end of the day her own survival has to be the ultimate concern. She has no inclination to be a self-sacrificing martyr, though she isn’t opposed to taking risks she deems acceptable. Above all though, she is a survivor. Nothing has been able to stop her, and she’s always persevered despite the odds, soldiering on and facing every subsequent day, no matter how hard it’s been.
She has a tendency to be introverted, and is very stand-offish with strangers, generally preferring to ignore people, though if courtesy is an issue she will nod her acknowledgements. Generally speaking, she prefers to avoid dealing with people, preferring situations, objects, or events to distract her from the company.
Var also has a tendency to see the worst in people first, and in a related twist, she doesn’t trust easily. She has to learn to see the better aspects of a person before she can place any trust in them, which takes time or some sort of emotional understanding.
She has many legacies from her time as a Dark Jedi and a Sith, chief among which is paranoia. Her security is of paramount importance, and she sees potential threats everywhere. As such, she rarely strays far from her lightsaber. She is a recovering Dark Sider, and as such, still has her temper and her malice. Her first instincts and impressions are usually dark, and often she struggles to keep them under control.
However, she has a soft side that survived that time and has slowly started to reemerge. She feels compassion, mercy, and pity, and with a little effort she can embrace them. Despite not being friendly, she does enjoy helping certain people now, with a special eye towards victims of abuse and slavery, her own experience. She also knows love now, with one love affair (although failed) under her belt, and friendship, becoming fast friends with Doneeda Sok’nada. She is slowly learning to live in the real world, free from the dogma of both the Jedi and the Sith and seeking her own unique way forward as an individual. She is apprentice to no one now, slave to no one, and accountable only to laws. For the first time in her life, she is truly a free woman.
Apart from all her issues, Var is a very capable woman, calm under pressure, and delivering well in the fields of expertise she has. She is reasonably loyal, has a conscience which she follows sometimes, and is bound and determined to slowly turn herself into a normal person rather than a noble Jedi or a mighty Sith.
Profession: Grey Jedi/Swoop Racer
Skills: Basic piloting, basic cooking, basic mechanics, Swoop racing
Previous Faction: Jedi, Dark Jedi, Sith
Mastery Level: Apprentice
Lightsaber: Single blade, single phase,
Color: Silver
Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho 4
Ataru 1
Shien / Djem So 3
>>Sub-form Backhanded 1
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
Specialized Skills:
Telekinetic: 4
Telepathic: 4
Body: 5
Sense: 5
Protection: 3
Healing: 1
Destruction: 5
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 4
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 6
Leadership: 3
Unarmed: 4
Melee Weapons: 2
Ranged Weapons: 4
Force Attunement: -1
Bio:
The Twi'lek born on Ryloth to a spice miner named Vorin and nurse named Terana, was named Varulla'aba, after a deceased relative, and her earliest days, now gone unremembered, were a joyful and rich time of love, family unity, and health. Her parents adored her, and she adored them. They were poor yes, but a noble poor with a special pride and distinction in their status. Life wasn't easy, but it was special. They knew this, and they'd had every intention of raising their daughter in the same honest way, if things had turned out so easily.
After a few blissful years everything took a dramatic turn for the worse. Her father fell ill, and his treatment tore through the family's coffers rapidly. With their money depleted and her husband sick, Terana carried out a desperate act: she took out a loan from a Hutt, as the only option to save her husband's life. With the new funds, she was able to nurse him back to health, but she was saddled with a debt she could never hope to repay. One day Hutt enforcers arrived to collect, but the family didn't have enough. Var's mother was enslaved by the debt collectors and shipped off world as compensation, likely forced into prostitution.
Her father blamed himself for the enslavement of his wife and never came to terms with his loss. A formerly happy man, his smile faded away and he remained in silence. He went without meals, and even the sight of his daughter, who looked so much like her mother, felt like a slap in the face. Var was too little to fully understand what exactly happened, and only knew her mother had gone away with cruel men. She had no idea why her father spent his days crying and staring at the wall. One day he went to work in the mines and never came back. He walked into a blasting zone without a shred of protective gear, because he wanted to end it all. He couldn't bear to live anymore. His death left Var alone, and deeply in debt. She had no family, being the last of her now-dead clan. With no way to pay except with her life, she was taken by the Hutts as a slave, illegally. She was dismal and without hope for a better life.
Her first owner was not cruel, and if anything was a reasonably kind man. He was a wealthy landowner, and he took a certain pleasure in flaunting Republic law by owning other sentient beings. Var was hand-picked to be one of his wife's personal servants, tending to chores and the like. It wasn't an especially cruel use or demeaning, but she simply had no choice in it. She was a slave, and a part of her resented it, the part that knew what a slave was. Even though children were impressionable, they were also full of surprises; one day something inside her snapped and a voice cried out for freedom. She'd never known it, but it seemed like a friend and she couldn't resist its call. The little girl followed her heart and ran as fast and as far as she could, sneaking into a spice shipment from the mines and leaving the planet with nothing but the rags on her back. It was an act of bravery far beyond any other 4 year old child, but Var had aged prematurely.
She woke up shivering and alone in the dark hold of a freighter, feeling the pangs of hunger in her stomach. She went without food for almost a week, and when the shipment arrived on Tatooine she was practically a skeleton. Her emaciated and unconscious figure was found by the smugglers unloading the cargo, who were divided on what to do with her. Some of them wanted to toss the child out the hatch and leave before they could be connected with her, while others wanted to take her to receive medical attention. One man even wanted them to take care of the child themselves. After the argument there was finally a consensus, they left the half-dead Twi'lek girl on the doorstep of a local healer.
Almost reluctantly the healer nursed her back to health, but insisted she pay for the good deed in the only way possible: more slavery. It was cruelly typical of Hutt space. The apathetic healer was more concerned with profiting off the slavery than receiving the services of a slave, and she sold Var swiftly after only a few months, selling her away to a local pawnbroker without any assurances of good treatment. Often in later years, the Twi'lek would wryly and bitterly remark that she'd had the misfortune to find the only healer with no empathy in the whole of the outer rim. After one escape from slavery she simply found herself under a new master, a cruel one this time.
Tolrin was an extremely twisted man, demanding and cruel. His standards were always beyond reach, and his punishments for failing to meet them were... lavish. The little girl found herself beaten on a nearly daily basis for well over a year as a result. Nothing she ever did was good enough, and some perceived failure was met by fists every day. Sometimes it was something like a broken dish, but other times it was more simple, like a missed chore or burnt meal. She did everything for her master, but never received any gratitude or love.
She attempted to escape once during her time under his control, frightened of his anger. She barely made it out the door when he grabbed her by the lekku and pulled her back inside. Then he brought down the whip, the one he relished using whenever he had the opportunity. It was made of bantha leather, with weights tied to each of the strands to better dig into someone's flesh. Var learned not to cry when it hit her back. Tolrin only mocked her for her tears and put extra force into his blows. The fastest way out was through. Every time she grit her teeth and endured, though the very sound of a whip whistling through the air was enough to make her wince.
The day before her sixth birthday, the young Var received the worst gift imaginable. She was sexually assaulted by her master. It was early afternoon, in the still hours of the desert day when the inhabitants of Anchorhead sheltered indoors from the heat. She'd brought her owner his drink, as usual, and then stood there waiting for more instructions. He'd looked at her then with a certain evil look in his eyes, a new look that he'd never shown before. If she'd known what it was, she would have run immediately. But she had no idea what was about to happen until he grabbed her and started to unbutton his pants.
She was too small and weak to offer much resistance, and she was almost paralyzed by fear. When he was done with her, she fled down the stairs and into the small corner she slept in. She cradled her head in her hands and she simply cried. She felt horribly dirty, dirtier than she'd ever felt before, dirtier than she'd ever feel again. But slowly another feeling filled her, a different kind of dread. If she didn't leave, it would happen again and again. That was even more terrifying than the beating she'd receive for running. Terrifying enough that she did run.
By the time she opened the door and darted outside, it was almost evening. The sky had started to darken slightly and the temperature had lowered enough that the street was reasonably crowded. It was her intention to disappear into it for good and find her way off Tatooine entirely. She might have been more successful if Tolrin hadn't heard the heavy metal door release. He sprinted down the stairs after her and chased her into the street.
Var ran faster than she'd ever run before, weaving in and out of the crowd for cover. But her owner's legs were longer, and he could cover more distance. Just as his hand was about to reach her, the little girl sheltered behind a stranger's leg. She looked up at him with wide green eyes, and pleaded with him to save her. She could never remember what words she'd said, but they'd worked. The stranger cast aside his cloak, and drew a metal cylinder from his belt. He pressed a button, and with the strangest noise a beautiful blue light flashed from it, and Tolrin recoiled from it. He, her abuser, was terrified of something! He cursed, he yelled. But the stranger was unyielding in his protection of Var. Her owner left them alone in the street.
The stranger smiled at her then, and she smiled back. The first time she'd smiled in years.
The stranger was a Jedi Knight, and one who wisely realized that he couldn't simply leave the child behind. He resolved to take her with him, off of Tatooine. And simply to cover his bases, he tested Var's blood, to see if she could be admitted to the Jedi. As it happened, she was Force-sensitive, though at the very lowest end for admission into the Jedi Order. That was her ticket to Coruscant, and a new life. It was her real sixth birthday president.
Among the Jedi, the child faced a different set of difficulties. In most respects she was much older than the other Younglings her own age. She had aged a lifetime in six years, thanks to cruelty. Her innocence was gone, and she took nothing for granted. Varulla'aba quickly discovered she had no self-esteem and wasn't skilled at making friends. She couldn't relate with anyone else, and even in a crowded room she still felt alone. As a result, anyone who befriended her at all won her complete trust. It was to be her downfall.
Var managed to skate by as an adequate Youngling, not stellar at anything but not unforgivably bad either. She was mediocrity personified, and all her instructors could confidently say she was never going to become a Councilor, a Weapons Master, a hero. Some of the other Younglings teased that she would be sent to the Corps and wind up tending crops or doing something inglorious. She simply didn't stand out from the field of Younglings. She was never the child ready with the correct answer, and when put on the spot she struggled.
When the time came for Padawans to be selected, she spent months being visited by all sorts of prospective masters, who passed her by one after one. Some were interested in swordsmen, others in those skilled with wielding the Force. There were ones desiring grace, and ones desiring wisdom. Var couldn't offer anything they wanted, merely bits and pieces of some things. She was a scrawny little girl with big eyes, no friends, and nothing much in the way of talent. Things looked bleak.
However, much to her surprise, she was selected as a Padawan by a young Jedi Sentinel named Vreen Nedar. Nedar was a well-intentioned Knight, but he lacked the leadership skills and pure compassion the Twi'lek girl so desperately needed. They never grew close over the years, instead their relationship was purely professional. If she had a different master, it is likely her life would have turned out very differently.
It was during this early time that Var made her very first friend, a young human boy her age named Jarvik. Nedar never thought that friendship either good or bad, and remained generally apathetic about Var's life, preferring to think about other topics. He quietly thought taking on Var as Padawan was a mistake, questioning her focus and dedication. Frequently he challenged her to keep a tight schedule or to avoid being a 'quitter.' Again, nothing she did was ever good enough for him. Though she wasn't beaten this time, she felt it was too painful a reminder of her childhood. It was a leadership style poorly suited to the hurting apprentice.
Under Nedar, Var was toted along on several missions but was never truly a part of them. Her part always seemed to be carrying the proverbial bags while her Master made all the real decisions and didn't deign to share much in the way of information. She was 'just' a follower, there to obey his bidding and somehow absorb all the information she would ever need. If only.
As a result, what should have been an exciting hunt for missing Jedi on Toprawa came across as a simple meet-and-greet event. Var carried their luggage to their room, then Nedar told her to wait there and left her alone for three days. The only upsides to her time alone was that Nedar wasn't there to criticize her, and that she had time to contact her only friend through the holonet, and talk with him for hours without interruption. Apart from that, it was a very dreary mission.
It was a common occurrence for otherwise interesting missions and events to become rather dull whenever Nedar was involved. Things only became exciting and rewarding when she was able to operate on her own briefly. She treasured those moments, and it taught her self-reliance.
The best moment was on Shili when Nedar fell into an Akul's den. The local Togruta readily wrote the Jedi off as a casualty under their philosophy that those who fell behind had to be left as part of nature. Though it was extremely tempting to simply leave Nedar there and find a new Master, Var narrowly overcame it and helped pull him out of the den before the large predator could return. In hindsight she wondered if that might have been a mistake.
It wasn't that she didn't try, she did. But her efforts were never enough to please her master, and he wasn't the type to provide rewards or kind words for anything but first place. He was an overachiever trying to train an underachiever.
At the age of 19, Var met with her best friend, a Padawan named Jarvik who had recently lost his master. Jarvik started to tell her things he'd learned about the Dark Side recently after the loss of his master and moral compass. It was enticing; a prospect for a new start, faster progress, and true freedom to do as she pleased. They met again over the course of a year, and the seed of curiosity grew. Jarvik told her of a secret enclave home to Dark Jedi, and mentioned their need for new force-users. With flattery designed to manipulate her he slowly wore down her moral defenses.
The Jedi had been the ones who saved her, but they'd stopped caring. Nedar certainly wouldn't care if she disappeared. None of the other Younglings who'd never been her friends would care. Her instructors probably never thought about the pale Twi'lek girl who was always so quiet. She had nothing to lose by leaving. And she had very much to gain. She had the chance to be someone, to learn new things. And best of all, she'd have the one person who liked her right there by her side.
Hesitant at first, she eventually made a pact with her friend to join the Dark Side together. They fled one night together. It was so very easy. She'd just told Nedar how she'd forgotten something, then simply walked away, never to see him again. She met up with Jarvik who'd undoubtedly done something similar, and they wandered the galaxy for a month, eventually joining the small enclave of Dark Jedi Jarvik had known of.
At first the Twi'lek didn't know what she was doing at all, she'd never had any true experience with the dark side and her interest had been solely academic. At first part of her resisted; the Jedi principles screamed out warnings and secretly she thought of turning back. But the thought of leaving her friend and returning to the Jedi wasn't bearable. She stayed rather than be alone and ashamed.
Var relearned much of the same material she'd covered as a Jedi, but in different ways. Her world views were warped and everything was called into question. Good and evil ceased to exist for her. Everything simply was. She learned to channel her own self-pity and weaknesses into cruelty and malice, then direct those out onto others. She delighted in the new secret knowledge of the Force, the things the Jedi didn't teach.
She became even more twisted here while preparing to become an Acolyte, learning to despise what she had once seen as good. Worst of all, she finally lost her ability to trust. One day while training, Jarvik entered the room. He drew his lightsaber and revealed that his test to become a full Dark Jedi was to strike down the friend he had brought to the enclave. Not only had they decided she was expendable, but also her only friend and companion had betrayed her trust. In furious anger over the betrayal she fought off his assault and left him dead on the floor. Now she was the sole apprentice.
For a few months she reigned supreme, the undisputed queen of the young Acolytes. She became the apprentice to the master of the enclave himself. He taught her personally, but her progress here started to falter as well, and her skills started to peak. Burning captives with lightning no longer made her feel better, and the pained cries of others seemed stale. Worst of all was the way the Master looked at her. He had the very same look of disappointment that Nedar always wore when she failed to meet his standards. Once again she'd fallen short.
Their relationship faded, and in an unprecedented move, the Master took on multiple apprentices, pitting them against Var for practice sessions, where she barely held her own. She became a tool, a representation of the minimum standards needed for his personal attention. Months of it became years, and faint worries became serious fears. The 'duels' became more and more dangerous, and training sabers started to disappear. Var realized the Master was politely and quietly trying to dispose of her. She also realized if she wanted to live it would be a very good idea to leave. She started to plan her escape.
With the rise of the Sith, she gained a goal. It was her hope that a third new start would bring her the power, confidence, and resolve she struggled with. Perhaps a new passion would be kindled in her and she could regain what had once been lost. With her own pre-existing skills maybe she would be considered a prized asset instead of a slow-learning object of pity or amusement. She left her enclave under the cover of night, force-persuaded her way onto a cargo ship with her meager possessions, and set off on the long journey to Korriban.
Upon reaching the Sith Temple, she was quickly admitted as an Initiate, given a room, and provided with instruction and assignments. The former she was no better off with than at the enclave, and the latter she proved somewhat more adept with, carrying out assorted small tasks.
It was on a mission to Ziost, to recover an ancient artifact, that she met the two people who would have the largest impact on her life. The first was another Twi'lek, a pilot and mechanic named Doneeda. There was something about her carefree nature and her high spirits that Var liked, and ultimately she became her first friend since Jarvik, and the only one she ever shared her story with.
The second was her master, Koeing Turion. From the very minute she set her eyes on him, she had the suspicion she was in love. He had a certain magnetism she was drawn to, a strength she wanted to share in. But she was too fearful to utter a single word.
Only on Murkhana did she finally admit her feelings. In a drunken state of weakness, Var shared with Donnie everything. Her abuse, her rape, and even her attraction to Koeing. The next morning, Doneeda shared that information with Koeing, out of a desire to help Var. However, Var attempted to murder the other Twi'lek, only to have her plan backfire and end up in the hospital.
When she woke up, Koeing was there, and he knew everything. She admitted how much she loved him, and to her purest joy he felt the same attraction for her. At that moment, they became two hearts together. But it was not to last, like so many good things for Var, it turned to ill.
Var returned to Tatooine with vengeance on her mind, determined to find and kill her cruel owner. As it happened she was too late, and the man had died already. She was distraught, and rather than explode and kill her owner’s widow and son, she imploded and retreated into herself. She became convinced she wasn’t cut out to be a Sith, and fell into a depression.
Shine Albartos came across her and restored her spirits somewhat, giving her new hope and revealing that her mother was still alive. Determined to regain her lost past, the young woman left her life and headed back to Coruscant to seek her out.
Unfortunately her plan backfired, and she was captured by Jedi and handed over to the Republic, which promptly put her on trial and convicted her, sentencing her to life in prison without the possibility of parole. But while she languished behind bars in depression for weeks, her friends were formulating an escape plan.
They broke her out of prison and made an escape to Manaan, stopping only to gain a false ID. Once there, Var set out to live a normal life in hiding from the Republic that wanted her in prison and the Sith who wanted her dead as a traitor with her best friend Donnie as a roommate.
But it wasn’t so easy. She proved to be extremely difficult at holding down a job, taking and being fired from three jobs. First she was a waitress, which went tolerably well until a customer propositioned her sexually, and she proceeded to pull out his waistband and dump a platter of nachos down his pants. She was promptly fired. Luckily she found a new job working at a call center for Manaan Kolto Control, but that too ended when she wound up ranting in Huttese to a particularly annoying person over the phone, which led her to her worst job yet: costumed advertiser. Every day for a whole two weeks she dressed up as a hot link for “The Sausage Hutt” in Ahto City West. One day a customer hassled her and shoved her, she responded by punching him in the face, and was promptly fired.
Luckily she had a bright spot in her life, a new pet, a large domesticated raven named Eleanor, entrusted to her by a passing spacer. She’d arrived into Var’s life and lit it up considerably, proving to be a faithful companion.
Her final job before finding her calling was as a maid in a hotel, which was dreary and mind-numbing work for her, mind-numbing to the point that she borrowed Donnie’s swoop bike and entered the season-opener race, which she placed a close second in. Her new career as a swoop racer was cemented.
Soon she had sponsorships and her own bike, racing under the name "Midnight," and she realized she’d found her true calling.
RP Sample:
Var stopped and stood in a patch of sunlight, feeling the heat traveling through her sleeve and into her skin. It was soothing for the moment rather than uncomfortable. But as the day grew older it would be. Even a lifetime away from Tatooine hadn’t changed the little memories. The weather, the smells, and even the sounds were all exactly as she remembered. Even the light breeze flapping against her body was a reminder.
Everything was very much the same as it had been, with the streets and buildings unchanged. Her sense of direction hadn't failed her, and she could feel in her heart that she was almost at her destination, at the site of her lost youth.
She’d tried to forget it, but it still haunted her dreams. Peace was for the weak, but she’d allow herself to seek it this once. Revenge would be sweet, but the rewards were her real goal. Perhaps she’d have been content to leave her past behind if it would disappear, but the universe didn’t work that way. Instead she would seek revenge, the time-honored spirit of justice. She would make him suffer as she had suffered at his hands. And when he was dead the Twi’lek would be at peace whenever she slept, or at the very least her dreams would end with satisfaction.
She turned onto her own street now, her boots kicking up the dust slightly as she walked through the dirty alley. Var could easily recognize the canvas for her own portrait of misery looming ahead of her on the corner. It was a two-story building on the corner of an intersection, with a shop below and living space above. To the uninformed it was a pawn shop, but to the Twi’lek Sith it was a prison cell, the walls of which were forever etched into the darkest recesses of her mind. She closed the distance with confidence, but as she stood on the threshold her mind strayed. For a brief moment she was the frightened little girl again, stumbling into the street and fleeing barefoot down the road through the crowd.
Only today there was no crowd, and the scrawny child had been replaced by a woman strong in the Dark Side. Without further hesitation, Var stepped into the shop and braced herself for the deluge of memories she knew would come flooding back. But she was prepared for them, they would only enhance her hatred and give her more power. Her fingertips brushed the hilt of her lightsaber, its cool metallic presence reassuring her.
The inside of the shop was much the same as it had been two decades ago. Different bits and pieces of junk littered the shelves now, and the interior was even more dingy, but it was unmistakably the same. Still, a few subtle touches indicated a change had taken place. Bits of décor showed another hand was at work here. It was a nuance not lost on Varulla’aba. Someone else besides Tolrin was here, and one was approaching her. She tensed up and turned to look, only to be totally disarmed as an old woman entered the main level of the shop. Perhaps she’d been mistaken and the shop had changed ownership? But no, everything else was the same…
“How can I help you dear?” the woman asked, brushing a strand of graying brown hair away from her face as she slid behind the counter and started to examine the register.
Var was definitely caught off guard, but she wasn’t going to be deterred. “I need to speak with Tolrin.” The Twi’lek kept her voice even and calm, despite the nervous churning sensation in her stomach.
The rather mousy-looking woman nodded. “Oh yes, my husband…” A distant look came into her eyes.
Var’s own eyes widened a good deal. “Your husband?” She repeated the words incredulously. She’d never expected that half-Gamorrean beast to marry anyone. He was a monster, how could anyone love a monster?
The woman didn’t seem to pick up on Var’s distaste, instead making it out as curiosity. “Oh, did you know him then?” She asked politely with all the intelligence of a granite slug.
A fire appeared in the Twi’lek Sith’s eyes, and a sour expression tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You could say that, yes. In fact, I think I’ll wait right here to meet him. I'm sure he'll be surprised to see me again.” She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms.
“I’m sorry dear, but no amount of waiting will help you. He died last year.”
Var’s jaw dropped and she took a half step back. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true. How could this be happening? How could revenge be taken out of her hands? It- It wasn’t fair. She needed to kill him, she needed to see him die. Var needed the closure that would bring, and needed it badly. She’d been waiting for the chance to turn the tables ever since she’d become a Sith, and now it was snatched out of her hands.
“No… that just can’t be true, it can’t be.” Var whispered hoarsely as she stared distantly at the woman.
“I’m afraid it is. I know we miss him very much. He was a good and kind man, but he’s gone to be in a better place now.”
Var resisted the urge to scream ‘No he isn’t.’ If there was a god, if there was a hell, he was in it for what he’d done to her. He was neither a good man nor a kind man. The only thing she missed was the chance to kill him with her own hands.
“How did you know him dearie?” The mousy woman asked, running a hand over her bun of graying hair.
With a perverse pleasure mingled with a fear churning in her stomach, Var stared deep into the woman’s eyes and projected all her pain into one glance. “He raped me.” Her voice dripped with loathing, every bit of disgust she felt mingled with the lingering pain to produce a haunting quality to her voice. One she’d never before had, and likely never would again. A lifetime of sadness, pain, bitterness, and contempt blended together in perfect harmony.
The effect of the statement was profound in the woman as well. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She stood there trying to form words and failing, merely producing a stuttering and awkward mess of aborted sentences strung together. “That isn’t- I just- You’re lying!” Tolrin’s widow settled on denial.
“Why would I?” Var snapped. “I was his slave as a little girl, and it wasn’t enough for him to beat me every day. For some reason he had to take the only thing I had left. He took more than just my dignity, he took my innocence from me.”
“No! Tolrin would never do anything like that! Never, you’re lying!” The wife protested loudly. She’d made her choice, and it was to ignore reality.
“Schutta!!” The Twi’lek yelled. “I didn’t travel all the way here just to be called a liar by some wakamancha stupa of a woman who doesn’t know what kind of monster she lived with.”
“How dare you call him a monster! Have you no respect for the dead?”
“Have you any respect for the living? You-“
The woman cut Var off with a genuine flash of anger in her voice. “Be quiet you- you Twi’lek wh*re!”
Var suddenly turned to ice and her hands balled into fists inside her gloves. Her teeth gritted together and she seethed inside. Her green eyes were piercing, and her gaze was withering. When she spoke, her voice was cold. “What... did you say?”
“I,” the woman choked slightly, “I said you were a wh*re and a liar.”
Var raised one gloved hand and took the woman’s throat into a force grip. She kept it at a gentle pressure, just enough to remind her who had the power.
“All I have to do is squeeze and I can end your life. Don’t tempt me.”
“Hey!” A voice called out from the stairs, “What are you doing to my mother?”
Var spun to face the source of the voice. It was a teenage boy, almost a grown man, maybe the better part of ten years younger than she was. He was holding a blaster pistol and pointing it at her. He was the spitting image of Tolrin, only thinner, less lined, and with a full head of hair. His was a face she hated, so much like the face she’d lie awake at night afraid of and furious with. She felt the compulsive need to hurt him, to make him feel her pain.
“This doesn’t concern you, boy,” Var snapped. “Stay out of the business of others if you know what’s good for you.”She tightened her hand, increasing the grip around the woman’s throat.
That was when the youth pulled the trigger on the blaster. Var sensed it a second before it happened, and the red blade of her lightsaber shimmered into existence just in time to catch the bolt and deflect it harmlessly into the ceiling. Simultaneously she grabbed the weapon from his hands telekinetically and threw it across the room.
His jaw dropped, and his eyes focused on the lightsaber in her hand. “You’re a Jedi?” He asked incredulously, wondering how a Jedi could be so mean. He didn’t realize how off-base he was.
Var remained stonily silent.
"No, you can't be! Jedi are good, and bright people who do good. You're just an evil woman who hurt my mother. I bet you don't care about anyone but yourself. Sure, you think you're all that for coming in and scaring an old woman, but you're nothing. You're just a sad, cruel woman. And I hope you learn to change. For your sake."
It was at that moment Var had realized she'd started to cry. Her eyes were misty, and it was getting progressively harder to see. He was right damn it. And that hurt. She was an evil woman, and she hadn't cared about anything besides herself. But why did he have to tell her that at her most vulnerable?
She deactivated her lightsaber and returned it to her belt, seriously contemplating leaving. But no, she couldn't she just couldn't. Something had to give, something had to be done...
The pale Twi'lek woman let out an agonized scream, both mournful and full of fury, and with her bare hands she started to toppled shelves, throw bits and pieces of junk, and cause as much destruction to this cursed place as she could. It was like she was in a daze, taking out her pent-up anger on things instead of people. She threw a set of plates into the wall and watched them shatter, she threw old droid parts onto the floor. She even kicked over a rack with her boot.
And then, abruptly, she stopped.
Sitting on the shelf, right before her, was a little stuffed bantha. It was small, and worn, but it had on its face a happy smile. Gingerly she reached out to touch it, picking it up with gloved hands as if it were a priceless artifact. There'd been one just like this those many years ago, and she'd taken it off a shelf just like this to lie with it on lonely nights when she had no other companionship. It had been there as the sting of her open wounds kept her awake, it had been there when all hope was lost.
It was here now.
Var cradled it to her chest and started to cry freely, walking slowly out of the shop, past the mother and son paralyzed with fear and astonishment, and out into the sandy street. She made it around to the side of the building before she collapsed against it, sinking to the ground and crying, for the first time audibly.
Age: 26
Race: Twi’lek
Birth place: Ryloth
Height: 5’ 6”
Weight: 133 lbs
Eye Color: Green
Hair Color: None
Appearance:
Varulla’aba is a slender and lithe Twi’lek woman, of roughly average height and a little less weight than most, with the build of a dancer. She has rather slender facial features that are slightly innocuous even. Her lekku, or headtails, are shapely, and fall to her mid-back, with decorative rings of color on them. Like all Twi’leks, she has no eyebrows, however, ever since her early days as a teenager she has had them tattooed on, at her master’s ‘request.’
Of all her assets, her very best are her eyes. They are large, green, and extraordinarily expressive. She can express volumes with a single look, and they are truly the windows to her soul. They look old, and you can tell with a single glance she’s seen a lot in her life. At times though, they can have an almost childlike innocence to them, though more commonly they seem sad or guarded.
Her other main asset is her skin. It is a rare white color, almost like alabaster, and extremely smooth and healthy. It would be incorrect to call it flawless however, as her major aesthetic insecurity pertains to it. The skin on her back is crisscrossed with a web of scars. They are relics of her cruel master when she was a slave, and though age has faded them slightly, they are still extremely noticeable on her pale skin. As such, she avoids exposing her back as much as possible.
Also worth mentioning is her voice, which is silky and melodious, though in anger or displeasure it can turn into pure ice or fire depending on the circumstance. Generally it is a good guide to her mood though, with a default of relative calm and a collected sound.
Var has wardrobe in a rather monochromatic color scheme, revolving around the color black. Her favorite item of clothing is a set of modified Echani light armor, a fiber armor of black and grey, which provides reasonable protection against blaster fire and small bullets and knives. She likes the snug, firm quality of it a great deal. The one constant companion to her outfits are a pair of boots, black and snugly fitting over her calf. She often adds a pair of mirrored aviator style sunglasses, particularly when dealing with sunny locations or ones with lots of glare.
Her other chief outfits are a black swoop-racing suit that protects against kinetic impacts, extreme heat, and G-forces (which she pairs with goggles to prevent debris from hitting her, and taping her lekku together to prevent them from hitting each other and bruising), and her two departures from pure black: tan cargo pants with a black tank top with a corporate logo for use when doing mechanical work (though she’s only a learner) or where there’s a chance of dirtiness occurring, and her one special possession: a set of red and black lingerie, complete from the stockings up. It holds a special place in her heart, as it makes her feel truly beautiful.
She doesn’t generally put any effort into her appearance beyond bathing, but she looks presentable despite all that, having a natural poise and beauty. She carries herself that way too, smoothly and fluidly, moving with an effortless and catlike grace.
Another near-constant companion for her, who she takes with her everywhere she can, is her pet raven, Eleanor. The bird is quite large, with a five foot wingspan, and is entirely black, from beak to claws. Eleanor plays off of Var’s emotions and feelings quite well, and knows to nuzzle her friends and caw loudly at her enemies. She isn’t keen on being touched, and will sometimes peck intruding hands. Var, however, can touch her with impunity.
After her escape from the Republic, she set about rebuilding her lightsaber, which rests at her belt almost constantly, a reassuring presence. She also took up the sport of target shooting, buying a ResCorp DMRS-100 slugthrower. She found it was a useful way to blow off steam without breaking any laws.
Her absolute pride and joy is her swoop bike, an Incom SRI-2300A racing swoop. Hers is jet black, a flat semi-gloss tone dark as the night sky. She adores it, and can’t imagine racing without it.
Personality:
Varulla’aba is a complicated young women, with a pained past irreconcilable from her identity, no matter how hard she tries. Her childhood still threatens to dominate her, which she constantly struggles with. Her formative experiences don’t quite define her as a person, but they compose an unhealthy portion of what she is, at the expense of what most ‘normal’ people might experience.
She is often quite insecure, from her looks to her skills, sometimes to the point of resentment, but generally merely warranting an inward wince. She frequently reacts poorly by lashing out at others when cornered, or when she feels outnumbered or outclassed.
Var isn’t exactly a moral person, and believes at the end of the day her own survival has to be the ultimate concern. She has no inclination to be a self-sacrificing martyr, though she isn’t opposed to taking risks she deems acceptable. Above all though, she is a survivor. Nothing has been able to stop her, and she’s always persevered despite the odds, soldiering on and facing every subsequent day, no matter how hard it’s been.
She has a tendency to be introverted, and is very stand-offish with strangers, generally preferring to ignore people, though if courtesy is an issue she will nod her acknowledgements. Generally speaking, she prefers to avoid dealing with people, preferring situations, objects, or events to distract her from the company.
Var also has a tendency to see the worst in people first, and in a related twist, she doesn’t trust easily. She has to learn to see the better aspects of a person before she can place any trust in them, which takes time or some sort of emotional understanding.
She has many legacies from her time as a Dark Jedi and a Sith, chief among which is paranoia. Her security is of paramount importance, and she sees potential threats everywhere. As such, she rarely strays far from her lightsaber. She is a recovering Dark Sider, and as such, still has her temper and her malice. Her first instincts and impressions are usually dark, and often she struggles to keep them under control.
However, she has a soft side that survived that time and has slowly started to reemerge. She feels compassion, mercy, and pity, and with a little effort she can embrace them. Despite not being friendly, she does enjoy helping certain people now, with a special eye towards victims of abuse and slavery, her own experience. She also knows love now, with one love affair (although failed) under her belt, and friendship, becoming fast friends with Doneeda Sok’nada. She is slowly learning to live in the real world, free from the dogma of both the Jedi and the Sith and seeking her own unique way forward as an individual. She is apprentice to no one now, slave to no one, and accountable only to laws. For the first time in her life, she is truly a free woman.
Apart from all her issues, Var is a very capable woman, calm under pressure, and delivering well in the fields of expertise she has. She is reasonably loyal, has a conscience which she follows sometimes, and is bound and determined to slowly turn herself into a normal person rather than a noble Jedi or a mighty Sith.
Profession: Grey Jedi/Swoop Racer
Skills: Basic piloting, basic cooking, basic mechanics, Swoop racing
Previous Faction: Jedi, Dark Jedi, Sith
Mastery Level: Apprentice
Lightsaber: Single blade, single phase,
Color: Silver
Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho 4
Ataru 1
Shien / Djem So 3
>>Sub-form Backhanded 1
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
Specialized Skills:
Telekinetic: 4
Telepathic: 4
Body: 5
Sense: 5
Protection: 3
Healing: 1
Destruction: 5
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 4
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 6
Leadership: 3
Unarmed: 4
Melee Weapons: 2
Ranged Weapons: 4
Force Attunement: -1
Bio:
The Twi'lek born on Ryloth to a spice miner named Vorin and nurse named Terana, was named Varulla'aba, after a deceased relative, and her earliest days, now gone unremembered, were a joyful and rich time of love, family unity, and health. Her parents adored her, and she adored them. They were poor yes, but a noble poor with a special pride and distinction in their status. Life wasn't easy, but it was special. They knew this, and they'd had every intention of raising their daughter in the same honest way, if things had turned out so easily.
After a few blissful years everything took a dramatic turn for the worse. Her father fell ill, and his treatment tore through the family's coffers rapidly. With their money depleted and her husband sick, Terana carried out a desperate act: she took out a loan from a Hutt, as the only option to save her husband's life. With the new funds, she was able to nurse him back to health, but she was saddled with a debt she could never hope to repay. One day Hutt enforcers arrived to collect, but the family didn't have enough. Var's mother was enslaved by the debt collectors and shipped off world as compensation, likely forced into prostitution.
Her father blamed himself for the enslavement of his wife and never came to terms with his loss. A formerly happy man, his smile faded away and he remained in silence. He went without meals, and even the sight of his daughter, who looked so much like her mother, felt like a slap in the face. Var was too little to fully understand what exactly happened, and only knew her mother had gone away with cruel men. She had no idea why her father spent his days crying and staring at the wall. One day he went to work in the mines and never came back. He walked into a blasting zone without a shred of protective gear, because he wanted to end it all. He couldn't bear to live anymore. His death left Var alone, and deeply in debt. She had no family, being the last of her now-dead clan. With no way to pay except with her life, she was taken by the Hutts as a slave, illegally. She was dismal and without hope for a better life.
Her first owner was not cruel, and if anything was a reasonably kind man. He was a wealthy landowner, and he took a certain pleasure in flaunting Republic law by owning other sentient beings. Var was hand-picked to be one of his wife's personal servants, tending to chores and the like. It wasn't an especially cruel use or demeaning, but she simply had no choice in it. She was a slave, and a part of her resented it, the part that knew what a slave was. Even though children were impressionable, they were also full of surprises; one day something inside her snapped and a voice cried out for freedom. She'd never known it, but it seemed like a friend and she couldn't resist its call. The little girl followed her heart and ran as fast and as far as she could, sneaking into a spice shipment from the mines and leaving the planet with nothing but the rags on her back. It was an act of bravery far beyond any other 4 year old child, but Var had aged prematurely.
She woke up shivering and alone in the dark hold of a freighter, feeling the pangs of hunger in her stomach. She went without food for almost a week, and when the shipment arrived on Tatooine she was practically a skeleton. Her emaciated and unconscious figure was found by the smugglers unloading the cargo, who were divided on what to do with her. Some of them wanted to toss the child out the hatch and leave before they could be connected with her, while others wanted to take her to receive medical attention. One man even wanted them to take care of the child themselves. After the argument there was finally a consensus, they left the half-dead Twi'lek girl on the doorstep of a local healer.
Almost reluctantly the healer nursed her back to health, but insisted she pay for the good deed in the only way possible: more slavery. It was cruelly typical of Hutt space. The apathetic healer was more concerned with profiting off the slavery than receiving the services of a slave, and she sold Var swiftly after only a few months, selling her away to a local pawnbroker without any assurances of good treatment. Often in later years, the Twi'lek would wryly and bitterly remark that she'd had the misfortune to find the only healer with no empathy in the whole of the outer rim. After one escape from slavery she simply found herself under a new master, a cruel one this time.
Tolrin was an extremely twisted man, demanding and cruel. His standards were always beyond reach, and his punishments for failing to meet them were... lavish. The little girl found herself beaten on a nearly daily basis for well over a year as a result. Nothing she ever did was good enough, and some perceived failure was met by fists every day. Sometimes it was something like a broken dish, but other times it was more simple, like a missed chore or burnt meal. She did everything for her master, but never received any gratitude or love.
She attempted to escape once during her time under his control, frightened of his anger. She barely made it out the door when he grabbed her by the lekku and pulled her back inside. Then he brought down the whip, the one he relished using whenever he had the opportunity. It was made of bantha leather, with weights tied to each of the strands to better dig into someone's flesh. Var learned not to cry when it hit her back. Tolrin only mocked her for her tears and put extra force into his blows. The fastest way out was through. Every time she grit her teeth and endured, though the very sound of a whip whistling through the air was enough to make her wince.
The day before her sixth birthday, the young Var received the worst gift imaginable. She was sexually assaulted by her master. It was early afternoon, in the still hours of the desert day when the inhabitants of Anchorhead sheltered indoors from the heat. She'd brought her owner his drink, as usual, and then stood there waiting for more instructions. He'd looked at her then with a certain evil look in his eyes, a new look that he'd never shown before. If she'd known what it was, she would have run immediately. But she had no idea what was about to happen until he grabbed her and started to unbutton his pants.
She was too small and weak to offer much resistance, and she was almost paralyzed by fear. When he was done with her, she fled down the stairs and into the small corner she slept in. She cradled her head in her hands and she simply cried. She felt horribly dirty, dirtier than she'd ever felt before, dirtier than she'd ever feel again. But slowly another feeling filled her, a different kind of dread. If she didn't leave, it would happen again and again. That was even more terrifying than the beating she'd receive for running. Terrifying enough that she did run.
By the time she opened the door and darted outside, it was almost evening. The sky had started to darken slightly and the temperature had lowered enough that the street was reasonably crowded. It was her intention to disappear into it for good and find her way off Tatooine entirely. She might have been more successful if Tolrin hadn't heard the heavy metal door release. He sprinted down the stairs after her and chased her into the street.
Var ran faster than she'd ever run before, weaving in and out of the crowd for cover. But her owner's legs were longer, and he could cover more distance. Just as his hand was about to reach her, the little girl sheltered behind a stranger's leg. She looked up at him with wide green eyes, and pleaded with him to save her. She could never remember what words she'd said, but they'd worked. The stranger cast aside his cloak, and drew a metal cylinder from his belt. He pressed a button, and with the strangest noise a beautiful blue light flashed from it, and Tolrin recoiled from it. He, her abuser, was terrified of something! He cursed, he yelled. But the stranger was unyielding in his protection of Var. Her owner left them alone in the street.
The stranger smiled at her then, and she smiled back. The first time she'd smiled in years.
The stranger was a Jedi Knight, and one who wisely realized that he couldn't simply leave the child behind. He resolved to take her with him, off of Tatooine. And simply to cover his bases, he tested Var's blood, to see if she could be admitted to the Jedi. As it happened, she was Force-sensitive, though at the very lowest end for admission into the Jedi Order. That was her ticket to Coruscant, and a new life. It was her real sixth birthday president.
Among the Jedi, the child faced a different set of difficulties. In most respects she was much older than the other Younglings her own age. She had aged a lifetime in six years, thanks to cruelty. Her innocence was gone, and she took nothing for granted. Varulla'aba quickly discovered she had no self-esteem and wasn't skilled at making friends. She couldn't relate with anyone else, and even in a crowded room she still felt alone. As a result, anyone who befriended her at all won her complete trust. It was to be her downfall.
Var managed to skate by as an adequate Youngling, not stellar at anything but not unforgivably bad either. She was mediocrity personified, and all her instructors could confidently say she was never going to become a Councilor, a Weapons Master, a hero. Some of the other Younglings teased that she would be sent to the Corps and wind up tending crops or doing something inglorious. She simply didn't stand out from the field of Younglings. She was never the child ready with the correct answer, and when put on the spot she struggled.
When the time came for Padawans to be selected, she spent months being visited by all sorts of prospective masters, who passed her by one after one. Some were interested in swordsmen, others in those skilled with wielding the Force. There were ones desiring grace, and ones desiring wisdom. Var couldn't offer anything they wanted, merely bits and pieces of some things. She was a scrawny little girl with big eyes, no friends, and nothing much in the way of talent. Things looked bleak.
However, much to her surprise, she was selected as a Padawan by a young Jedi Sentinel named Vreen Nedar. Nedar was a well-intentioned Knight, but he lacked the leadership skills and pure compassion the Twi'lek girl so desperately needed. They never grew close over the years, instead their relationship was purely professional. If she had a different master, it is likely her life would have turned out very differently.
It was during this early time that Var made her very first friend, a young human boy her age named Jarvik. Nedar never thought that friendship either good or bad, and remained generally apathetic about Var's life, preferring to think about other topics. He quietly thought taking on Var as Padawan was a mistake, questioning her focus and dedication. Frequently he challenged her to keep a tight schedule or to avoid being a 'quitter.' Again, nothing she did was ever good enough for him. Though she wasn't beaten this time, she felt it was too painful a reminder of her childhood. It was a leadership style poorly suited to the hurting apprentice.
Under Nedar, Var was toted along on several missions but was never truly a part of them. Her part always seemed to be carrying the proverbial bags while her Master made all the real decisions and didn't deign to share much in the way of information. She was 'just' a follower, there to obey his bidding and somehow absorb all the information she would ever need. If only.
As a result, what should have been an exciting hunt for missing Jedi on Toprawa came across as a simple meet-and-greet event. Var carried their luggage to their room, then Nedar told her to wait there and left her alone for three days. The only upsides to her time alone was that Nedar wasn't there to criticize her, and that she had time to contact her only friend through the holonet, and talk with him for hours without interruption. Apart from that, it was a very dreary mission.
It was a common occurrence for otherwise interesting missions and events to become rather dull whenever Nedar was involved. Things only became exciting and rewarding when she was able to operate on her own briefly. She treasured those moments, and it taught her self-reliance.
The best moment was on Shili when Nedar fell into an Akul's den. The local Togruta readily wrote the Jedi off as a casualty under their philosophy that those who fell behind had to be left as part of nature. Though it was extremely tempting to simply leave Nedar there and find a new Master, Var narrowly overcame it and helped pull him out of the den before the large predator could return. In hindsight she wondered if that might have been a mistake.
It wasn't that she didn't try, she did. But her efforts were never enough to please her master, and he wasn't the type to provide rewards or kind words for anything but first place. He was an overachiever trying to train an underachiever.
At the age of 19, Var met with her best friend, a Padawan named Jarvik who had recently lost his master. Jarvik started to tell her things he'd learned about the Dark Side recently after the loss of his master and moral compass. It was enticing; a prospect for a new start, faster progress, and true freedom to do as she pleased. They met again over the course of a year, and the seed of curiosity grew. Jarvik told her of a secret enclave home to Dark Jedi, and mentioned their need for new force-users. With flattery designed to manipulate her he slowly wore down her moral defenses.
The Jedi had been the ones who saved her, but they'd stopped caring. Nedar certainly wouldn't care if she disappeared. None of the other Younglings who'd never been her friends would care. Her instructors probably never thought about the pale Twi'lek girl who was always so quiet. She had nothing to lose by leaving. And she had very much to gain. She had the chance to be someone, to learn new things. And best of all, she'd have the one person who liked her right there by her side.
Hesitant at first, she eventually made a pact with her friend to join the Dark Side together. They fled one night together. It was so very easy. She'd just told Nedar how she'd forgotten something, then simply walked away, never to see him again. She met up with Jarvik who'd undoubtedly done something similar, and they wandered the galaxy for a month, eventually joining the small enclave of Dark Jedi Jarvik had known of.
At first the Twi'lek didn't know what she was doing at all, she'd never had any true experience with the dark side and her interest had been solely academic. At first part of her resisted; the Jedi principles screamed out warnings and secretly she thought of turning back. But the thought of leaving her friend and returning to the Jedi wasn't bearable. She stayed rather than be alone and ashamed.
Var relearned much of the same material she'd covered as a Jedi, but in different ways. Her world views were warped and everything was called into question. Good and evil ceased to exist for her. Everything simply was. She learned to channel her own self-pity and weaknesses into cruelty and malice, then direct those out onto others. She delighted in the new secret knowledge of the Force, the things the Jedi didn't teach.
She became even more twisted here while preparing to become an Acolyte, learning to despise what she had once seen as good. Worst of all, she finally lost her ability to trust. One day while training, Jarvik entered the room. He drew his lightsaber and revealed that his test to become a full Dark Jedi was to strike down the friend he had brought to the enclave. Not only had they decided she was expendable, but also her only friend and companion had betrayed her trust. In furious anger over the betrayal she fought off his assault and left him dead on the floor. Now she was the sole apprentice.
For a few months she reigned supreme, the undisputed queen of the young Acolytes. She became the apprentice to the master of the enclave himself. He taught her personally, but her progress here started to falter as well, and her skills started to peak. Burning captives with lightning no longer made her feel better, and the pained cries of others seemed stale. Worst of all was the way the Master looked at her. He had the very same look of disappointment that Nedar always wore when she failed to meet his standards. Once again she'd fallen short.
Their relationship faded, and in an unprecedented move, the Master took on multiple apprentices, pitting them against Var for practice sessions, where she barely held her own. She became a tool, a representation of the minimum standards needed for his personal attention. Months of it became years, and faint worries became serious fears. The 'duels' became more and more dangerous, and training sabers started to disappear. Var realized the Master was politely and quietly trying to dispose of her. She also realized if she wanted to live it would be a very good idea to leave. She started to plan her escape.
With the rise of the Sith, she gained a goal. It was her hope that a third new start would bring her the power, confidence, and resolve she struggled with. Perhaps a new passion would be kindled in her and she could regain what had once been lost. With her own pre-existing skills maybe she would be considered a prized asset instead of a slow-learning object of pity or amusement. She left her enclave under the cover of night, force-persuaded her way onto a cargo ship with her meager possessions, and set off on the long journey to Korriban.
Upon reaching the Sith Temple, she was quickly admitted as an Initiate, given a room, and provided with instruction and assignments. The former she was no better off with than at the enclave, and the latter she proved somewhat more adept with, carrying out assorted small tasks.
It was on a mission to Ziost, to recover an ancient artifact, that she met the two people who would have the largest impact on her life. The first was another Twi'lek, a pilot and mechanic named Doneeda. There was something about her carefree nature and her high spirits that Var liked, and ultimately she became her first friend since Jarvik, and the only one she ever shared her story with.
The second was her master, Koeing Turion. From the very minute she set her eyes on him, she had the suspicion she was in love. He had a certain magnetism she was drawn to, a strength she wanted to share in. But she was too fearful to utter a single word.
Only on Murkhana did she finally admit her feelings. In a drunken state of weakness, Var shared with Donnie everything. Her abuse, her rape, and even her attraction to Koeing. The next morning, Doneeda shared that information with Koeing, out of a desire to help Var. However, Var attempted to murder the other Twi'lek, only to have her plan backfire and end up in the hospital.
When she woke up, Koeing was there, and he knew everything. She admitted how much she loved him, and to her purest joy he felt the same attraction for her. At that moment, they became two hearts together. But it was not to last, like so many good things for Var, it turned to ill.
Var returned to Tatooine with vengeance on her mind, determined to find and kill her cruel owner. As it happened she was too late, and the man had died already. She was distraught, and rather than explode and kill her owner’s widow and son, she imploded and retreated into herself. She became convinced she wasn’t cut out to be a Sith, and fell into a depression.
Shine Albartos came across her and restored her spirits somewhat, giving her new hope and revealing that her mother was still alive. Determined to regain her lost past, the young woman left her life and headed back to Coruscant to seek her out.
Unfortunately her plan backfired, and she was captured by Jedi and handed over to the Republic, which promptly put her on trial and convicted her, sentencing her to life in prison without the possibility of parole. But while she languished behind bars in depression for weeks, her friends were formulating an escape plan.
They broke her out of prison and made an escape to Manaan, stopping only to gain a false ID. Once there, Var set out to live a normal life in hiding from the Republic that wanted her in prison and the Sith who wanted her dead as a traitor with her best friend Donnie as a roommate.
But it wasn’t so easy. She proved to be extremely difficult at holding down a job, taking and being fired from three jobs. First she was a waitress, which went tolerably well until a customer propositioned her sexually, and she proceeded to pull out his waistband and dump a platter of nachos down his pants. She was promptly fired. Luckily she found a new job working at a call center for Manaan Kolto Control, but that too ended when she wound up ranting in Huttese to a particularly annoying person over the phone, which led her to her worst job yet: costumed advertiser. Every day for a whole two weeks she dressed up as a hot link for “The Sausage Hutt” in Ahto City West. One day a customer hassled her and shoved her, she responded by punching him in the face, and was promptly fired.
Luckily she had a bright spot in her life, a new pet, a large domesticated raven named Eleanor, entrusted to her by a passing spacer. She’d arrived into Var’s life and lit it up considerably, proving to be a faithful companion.
Her final job before finding her calling was as a maid in a hotel, which was dreary and mind-numbing work for her, mind-numbing to the point that she borrowed Donnie’s swoop bike and entered the season-opener race, which she placed a close second in. Her new career as a swoop racer was cemented.
Soon she had sponsorships and her own bike, racing under the name "Midnight," and she realized she’d found her true calling.
RP Sample:
Var stopped and stood in a patch of sunlight, feeling the heat traveling through her sleeve and into her skin. It was soothing for the moment rather than uncomfortable. But as the day grew older it would be. Even a lifetime away from Tatooine hadn’t changed the little memories. The weather, the smells, and even the sounds were all exactly as she remembered. Even the light breeze flapping against her body was a reminder.
Everything was very much the same as it had been, with the streets and buildings unchanged. Her sense of direction hadn't failed her, and she could feel in her heart that she was almost at her destination, at the site of her lost youth.
She’d tried to forget it, but it still haunted her dreams. Peace was for the weak, but she’d allow herself to seek it this once. Revenge would be sweet, but the rewards were her real goal. Perhaps she’d have been content to leave her past behind if it would disappear, but the universe didn’t work that way. Instead she would seek revenge, the time-honored spirit of justice. She would make him suffer as she had suffered at his hands. And when he was dead the Twi’lek would be at peace whenever she slept, or at the very least her dreams would end with satisfaction.
She turned onto her own street now, her boots kicking up the dust slightly as she walked through the dirty alley. Var could easily recognize the canvas for her own portrait of misery looming ahead of her on the corner. It was a two-story building on the corner of an intersection, with a shop below and living space above. To the uninformed it was a pawn shop, but to the Twi’lek Sith it was a prison cell, the walls of which were forever etched into the darkest recesses of her mind. She closed the distance with confidence, but as she stood on the threshold her mind strayed. For a brief moment she was the frightened little girl again, stumbling into the street and fleeing barefoot down the road through the crowd.
Only today there was no crowd, and the scrawny child had been replaced by a woman strong in the Dark Side. Without further hesitation, Var stepped into the shop and braced herself for the deluge of memories she knew would come flooding back. But she was prepared for them, they would only enhance her hatred and give her more power. Her fingertips brushed the hilt of her lightsaber, its cool metallic presence reassuring her.
The inside of the shop was much the same as it had been two decades ago. Different bits and pieces of junk littered the shelves now, and the interior was even more dingy, but it was unmistakably the same. Still, a few subtle touches indicated a change had taken place. Bits of décor showed another hand was at work here. It was a nuance not lost on Varulla’aba. Someone else besides Tolrin was here, and one was approaching her. She tensed up and turned to look, only to be totally disarmed as an old woman entered the main level of the shop. Perhaps she’d been mistaken and the shop had changed ownership? But no, everything else was the same…
“How can I help you dear?” the woman asked, brushing a strand of graying brown hair away from her face as she slid behind the counter and started to examine the register.
Var was definitely caught off guard, but she wasn’t going to be deterred. “I need to speak with Tolrin.” The Twi’lek kept her voice even and calm, despite the nervous churning sensation in her stomach.
The rather mousy-looking woman nodded. “Oh yes, my husband…” A distant look came into her eyes.
Var’s own eyes widened a good deal. “Your husband?” She repeated the words incredulously. She’d never expected that half-Gamorrean beast to marry anyone. He was a monster, how could anyone love a monster?
The woman didn’t seem to pick up on Var’s distaste, instead making it out as curiosity. “Oh, did you know him then?” She asked politely with all the intelligence of a granite slug.
A fire appeared in the Twi’lek Sith’s eyes, and a sour expression tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You could say that, yes. In fact, I think I’ll wait right here to meet him. I'm sure he'll be surprised to see me again.” She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms.
“I’m sorry dear, but no amount of waiting will help you. He died last year.”
Var’s jaw dropped and she took a half step back. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true. How could this be happening? How could revenge be taken out of her hands? It- It wasn’t fair. She needed to kill him, she needed to see him die. Var needed the closure that would bring, and needed it badly. She’d been waiting for the chance to turn the tables ever since she’d become a Sith, and now it was snatched out of her hands.
“No… that just can’t be true, it can’t be.” Var whispered hoarsely as she stared distantly at the woman.
“I’m afraid it is. I know we miss him very much. He was a good and kind man, but he’s gone to be in a better place now.”
Var resisted the urge to scream ‘No he isn’t.’ If there was a god, if there was a hell, he was in it for what he’d done to her. He was neither a good man nor a kind man. The only thing she missed was the chance to kill him with her own hands.
“How did you know him dearie?” The mousy woman asked, running a hand over her bun of graying hair.
With a perverse pleasure mingled with a fear churning in her stomach, Var stared deep into the woman’s eyes and projected all her pain into one glance. “He raped me.” Her voice dripped with loathing, every bit of disgust she felt mingled with the lingering pain to produce a haunting quality to her voice. One she’d never before had, and likely never would again. A lifetime of sadness, pain, bitterness, and contempt blended together in perfect harmony.
The effect of the statement was profound in the woman as well. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She stood there trying to form words and failing, merely producing a stuttering and awkward mess of aborted sentences strung together. “That isn’t- I just- You’re lying!” Tolrin’s widow settled on denial.
“Why would I?” Var snapped. “I was his slave as a little girl, and it wasn’t enough for him to beat me every day. For some reason he had to take the only thing I had left. He took more than just my dignity, he took my innocence from me.”
“No! Tolrin would never do anything like that! Never, you’re lying!” The wife protested loudly. She’d made her choice, and it was to ignore reality.
“Schutta!!” The Twi’lek yelled. “I didn’t travel all the way here just to be called a liar by some wakamancha stupa of a woman who doesn’t know what kind of monster she lived with.”
“How dare you call him a monster! Have you no respect for the dead?”
“Have you any respect for the living? You-“
The woman cut Var off with a genuine flash of anger in her voice. “Be quiet you- you Twi’lek wh*re!”
Var suddenly turned to ice and her hands balled into fists inside her gloves. Her teeth gritted together and she seethed inside. Her green eyes were piercing, and her gaze was withering. When she spoke, her voice was cold. “What... did you say?”
“I,” the woman choked slightly, “I said you were a wh*re and a liar.”
Var raised one gloved hand and took the woman’s throat into a force grip. She kept it at a gentle pressure, just enough to remind her who had the power.
“All I have to do is squeeze and I can end your life. Don’t tempt me.”
“Hey!” A voice called out from the stairs, “What are you doing to my mother?”
Var spun to face the source of the voice. It was a teenage boy, almost a grown man, maybe the better part of ten years younger than she was. He was holding a blaster pistol and pointing it at her. He was the spitting image of Tolrin, only thinner, less lined, and with a full head of hair. His was a face she hated, so much like the face she’d lie awake at night afraid of and furious with. She felt the compulsive need to hurt him, to make him feel her pain.
“This doesn’t concern you, boy,” Var snapped. “Stay out of the business of others if you know what’s good for you.”She tightened her hand, increasing the grip around the woman’s throat.
That was when the youth pulled the trigger on the blaster. Var sensed it a second before it happened, and the red blade of her lightsaber shimmered into existence just in time to catch the bolt and deflect it harmlessly into the ceiling. Simultaneously she grabbed the weapon from his hands telekinetically and threw it across the room.
His jaw dropped, and his eyes focused on the lightsaber in her hand. “You’re a Jedi?” He asked incredulously, wondering how a Jedi could be so mean. He didn’t realize how off-base he was.
Var remained stonily silent.
"No, you can't be! Jedi are good, and bright people who do good. You're just an evil woman who hurt my mother. I bet you don't care about anyone but yourself. Sure, you think you're all that for coming in and scaring an old woman, but you're nothing. You're just a sad, cruel woman. And I hope you learn to change. For your sake."
It was at that moment Var had realized she'd started to cry. Her eyes were misty, and it was getting progressively harder to see. He was right damn it. And that hurt. She was an evil woman, and she hadn't cared about anything besides herself. But why did he have to tell her that at her most vulnerable?
She deactivated her lightsaber and returned it to her belt, seriously contemplating leaving. But no, she couldn't she just couldn't. Something had to give, something had to be done...
The pale Twi'lek woman let out an agonized scream, both mournful and full of fury, and with her bare hands she started to toppled shelves, throw bits and pieces of junk, and cause as much destruction to this cursed place as she could. It was like she was in a daze, taking out her pent-up anger on things instead of people. She threw a set of plates into the wall and watched them shatter, she threw old droid parts onto the floor. She even kicked over a rack with her boot.
And then, abruptly, she stopped.
Sitting on the shelf, right before her, was a little stuffed bantha. It was small, and worn, but it had on its face a happy smile. Gingerly she reached out to touch it, picking it up with gloved hands as if it were a priceless artifact. There'd been one just like this those many years ago, and she'd taken it off a shelf just like this to lie with it on lonely nights when she had no other companionship. It had been there as the sting of her open wounds kept her awake, it had been there when all hope was lost.
It was here now.
Var cradled it to her chest and started to cry freely, walking slowly out of the shop, past the mother and son paralyzed with fear and astonishment, and out into the sandy street. She made it around to the side of the building before she collapsed against it, sinking to the ground and crying, for the first time audibly.
