Post by Kella on May 1, 2009 17:16:54 GMT -5
Name: Glem A'Quae
Race: Otolla Gungan
Age: 23
Height: 5'10
Weight: 135 lbs
Appearance: Glem is an Otolla Gungan, making her of the slimmer, lankier variety. She's generally aesthetically pleasing to the humanoid variety, if only not a pain to look at. Her skin is light lilac, mottled with pale orange on her stomach, underneath her chin, the tips of her ears, and the palms of her hands. Her sharp eyes are dark violet, and she usually avoids extending her eye-stalks, but she will when she has to, or when it benefits her.
Glem can usually be found with her two haillu (ears) pulled back into a seaweed-hemp tie. She generally wears loose-fitting Cargo-style pants which drop just past her knees, pockets stuffed with all different manners of odds and ends, supplies and weapons, in-case-of-emergency's, and just-in-case's. They're held up by a wide woven belt, which incorporates strands of tan hemp and dark green. She also wears a fine-weave canvas tank, pale green to offset her lilac skin. It's collared; not quite loose but not quite tight.
Glem has a unique set of body tattoos. Swirling bands trace across and around her lower arms, curling back upon themselves. Similar tattoos can be found on her haillu, down the center of her back, and along the back of her calves. They're deep violet, almost black, and glisten like wet ink when the light hits them just right.
Glem carries a sporting blaster on her hip, though she rarely uses it. Her pockets are stuffed with all sorts of things; including plentiful smoke-bombs and a few different types of grenades. One usually doesn't know what Glem's going to come out with until she already has. However, Glem still seems to somehow have it all organized.
Glem keeps the nails on her hands and feet pained a deep, glistening poison-green. The serum which she uses is specially designed to make her nails stronger, sharper, and to imbue her scratch with a mild irritant, making injuries markedly more likely to become infected.
Glem looks as young as her twenty-one years suggest, if one ignores the fact that she acts much older. She already has a world-weary air about her.
Glem can often be found carrying a walking stick; a gnarled old tree-branch polished to perfection, scarred by many a battle. The wood is mottled white and black, with swirls of deep brown vein. Glem can easily heft the staff as a weapon, making up for her slight form.
Birth place: Umberbool City, Naboo
Occupation: Trader
Rank: CEO, President, Janitor, Chief shift manager, Organizer, minion, and Boss of GMPS. Glem's Message and Parcel Service.
Bio:
Origins
Glem was born upon Naboo, living the usual early years of a Gungan Tadpole. She got her legs when the other Gungans did, she cooed just as any tadpole should. She was curious of those things around her; her favorite question was always 'Why?' She was the youngest of six, and so lived her early years in the shadow of her elder siblings. As a result, Glem became competitive. She longed to prove herself to the other Gungans, even though it led her to take things a little too far at times.
Glem developed a fiery personality. She did, of course, still observe the usual peace-keeping tendencies of Gungan tradition, but she was not above a snide-comment or a bold speech. Her father was a wise Gungan, and imbued his daughter with an intense sense of justice. Through practice, she became a reasonably objective judge of circumstance.
Glem often got into skirmishes with the local youth. However, she was almost always defending a tadpole from a bully, or some-such deed, and so was never pegged with anything more harsh than a disapproving glance. She absolutely hated seeing anyone taken advantage of simply because they weren't as strong, or weren't as big as the rest. She eventually earned a reputation among her peers, someone who ought not be messed with. However, she still divvied up kindness where it was deserved, a relatively energetic and cheerful youth.
Glem held great potential. She did as well as could be expected in school. She might have done better, according to her mother, if she wasn't so easily bored. Glem had a knack for making connections. Her history teacher would tell about the famine of a century ago, and Glem was already leaping ahead and figuring out how it factored into the war fifty years later. As a result, she often became bored in class, fidgeting and earning glares from her teacher. She said only what she had to, completed only what she must, while her mind wandered far off, trying to think of how current situations would affect the next fifty years.
Glem's father made certain she always respected her elders, and by the time she was twelve, one of her favorite hobbies was sitting around with the older Gungans and talking to them about all manner of things. They would gently correct her misconceptions, give her challenges. She was bright, but not phenomenally so.
The Gungan society was rather isolated, and though Glem did what exploring she could, she caught only rare glimpses of the few humans who populated the planet, learning even less of the galaxy beyond. She longed to see the world beyond her Gungan town... and so, she would sneak way, go explore the nearby swamps, or take long swims in the oceans. When her father first found out, he immediately reprimanded her, stating it wasn't safe. Though, she pleaded with him, and made the argument that nothing had happened so far; that she could take care of herself. Her father relented; if only willing to let Glem learn the hard way; though he made her promise she would take no friends with her; something she had done in the past.
Glem enjoyed such things as running, climbing, and racing. She would play with her peers from time to time, but she preferred exploring.
When she was twelve, Glem had a run-in with a Narglatch. She accidentally snuck up on one while it was feeding, and, being a very territorial species, Glem was attacked by the Narglatch. She barely escaped with her life, and from then on fostered a distinct aversion to the species. The scare proved to somewhat detach her from her parents; for she longed to tell someone about it, but loathed the idea of being forbidden to explore. And so began Glem's long-lived tradition of hiding away her negative emotions, and her learned avoidance of confiding in others.
Albeit a little rough around the edges, she was generally considered a reasonable youth.
Pivot
Glem grew and aged. By the time she was fifteen, she had developed into a shapely teenager, quite beautiful by Gungan standards. She was being courted by a kind, handsome fellow; her days passed in bliss.
She was educated and trained in the usual manner of Gungan society, learning certain craft trades from her mother, being taught a bit of hunting and self-defense from her father, though those were usually the hobbies of males.
Glem genuinely loved Kreegam, the fellow who courted her. They first met through Glem's love of debate. He joined Glem and a group of elders one day in discussion, and was somewhat impressed by Glem's reasoning. Kreegam began to meet with the group daily, and over time, both he and Glem developed a greater liking for one another.
He was everything a young lass could wish for... thoughtful, forgiving, peaceful, content. And that's what bothered Glem. He was... boring. Sure, he was splendid in a debate, but she wanted someone who would race through the swamps with her, who would wrestle a Narglatch, who would swim down, down to the depths of the ocean with her, only to see how long each could hold their breath. Kreegam was not this sort of fellow. He was quite conservative, and while he doted on Glem, he tried to convince her to take a more laid-back attitude; a quest which failed miserably.
Glem, again, had no one in which to confide her worries; her parents greatly approved of him; they thought he was a good influence on their energetic daughter. Again, Glem caved to her desire to please them, and held her hesitations within, enjoying quiet moments with Kreegam.
She was content with her life, it not regretful that it seemed to lack... adventure. Though, there was enough chaos and excitement in day-to-day life to keep Glem more than busy.
One stormy autumn day, Glem slipped from the protections of the swamp, where Umberbool was located. She was in search of a specific type of flower; One of her peers had bet she couldn't find it. Glem was going to prove him wrong.
As she came out upon the pain, Glem was suddenly started by the sound of an explosion above. She watched as the escape pod of a shattered transport plummeted, falling into the water not thirty yards from where she stood. Distracted, the young Gungan did not notice the Narglatch who was lurking nearby. It suddenly pounced upon her, pinning her to the ground. She screamed loudly, struggling fiercely against it.
Just as it bent down to make the kill, the beast suddenly froze; its eyes rolling back into its head. It fell, dead.
Glem looked up, and to her surprise, she saw a human-like figure standing over the beast, glowing red sword still in hand.
Glem, who had spent most of her life underwater in the Gungan city, was fascinated. She'd seen only a handful of foreigners, and none this close. His orange skin glistened in the sunlight, black triangular tattoos zigging and zagging around the crown of horns upon his head. He was, as she later found out, a Zabrak.
Stunned, she inquired of his weapon. He told her that it was a light saber, and asked if she'd ever seen one before. She shook her head, and he informed her of its purpose, while giving her a quick synopsis of the weapon. Glem was enamored.
She quickly asked how she could be of aid to the Zabrak, and in response to his request, ran and fetched the elders of the city.
The elders talked at length with the Zabrak, who told them his name was Vermeer, that he hailed from Coruscant, and that his presence on the planet was purely accidental. His ship had malfunctioned, and he'd attempted to land on the nearest planet with sentient life. He then went on to tell the elders of his rescue of Glem. At first, she bristled; ready to hear how foolish she'd been, or how inexperienced she was. However, she was surprised, and pleased to hear Vermeer tell the council how brave she'd been, and how fierce, before Vermeer had arrived.
Glem, ever susceptible to flattery, took an instant liking to the Zabrak.
However, Glem's parade suddenly came to a crashing halt as the elders began to make arrangements for her leaving the planet. Eyes flashing with confusion, she pulled one of the elders aside and demanded an explanation.
He proceeded to tell her that it was only fair; the Gungans had long observed the tradition of life-debt; Glem was to serve Vermeer until one of three things happened; She saved his life, she died, or he died. Glem bit back the many retorts which burned on her tongue; for if she refused the tradition, she would surely be exiled. At least she could leave her home in honor.
And so, she made ready to leave her home. Both she and Kreegam knew that it would likely be decades before she returned to Naboo, if she ever did. They broke off, each knowing the other might find someone else. Glem was sad, of course, he was a great friend. But the truth was... he'd never been much more than that. She was secretly relieved to be away from the engagement, to be freed from the guilt she felt for not loving him as much as she seemed to love her. He was a good Gungan; she hoped he found a worthy spouse. But that wasn't the place for her.
Glem bid farewell to her mother and her father, the latter gifting her simply with a bit of his wisdom; the most valuable gift in the old Gungan's eyes. She would hold his parting words with her the rest of her life. "Yousa remembah. No mattah where you isa... yousa beautiful. And yousa mah Glem. Yousas remembah thats."
Glem left her childhood home at the end of her fifteenth year.
Her first few days with the Zabrak were pleasant, if not wonderful. He had called in a friend who apparently had a ship, and Glem was welcomed aboard by the crew.
She was enchanted by the vast expanses of space, by the way the stars shone when not viewed through an atmosphere. She eagerly poured over the many maps on the ship, reading this and that about every planet she could.
Vermeer knew just how to compliment her to make his flattery subtle, but marked. Glem came to his every beck and call, like a loyal dog.
She noticed that the members of the crew treated Vermeer with an odd, if not fearful respect, but she thought little of it. In her mind, Vermeer deserved the utmost respect.
Disillusionment
Things went on as such for a week, whilst the ship grew further and further away from Naboo. Glem knew not where the ship was headed; nor did she particularly care.
And then things started to get... fishy.
Vermeer asked Glem to do something he had not asked her to do before. He asked her to dance. Glem, who had never had an affinity for such things, simply replied that she didn't dance. Vermeer countered that surely she'd at least learned something of tribal tradition. Glem grimaced, for Vermeer was right. She dodged the question, and replied with mock-indignation, assuming he was joking. He wasn't, and again repeated his request. Glem replied with a flat-out 'No.' He asked her again. And again, her answer was the same.
And for the first time, Glem experienced Vermeer's wrath. It was not a hot, fiery wrath... no, it was worse. For it was cold, and it was heartless. Glem was taken and hauled away, thrown into the cargo hold, kicking and struggling all the way.
Her nightmare had only just begun.
Glem spent the rest of the flight in the Cargo hold, given only meager amounts of food and water each day, which she refused, firey as ever. Finally, the ship arrived on Coruscant.
Glem, dazed and weak from hunger, was easily overpowered and drug deep into the bowels of Coruscant, past countless ships and buildings, into a particularly shoddy area of The Works. There, was Vermeer's home; though it could hardly be called such. It was more of a headquarters.
As first punishment, Glem spend four days going through the excruciating process of having much of her body tattooed. First came the backs of her haillu, the most painful of all. Next,the swirling bands upon her arms, which curled back upon themselves. Then, the intricate abstract-floral design, which rooted at the small of her back and curved up along her spine, coming around toward the nape of her neck. Lastly came the swirls which curled across the back of her calves, then around the front of her thighs.
As Glem would later find out, this is how Vermeer marked his captives. He was much too vain to mark them with a simple brand, so he set about making them into works of art. If a slave could not survive the process... well, then they weren't worth his sadistic attentions.
It was when Glem was thrown into the rank, foul dungeon area of Vermeer's lair, the slaves' quarters, that she found what he truly was.
Glem's cell-mate was a middle-aged Twi'lek woman, tattooed just as she. Glem continued to refuse the food she was given, but the Twi'Lek, Enna, eventually convinced her to eat again. When Glem finally had her wits about her again, the Gungan set to questioning the Twi'lek, trying to figure out just how Vermeer could be so very cruel.
Shocked that Glem did not already know, Enna informed her that Vermeer was a Dark Jedi. Glem knew little of the force and such things, for she was raised isolated and generally ignored her history class. Enna filled her in, and Glem developed an intense hatred for the beast that was Vermeer.
Each day, he would call her into his quarters, and ask her to to this or that. For a while, she simply refused to follow his orders, and was beaten as punishment.
Though, Glem wasn't beaten by real things, physical things... no, she could have dealt with that. Vermeer, sadistic creature that he was, contorted the force to do his bidding. He would take Glem, throw her against a wall, until she could no longer stand. And then he would haul her back up again, and beat her until she fell once more. He would throw objects at her, books, statues, until she was reduced to simply standing and enduring the punishment. All this, and Vermeer did nothing more than wave his hand.
As if to add insult to injury, Vermeer never did anything that might cause her to scar. She shed no blood, but every bone in her body ached and throbbed. For scars were blemishes, and blemishes were unacceptable.
Vermeer would never refer to her directly, and never by her name. He itemized her. He would say, 'I want the gungan to bring me this,' or 'I want to gungan to go stand there.'
Always insecure, the treatment eroded greatly at her self-worth and self-respect, and after a while, she began to believe him at times. To believe she was nothing more than a body... that she was worthless.
Three months later, when she had been beaten to the brink of death, Glem's spirit broke. In humble submission, she would do what Vermeer asked. Sometimes he would spare her, let her return to the slave quarters unharmed. But usually, he found some flaw in her work,and no matter how minor, would use it as an excuse to beat her again.
Nine months passed.
The dank, polluted airs of The Works gave her no hope, the skies held no promise of freedom. Glem lost hope.
But then, one day, a year or so (for Glem had lost almost all track of time) after Vermeer first found her, Glem caught a glance at her reflection in one of Vermeer's looking glasses, for he was quite vain.
And she remembered something. She remembered her father's words, the day they had parted. "Yousa remembah. No mattah where you isa... yousa beautiful. And yousa mah Glem. Yousas remembah thats." For though she had been beaten, though her soul had been shattered... she was still Glem. She was still her father's daughter, and she always would be.
Vermeer's cronies hustled her along, thrusting her back into the dungeon. But there was one thing that they could not now take away. Hope.
Twisted
The next morning, (if it could even be called morning, in this land with no sun,) a guard came not just to Glem and Enna's cell... but into it. Usually, the guards stayed as far away from the slaves as they could.
The cold words spoken by the guard would haunt Glem's nightmares. "You have outlived your beauty, Twi'lek. Vermeer has no use for you now."
And then, he simply shot her. One blaster bolt, through the skull. Glem screamed, but instantly stopped as she found the barrel of the blaster now pointed at her. She bit back her cry, and cowered in the corner. She watched in horror as the guard enlisted a set of droids to drag out the body of Enna, her only friend. It would make a tasty snack for the Rancor.
Apparently, Vermeer had done a lot of 'cleaning house' over the week, for three days later, the shaken Gungan was transported to a different area of the slave-quarters. She was put up with one of the pit-fighters, who were enlisted to entertain Vermeer gladiator-style. The arrangement miffed Glem, and she never did find out why. However, Vermeer had his reasons. He had, to an extent, noticed that she seemed to have more of a spark in her eye than usual. He was experimenting... testing himself. He put Glem, through a list of irrelevent excuses, in the prime place for her to learn to fight. He was curious to see if he had truly broken her, or if she might take the chance and mount a rebellion.
No longer was Glem called into Vermeer's presence on a daily basis, but she made frequent 'visits'. During her time there with the pit-fighters, she befriended a Besalisk, Pen'ka, who was working off his debt to Vermeer; three years complying to Vermeer's every whim, which was usually fighting.
He helped Glem to come to terms with Enna's death, told her of the circle of all life, of the way things come from the force, and return to it. He gave her some peace, but that was of little consequence considering the hellish situation they both found themselves in.
Her wits about her once more, Glem began to mutter of escape, and of taking revenge on Vermeer. Pen'ka immediately denounced the idea as idiotic and crazy, for she would surely be caught. However, he did agree to give her what training he could in the area of hand-to-hand combat.
Glem did four things during those nine months with Pen'ka. She ate. She slept. She 'visited' Vermeer. And she practiced.
Glem found herself to be a quick learner, Pen'ka a worthy coach. What she lacked in physical strength, she attempted to make up for in speed and agility.
However, it was not long before both Pen'ka and Glem realized she'd be able to do little without a weapon. The slave quarters had fallen into disrepair, and Glem was able to find an old bar to one of the doors which had long since fallen out and been replaced. She began to practice with the bar, hefting it like a staff and working with her knowledge of pressure points and such.
However, despite her rigorous efforts, Glem simply did not have the physical strength to make much of a difference. What she did have, however, was a mind for the fight; she had a way of seeing openings that nobody else noticed.
Nine months after she was lodged with Pen'ka, Glem was moved once more. Vermeer decided she'd been given enough time to defy him. He grew impatient, and so simply put her back with the other slaves, somewhat... dissapointed that the Gungan's spirit had not resurged. Then again, he gained new confidence in his ability to break his slaves, and so moved on.
This time, Glem found herself in a cell with a dozen others like her; all items of Vermeer's whim, all with their own set of intricate tattoos..
It was then that Glem realized just how sick and sadistic Vermeer truly was... though she now realized she'd known it all along. There were many other races represented in those slave-quarters... though Glem could identify only a handful; she knew what Enna had taught her, nothing more. Glem soon realized that many of them did not even know their own race, so lost were they in this pit of fear and despair.
Some told her their stories, most did not. Some had lost their voices, some their will to live. Glem, too, found it difficult to find the motivation to just keep living. She clung to one thing, though; it was only only thing that let her draw breath; exacting revenge upon Vermeer.
Fallen
Glem formed her plan. She observed Vermeer's habits, watched the ins and outs of his days, looked for any open areas of vulnerability. And so this continued for four months, as she first discovered her opportunity, and then waited for it to occur again.
Glem was brought into Vermeer's presence, just like always. Every ten days, he would have an expansive feast, with meats and cheeses... and a carving knife to cut the beef.
Vermeer only ever invited his 'broken' slaves to such meals, and he believed Glem to be as such. He had no reason to fear her, for she lacked the will to try anything drastic.
Vermeer also thought his slaves lacked the brains; that they were ignorant, simple beasts. He might have been right, about some. However, when it came to Glem, he couldn't have been more wrong.
Glem favored a plan which balanced simplicity and complexity; for it had to be inconspicuous, but without the propensity to go horribly wrong.
Glem, as usual, was asked to bring Vermeer a platter, a heavy one of roast something-or-other. On her way to his 'throne', Glem pretended to trip and fall, spilling the food onto the floor. And then... he simply laughed. He laughed. He suddenly threw Glem backward, he himself unmoving. Glem hit a wall and crumpled to the ground, as Vermeer withdrew the blade from his chest, telling Glem he was right about her. It did not take him long to heal his wound.
Glem simply lay on the floor. She would have been silently grateful for the flexibility of her cartilaginous skeleton,(she had no bones to break), but she wasn't thinking of such things. She was focused more on what had broken... her plan, her hope. She had failed. And he had won. Again.
Slowly, she sat up, but she had lost the will to stand. Vermeer was fine, and she had failed. But... but she would try again. Yes, she would... somehow...
And that's when she felt her throat begin to close. She looked up at Vermeer saw his hand outstretched toward her. He told her she was probably more trouble than she was worth, and Glem felt stars cross her vision as oxygen slipped away... but then he stopped, and Glem heard his cold, chilling laugh. Death would be merciful, he said. And he was right.
Glem got the feeling he might have said more, but at that moment, she suddenly heard a sound to her left...
There, standing in the doorway were five Jedi, flanked by three blaster-toting escorts. Their lightsabers through colorful shadows across the walls. And Glem shrunk back against the wall... they were Jedi, they had sabers, they were like Vermeer... they had to be like Vermeer...
Which is why it miffed Glem when they began to yell angrily at the Dark Jedi. Something about a stolen... ah. Vermeer had stolen the wife of one, killed her. He wanted revenge; his friends were here to help. They called themselves Grey Jedi. Two of their number had fallen in an attempt to get through Vermeer's lair. Glem didn't particularly care; she just wanted to get away. But then they attacked Vermeer. Seven of them, upon him... nearby guards found their way into the room; yet still the Jedi fought. Glem looked on as one fell, than another...
But finally, Vermeer lay fallen. He had been defeated because he had failed to sense the Jedi from afar, he had failed because he'd been distracted, he'd been distracted by Glem.
But Glem did not see it that way. She had failed, she hadn't had her revenge... and now, she had no idea what to do. Her purpose had vanished. Chaos ensued as an alarm sounded; more and more guards flooded the room, intent on killing the Jedi.
Glem finally regained her senses, and slipped out through a servant's entrance; deciding to continue with the end part of her plan, what she would have done if the first part had worked...
Escape
Glem was intensely glad she'd thought through her escape before hand, for at present state, she was in no position to think through much of anything; her mental state was less than stellar.
She raced back down the the dungeons, grateful to find that nearly all the guards had been drawn by the commotion in the 'throne room'. She snatched the key-card off the wall and ran frantically down the hallways, freeing as many slaves and prisoners as she could.
Her intentions were only somewhat noble, however. Her intent was mostly to provide a distraction, perhaps with some helpful consequences. For surely, in the confusion, the guards would be much less likely to notice a single Gungan.
Glem guessed correctly, and she was indeed ignored by the guards, most of whom were either dead or still battling the Jedi. As she reached the edges of Vermeer's lair, Glem got the feeling that the Jedi had been dispatched, for guards were beginning to saunter aimlessly back toward their posts; devoid of leadership. One nearly stopped Glem, but her desperation lent her speed, and she was able to outrun him and finally reach the entrance... through which she had been only once; and through which she was going only once more. Glem suddenly found herself spit out onto the rough and grimy streets of The Works.
And then she ran. Oh! How she ran. For she had not run in so long... Whispers trickled by her ears as her tattoos were recognized. However, few actually attempted to confront her... for any found in the possession of one of Vermeer's slaves would certainly be punished; even if the possession was only to return a slave. None wanted to take that risk; for no one knew of Vermeer's death.
Glem ran from the criminals which glared at her, stared at her, pushed their wares. She ran from the eyes that glew in the shadows, terrors, creatures and enemies unknown. She ran from the guards of Vermeer, who were sure to follow, sure to come after her. She ran from that dungeon which she had been kept in for so long.
And she ran from her past. But as Glem would find out... her past was quite inescapable.
Wayward
Finally, after three nights of running, sleeping, running, sneaking aboard a transport, running some more, Glem finally found her way into the upper streets of Coruscant. And, for the first time in two years... two long years... Glem saw the sun.
As soon as she came into the upper layers of Coruscant, Glem had no idea what in the world to do. For you see, that was the problem in her grand plan; she forgot to figure out what she'd do if she actually did escape. Now she was free... Free. At least, that's what she told herself...
For three days she wandered, ducking security patrols, joining the homeless. At first, she had been frightened that her Tattoos would set her apart, that she'd be singled out... But here, in the upper worlds, few knew of Vermeer's existence, let alone his tendencies. She found that he'd been very, very secretive... Still, some would approach her. Before news of Vermeer's death spread through the skum, none dared touch her. Afterward, there was simply no point in caputuring her; there was no bounty to be found.
Glem had filled her life with a singular purpose; killing Vermeer. But now that Vermeer was gone... Glem's life seemed to be entirely lacking in purpose. Devoid of direction.
She could not return home... for she had shirked a life-debt... it had been her job, her responsibility, to make sure she saved Vermeer's life or died trying. And yet... she'd been given the opportunity to do so, and she had not. She had willingly handed the subject of her life-debt over to the slaughter... Gungans punished even the smallest crimes to the fullest extent... surely, if she returned, she'd find only rejection and exile, if not all-out execution. Now, she was truly alone.
Glem also battled the guilt which began to creep and claw at her consciousness. No matter how evil Vermeer had been (she still shuddered as she thought of his name,) She had still had still allowed another to be killed... watched them die... when the lights were low, or her nightmares still fading, Glem would think she still saw his blood upon her hands... As if it had been her fault, as if she really had been the one to deal the death blow...
As if that wasn't enough, Glem felt horrible about her intentions in freeing the other prisoners. Couldn't she just do the right thing, for the good of someone else for once? Why was she suddenly failing at everything?
Her third day in the upper city, when she was just getting brave enough to venture into the light (for it had burned her eyes before, so unused to it she was,) she stumbled into the fairly-reputable messenger company of an elderly Balosar. Thinking she was one of his employees, the distracted Balosar tasked her with delivering a package to another neighborhood. Glem tried to protest, insisting she didn't work for him, but the old Balosar, wrapped up in his inventorying, took no heed.
Relenting, Glem glanced at the tag on the package. She realized it was a location she'd been before, and so she set out to deliver the package, if only to earn a few credits.
When she returned, payment in hand, the Balosar was quick to point out that she was not one of his employees. Exasperated, she turned to go, but the Balosar, who introduced himself as Cringo Melliar, asked her to stay; for she had apparently finished the job in record time. (After, of course, Cringo called the recipient to make sure the parcel had actually arrived.)
With nothing else to do, Glem accepted the job offer. It was all she could do to make it through each day; her runs distractions. She used her sharp mind to make quick work of short-cuts and new addresses, finding openings and routes where none had been recognized before.
However, her nights were still haunted. She had nightmares, terrible dreams, reliving her times as a slave, or her murder of Vermeer. His words would echo through her mind, images of his gasping, dying face haunt her awake hours.
She was only seventeen, but she felt like she was forty.
And so, Glem spent the next year in the employment of Cringo. He once inquired of her background, but after experiencing an intense reaction on her part, he completely let the subject drop.
Due to her years of abuse, Glem developed an intense distrust for just about everything and everyone. She was especially and vehemently distrusting of male force-users. Glem trusted Cringo the most, though even he knew less and less of her well-being as she became more and more withdrawn.
Every day she had to deal with the reality of her past; she could not ignore it. For every time she caught a glance of those distinctive tattoos on her arms, her reflection in a mirror, she was again reminded of her dark years, of the past life on Naboo. But those happy memories, they had been brutally defiled and shredded by her years of slavery; she could not even remember her own mother's face. And that filled Glem with a new sort of despair.
She functioned, however, on the day-in and day-out. There were two aspects of her occupation which she excelled at; Efficiency, and speed. She began to develop a moderate reputation; many would come into Cringo's office and ask for her by name, or simply for 'The Gungan', for it was rare for her race to be seen beyond Naboo.
Eventually, Cringo ran into some trouble with a local gang. One of his other employees made a (legal) delivery to the leader of the gang. The gang leader was disappointed with the contents, and instead of taking it out upon the sender, he took it out upon Cringo and his business. Cringo survived, at least, but his company was in ruins. This left Glem unemployed, and feeling as if she'd failed again, failed Cringo, failed his company. Glem still frequented the general area, however, for there were those who would still ask for her by name.
A Promotional Offer
A six months, when Glem was eighteen and a bit more well-known, she received a request to deliver her first message between-planets. Lured by the promise of more credits than she could earn in a whole year, Glem eagerly jumped on the opportunity, taking a parcel of extremely sensitive nature from Coruscant to Corellia. All she knew was that it was highly confidential, and had gone through legal channels. Mostly. For Glem herself had no license, though she didn't run a big enough web for that to become an issue.
Glem's delivery went by mostly uneventfully, with her catching a ride to Corellia. However, it was once she reached the planet's capital that things started to get... interesting. Glem found herself not in a well-light, law-abiding place such as upper Coruscant... no, these streets of Corellia were much, much more dangerous. She fought her way through two attempted muggings, and another attempted pick-pocketing, through sheer wit and her own two hands. However, it soon became widely apparent that she would need a weapon of her own.
Even so, Glem delivered the parcel unharmed.
With the credits from that first Corellia delivery, Glem bought three things. A short vibro-blade, a gnarled oak staff, and, oddly enough, a Gizka being sold on the underground market.
Glem first noticed him when passing by a market on the way to make her delivery. Coming back, she listened to his owner's sales-pitch. Apparently, this particular Gizka had been bred for intelligence and loyalty, which is why he was being sold as a pet, and not exterminated as a pest. What he professed as selective breeding, but was probably a quark of nature, the Gizka had two small arms, where most of his cousins had none.
Though he looked neither intelligent nor of high-pedigree there, stuffed in his cramped cage, Glem took a liking to the Gizka. It at least provided her a distraction from her memories.Glem also fancied herself his savior, for he had been kept in a cramped, dirty cage; as was the mode of most smuggled animals. Finally, Glem had managed to do something right.
Some days Greek, named after the sound me made, would remain at Glem's lodgings, and sometimes, he would tag along. Either way, he became one of the few creatures Glem could trust; for a non-sentient cannot betray. Greek became her confidant, and as she spoke, he listened, always listened. He helped her work through some of the emotional scars she'd attained... but only some. She still remained a dark, withdrawn individual.
Tracks on the Other Side
Glem soon found out that not-quite-legal, (but not illegal) jobs in the rougher side of Corellia paid much, much better than strictly legal jobs did.
At first, she was planning on simply returning to Coruscant, to collect her pay. However, her client on Corellia was pleased enough that he offered her a temporary job, playing courier for him and his business partner over the span of two weeks. He knew the sender of the original package, and so had the credits transferred.
Glem obliged, for guarantee of work was something she could not pass up. When the two weeks were up, Glem found herself recommended to several other clients, and slowly built up a reasonable clientele, though not as expansive as hers upon Coruscant. Larger jobs greeted her on Corellia, however, and with no marked advantage to either locale, she decided to stay in Corellia. She had always enjoyed exploring new places...
On her nineteenth birthday, Glem made a delivery to a rather mysterious client; a woman known simply by the name Grizzelda. Glem was told she could be found at a specific bar, at a specific time... and sure enough, there she was. When Glem made the delivery, this Grizzelda gal did something she was not expecting. She gave Glem a choice. She would pay Glem the customary credits... or she would teach Glem a particular skill. Glem assumed it was because the woman was out of credits, though, curious, Glem inquired as to what her options were. Grizzelda professed she was quite adept in many areas, but her true expertise lay in blasters, physical combat, and computers. Unbeknownst to Glem, Grizzelda was employed by a particular arms group, testing out a new teaching technique for blaster skills. She needed an average, inexperienced test-subject, and Glem fit the bill.
Glem would have to purchase her own blaster, but Grizzelda suggested that it would be worth every credit.
Glem, ever willing to increase her ability to fend for herself, took the woman's offer. Normally, that would have implied much too much trust for Glem... but this Grizzelda was a woman, and not a force-user, so she did not incite as much of Glem's long-buried paranoia and fear.
Glem accepted the payment, and was instructed in the proper way to assemble, shoot, clean, and maintain a sporting blaster, her weapon of choice. Grizzelda faded into the shadows once more, leaving Glem with a new weapon on her hip.
Ever willing to expand her business prospects, and hide further from the ghosts of her past, Glem began the adventure of taking up inter-planetary missions again. She found she had an odd knack for hitch-hiking, and dashed and darted all over the Inner Core, though she found herself in the Twilight zones of Corellia and Coruscant most frequently.
The Now of Days...
From the business side, Glem, at twenty-one, now had her life together. She used the credits she earned to purchase new weapons and gadgets and tools, stuffing her pockets full. These, coupled with increasing experience, allowed her to take on tougher jobs. Tougher jobs paid better, and so Glem could upgrade her supplies, and then move on to take tougher jobs.
She usually stuck to only twilight dealings, as she called them, those in the middle of being legal and... not.
To improve her relations with other Sentients, Glem worked much at correcting her natural, species-inclined lisp, but some words and sounds were still hard for her to fit her Gungan anatomy around, especially new ones. When she became frustrated, scared, or angry, Glem's accent became thicker than ever.
Emotionally, Glem was still reeling, even though it had been four years since her captivity. She was both paranoid and distrusting, and could commonly be found with the habits of a conspiracy theorist. She would automatically assume someone was out to get her, though this proved to sharpen her senses, if not make her a touch unpleasant to be around. Well, scratch that, she's quite unpleasant to be around. Dark, Pessimistic, and frustrated with the world at large. But she carried on in a professional manner.
Glem continued to hitchike whilst she made her deliveries, working alone. Unless, of course, one counted Greek. Glem used the long hours in hyperspace, or the cross-planet commutes to gather as much information about her surround as she possibly could. Over time, she began to map out short-cuts in her head, ways to shave off 15 minutes of hyperspace here, a busy area there. However, she never grew so brave as to actually suggest her observations to those giving her a ride.
Though less frequent than they used to be, Glem was still haunted by nightmares. Perhaps the scar that she battled most often was her lack of self-worth. Being itemized by Vermeer took its toll, and Glem lostmuch all of her former enthusiasm. She might have appeared confident on the surface, but underneath, she was wildly insecure and held little value for her own self, and her own life. Luckily, these feelings stayed at odds with her fighting spirit, and she lived on, if only for the sake of being alive.
Perhaps, with the right influences, the right relationships, the right people, Glem might become whole once more. Then again, some scars run too deep.
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 3
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 6
Leadership: 4
Unarmed: 4
Melee Weapons: 6
Ranged Weapons: 4
Alignment: 0 (She's couldn't care less about the state of the Galaxy. Except when it hurts business.)
RP Sample:
Glem's step was brisk as she walked down the street. Corellia. The 'Twilight district', as she called it. Some of the folks here were law-abiding... most just didn't cause enough trouble to attract attention. She passed a Balosar who was most certainly selling death-sticks.... he had that lookabout him.
Glem didn't look at him for long. She kept her eyes straight ahead; never slowed her pace. She looked like she was on a mission, because she was. Thugs tended to pick out those who looked lost or disoriented. Glem appeared neither.
She ducked into an alley, shifting her grip on the thick, heavy staff she carried. She kept her eyes upon her mission; the stair which clung for dear life on the edge of the building. An emergency-escape. Glem reached up to undo the latch that held the lower part of the ladder in place. It was near to opening of its own accord; the latch hadn't been slid all the way...
Suddenly, of its own accord, the latch slid all the way shut.
Glem froze.
Her heart began to race, every muscle in her body on fire. Fear boiled in her stomach, making her hands tremble.
The latch had not closed itself. But Glem knew what had.
Two red eyes glowed in the darkness as they approached her. A Chiss. Glem forced herself to swallow the bile that rose in her throat. A Jedi. She was frozen for a moment as memories of Vermeer raced through her mind, making her feel as if she wanted to wretch. She could almost see his sneering face, hear his voice, feel that unseen force begin to drag her into a wall...
Glem suddenly regained control of herself as she heard a low zhisss.... The sound of a lightsaber igniting. As always, it reminded her of a viper's hiss... Glem's skin suddenly felt dry, like desert sand.
The Jedi stepped forward. "You have something I want..." Dark Jedi. Others... they didn't hiss like that.
Glem did not move.
Come a little closer... just a bit... further... The Dark Jedi took another step forward. "Give it to me... now..."
Glem suddenly struck upward with her staff. The Dark Jedi grinned as the blow swung right past him. A great clattering noise rang out as Glem's staff hit the emergency-escape. The Jedi laughed, cocky. He did not, however, look up, which would have been wise.
For Glem had hit exactly what she intended to. With a great roar, like the growl of a rancor, the ladder of the escape came clattering down. It struck the Chiss upon the head, knocking him to the ground.
He did not move.
Glem didn't know if he was dead, or just unconscious, but she wasn't particularly keen to stick around and find out. She stepped over his body, expression dark and brooding, and quickly climbed up the ladder. There she moved on to the steps, racing skyward, the metal clanging gently below her.
Unbidden, memories again began to push into her mind, mingled nightmares and realities....
Glem shoved them away, distracting herself by reciting the message she was to deliver, over and over in her head. When that failed to entertain her, she began to go over the technical aspects and properties of a sporting blaster. Then the anatomy of a Gizka. Anything to keep her mind off those nightmares...
Twenty minutes later, Glem had made it to the other side of the Twilight District. She smirked silently; it would have taken most others at least forty-five minutes. Even so, the satisfaction failed to penetrate, and it did nothing to lift her mood. Glem stepped toward the entrance of a local pub. Third roof-support to the left. Glem slipped the package; a data-disk, to her fingertips. She leaned against the pole, and did not have to try hard to take on the appearance of a weary traveler taking a moment to rest.
Just as she'd been told, she raised her right hand to rub her neck, than adjust her haillu. She stretched her right ankle in acknowledgment of the robed figure who made a similar movement. Glem began to walk down the street, going no where in particular. As she passed the cloaked figure, she slipped him the data-disk.
No questions asked.
Another delivery complete.
Race: Otolla Gungan
Age: 23
Height: 5'10
Weight: 135 lbs
Appearance: Glem is an Otolla Gungan, making her of the slimmer, lankier variety. She's generally aesthetically pleasing to the humanoid variety, if only not a pain to look at. Her skin is light lilac, mottled with pale orange on her stomach, underneath her chin, the tips of her ears, and the palms of her hands. Her sharp eyes are dark violet, and she usually avoids extending her eye-stalks, but she will when she has to, or when it benefits her.
Glem can usually be found with her two haillu (ears) pulled back into a seaweed-hemp tie. She generally wears loose-fitting Cargo-style pants which drop just past her knees, pockets stuffed with all different manners of odds and ends, supplies and weapons, in-case-of-emergency's, and just-in-case's. They're held up by a wide woven belt, which incorporates strands of tan hemp and dark green. She also wears a fine-weave canvas tank, pale green to offset her lilac skin. It's collared; not quite loose but not quite tight.
Glem has a unique set of body tattoos. Swirling bands trace across and around her lower arms, curling back upon themselves. Similar tattoos can be found on her haillu, down the center of her back, and along the back of her calves. They're deep violet, almost black, and glisten like wet ink when the light hits them just right.
Glem carries a sporting blaster on her hip, though she rarely uses it. Her pockets are stuffed with all sorts of things; including plentiful smoke-bombs and a few different types of grenades. One usually doesn't know what Glem's going to come out with until she already has. However, Glem still seems to somehow have it all organized.
Glem keeps the nails on her hands and feet pained a deep, glistening poison-green. The serum which she uses is specially designed to make her nails stronger, sharper, and to imbue her scratch with a mild irritant, making injuries markedly more likely to become infected.
Glem looks as young as her twenty-one years suggest, if one ignores the fact that she acts much older. She already has a world-weary air about her.
Glem can often be found carrying a walking stick; a gnarled old tree-branch polished to perfection, scarred by many a battle. The wood is mottled white and black, with swirls of deep brown vein. Glem can easily heft the staff as a weapon, making up for her slight form.
Birth place: Umberbool City, Naboo
Occupation: Trader
Rank: CEO, President, Janitor, Chief shift manager, Organizer, minion, and Boss of GMPS. Glem's Message and Parcel Service.
Bio:
Origins
Glem was born upon Naboo, living the usual early years of a Gungan Tadpole. She got her legs when the other Gungans did, she cooed just as any tadpole should. She was curious of those things around her; her favorite question was always 'Why?' She was the youngest of six, and so lived her early years in the shadow of her elder siblings. As a result, Glem became competitive. She longed to prove herself to the other Gungans, even though it led her to take things a little too far at times.
Glem developed a fiery personality. She did, of course, still observe the usual peace-keeping tendencies of Gungan tradition, but she was not above a snide-comment or a bold speech. Her father was a wise Gungan, and imbued his daughter with an intense sense of justice. Through practice, she became a reasonably objective judge of circumstance.
Glem often got into skirmishes with the local youth. However, she was almost always defending a tadpole from a bully, or some-such deed, and so was never pegged with anything more harsh than a disapproving glance. She absolutely hated seeing anyone taken advantage of simply because they weren't as strong, or weren't as big as the rest. She eventually earned a reputation among her peers, someone who ought not be messed with. However, she still divvied up kindness where it was deserved, a relatively energetic and cheerful youth.
Glem held great potential. She did as well as could be expected in school. She might have done better, according to her mother, if she wasn't so easily bored. Glem had a knack for making connections. Her history teacher would tell about the famine of a century ago, and Glem was already leaping ahead and figuring out how it factored into the war fifty years later. As a result, she often became bored in class, fidgeting and earning glares from her teacher. She said only what she had to, completed only what she must, while her mind wandered far off, trying to think of how current situations would affect the next fifty years.
Glem's father made certain she always respected her elders, and by the time she was twelve, one of her favorite hobbies was sitting around with the older Gungans and talking to them about all manner of things. They would gently correct her misconceptions, give her challenges. She was bright, but not phenomenally so.
The Gungan society was rather isolated, and though Glem did what exploring she could, she caught only rare glimpses of the few humans who populated the planet, learning even less of the galaxy beyond. She longed to see the world beyond her Gungan town... and so, she would sneak way, go explore the nearby swamps, or take long swims in the oceans. When her father first found out, he immediately reprimanded her, stating it wasn't safe. Though, she pleaded with him, and made the argument that nothing had happened so far; that she could take care of herself. Her father relented; if only willing to let Glem learn the hard way; though he made her promise she would take no friends with her; something she had done in the past.
Glem enjoyed such things as running, climbing, and racing. She would play with her peers from time to time, but she preferred exploring.
When she was twelve, Glem had a run-in with a Narglatch. She accidentally snuck up on one while it was feeding, and, being a very territorial species, Glem was attacked by the Narglatch. She barely escaped with her life, and from then on fostered a distinct aversion to the species. The scare proved to somewhat detach her from her parents; for she longed to tell someone about it, but loathed the idea of being forbidden to explore. And so began Glem's long-lived tradition of hiding away her negative emotions, and her learned avoidance of confiding in others.
Albeit a little rough around the edges, she was generally considered a reasonable youth.
Pivot
Glem grew and aged. By the time she was fifteen, she had developed into a shapely teenager, quite beautiful by Gungan standards. She was being courted by a kind, handsome fellow; her days passed in bliss.
She was educated and trained in the usual manner of Gungan society, learning certain craft trades from her mother, being taught a bit of hunting and self-defense from her father, though those were usually the hobbies of males.
Glem genuinely loved Kreegam, the fellow who courted her. They first met through Glem's love of debate. He joined Glem and a group of elders one day in discussion, and was somewhat impressed by Glem's reasoning. Kreegam began to meet with the group daily, and over time, both he and Glem developed a greater liking for one another.
He was everything a young lass could wish for... thoughtful, forgiving, peaceful, content. And that's what bothered Glem. He was... boring. Sure, he was splendid in a debate, but she wanted someone who would race through the swamps with her, who would wrestle a Narglatch, who would swim down, down to the depths of the ocean with her, only to see how long each could hold their breath. Kreegam was not this sort of fellow. He was quite conservative, and while he doted on Glem, he tried to convince her to take a more laid-back attitude; a quest which failed miserably.
Glem, again, had no one in which to confide her worries; her parents greatly approved of him; they thought he was a good influence on their energetic daughter. Again, Glem caved to her desire to please them, and held her hesitations within, enjoying quiet moments with Kreegam.
She was content with her life, it not regretful that it seemed to lack... adventure. Though, there was enough chaos and excitement in day-to-day life to keep Glem more than busy.
One stormy autumn day, Glem slipped from the protections of the swamp, where Umberbool was located. She was in search of a specific type of flower; One of her peers had bet she couldn't find it. Glem was going to prove him wrong.
As she came out upon the pain, Glem was suddenly started by the sound of an explosion above. She watched as the escape pod of a shattered transport plummeted, falling into the water not thirty yards from where she stood. Distracted, the young Gungan did not notice the Narglatch who was lurking nearby. It suddenly pounced upon her, pinning her to the ground. She screamed loudly, struggling fiercely against it.
Just as it bent down to make the kill, the beast suddenly froze; its eyes rolling back into its head. It fell, dead.
Glem looked up, and to her surprise, she saw a human-like figure standing over the beast, glowing red sword still in hand.
Glem, who had spent most of her life underwater in the Gungan city, was fascinated. She'd seen only a handful of foreigners, and none this close. His orange skin glistened in the sunlight, black triangular tattoos zigging and zagging around the crown of horns upon his head. He was, as she later found out, a Zabrak.
Stunned, she inquired of his weapon. He told her that it was a light saber, and asked if she'd ever seen one before. She shook her head, and he informed her of its purpose, while giving her a quick synopsis of the weapon. Glem was enamored.
She quickly asked how she could be of aid to the Zabrak, and in response to his request, ran and fetched the elders of the city.
The elders talked at length with the Zabrak, who told them his name was Vermeer, that he hailed from Coruscant, and that his presence on the planet was purely accidental. His ship had malfunctioned, and he'd attempted to land on the nearest planet with sentient life. He then went on to tell the elders of his rescue of Glem. At first, she bristled; ready to hear how foolish she'd been, or how inexperienced she was. However, she was surprised, and pleased to hear Vermeer tell the council how brave she'd been, and how fierce, before Vermeer had arrived.
Glem, ever susceptible to flattery, took an instant liking to the Zabrak.
However, Glem's parade suddenly came to a crashing halt as the elders began to make arrangements for her leaving the planet. Eyes flashing with confusion, she pulled one of the elders aside and demanded an explanation.
He proceeded to tell her that it was only fair; the Gungans had long observed the tradition of life-debt; Glem was to serve Vermeer until one of three things happened; She saved his life, she died, or he died. Glem bit back the many retorts which burned on her tongue; for if she refused the tradition, she would surely be exiled. At least she could leave her home in honor.
And so, she made ready to leave her home. Both she and Kreegam knew that it would likely be decades before she returned to Naboo, if she ever did. They broke off, each knowing the other might find someone else. Glem was sad, of course, he was a great friend. But the truth was... he'd never been much more than that. She was secretly relieved to be away from the engagement, to be freed from the guilt she felt for not loving him as much as she seemed to love her. He was a good Gungan; she hoped he found a worthy spouse. But that wasn't the place for her.
Glem bid farewell to her mother and her father, the latter gifting her simply with a bit of his wisdom; the most valuable gift in the old Gungan's eyes. She would hold his parting words with her the rest of her life. "Yousa remembah. No mattah where you isa... yousa beautiful. And yousa mah Glem. Yousas remembah thats."
Glem left her childhood home at the end of her fifteenth year.
Her first few days with the Zabrak were pleasant, if not wonderful. He had called in a friend who apparently had a ship, and Glem was welcomed aboard by the crew.
She was enchanted by the vast expanses of space, by the way the stars shone when not viewed through an atmosphere. She eagerly poured over the many maps on the ship, reading this and that about every planet she could.
Vermeer knew just how to compliment her to make his flattery subtle, but marked. Glem came to his every beck and call, like a loyal dog.
She noticed that the members of the crew treated Vermeer with an odd, if not fearful respect, but she thought little of it. In her mind, Vermeer deserved the utmost respect.
Disillusionment
Things went on as such for a week, whilst the ship grew further and further away from Naboo. Glem knew not where the ship was headed; nor did she particularly care.
And then things started to get... fishy.
Vermeer asked Glem to do something he had not asked her to do before. He asked her to dance. Glem, who had never had an affinity for such things, simply replied that she didn't dance. Vermeer countered that surely she'd at least learned something of tribal tradition. Glem grimaced, for Vermeer was right. She dodged the question, and replied with mock-indignation, assuming he was joking. He wasn't, and again repeated his request. Glem replied with a flat-out 'No.' He asked her again. And again, her answer was the same.
And for the first time, Glem experienced Vermeer's wrath. It was not a hot, fiery wrath... no, it was worse. For it was cold, and it was heartless. Glem was taken and hauled away, thrown into the cargo hold, kicking and struggling all the way.
Her nightmare had only just begun.
Glem spent the rest of the flight in the Cargo hold, given only meager amounts of food and water each day, which she refused, firey as ever. Finally, the ship arrived on Coruscant.
Glem, dazed and weak from hunger, was easily overpowered and drug deep into the bowels of Coruscant, past countless ships and buildings, into a particularly shoddy area of The Works. There, was Vermeer's home; though it could hardly be called such. It was more of a headquarters.
As first punishment, Glem spend four days going through the excruciating process of having much of her body tattooed. First came the backs of her haillu, the most painful of all. Next,the swirling bands upon her arms, which curled back upon themselves. Then, the intricate abstract-floral design, which rooted at the small of her back and curved up along her spine, coming around toward the nape of her neck. Lastly came the swirls which curled across the back of her calves, then around the front of her thighs.
As Glem would later find out, this is how Vermeer marked his captives. He was much too vain to mark them with a simple brand, so he set about making them into works of art. If a slave could not survive the process... well, then they weren't worth his sadistic attentions.
It was when Glem was thrown into the rank, foul dungeon area of Vermeer's lair, the slaves' quarters, that she found what he truly was.
Glem's cell-mate was a middle-aged Twi'lek woman, tattooed just as she. Glem continued to refuse the food she was given, but the Twi'Lek, Enna, eventually convinced her to eat again. When Glem finally had her wits about her again, the Gungan set to questioning the Twi'lek, trying to figure out just how Vermeer could be so very cruel.
Shocked that Glem did not already know, Enna informed her that Vermeer was a Dark Jedi. Glem knew little of the force and such things, for she was raised isolated and generally ignored her history class. Enna filled her in, and Glem developed an intense hatred for the beast that was Vermeer.
Each day, he would call her into his quarters, and ask her to to this or that. For a while, she simply refused to follow his orders, and was beaten as punishment.
Though, Glem wasn't beaten by real things, physical things... no, she could have dealt with that. Vermeer, sadistic creature that he was, contorted the force to do his bidding. He would take Glem, throw her against a wall, until she could no longer stand. And then he would haul her back up again, and beat her until she fell once more. He would throw objects at her, books, statues, until she was reduced to simply standing and enduring the punishment. All this, and Vermeer did nothing more than wave his hand.
As if to add insult to injury, Vermeer never did anything that might cause her to scar. She shed no blood, but every bone in her body ached and throbbed. For scars were blemishes, and blemishes were unacceptable.
Vermeer would never refer to her directly, and never by her name. He itemized her. He would say, 'I want the gungan to bring me this,' or 'I want to gungan to go stand there.'
Always insecure, the treatment eroded greatly at her self-worth and self-respect, and after a while, she began to believe him at times. To believe she was nothing more than a body... that she was worthless.
Three months later, when she had been beaten to the brink of death, Glem's spirit broke. In humble submission, she would do what Vermeer asked. Sometimes he would spare her, let her return to the slave quarters unharmed. But usually, he found some flaw in her work,and no matter how minor, would use it as an excuse to beat her again.
Nine months passed.
The dank, polluted airs of The Works gave her no hope, the skies held no promise of freedom. Glem lost hope.
But then, one day, a year or so (for Glem had lost almost all track of time) after Vermeer first found her, Glem caught a glance at her reflection in one of Vermeer's looking glasses, for he was quite vain.
And she remembered something. She remembered her father's words, the day they had parted. "Yousa remembah. No mattah where you isa... yousa beautiful. And yousa mah Glem. Yousas remembah thats." For though she had been beaten, though her soul had been shattered... she was still Glem. She was still her father's daughter, and she always would be.
Vermeer's cronies hustled her along, thrusting her back into the dungeon. But there was one thing that they could not now take away. Hope.
Twisted
The next morning, (if it could even be called morning, in this land with no sun,) a guard came not just to Glem and Enna's cell... but into it. Usually, the guards stayed as far away from the slaves as they could.
The cold words spoken by the guard would haunt Glem's nightmares. "You have outlived your beauty, Twi'lek. Vermeer has no use for you now."
And then, he simply shot her. One blaster bolt, through the skull. Glem screamed, but instantly stopped as she found the barrel of the blaster now pointed at her. She bit back her cry, and cowered in the corner. She watched in horror as the guard enlisted a set of droids to drag out the body of Enna, her only friend. It would make a tasty snack for the Rancor.
Apparently, Vermeer had done a lot of 'cleaning house' over the week, for three days later, the shaken Gungan was transported to a different area of the slave-quarters. She was put up with one of the pit-fighters, who were enlisted to entertain Vermeer gladiator-style. The arrangement miffed Glem, and she never did find out why. However, Vermeer had his reasons. He had, to an extent, noticed that she seemed to have more of a spark in her eye than usual. He was experimenting... testing himself. He put Glem, through a list of irrelevent excuses, in the prime place for her to learn to fight. He was curious to see if he had truly broken her, or if she might take the chance and mount a rebellion.
No longer was Glem called into Vermeer's presence on a daily basis, but she made frequent 'visits'. During her time there with the pit-fighters, she befriended a Besalisk, Pen'ka, who was working off his debt to Vermeer; three years complying to Vermeer's every whim, which was usually fighting.
He helped Glem to come to terms with Enna's death, told her of the circle of all life, of the way things come from the force, and return to it. He gave her some peace, but that was of little consequence considering the hellish situation they both found themselves in.
Her wits about her once more, Glem began to mutter of escape, and of taking revenge on Vermeer. Pen'ka immediately denounced the idea as idiotic and crazy, for she would surely be caught. However, he did agree to give her what training he could in the area of hand-to-hand combat.
Glem did four things during those nine months with Pen'ka. She ate. She slept. She 'visited' Vermeer. And she practiced.
Glem found herself to be a quick learner, Pen'ka a worthy coach. What she lacked in physical strength, she attempted to make up for in speed and agility.
However, it was not long before both Pen'ka and Glem realized she'd be able to do little without a weapon. The slave quarters had fallen into disrepair, and Glem was able to find an old bar to one of the doors which had long since fallen out and been replaced. She began to practice with the bar, hefting it like a staff and working with her knowledge of pressure points and such.
However, despite her rigorous efforts, Glem simply did not have the physical strength to make much of a difference. What she did have, however, was a mind for the fight; she had a way of seeing openings that nobody else noticed.
Nine months after she was lodged with Pen'ka, Glem was moved once more. Vermeer decided she'd been given enough time to defy him. He grew impatient, and so simply put her back with the other slaves, somewhat... dissapointed that the Gungan's spirit had not resurged. Then again, he gained new confidence in his ability to break his slaves, and so moved on.
This time, Glem found herself in a cell with a dozen others like her; all items of Vermeer's whim, all with their own set of intricate tattoos..
It was then that Glem realized just how sick and sadistic Vermeer truly was... though she now realized she'd known it all along. There were many other races represented in those slave-quarters... though Glem could identify only a handful; she knew what Enna had taught her, nothing more. Glem soon realized that many of them did not even know their own race, so lost were they in this pit of fear and despair.
Some told her their stories, most did not. Some had lost their voices, some their will to live. Glem, too, found it difficult to find the motivation to just keep living. She clung to one thing, though; it was only only thing that let her draw breath; exacting revenge upon Vermeer.
Fallen
Glem formed her plan. She observed Vermeer's habits, watched the ins and outs of his days, looked for any open areas of vulnerability. And so this continued for four months, as she first discovered her opportunity, and then waited for it to occur again.
Glem was brought into Vermeer's presence, just like always. Every ten days, he would have an expansive feast, with meats and cheeses... and a carving knife to cut the beef.
Vermeer only ever invited his 'broken' slaves to such meals, and he believed Glem to be as such. He had no reason to fear her, for she lacked the will to try anything drastic.
Vermeer also thought his slaves lacked the brains; that they were ignorant, simple beasts. He might have been right, about some. However, when it came to Glem, he couldn't have been more wrong.
Glem favored a plan which balanced simplicity and complexity; for it had to be inconspicuous, but without the propensity to go horribly wrong.
Glem, as usual, was asked to bring Vermeer a platter, a heavy one of roast something-or-other. On her way to his 'throne', Glem pretended to trip and fall, spilling the food onto the floor. And then... he simply laughed. He laughed. He suddenly threw Glem backward, he himself unmoving. Glem hit a wall and crumpled to the ground, as Vermeer withdrew the blade from his chest, telling Glem he was right about her. It did not take him long to heal his wound.
Glem simply lay on the floor. She would have been silently grateful for the flexibility of her cartilaginous skeleton,(she had no bones to break), but she wasn't thinking of such things. She was focused more on what had broken... her plan, her hope. She had failed. And he had won. Again.
Slowly, she sat up, but she had lost the will to stand. Vermeer was fine, and she had failed. But... but she would try again. Yes, she would... somehow...
And that's when she felt her throat begin to close. She looked up at Vermeer saw his hand outstretched toward her. He told her she was probably more trouble than she was worth, and Glem felt stars cross her vision as oxygen slipped away... but then he stopped, and Glem heard his cold, chilling laugh. Death would be merciful, he said. And he was right.
Glem got the feeling he might have said more, but at that moment, she suddenly heard a sound to her left...
There, standing in the doorway were five Jedi, flanked by three blaster-toting escorts. Their lightsabers through colorful shadows across the walls. And Glem shrunk back against the wall... they were Jedi, they had sabers, they were like Vermeer... they had to be like Vermeer...
Which is why it miffed Glem when they began to yell angrily at the Dark Jedi. Something about a stolen... ah. Vermeer had stolen the wife of one, killed her. He wanted revenge; his friends were here to help. They called themselves Grey Jedi. Two of their number had fallen in an attempt to get through Vermeer's lair. Glem didn't particularly care; she just wanted to get away. But then they attacked Vermeer. Seven of them, upon him... nearby guards found their way into the room; yet still the Jedi fought. Glem looked on as one fell, than another...
But finally, Vermeer lay fallen. He had been defeated because he had failed to sense the Jedi from afar, he had failed because he'd been distracted, he'd been distracted by Glem.
But Glem did not see it that way. She had failed, she hadn't had her revenge... and now, she had no idea what to do. Her purpose had vanished. Chaos ensued as an alarm sounded; more and more guards flooded the room, intent on killing the Jedi.
Glem finally regained her senses, and slipped out through a servant's entrance; deciding to continue with the end part of her plan, what she would have done if the first part had worked...
Escape
Glem was intensely glad she'd thought through her escape before hand, for at present state, she was in no position to think through much of anything; her mental state was less than stellar.
She raced back down the the dungeons, grateful to find that nearly all the guards had been drawn by the commotion in the 'throne room'. She snatched the key-card off the wall and ran frantically down the hallways, freeing as many slaves and prisoners as she could.
Her intentions were only somewhat noble, however. Her intent was mostly to provide a distraction, perhaps with some helpful consequences. For surely, in the confusion, the guards would be much less likely to notice a single Gungan.
Glem guessed correctly, and she was indeed ignored by the guards, most of whom were either dead or still battling the Jedi. As she reached the edges of Vermeer's lair, Glem got the feeling that the Jedi had been dispatched, for guards were beginning to saunter aimlessly back toward their posts; devoid of leadership. One nearly stopped Glem, but her desperation lent her speed, and she was able to outrun him and finally reach the entrance... through which she had been only once; and through which she was going only once more. Glem suddenly found herself spit out onto the rough and grimy streets of The Works.
And then she ran. Oh! How she ran. For she had not run in so long... Whispers trickled by her ears as her tattoos were recognized. However, few actually attempted to confront her... for any found in the possession of one of Vermeer's slaves would certainly be punished; even if the possession was only to return a slave. None wanted to take that risk; for no one knew of Vermeer's death.
Glem ran from the criminals which glared at her, stared at her, pushed their wares. She ran from the eyes that glew in the shadows, terrors, creatures and enemies unknown. She ran from the guards of Vermeer, who were sure to follow, sure to come after her. She ran from that dungeon which she had been kept in for so long.
And she ran from her past. But as Glem would find out... her past was quite inescapable.
Wayward
Finally, after three nights of running, sleeping, running, sneaking aboard a transport, running some more, Glem finally found her way into the upper streets of Coruscant. And, for the first time in two years... two long years... Glem saw the sun.
As soon as she came into the upper layers of Coruscant, Glem had no idea what in the world to do. For you see, that was the problem in her grand plan; she forgot to figure out what she'd do if she actually did escape. Now she was free... Free. At least, that's what she told herself...
For three days she wandered, ducking security patrols, joining the homeless. At first, she had been frightened that her Tattoos would set her apart, that she'd be singled out... But here, in the upper worlds, few knew of Vermeer's existence, let alone his tendencies. She found that he'd been very, very secretive... Still, some would approach her. Before news of Vermeer's death spread through the skum, none dared touch her. Afterward, there was simply no point in caputuring her; there was no bounty to be found.
Glem had filled her life with a singular purpose; killing Vermeer. But now that Vermeer was gone... Glem's life seemed to be entirely lacking in purpose. Devoid of direction.
She could not return home... for she had shirked a life-debt... it had been her job, her responsibility, to make sure she saved Vermeer's life or died trying. And yet... she'd been given the opportunity to do so, and she had not. She had willingly handed the subject of her life-debt over to the slaughter... Gungans punished even the smallest crimes to the fullest extent... surely, if she returned, she'd find only rejection and exile, if not all-out execution. Now, she was truly alone.
Glem also battled the guilt which began to creep and claw at her consciousness. No matter how evil Vermeer had been (she still shuddered as she thought of his name,) She had still had still allowed another to be killed... watched them die... when the lights were low, or her nightmares still fading, Glem would think she still saw his blood upon her hands... As if it had been her fault, as if she really had been the one to deal the death blow...
As if that wasn't enough, Glem felt horrible about her intentions in freeing the other prisoners. Couldn't she just do the right thing, for the good of someone else for once? Why was she suddenly failing at everything?
Her third day in the upper city, when she was just getting brave enough to venture into the light (for it had burned her eyes before, so unused to it she was,) she stumbled into the fairly-reputable messenger company of an elderly Balosar. Thinking she was one of his employees, the distracted Balosar tasked her with delivering a package to another neighborhood. Glem tried to protest, insisting she didn't work for him, but the old Balosar, wrapped up in his inventorying, took no heed.
Relenting, Glem glanced at the tag on the package. She realized it was a location she'd been before, and so she set out to deliver the package, if only to earn a few credits.
When she returned, payment in hand, the Balosar was quick to point out that she was not one of his employees. Exasperated, she turned to go, but the Balosar, who introduced himself as Cringo Melliar, asked her to stay; for she had apparently finished the job in record time. (After, of course, Cringo called the recipient to make sure the parcel had actually arrived.)
With nothing else to do, Glem accepted the job offer. It was all she could do to make it through each day; her runs distractions. She used her sharp mind to make quick work of short-cuts and new addresses, finding openings and routes where none had been recognized before.
However, her nights were still haunted. She had nightmares, terrible dreams, reliving her times as a slave, or her murder of Vermeer. His words would echo through her mind, images of his gasping, dying face haunt her awake hours.
She was only seventeen, but she felt like she was forty.
And so, Glem spent the next year in the employment of Cringo. He once inquired of her background, but after experiencing an intense reaction on her part, he completely let the subject drop.
Due to her years of abuse, Glem developed an intense distrust for just about everything and everyone. She was especially and vehemently distrusting of male force-users. Glem trusted Cringo the most, though even he knew less and less of her well-being as she became more and more withdrawn.
Every day she had to deal with the reality of her past; she could not ignore it. For every time she caught a glance of those distinctive tattoos on her arms, her reflection in a mirror, she was again reminded of her dark years, of the past life on Naboo. But those happy memories, they had been brutally defiled and shredded by her years of slavery; she could not even remember her own mother's face. And that filled Glem with a new sort of despair.
She functioned, however, on the day-in and day-out. There were two aspects of her occupation which she excelled at; Efficiency, and speed. She began to develop a moderate reputation; many would come into Cringo's office and ask for her by name, or simply for 'The Gungan', for it was rare for her race to be seen beyond Naboo.
Eventually, Cringo ran into some trouble with a local gang. One of his other employees made a (legal) delivery to the leader of the gang. The gang leader was disappointed with the contents, and instead of taking it out upon the sender, he took it out upon Cringo and his business. Cringo survived, at least, but his company was in ruins. This left Glem unemployed, and feeling as if she'd failed again, failed Cringo, failed his company. Glem still frequented the general area, however, for there were those who would still ask for her by name.
A Promotional Offer
A six months, when Glem was eighteen and a bit more well-known, she received a request to deliver her first message between-planets. Lured by the promise of more credits than she could earn in a whole year, Glem eagerly jumped on the opportunity, taking a parcel of extremely sensitive nature from Coruscant to Corellia. All she knew was that it was highly confidential, and had gone through legal channels. Mostly. For Glem herself had no license, though she didn't run a big enough web for that to become an issue.
Glem's delivery went by mostly uneventfully, with her catching a ride to Corellia. However, it was once she reached the planet's capital that things started to get... interesting. Glem found herself not in a well-light, law-abiding place such as upper Coruscant... no, these streets of Corellia were much, much more dangerous. She fought her way through two attempted muggings, and another attempted pick-pocketing, through sheer wit and her own two hands. However, it soon became widely apparent that she would need a weapon of her own.
Even so, Glem delivered the parcel unharmed.
With the credits from that first Corellia delivery, Glem bought three things. A short vibro-blade, a gnarled oak staff, and, oddly enough, a Gizka being sold on the underground market.
Glem first noticed him when passing by a market on the way to make her delivery. Coming back, she listened to his owner's sales-pitch. Apparently, this particular Gizka had been bred for intelligence and loyalty, which is why he was being sold as a pet, and not exterminated as a pest. What he professed as selective breeding, but was probably a quark of nature, the Gizka had two small arms, where most of his cousins had none.
Though he looked neither intelligent nor of high-pedigree there, stuffed in his cramped cage, Glem took a liking to the Gizka. It at least provided her a distraction from her memories.Glem also fancied herself his savior, for he had been kept in a cramped, dirty cage; as was the mode of most smuggled animals. Finally, Glem had managed to do something right.
Some days Greek, named after the sound me made, would remain at Glem's lodgings, and sometimes, he would tag along. Either way, he became one of the few creatures Glem could trust; for a non-sentient cannot betray. Greek became her confidant, and as she spoke, he listened, always listened. He helped her work through some of the emotional scars she'd attained... but only some. She still remained a dark, withdrawn individual.
Tracks on the Other Side
Glem soon found out that not-quite-legal, (but not illegal) jobs in the rougher side of Corellia paid much, much better than strictly legal jobs did.
At first, she was planning on simply returning to Coruscant, to collect her pay. However, her client on Corellia was pleased enough that he offered her a temporary job, playing courier for him and his business partner over the span of two weeks. He knew the sender of the original package, and so had the credits transferred.
Glem obliged, for guarantee of work was something she could not pass up. When the two weeks were up, Glem found herself recommended to several other clients, and slowly built up a reasonable clientele, though not as expansive as hers upon Coruscant. Larger jobs greeted her on Corellia, however, and with no marked advantage to either locale, she decided to stay in Corellia. She had always enjoyed exploring new places...
On her nineteenth birthday, Glem made a delivery to a rather mysterious client; a woman known simply by the name Grizzelda. Glem was told she could be found at a specific bar, at a specific time... and sure enough, there she was. When Glem made the delivery, this Grizzelda gal did something she was not expecting. She gave Glem a choice. She would pay Glem the customary credits... or she would teach Glem a particular skill. Glem assumed it was because the woman was out of credits, though, curious, Glem inquired as to what her options were. Grizzelda professed she was quite adept in many areas, but her true expertise lay in blasters, physical combat, and computers. Unbeknownst to Glem, Grizzelda was employed by a particular arms group, testing out a new teaching technique for blaster skills. She needed an average, inexperienced test-subject, and Glem fit the bill.
Glem would have to purchase her own blaster, but Grizzelda suggested that it would be worth every credit.
Glem, ever willing to increase her ability to fend for herself, took the woman's offer. Normally, that would have implied much too much trust for Glem... but this Grizzelda was a woman, and not a force-user, so she did not incite as much of Glem's long-buried paranoia and fear.
Glem accepted the payment, and was instructed in the proper way to assemble, shoot, clean, and maintain a sporting blaster, her weapon of choice. Grizzelda faded into the shadows once more, leaving Glem with a new weapon on her hip.
Ever willing to expand her business prospects, and hide further from the ghosts of her past, Glem began the adventure of taking up inter-planetary missions again. She found she had an odd knack for hitch-hiking, and dashed and darted all over the Inner Core, though she found herself in the Twilight zones of Corellia and Coruscant most frequently.
The Now of Days...
From the business side, Glem, at twenty-one, now had her life together. She used the credits she earned to purchase new weapons and gadgets and tools, stuffing her pockets full. These, coupled with increasing experience, allowed her to take on tougher jobs. Tougher jobs paid better, and so Glem could upgrade her supplies, and then move on to take tougher jobs.
She usually stuck to only twilight dealings, as she called them, those in the middle of being legal and... not.
To improve her relations with other Sentients, Glem worked much at correcting her natural, species-inclined lisp, but some words and sounds were still hard for her to fit her Gungan anatomy around, especially new ones. When she became frustrated, scared, or angry, Glem's accent became thicker than ever.
Emotionally, Glem was still reeling, even though it had been four years since her captivity. She was both paranoid and distrusting, and could commonly be found with the habits of a conspiracy theorist. She would automatically assume someone was out to get her, though this proved to sharpen her senses, if not make her a touch unpleasant to be around. Well, scratch that, she's quite unpleasant to be around. Dark, Pessimistic, and frustrated with the world at large. But she carried on in a professional manner.
Glem continued to hitchike whilst she made her deliveries, working alone. Unless, of course, one counted Greek. Glem used the long hours in hyperspace, or the cross-planet commutes to gather as much information about her surround as she possibly could. Over time, she began to map out short-cuts in her head, ways to shave off 15 minutes of hyperspace here, a busy area there. However, she never grew so brave as to actually suggest her observations to those giving her a ride.
Though less frequent than they used to be, Glem was still haunted by nightmares. Perhaps the scar that she battled most often was her lack of self-worth. Being itemized by Vermeer took its toll, and Glem lost
Perhaps, with the right influences, the right relationships, the right people, Glem might become whole once more. Then again, some scars run too deep.
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 3
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 6
Leadership: 4
Unarmed: 4
Melee Weapons: 6
Ranged Weapons: 4
Alignment: 0 (She's couldn't care less about the state of the Galaxy. Except when it hurts business.)
RP Sample:
Glem's step was brisk as she walked down the street. Corellia. The 'Twilight district', as she called it. Some of the folks here were law-abiding... most just didn't cause enough trouble to attract attention. She passed a Balosar who was most certainly selling death-sticks.... he had that lookabout him.
Glem didn't look at him for long. She kept her eyes straight ahead; never slowed her pace. She looked like she was on a mission, because she was. Thugs tended to pick out those who looked lost or disoriented. Glem appeared neither.
She ducked into an alley, shifting her grip on the thick, heavy staff she carried. She kept her eyes upon her mission; the stair which clung for dear life on the edge of the building. An emergency-escape. Glem reached up to undo the latch that held the lower part of the ladder in place. It was near to opening of its own accord; the latch hadn't been slid all the way...
Suddenly, of its own accord, the latch slid all the way shut.
Glem froze.
Her heart began to race, every muscle in her body on fire. Fear boiled in her stomach, making her hands tremble.
The latch had not closed itself. But Glem knew what had.
Two red eyes glowed in the darkness as they approached her. A Chiss. Glem forced herself to swallow the bile that rose in her throat. A Jedi. She was frozen for a moment as memories of Vermeer raced through her mind, making her feel as if she wanted to wretch. She could almost see his sneering face, hear his voice, feel that unseen force begin to drag her into a wall...
Glem suddenly regained control of herself as she heard a low zhisss.... The sound of a lightsaber igniting. As always, it reminded her of a viper's hiss... Glem's skin suddenly felt dry, like desert sand.
The Jedi stepped forward. "You have something I want..." Dark Jedi. Others... they didn't hiss like that.
Glem did not move.
Come a little closer... just a bit... further... The Dark Jedi took another step forward. "Give it to me... now..."
Glem suddenly struck upward with her staff. The Dark Jedi grinned as the blow swung right past him. A great clattering noise rang out as Glem's staff hit the emergency-escape. The Jedi laughed, cocky. He did not, however, look up, which would have been wise.
For Glem had hit exactly what she intended to. With a great roar, like the growl of a rancor, the ladder of the escape came clattering down. It struck the Chiss upon the head, knocking him to the ground.
He did not move.
Glem didn't know if he was dead, or just unconscious, but she wasn't particularly keen to stick around and find out. She stepped over his body, expression dark and brooding, and quickly climbed up the ladder. There she moved on to the steps, racing skyward, the metal clanging gently below her.
Unbidden, memories again began to push into her mind, mingled nightmares and realities....
Glem shoved them away, distracting herself by reciting the message she was to deliver, over and over in her head. When that failed to entertain her, she began to go over the technical aspects and properties of a sporting blaster. Then the anatomy of a Gizka. Anything to keep her mind off those nightmares...
Twenty minutes later, Glem had made it to the other side of the Twilight District. She smirked silently; it would have taken most others at least forty-five minutes. Even so, the satisfaction failed to penetrate, and it did nothing to lift her mood. Glem stepped toward the entrance of a local pub. Third roof-support to the left. Glem slipped the package; a data-disk, to her fingertips. She leaned against the pole, and did not have to try hard to take on the appearance of a weary traveler taking a moment to rest.
Just as she'd been told, she raised her right hand to rub her neck, than adjust her haillu. She stretched her right ankle in acknowledgment of the robed figure who made a similar movement. Glem began to walk down the street, going no where in particular. As she passed the cloaked figure, she slipped him the data-disk.
No questions asked.
Another delivery complete.
Grizzelda's a hoot. Hm, anywho, lemme know if I still ought to change it. ^^