Diary of 1000 Year Old Sangnir

OOC: A Thousand Years Old Sangnir

This thread serves as an in-character journal chronicling the ancient and fragmented life of Nando Nando , a Mandalorian Sangnir cursed with centuries of life. It is intended to be written using a solo journaling RPG format based on Thousand Year Old Vampire by Tim Hutchings—adapted to the Star Wars galaxy and Nando's future character development.

Each post will represent a prompt from the RPG, revealing a moment from Nando’s long and often romanticized past: forgotten lovers, lost battles, faded names, and scars that refuse to heal. As centuries pass, his memories will be rewritten, erased, or embellished—reflecting the tragedy, comedy, and curse of the long-lived.

Behind the melodramatic monologues and blood-slick bravado lies a simple question:
Who does the Sangnir remember, and what does the man forget?​

Gameplay Notes:
  • Prompts are rolled using the TYOV system with Star Wars-themed interpretation
  • Memory limits, skills, and losses are enforced per TYOV rules
  • The character sheet will be updated in a spoiler box at the end of each update, a template of which is below.
  • Multiple updates may be in a single blog post, updated via edits to align with memory arcs.
  • Details Nando has forgotten in his lifespan details will be displayed like this.
This blog page serves as an OOC description, initial starting point, and reference point for future Holojournal Entries.



☽ Veral of Clan Vevut'tal ☾
Name and Identity Lost to Time​

★ Character Summary
• Name: Veral Vevut'tal "Nando"
• Species: Highblood Sangnir — turned in 158 ABY
• Allegiance: Clan Vevut'tal, Mandalore
• Age at Turning: 39
• Location of Turning: Ruins of Keldab Vevut'tal
• Timeline Progress: 158 ABY – 305 ABY


★ Skills
  • Close-Quarters Combat (CHECKED)
  • Jetpack Operation "Rising Phoenix"
    • Sworn off in 160 ABY
  • Relic appraisal (CHECKED)
  • War-form (CHECKED)
  • Anima-Fueled healing (CHECKED)
  • Bounty Hunting

★ Resources
  • Cracked Beskar armor with clan Vevut'tal sigil scorched off
  • Sealed Datacube of Clan Vevut'tal
  • Ruins of Keldab Vevut'tal
  • Diary: Holocron of Sangnir Saga
      • I crawled through the shattered vaults beneath our stronghold, gut torn open, blood leaking over forgotten stone. He found me where no one else would look. Mavrad offered me eternity, and I said yes. I do not live, but haunt these ruins.
      • I have shifted into a grotesque figure, and slain scavengers in the ruins of Keldab Vevut'tal. It was a temporary change, but a jarring realization of what Mavrad Blackvein has turned me into. I hide, emerging only to feed for weeks, months. I did not consider that survivors might have escaped. Only my new, horrific existence.
      • Kessari uncovered the truth—Blackvein lured the raiders that destroyed my clan. Tirzah died because of him. I gathered my kin, hunted Mavrad to a tombship in the deep Expanse, and slew him in War-form after a brutal, monstrous battle. I walked away blood-soaked and silent, his sword driven through his cursed heart. My friends stood by me. My sire is dead. The silence he left behind is worse than his voice ever was.

★ Characters

  • Mavrad Blackvein
    • Immortal
      • Slain by Nando, 167 ABY
    • Sangnir sire. An ancient Sangnir warlord entombed beneath the ruins of an Outer Rim blood-crypt.
    • Highblood of ancient lineage, and chose me as an “offspring” to inherit his burden.
    • Cruel but methodical. Did not turn me to save me, but to use me in a centuries-long vendetta against Jedi relic-hunters
    • Nature of Turning:
      I was mortally wounded in the destruction of Keldab Velvut'tal. Mavrad offered life eternal in exchange for servitude.
  • Tirzah Dey’kar
    • The last person who called me "vod". half-Mandalorian slicer and part-time blood-smuggler
    • Vibrant, reckless, irreverent. Gentle, kind, virtuous, selfless.
    • He playfully called me “Nando” because he took himself and his oath too seriously. "Always no, always Mando, Nando this, Nando that"
    • Our romance burned bright during a chaotic raid campaign across Wild Space, where they teased him endlessly and kissed me when I felt like I was going to cry.
    • Died during the destruction of Keldab Vevut'tal
    • Last words: "Lighten up, Nando. You’re not dying yet."
    • Returned in 173 ABY, never seen again (Died of unknown cause)
  • Torik “Uncle” Vevut'tal
    • Type: Relative | Elder | Armorer | Mortal | died of Old Age in 172 ABY
    • Torik was my uncle by blood and Clan Vevut’tal’s last true armorer.
    • Stern and deeply traditional
    • Forged my first set of armor by hand, etching a proverb into the vambrace. Torik never smiled, but always watched.
  • Byrel Saun
    • Type: Friend | Sparring Partner | Foil | Mortal | died of old age, 190 ABY
    • Byrel was Veral’s closest comrade-in-arms, a jetpack brawler with a cracked grin and a spine full of metal plates.
    • Loud, vulgar, and warm-hearted, Byrel always said he’d die “before you go full poet.” He often joked that I always looked dour and warned me not to chase death like a lover.
    • Type: Lover | Rebel Informant | Ghost | Immortal (lowblood)
    • Kessari was a smuggler with a sliver of Force sensitivity—too weak for training, strong enough to feel wrong to sith.
    • She wore Mandalorian iron over desert silks and moved like a story being told in secret. Kessari and Veral had a brief, albeit intense affair while trading information and relics. She called him “beautiful in mourning” long before he’d lost anyone.
★ Marks
  • A jagged, blackened wound crosses my right side—from rib to hip—where the blade that should have killed me failed to finish the job. It never healed. It weeps when I feed, and pulses with physical pain to match the emotional.
  • Red eyes, glowing, piercing, unnatural. Distinctly Sangnir.

★ Memories

Memory 1:
  • TBD
Memory 2:
  • Uncle Torik forged my armor in silence while I recited the names of our dead. When he sealed the chestplate shut, I thought I understood what it meant to carry a legacy.
  • My eyes no longer return to their old color. They glow faintly, permanently crimson, visible even in shadow. When I look into mirrors or transparisteel, I see a stranger staring back. Others do not see me, they see hunger. The legacy I once thought I carried is so very distant. I wonder what Uncle Torik would think if he could see what I am now.
  • When I feed, I heal. Even shattered bone will mend over hours. I no longer fear mortal wounds—only what I must become to survive them. Does the armor still serve a purpose if injury loses it's meaning? Am I, like my beskar'gam, no longer given meaning devoid of purpose? What legacy will I leave if I only watch as everything crumbles to dust?
Memory 3:
  • Kessari made me promise I would never sell the datacube—not for credits, not even to save our clan. I lied. And she knew.
  • I reunited with Byrel, Kessari, and Uncle Torik after years in exile, only to witness them turn against each other over the sacred Datacube; I intervened, lied, and kept the relic—and with it, unearthed a blackened vibroclaw once worn by a forgotten Alor.
  • After slaying Blackvein, and Uncle's death of old age, in a moment of shared fear and uncertainty, Kessari and I grew too close – and I turned her into something like me.
Memory 4:
  • Byrel and I trained on vertical cliffs, jetpacks sputtering as we fought mid-air with practice knives. He laughed when I nearly broke my ribs, called me “gravity’s favorite Mando'ad.”
  • I rejected the skies and sealed my jetpack away in 160 ABY the hunger raged too fiercely to trust myself with flight. If I will hunt to consume, I will do it without bastardizing the ways of my people.
Memory 5:
  • I’ve learned to track prey across parsecs, follow the scent of fear, the rhythm of breath in transit logs, and the shift in credit flow. No contract was needed — only a reason.
    • I am Veral of Clan Vevut'tal, a Mandalorian Supercommandos and protector born in the year 120 ABY. My clan was betrayed, destroyed in 158 ABY, along with the fortress they called home. I would have died too, had I not been rescued by Blackvein, a highblood Sangnir with their own motivations.
    • I am Nando, of a destroyed clan. In 179 ABY, my lover Tirzah returned, only for the revelation that they betrayed my clan and was directly responsible for my transformation. The knowledge of this pains me. Of the memories I have, this I yearn to forget.
    • All whom I know have passed, save for Kessari, who has grown distant and left. I seal myself away for the foreseeable future. Long enough that I may forget Veral Vevut'tal, and that the name Nando bears no second meaning or painful memories for me. I will wait for the galaxy to call my name. To heed the call of the Mand'Alor should they discover me.


158 - 280 ABY: Diary of a 1000 Year Old Sangnir

  1. Rolled [1d10] - [1d6] = [7] - [6] = [+6]
  2. Previous position: [1]
  3. New Position: [1] + [+6] = 7
Prompt [7] (First Occurrence) :
"Your body manifests some trait related to the Vampire that created you. How do you become more like them?

Create a Skill that reflects this."
Click to expand...


4q4HTkX.png


The First Shedding​
Location: Keldab Vevut'tal ruins
Year: 158 ABY

They buried themselves in my home.
Six of them. Looters. Grave-pickers with blasters and spice-glint in their teeth.

They came for scrap, not survivors. when they saw the armor, charred black, and called me a ghost.

I may as well be.

I was bleeding still. I had not eaten since the the attack... and... the rite with Blackvein after...

I had not spoken since I woke. I could barely walk, yet they mocked. Called out for drinks. One promised to wear my helm as a codpiece.

I remember rage, and then I became something that was not me anymore.

I heard it first. My back broke open.
The plates of my ruined jetpack split. It was pain, but also release. Wings. Emerged from confining, charred beskar. Flesh – taut, leathery, veined with blood redder than blood. My jaw cracked and distended, the confining helm peeled off in fury. Claws spilled from my hands.

I remember blaster fire hitting the still-scored Beskar and sizzling my new flesh. I didn't feel it, or didn't care. His arms came off. I plucked them like fruit off a vine.

I remember the scream of the one who begged. He was the last. He said they weren't with the group that attacked, that they didn't shoot the foundlings. He said he was just here scavenging for power cores.

I pulled him apart like a pomegranate.
I drank from what was inside. I felt better.

Afterwards, I hid. Back into the ruins. The claws eventually retracted. The wings receded.

I understand now.
This is why Mavrad spoke in riddles. Not just to confuse a dying man, not because he is some wise, ancient thing. Because it hurts to speak plainly with a mouth like this, fangs like these.

I hid in the ruins of my home for what felt like countless days, wandering the crypts and leaving only when hunger drove me to search for prey. I was more beast than man in those early months.

I was not made immortal.
I was made monstrous.

pF7E9Nk.png


  1. Rolled [1d10] - [1d6] = [6] - [2] = [+4]
  2. Previous position: [7]
  3. New Position: [7] + [+4] = 11
Prompt [11] (First Occurrence) :
"How do you find solace from the raging hunger within you?
You may lose one checked or unchecked Skill."
Click to expand...

4q4HTkX.png


The Sky is for the Living​
Location: Keldab Vevut'tal Ruins, surrounding areas.
Years: 159-160 ABY

I tried not to feed again.
I lasted five days.

The ruins were cold and tasted like carbon and silence. Even the fire-smell had fled.

I buried the bones of the bodies. Or what was left of them, at least. I found my uncle’s forge beneath the scorched stone and slept inside the crucible. I was blood-starved and I thought it might burn me clean.

It didn’t.

The hunger is always there now.
Not a pang. Not a craving. A pull. Like orbit. Even when I do not move, I fall toward it.

The ruins of my home became an omen. Travellers would not pass near, scavengers stopped daring to approach. It was haunted by the skulking, hungry thing I had become.

I had to feed. I ventured out, further and further. When I had some semblance of sanity back in my mind I tried to stick to bounty heads wanted dead, scum, villains, foes who no one would notice were consumed to sate my sanguine thirst.

It was sickening. It was against the Supercommando Codex, against what my clan once stood for.

Worst of all was the Vevut'tal name fading slowly as the months passed.

I made a vow.

I cut the seals from my jetpack.
Tore the ignition harness out with my bare hands. I will not fly again. Not until I can control this hunger. I will not dishonor the legacy of my clan to be a predator that decends from the skies to feed on the helpless in the night.

If I rise, let it be with the wings I did not ask for.

There is no sky in the crypt.
And that is where I belong.
pF7E9Nk.png


  1. Rolled [1d10] - [1d6] = [10] - [2] = [+8]
  2. Previous position: [11]
  3. New Position: [11] + [+8] = 19
Prompt [19] (First Occurrence) :
"Two friendly Characters become embroiled in an
internecine conflict. Become involved and check a
Skill.
Create up to two Characters, if needed.
How do you profit? Gain a Resource. "
Click to expand...
  • Changes to Character Sheet:
    • Skill checked: Close Combat
    • Resource gained: Vibroclaw Gauntlet


☽ H E A R T B L O O D ☾​

Location: Keldab Vevut'tal, Ordo's Grave, Moridinae
Years: 160–163 ABY


"Ni skanah cuyir kyr’am, Nando."

He was laughing when he said it. Burn-scarred and swaying in the scrapyard pit, blood in his teeth and pride in his stance. I hadn’t heard my own name in four years.

I found Byrel first. Still loud. Still kicking. Still... warm. He pulled me into a headlock and said I smelled like a poodoo. Said I still looked "tragically like a poet, somehow." Then offered me a drink like we weren’t both supposed to be dead.

Kessari came next.
I tracked her to a ghost station at the edge of Ordo’s Grave, half-listening to old slicer codes and rumors passed like rumors of hauntings.
She didn’t say my name.
She just looked at me. Then wrapped her scarf around my wrist like it was a leash. We didn’t talk about the cube. We didn’t talk about Him. She never asked what I’d become. We let ourselves pretend the last decade never happened.

Uncle Torik didn’t need finding.
He walked into the ruins one night without sound or greeting. Tossed a field-forged tool kit at my feet. "If you’re alive," he muttered, "the forge needs hands."
That was it. That was all. I’d waited four to see another Vevut'tal. Immediate got a job.

Together, we tried to build something.
Then the cube destroyed it.

Byrel wanted it opened, to rebuild what we could. Torik called it sacred, and wouldn't see the last remnants of our clan lost in our attempt.

They fought. Words first, then blades.
I ended it before one of them bled out. Not in time for trust to survive. The clan was already gone. The cube wouldn't save anything if kin drew Beskad at kin.

I told them I would seal it away.

I didn’t.

I copied the cube. Dug deep into it. Deeper than I should’ve.

Found something down there: a prototype from before the fall. A relic meant for close war, for survival, buried with a past Alor.

I wear it now—a single blackened vibroclaw gauntlet. I still search the Datacube. To fill the time. I no longer work the forge with Uncle. He grows older each time I see him.

I have grown unusually tall, but not older.

As for Kessari, Byrel...

They're still out there.
Somewhere.
Someday, I'll see them again.​



  1. Rolled [1d10] - [1d6] = [2] - [2] = [+0]
  2. Previous position: [19]
  3. New Position: [19] + [+0] = 19
Prompt [19] (Second Occurrence) :
"You scheme while your friends make war on one another.
Manipulate the conflict to destroy any Character."
Click to expand...


☽ M O N S T E R ☾​

Location: Vhar’tarak Tombship, Deep Ordo Expanse
Years: 163–167 ABY


"Gar kyrayc ibic jate—meh gar rejorhaa'ir gar verd, ni cuyir gar aru'e."

They didn’t flinch when I told them what I was.

Byrel just shrugged and lit a cigarra. Kessari kissed me on the cheek and said she already knew. Uncle didn’t say a word—but the next day he reforged my vambrace. It no longer bore our proverb. Just a singular line, etched shallow but clean:

"Return what was taken."

It was Kessari who found the link. A Jedi report, encrypted. The attackers who broke Keldab Vevut'tal weren’t random raiders. They were drawn to the vaults by Him. Blackvein. Mavrad the Silent. My... sire.

Tirzah died in the fires he lit.

That was all I needed.

The hunt took years.

He’d retreated to a derelict Sith tomb-ship, forgotten in the deep Ordo Expanse. A floating ossuary of bone-white durasteel and broken statues, thick with cursed air. A Sangnir warren. We cut through abominations that wore our faces, starved spawn feeding off false memories. We bled. We nearly turned on each other. Uncle lost an eye. Byrel nearly lost his heart.

And then I found him.

Throne of teeth. Wings of ash. A sword like a single, long fang.

Mavrad Blackvein—Highblood of the outer Sangnir courts—had waited for me. Proud. Patient. Disappointed.

He whispered as we circled, claw on claw.

"I raised you to endure eternity. And you bring witnesses to your failure."

I answered with a scream that cracked hull plating.

We became beasts.

A storm of bone and shrieking wings. I drove him into the walls. He bit through my arm. My blood ate through his flesh. Our claws locked. Teeth shattered. I ripped his sword from his grasp and buried it in his chest—then carved upward through where his heart should have been.

He died slow. Not screaming. Just... watching. As if he knew someth I didn't. Disappointed, almost

When I crawled out of the wreck, I was heavier. Taller. Blood-slick and ash-toothed. Kessari reached for me. I flinched, but she didn’t.

Byrel just said, "Ibic jate ca'nara."

I no longer hear Blackvein in my blood. The silence is worse. I will never truly know what I am without him.

But I know what he was.
And I won't myself become that.



  1. Rolled [1d10] - [1d6] = [10] - [3] = [+7]
  2. Previous position: [19]
  3. New Position: [19] + [+7] = 26
Prompt [26] (First Occurrence) :
"You accidentally create a vampire through sloppy
feeding.
Create an immortal Character from an
existing mortal Character.
Why do you not destroy them?
Check a Skill."
Click to expand...
  • Changes to Character Sheet:
    • Character made immortal: Kessari Faln
    • Skill Checked: Relic Appraisal
    • Moved Memory 5 to Diary: Holocron of Sangir Saga


☽ S I L V E R T H R E A D ☾​

Location: Vevut'tal Ruins, Moridinae
Years: 167–172 ABY


"Tion'jor cuyir olaror, cuyir ni'gaanar."

Uncle’s forge cooled the day he died. I stayed with him until the heat went out of his bones, until his chest stopped rising with that breath that always sounded like scorn. There was no fire in the sky, no funeral pyre. Just silence.

Kessari stayed after.
Byrel had gone offworld months before chasing some bounty or ghost or girl who never gave him her real name. I didn’t ask.

I kept the forge running on memory. Kessari tinkered with the Cube like it might hum a different answer the next time. We were both... tired.
We slept in shifts. Ate what we could stomach. Avoided mirrors. Avoided questions.

But I could feel it—the dread.
She was aging. And I wasn’t.
And that was the shape of it, wasn’t it? Not love, not exactly. Just fear. Just hunger. Just... time.

The night it happened we didn’t speak.
We hadn’t spoken for weeks.
But I fed, and she bled, and in the stillness she kissed me like it wasn’t the last thing she’d ever feel.
It wasn’t supposed to happen. I knew what not to do. She knew what to ask for.
But instincts are cruel things.

She didn’t scream. Didn’t beg.
She thanked me.

Kessari Faln died a slicer with tired eyes and a blaster under her pillow.
She rose... something else. Too fast. Too soon. The blood hadn’t even dried on her collar. I tried to hold her. I tried to help her through it.
But I could feel her skin cooling beneath mine.
She wasn’t my Kessari anymore.
She was mine.

She asked for a name. I told her, “You keep yours.”
She smiled. But her fangs were already longer than mine had ever been.

Now, she reads the cube in silence, and I can’t tell if it speaks back.



  1. Rolled [1d10] - [1d6] = [5] - [3] = [+2]
  2. Previous position: [26]
  3. New Position: [26] + [+2] = 28
Prompt [28] (First Occurrence) :
"A long dead mortal Character returns. What do
they want from you? How have they survived death?
You only recognize them if you still have a related
Memory. Check a Skill."
Click to expand...
  • Changes to Character Sheet:
    • Character no longer dead: Tirzah Dey'Kar
    • Skill Checked: War-Form

☽ A BURNING MEMORY ☾​

Location: Ruins of D’kar Station, Outer Rim Wastes
Years: 173–179 ABY

"Ni copaanir bic at cuyir olaror."

He stood where I thought I saw a ghost.
Tirzah Dey’Kar. Older. Worn thin from years alone. But still with that half-smirk like the galaxy never quite earned their full grin.
They didn’t flinch when I said their name.
They flinched when I didn’t recall my own. Nando, I had called myself. Veral of clan Vevut'tal seemed so long past. So too was the pet name Tirzah had given me.

It took three days of painful half-hidden reunion before Tirzah told me the truth. They cut the deal.
They begged Mavrad to spare me.
He did, in a way. He made me eternal.
Tirzah wept when I said nothing.
My silence must have hurt worse than blades.

Kessari heard us.
She always hears me when I whisper.
She stood in the dark behind the vault door, listening.

Then she moved.
The scream came before the strike.
Fangs bared. Armor half-buckled.
She came at Tirzah like a revenant possessed — no hesitation, no thought, ready to kill.

I stopped her mid-lunge.

My War-Form took over like instinct.
Claws out. Wings scraping ceiling. My jaw locked just inches from her throat.
Tirzah saw it all.

Me.
The monster.
The thing they indirectly created.

I never got the chance to say goodbye.
They fled, with a look of terror on their face. A look I wish I could forget.
I didn't want that to be the last sight I saw of him. I didn't want this to be the last thing he saw of me.

Tirzah was gone.
They took nothing except whatever was still left of me that hadn't already died.

Kessari wept after.
Not for him.
For me.
Because she saw the truth too.​



  1. Rolled [1d10] - [1d6] = [7] - [4] = [+3]
  2. Previous position: [28]
  3. New Position: [28] + [+3] = 31
Prompt [31] (First Occurrence) :
"You fall into a deep slumber for a hundred y ears.
Strike out any mortal Characters."
Click to expand...
  • Changes to Character Sheet:
    • Characters now died of old age:
      • Tirzah Dey'Kar
      • Byrel Saun



☽ I N T E R R E D ☾​

Location: Keldab Vevut'tal, Moridinae
Years: 180–280 ABY


"Meg cuyir buir? Meg cuyir vod? Meg cuyir ni?"

Byrel is gone.
His voice, his grin, the way he’d kick my knee when I brooded too long... all gone. Dust and echoes. I never saw the body. Just the word of it, passed through Kessari’s half-hearted letters before she left for good.

Tirzah—Tirzah came back only to be taken again. I let them walk away, knowing I’d never follow.
And now? Now they’ve died somewhere I can’t find, and the stars won’t even whisper a direction.

I don’t know what year it is.
I only know the ache doesn’t change.

Kessari...
I think she knew I couldn’t bear it. I think that’s why she left when she did. Before I asked her to stay. Before I cursed her again.
She asked me once, if I remembered what it was like to breathe. I think she saw that I didn’t.

The forge is cold.
The datacube is quiet.
The last flicker of my clan's sigil fades with each decade.

And I?
I am just a thing now. A story with too many pages torn out.

So I make my own end.
I descend into the lowest vault. Where Mavrad once slept, where the ceiling weeps blood and time forgets. I seal the door behind me.
Slivers of beskar, welded in place. Runes to fool the Force.
Salt. Bone. Fireglass.

I will not rise again.
Not for this world.
Not unless the stars remember my name.

This is the last breath of Veral Vevut’tal,
and the still heart of Nando the Mando.​

280 - 425 ABY: Diary of a Thousand Year Old Sangnir

Using some compiled sketchy information, I will continue with the following assumptions for the general Chaos Timeline:

History of the Chaos Timeline (280 ABY – 902 ABY)

Pre-Plague Era (280–425 ABY)

  • 280 ABY: The Galactic Alliance remains the dominant galactic government, maintaining an uneasy peace after the tumultuous centuries following the Legacy Era. Minor regional conflicts and cold wars simmer (for example, standoffs with Imperial holdouts in the Unknown Regions), but no galaxy-wide war erupts during this period. The galaxy enjoys a fragile stability in the decades before the next great catastrophe. (The Alliance's prominence is confirmed by records up to the mid-400s ABY.)
  • 425 ABY – The Gulag Plague ("Zero Hour"): A deadly pandemic known as the Gulag Virus is unleashed on Csilla by a terrorist called Zero, triggering a galaxy-wide outbreak. The Galactic Alliance, having sustained years of war, goes on high alert as the plague spreads rapidly. Despite quarantine efforts, the virus proves devastating – galactic population is halved within a few years. Interstellar travel grinds to a halt, and governments collapse under the strain. The Gulag Plague marks the beginning of a legendary dark age in galactic history.
  • 430–834 ABY – The Four Hundred Year Darkness: For roughly four centuries, the galaxy endures a dark age caused by the plague. In this era of isolation, countless worlds are cut off as hyperspace travel virtually ceases. Major institutions fall – even the Jedi and Sith orders dwindle to embers. Many planets regress technologically and survive in feudal conditions. Only scattered enclaves and hidden bastions (local warlords, bunker-governments, and a few Jedi in hiding) manage to endure. By the mid-700s ABY the plague finally burns itself out; by 737 ABY the virus had weakened and "slowly recede[d] across the galaxy". As the Gulag Plague fades away, the long process of recovery begins and the stage is set for a new chapter of galactic history.

Post-Plague Chaos (835–844 ABY)

  • 835 ABY – Resurgence of Galactic Powers ("Galaxy At War"): The Gulag Plague is officially declared over, and the galaxy awakens from its long nightmare. New governments and factions spring up to fill the power vacuum. The Galactic Republic is re-established on Coruscant (successor to the old Alliance/Republic), while surviving Sith cults and Imperial remnants coalesce into a new Sith Empire. Other groups rise as well: Mandalorian clans unite under a Mand'alor, the Hutts reassert control in Hutt Space, and corporate/military coalitions (e.g. the Omega Protectorate and Fringe Confederation) claim independent territories. Conflict is immediate – the fragile post-plague peace collapses as these powers jockey for territory and influence. By the end of 835 ABY, the galaxy is once again aflame with war on multiple fronts, a state of affairs remembered as the "Galaxy At War" period.
  • 835 ABY – The Clockwork Rebellion: Amid the early post-plague turmoil, an ancient AI overlord named Omni launches a surprise droid uprising. Without warning, trillions of war droids rain from the skies over major worlds – "Every major capital began to swarm with droids… Trillions of droids streamed into the galaxy like a black mass". Coruscant, Dromund Kaas, Corellia, Fondor and more come under attack by Omni's automatons, resulting in untold slaughter. This crisis, known as the Clockwork Rebellion, forces even rival factions to momentarily unite against the threat. Eventually Omni is defeated and the droid hordes are shut down, but not before millions perish. The Clockwork Rebellion of 835 ABY is remembered as the first great galactic catastrophe of the new era.
  • 836 ABY – The Dark Harvest Crisis: The year following Omni's attack brings another horror. A mysterious outbreak of technogenic and biological zombies – believed to be spawned by Sith alchemy – erupts on multiple planets, an event dubbed "Dark Harvest." Entire settlements are overrun by undead monstrosities, and panic spreads faster than the contagion. Mandalorian warriors and Jedi healers eventually contain the infestation, tracing it to a Sith artifact and destroying its source. However, the Dark Harvest crisis claims countless lives and instills a lingering fear across the galaxy. Coming so soon after the droid rebellion, 836 ABY confirms that the galaxy's recovery will be anything but peaceful. (No connected official records detail this event, but it is well known in Chaos lore.)
  • 837 ABY – Masks of Madness: A bizarre galaxy-wide phenomenon occurs, wherein many individuals (including prominent leaders and fighters) experience shared hallucinations and false realities. In what is later understood as the Masks of Madness event, people are drawn into an elaborate series of psychic simulations ("Acts I–III") orchestrated by an unknown force. Entire battles and adventures are revealed to have been mere illusion. Finally, in Act IV, the victims awaken in a prison on an alien artificial planet, surrounded by both allies and enemies – all of whom had been unwitting pawns in this cosmic experiment. Realizing the deception, the captives (Jedi, Sith, Mandalorians, etc.) riot and fight their way free amid chaos in the prison. The Masks of Madness event ends with the prisoners' escape and the destruction of the facility. The mysterious puppeteer behind these nightmares is never definitively identified, but the experience leaves many survivors traumatized and furious at having been made "puppets on a string".
  • 838–840 ABY – The One Sith War: Taking advantage of the chaos, a resurgent Sith faction strikes in the late 830s. The One Sith, a secretive order inspired by ancient Sith teachings, launch a massive offensive against the Galactic Republic. In 838 ABY, the One Sith shock the galaxy by sacking Coruscant, utterly overrunning the Republic's capital world. The Jedi Temple on Coruscant is destroyed in the assault, and the Supreme Chancellor is killed or driven into exile. With Coruscant fallen, the One Sith establish their own dark regime in the Core. Over 839–840 ABY, the Sith rapidly expand, conquering world after world in the Core and Colonies. The Republic and Jedi are forced onto the defensive, retreating to fortress worlds like Ossus and Anaxes. This period marks a major power shift: by the early 840s, the One Sith Empire holds Coruscant and much of the Galactic Core, while the Republic fights desperately to survive.

Galactic Upheaval and Recovery (844–856 ABY)

  • 844 ABY – The Netherworld Event (Great Disappearance): Without warning, reality itself is disrupted on a galactic scale. In mid-844 ABY, millions of people vanish overnight – victims of spontaneous portal rifts that open across the galaxy. This mysterious mass disappearance, later understood to be the work of a powerful Force entity, becomes known as the Netherworld Event or Great Disappearance. Entire populations, from ordinary citizens to top leaders, are whisked away into the mystical Netherworld of the Force. The galaxy descends into chaos: "governments were swept away and worlds fell outside the sphere of influence of the great powers". The One Sith Empire and the struggling Republic alike are thrown into disarray as their leaderships are decimated. Months later, the vanished individuals reappear just as mysteriously as they disappeared, returning from the Netherworld. But the damage is done – the psychological and political fallout is immense. The Netherworld Event shatters whatever fragile stability remained, exacerbating the power vacuums across the galaxy.
  • 845–848 ABY – Republic Schism and the Galactic Alliance: In the wake of the Netherworld crisis, the Galactic Republic is left weakened and vulnerable. Internal strife soon erupts. The Republic's Prime Minister, Natasi Lasedri, enacts extreme measures, including a covert operation to eliminate an Imperial Remnant refuge that had been given asylum in Republic space. Lasedri secretly grows a clone army and in 846 ABY launches a coup, attempting to purge her political opponents and seize dictatorial control. This sparks a civil war within the Republic; on worlds like Carida, Republic loyalists, Imperial refugees, and Lasedri's forces clash openly. The turmoil, known as the Republic Schism, leaves the once-great Republic on the verge of collapse. By late 847 ABY, Natasi Lasedri is defeated and disappears, but the Republic is irreparably damaged. In 848 ABY, the Republic's remaining senators and military leaders join with sympathetic former Imperials and independent systems to form the Galactic Alliance – a new unified government dedicated to resisting the Sith. Essentially an amalgam of the old Republic, surviving Jedi, and other anti-Sith factions, the Galactic Alliance establishes its capital on Sullust and later Corellia. As the Republic formally disbands, the Alliance becomes the primary light-side power in the galaxy. (The formation of the Alliance is not explicitly cited in connected records, but is a well-known development following the Republic's collapse.)
  • 849 ABY – The Omega War: A new galactic crisis unfolds as a rogue Imperial warlord faction unveils an ancient superweapon called OMEGA. This massive weapon, hidden on the remote world of Castameer, has the power to devastate entire planets. The emergence of the Omega device prompts an unprecedented temporary alliance: Jedi, Sith defectors, Mandalorians, the Galactic Alliance, and even the One Sith (distrustful of the rogue faction) all converge on Castameer to prevent galactic destruction. Intense battles rage on the planet and above it – an event remembered as the Omega War. In the end, the coalition forces manage to destroy the Omega superweapon and defeat the warlord's forces. The Omega War not only neutralizes a doomsday threat but also deals a final blow to remaining One Sith elements (many of whom are present and are wiped out in the fighting). With the One Sith Empire effectively broken by 849 ABY and the prior Republic reborn as the Alliance, the balance of power shifts again. The Galactic Alliance moves to reclaim Coruscant soon after the Omega War, restoring a democratic government to the old Republic capital.
  • 851 ABY – Incursion of the Contingency: Another unexpected threat strikes the galaxy in 851 ABY. Without warning, a network of ancient AI war machines – known only as the Contingency – launches a series of surprise attacks on key worlds. Advanced droid armies and automated warships assault planets from the Deep Core to the Outer Rim in a calculated sequence. The Galactic Alliance and Jedi eventually discover that a hidden AI overlord (an ancient machine intelligence) is behind these incursions. In a campaign of running battles, the Alliance and its allies manage to locate the AI's base and destroy the core controlling intelligence, disabling the droid hordes. This crisis, referred to simply as the Incursion, is brief but fierce. It serves as a reminder that not all galactic threats are flesh-and-blood – some are artificial and lurking in the galaxy's forgotten corners. (The Timeline records list 851 ABY: "Incursion" as a major event.)
  • 856 ABY – Chaos in the Core (Fall of the Galactic Alliance): By the mid-850s, new dark side powers have been gathering strength. A New Sith Empire, led by the Sith Emperor Darth Carnifex, has formed in the Outer Rim, and the First Order, an Imperial-descended regime, has risen in the Unknown Regions. In 856 ABY, these forces strike. The Sith Empire and First Order coordinate major offensives against the Galactic Alliance, igniting a widespread conflict famously called "Chaos in the Core." The Alliance, now based on Corellia, finds itself attacked on multiple fronts. Sith fleets push in from the Outer Rim while the First Order assaults Alliance territories from the west. The war reaches a climax with the Battle of Coruscant (856 ABY) – Darth Carnifex's Sith legions invade Coruscant, and despite fierce resistance, the capital falls once again to the Sith. The Galactic Alliance's government is decapitated; many Alliance leaders either die or flee during the Sith onslaught. Following this catastrophic loss, the Alliance splinters. By late 856 ABY, the Galactic Alliance collapses as a formal government. The Core Worlds descend into anarchy, now divided between Sith-occupied zones and independent warlord states. This dark chapter earns its name – the Core is in complete chaos. 856 ABY thus marks the end of the Alliance's golden age and the start of a new reign of Sith terror in the Core. (This period is identified in records as "Chaos In The Core".)

The Third Galactic War (856–867 ABY)

  • 857–860 ABY – The Mandalorian Excision: In the power vacuum after the Alliance's fall, the Sith Empire turns on the Mandalorians. The Mandalorian clans had formed their own empire during the 850s, but now face the wrath of the Sith. In a brutal campaign, the Sith Empire launches surprise strikes on Mandalorian space. The Siege of Mandalore (858 ABY) is particularly infamous – Sith fleets bombard Mandalore's surface with nuclear and orbital weaponry, inflicting apocalyptic damage. The planet Mandalore is effectively razed, and untold millions of Mandalorians are killed. The once-proud Mandalorian Empire disintegrates; survivors either go into hiding or become nomadic mercenaries. This purge, sometimes called the Mandalorian Excision, removes the Mandalorians as a major galactic power for years to come. (While no single source is cited here, the Mandalorian genocide is a well-known event in the Chaos timeline following 856 ABY.)
  • 858 ABY – A Spiraling Galaxy: By 858 ABY, the galaxy is engulfed in conflicts on every side. With the Alliance gone and the Sith Empire ascendant, other factions rise to challenge the Sith's domination, causing the situation to "spiral" out of control. In the northern Outer Rim, a faction of former Imperial officers and Moffs breaks away from Carnifex's rule – they form the New Imperial Order (NIO) and declare war on the Sith Empire, igniting an internal Imperial Civil War. At the same time, an extragalactic threat emerges: the Bryn'adûl, a race of brutal aliens from beyond known space, invades the galaxy. The Bryn'adûl begin wiping out entire sectors (especially in the Outer Rim and Wild Space), committing genocide on non-Bryn populations. Their advance is rapid and destructive, putting them on a collision course with everyone else. Thus, around 858 ABY, the galaxy faces multiple simultaneous wars: Jedi vs. Sith, Imperials vs. Sith, and everyone vs. the Bryn'adûl. This unprecedented turmoil is reflected in the historical tag for this year – the "Spiraling Galaxy" – as no single authority can stabilize the situation.
  • 860–863 ABY – The Third Imperial Civil War: Fighting intensifies between the New Imperial Order (led by Imperials who reject Sith rule) and the Sith Empire. This conflict, essentially the Third Imperial Civil War, sees major battles on worlds like Muunilinst, Mygeeto, and Bastion. The New Imperials receive covert aid from the remnants of the Galactic Alliance and the Jedi, who see an opportunity to topple the Sith. In 862 ABY, the New Imperial Order scores a pivotal victory by capturing Bastion (the Sith Empire's strategic fortress capital in the Outer Rim). This emboldens the NIO/Alliance coalition to push further coreward. Meanwhile, the Bryn'adûl War rages concurrently: the Bryn'adûl legions swarm through the Outer Rim from the Unknown Regions, obliterating Hutt Space and encroaching on the Mid Rim (their campaign is so ruthless that battles are often termed "annihilations" rather than mere invasions). The Galactic Alliance is reborn during this time as well – Alliance holdouts and liberated worlds formally reconstitute the Galactic Alliance government-in-exile, partnering with the New Imperials to combat both Sith and Bryn'adûl. The period 860–863 ABY is thus marked by total war on a scale unseen since the ancient Jedi–Sith wars, with multiple existential threats confronting the galaxy simultaneously.
  • 864 ABY – Annihilation Campaigns: The year 864 ABY is a turning point in these wars. By this time, the Galactic Alliance–New Imperial coalition has driven deep into Sith territory while also trying to hold back the Bryn'adûl. In early 864, the Sith Empire makes a last stand in the Core Worlds. A massive multi-fleet engagement – the Battle of Dromund Kaas – results in the Sith capital (Kaasis) being overrun and the Sith Emperor Carnifex fleeing. The Sith Empire effectively disintegrates afterward, though Sith insurgencies persist. Concurrently, the Bryn'adûl launch an all-out assault toward the Core. In what's known as the Siege of Corellia, the Bryn'adûl nearly overwhelm Corellian space, but a united Alliance, Imperial, and Jedi force manages to halt them. The term "Annihilation" is used to describe these confrontations, as entire fleets and planets are obliterated in the fighting. Ultimately, by the end of 864 ABY, the Bryn'adûl are beaten back from the Core and suffer critical defeats (their war-chief is slain in battle), effectively halting their expansion. The combined victories in 864 ABY – destruction of the Sith Empire and the neutralization of the Bryn'adûl – save the galaxy from utter devastation. However, the toll is catastrophic: multiple worlds lie in ruin and the galactic population has been terribly thinned once again.
  • 867 ABY – Oblivion and the End of War: The year 867 ABY is regarded as the formal end of this era of conflicts. The last Sith strongholds fall; the once-mighty Sith Empire is consigned to oblivion as remaining Sith Lords are hunted down or go into hiding. The New Imperial Order, having achieved its goal, establishes itself as the legitimate Imperial successor state controlling large swaths of the Outer Rim and Northern Territories. The Galactic Alliance, now re-centered on Coruscant (which was liberated), controls the Core and Colonies. Meanwhile, the Bryn'adûl are completely defeated in a final engagement at Sev Tok (a battle in which Jedi and Imperial Knights unite to exterminate the Bryn'adûl leadership). With the Sith Empire gone and the Bryn'adûl genocidal crusade stopped, the galaxy finally finds a moment of respite. The historical entry for 867 ABY aptly bears the moniker "Oblivion", symbolizing the end of the old threats. The galactic map has been redrawn once more: two major powers (the Alliance and the New Empire) stand, and countless lesser factions have room to emerge in the ashes of war.

The Modern Era and Current Timeline (874–902 ABY)

  • 874 ABY – Rise of the Underworld: In the aftermath of the great wars, with the major governments focusing on rebuilding, the criminal underworld experiences a renaissance. Crime syndicates, cartels, and gangster dominions fill the void left in destabilized regions. Hutt Space, which had been ravaged by the Bryn'adûl, is reoccupied by Hutt clans regaining their power. Organizations like Black Sun, the Exchange, and various spice cartels expand rapidly. This swell of illicit power is noted in the timeline as "Rise of the Underworld". By 874 ABY, the galactic underworld is so influential that it can sway politics; some impoverished or fringe planets come to be ruled outright by crime lords. The major factions (Alliance and New Empire) tolerate or quietly work with some of these underworld elements as they rebuild their own strength. The late 870s ABY thus see a shadow boom – an economic and cultural flourishing driven by smuggling, bounty hunting, and black-market enterprises.
  • 880–899 ABY – Uneasy Peace: The period from the late 870s through the 890s is comparatively calm by Chaos standards. The Galactic Alliance and the New Imperial Order (often now called simply the Imperial Bloc or New Empire) maintain an uneasy peace. The Cold War-like détente between Alliance and Imperial territories persists – neither side wants another full-scale war. Both governments focus on reconstruction of infrastructure and integration of worlds devastated by the Bryn'adûl and Sith. The Jedi Order, reconstituted and headquartered on worlds like Ossus or Coruscant, works to keep peace and help war-torn populations. A small Imperial Knights order (light-side aligned Imperials) does the same in Imperial territory. During these decades, there are smaller conflicts and flashpoints – e.g. a few border skirmishes between Alliance and Imperial forces, a short-lived Confederacy resurgence in the Outer Rim, and campaigns to stamp out remaining Sith cults or pirate kingdoms. But none of these flare into galaxy-wide wars. Culturally and technologically, the galaxy recovers: hyperlane trade is fully restored, core worlds are rebuilt to their former glory, and exploration of unknown regions resumes. Still, veterans of the last war remain vigilant, knowing that peace in the Chaos galaxy is always fragile.
  • 900 ABY – Galaxy Convergence: As the galaxy enters the 900s, historians mark this year as a significant turning point. After decades of relative stability, 900 ABY is labeled the year of "Galaxy Convergence." This term is somewhat abstract, but it reflects how various disparate threads of the galaxy seem to converge: the Galactic Alliance and New Empire begin formal peace talks and cooperation agreements, essentially forming a loose galactic concord not seen since the days of the Old Republic. There is also a sense that destiny is converging – ancient threats have been defeated, and for the first time in centuries, the galaxy is not dominated by Jedi–Sith conflict or a single looming war. Some interpret "Convergence" as the galaxy finally coming back together as one community after the fragmentation of the plague and wars. Technologically, there's a convergence as well – innovations from across former enemy lines are shared, leading to advances in hyperdrive and terraforming that benefit many worlds. Though not an "event" in the explosive sense, 900 ABY stands as a milestone year heralding a new chapter of cooperation (and cautious optimism) in the Chaos timeline.
  • 902 ABY – Planeshift (Current Timeline): In the current year, an enigmatic new phenomenon grips the galaxy. Strange reports emerge of dimensional disturbances – areas where the fabric of reality is weakening. This event is termed "Planeshift." Unexplained occurrences multiply: bizarre portals or rifts flicker on a few remote planets, and ships vanish only to reappear far off-course. Some individuals claim to have encountered beings "not of this galaxy." The galaxy's researchers and Force-users grow concerned that the barriers between planes (dimensions or universes) are shifting. The major governments quietly investigate these anomalies, while cults and opportunists seek to exploit them. By mid-902 ABY, a few stable gateways to other realms have reportedly formed, confirming that Planeshift is not mere rumor. This ongoing event poses unprecedented questions: Will it lead to an invasion from another universe, a new frontier for exploration, or perhaps the return of long-lost beings? As of now (902 ABY), the Chaos galaxy stands on the threshold of another transformative era, with Planeshift dominating discourse as the latest challenge the galaxy must face. The coming years will determine if this new era brings salvation, destruction, or something far stranger to the inhabitants of the galaxy.

Sources: The above timeline was compiled by ChatGPT claiming its "from official Chaos lore updates and in-character records, including faction archives and staff timeline announcements (e.g. the Chaos Timeline entries for 835 ABY through 902 ABY and numerous role-play threads documenting these events). Key events such as the Clockwork Rebellion, the Netherworld disappearance, the fall of Coruscant to the One Sith, and the turmoil of the Gulag Plague are corroborated by contemporary accounts. This chronicle provides a broad overview of major and minor happenings from 280 ABY up to the present 902 ABY, giving context for future stories set in the Chaos universe. Each bullet point highlights the year and a summary of significant in-character (IC) historical events, aligning with the progression of the SWRP: Chaos timeline."

TLDR: I'm trusting skynet on this one.

  1. Rolled [1d10] - [1d6] = [10] - [4] = [+6]
  2. Previous position: [31]
  3. New Position: [31] + [+6] = 37
Prompt [37] (First Occurrence) :
"Things fall to dust. Lose a Resource for which y ou
have no corresponding Memory. Do not create a new Experience for this Prompt, it simply happens as you stare in silence. "
Click to expand...
  • Changes to Character Sheet:
    • Resource is now lost to Time:
      • Ruins of Keldab Vevut'tal



B L I S S​
Location: Nowhere
Year: 280 ABY

When I open my eyes, there is a crack in the sarcophagus. Through it, the sun shines differently.

No walls. No banners. No forge. No names.

Just grass. Wind.
The stones don't remember what was here before. I don't think I truly remember either. Just that there used to be something. That it was written down somewhere.

I truly only remember wanting to forget.

There is nothing but calm. And hunger. A breeze flutters through the field, a shuttle passes far overhead. Memories didn't matter in this moment.

In this moment, I was at peace.

pF7E9Nk.png


  1. Rolled [1d10] - [1d6] = [9] - [1] = [+8]
  2. Previous position: [37]
  3. New Position: [37] + [+8] = 45
Prompt [45] (First Occurrence) :
"Your body is undergoing further corruption and
change. When do you first notice these new changes? Create a Mark. "
Click to expand...


☽ R E C O G N I T I O N ☾​

Location: Dantooine Fringe, Old Enclave Rivers
Years: 280–290 ABY


"Ijaab cuyir nibral'shya."

The boy dropped the waterskin when he saw me.

I had been kind. Gentle. I helped his herd up from the mud banks, even shared firewood. I gave him no name. Just nodded along. like a vagabond, a relic in weathered armor, passing by with no trail behind me. When he turned, he looked into my eyes.

The boy ran. Stumbled. Wept as he fled into the grass, not stopping even when I called out. Not even when I smiled.

I found a mirror later. One of those polished durasteel medical trays, half-buried in the dust of an old outpost near the riverbanks. There was just enough shine to see it.

Red.

I blinked. The glow remained.

I stared longer than I should have, until the cold beneath my ribs twisted up into something I didn’t have a name for. My teeth ached. My throat dried. I had to stand and walk. Away from the mirror, from the tray, from whatever ghost was staring back.

Ten years now I’ve wandered. Ten years since emerging from the stone hole in the ground. The place I once decided I would wait out eternity.

Eternity was a painfully long time.

I avoid cities. Sleep during solar peaks. Speak only when asked. I am still Mandalorian, by what scraps of the codex I remember. I help where I can, when it does not end in blood. But every kindness I offer is shadowed by that reflection.

Some children whisper that I’m a fallen Jedi. They’re wrong. I’m a hemophage, a Sangnir. I remember that much. I feed off the Anima, the lifeblood of other things.
I wear no sigil. I do not carve my name into stones. But in every ruin I leave behind, a piece of me seems to stay behind.

I don't remember why I let go of the past, but I remember the emotion that drove me to it. Nothing to it but to move forward.



  1. Rolled [1d10] - [1d6] = [3] - [3] = [+0]
  2. Previous position: [45]
  3. New Position: [45] + [+0] = 45
Prompt [45] (Second Occurrance) :
"Your body is becoming more effective as it becomes less human. Create a Skill based on one of y our Marks."
Click to expand...


☽ THE BITE THAT MENDS ☾​

Location: Outer Rim // Gravefield Borderlands
Years: 290–305 ABY


"Briikase bal nayc cuyir gar kyr'am, Nando."

It wasn’t the first ambush, but it was the first time I didn’t fear bleeding out.

A backwater bar, somewhere near the Maw’s edge. No name, no flag—just rust and breath and bad smells, but the right kind of quiet for someone like me. Then came the drunk mercs. Or maybe they were raiders. One of them had a sigil I didn’t recognize, another had beskar’gam shaped wrong—mockery or relic, I couldn't tell. Didn’t matter. They picked the wrong ghost to provoke.

I took the first vibroblade through the ribs.

Normally, that’s the kind of thing that ends a story. But this one had barely begun.

I tore him apart with the claw. Slashed the next one’s throat open mid-charge. The third got behind me with a scattergun—blew my arm nearly off from the elbow down.

I remember staring at the shredded muscle. My blood like tar. The haze of pain starting to settle.

Then a heartbeat.

Not mine. Hers.

She was hiding under the bar. She had nowhere else to run.

I turned to her—wounded, cornered, barely standing.

She didn’t scream when I bared my fangs. She whimpered like a wounded animal. My hand closed over her throat.

I didn’t kill her.

I only fed.

Not much. A few seconds. Long enough to feel her hope and terror flood into my veins like heat and light.

When I pulled back, my arm was reknitting itself.

Tendons slithered like worms. Bone cracked and set. Skin pulled tight over new meat like thread being drawn.

She wept. And I thanked her.

I left her alive. Bought her passage offworld with credits I didn’t need. She’ll tell the story differently. I hope she does.

I spent the next five years testing the threshold.

Burns. Breaks. Bolts to the chest. As long as I drink, I endure.

But what do I give back?

The price is not pain. It’s memory. Guilt dulls. The names blur. The reasons fade.

Only hunger remains.

I am healing. But I am not getting better.​



  1. Rolled [1d10] - [1d6] = [3] - [1] = [+2]
  2. Previous position: [45]
  3. New Position: [45] + [+2] = 47
Prompt [47] (First Occurrance) :
"The world has evolved in ways you can’t comprehend,
causing you to lose a good amount of w ealth.
What happened? Check a Skill. Create a Skill
that will hopefully prevent this happening again.
Lose a Resource. ."
Click to expand...
  • Changes to Character Sheet:
    • Skill Checked:
      • Anima-Fueled healing
    • Skill created:
      • Bounty Hunting
    • Resource Lost:
      • Sealed Datacube of Clan Vevut'tal


☽ R E D U N D A N C Y ☾​

Location: Cinnagar | Unknown Sector | The Guts of Corulag
Years: 305–325 ABY


The cube is gone.

I don’t know when. I only know I was not there to stop it. The vault was clean — no scorch marks, no broken seals, not even a trace of who they were or what they wanted. The bastards didn’t even need to crack it open. They just took it. Like it was a holocron on a shelf.

I had buried my entire clan inside that shell.
Their names, our armor patterns, the three-second pause before the warhorn — all of it reduced to data, and now lost to someone who likely doesn't even read Mando’a.

"Me’ven? Mandokarla gana ash’ad ori’jate sur’haai.”
That’s what one of the hunters said, when he thought I couldn’t hear through the bulkhead. I could’ve drained him dry. Instead, I memorized his cadence. Watched the way he moved. Logged the stims he liked and the places he slept.

Two months later, I wore his boots to a cantina on Cinnagar and claimed a bounty he didn’t live to collect.

It started as revenge. It became something else.
There’s a rhythm to the hunt. A practicality. I can sense intent in the way a fugitive eats his ration bar. I can smell desperation in recycled air. I used to track traitors across battlefields. Now I stalk debtors across hyperlanes. The difference is mostly aesthetic.

Kessari called it “sad.” Said I was "one more Sangnir playing cop in a mask of skin."

She left again. Or I let her leave. I don’t remember which anymore.
The entries are thinning. My name has weight, but my story has drifted.
I wear crimson now.
I hunt for answers.
And I don’t always feed last.

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