Reedemer
Eyes:
Grey
Hair:Dark Blue
Skin:White
Height:5'8" | 176cm
Weight:165lbs
Gender:Male(?)
Name:
Lucaant
Last name:Vaneric
Alias:Reedemer
Species:Human
Age:Young Adult
Gender:Male
Family:Unknown
Faction:Unaligned
Force Sensitive:Yes
Master:None.
Luccant Vaneric
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Luccant (Pronounced /lyˈkɑ̃t/) was born into a wealthy and influential family of politicians, enjoying a life of privilege in a peaceful village. However, his fate would take a dark and violent turn.
Approximately 25 years ago, on a planet still hidden from most Intergalactic and Planetary governments, a secretive and fanatical cult thrived. Aligned with the Dark Side of the Force, these cultists were devoted to mastering what they called "the malignant tumor that is the Dark Side." They rejected all morality, committing unspeakable atrocities in their quest for power and domination through the Force.
Luccant's village stood near the cult's main fortress. The cult frequently raided nearby settlements, abducting any Force-sensitive children they deemed worthy of training. Luccant, once a cherished child in a loving and affluent household, was torn away from his family and thrown into a brutal world of indoctrination.
Whether gifted with the Force or not, all children were subjected to ruthless training, psychological abuse, and mind-breaking discipline. Over time, Luccant internalized the cult's harsh lesson: Kill or be killed. Driven by fear and a desperate need to survive, he buried his past and embraced the darkness. Hatred became his shield. His masters molded him into a weapon, feeding off his anger, pain, and despair.
One day, in the early morning, the fortress was raided. Explosions tore through the main walls, and sirens wailed as chaos erupted. Militia forces, aided perhaps by deserters or hidden allies, stormed the cult's stronghold with brutal efficiency. Luccant, barely twelve years old, woke to the sound of blaster fire and collapsing stone. Panic flooded the compound.
Heart pounding, he rushed through smoke-filled corridors toward the nearest known escape route. Around him, older trainees and cultists fought, screamed, or died. The indoctrinated children had been trained for war, but few were ready for this. Luccant had never seen such unfiltered carnage — not as a simulation, not as punishment, but real, unstoppable violence.
He sprinted past burning chambers and toppled statues of long-forgotten Sith Lords. As he reached a side gate, he saw a cult enforcer strike down a fleeing child—someone Luccant vaguely recognized. That moment sealed something inside him. There was no loyalty here. No safety. Only survival.
He slipped into the wilderness, bruised, bloodied, and barefoot, with nothing but the clothes on his back and the teachings burned into his mind. The fortress fell behind him, swallowed in flame and rubble. But Luccant didn't look back.
Months passed, and Luccant, gaunt and hardened by survival, made a decision: he would head to the capital. Rumors spoke of its towering spires, endless alleyways, and the kind of anonymity that only a massive city could provide. There, among the corrupt elite and the desperate poor, he might find a way to live — or at least, to stop running.
The journey was perilous. He crossed barren plains, swam through contaminated rivers, and stole food when he had to. He avoided people whenever possible, trusting no one, always sleeping with one eye open. His instincts, sharpened by the cult's merciless training, kept him alive.
When he finally arrived at the capital, it was overwhelming. The city buzzed with speeders, holograms, marketplaces, and a thousand unfamiliar languages. But beneath the surface glamor was a rot he recognized — crime syndicates, slave rings, black market Force relics, and gangs fueled by desperation. It was perfect.
Luccant disappeared into the underworld. He was still a child, but one trained to fight, to kill, and to survive. Soon, word spread in the lower levels of a quiet, cold-eyed boy who took mercenary work that others wouldn't. He didn't speak much. He didn't smile. He got the job done.
He lived like this for years — not thriving, but surviving. Every night the darkness whispered to him, the voice of the cult never fully gone. But Luccant refused to let them define him again. He was no longer their weapon. He was something else now: a ghost forged in fear, wielding the dark not as a slave, but as a tool.
But deep inside, one question still lingered, unanswered and poisonous:
What do you become when you've been built only to destroy?
Attached to his gear are several tactical accessories:
A coded datapad containing encrypted cult audio logs — he never listens, but never deletes them.
A fragment of a broken chain on a thin cord around his neck — the only item from his former life, likely from a cell or from home.
A fingerless glove on his left hand, one finger missing — not cut, but torn in a moment of desperation during an escape. He kept the glove as a reminder.
A small etched bone token tucked inside a hidden pouch. It’s impossible to tell if it’s religious, personal, or a mark of a kill. He doesn’t explain.
His vibroblade is distinct — single-edged, slightly curved, with a matte phrik core and an anti-reflective finish. It hums faintly when drawn, like a whisper of violence. It’s not clean. It’s not ceremonial. It’s made to kill and keep moving.
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Physical Description
Luccant stands at 176 cm (5'8"), with a lean, battle-hardened frame shaped by years of survival, combat, and psychological warfare. His build is compact — made for speed, stealth, and lethal efficiency. There is no wasted weight, no softness. Just movement honed by necessity and pain.
His face is angular, often expressionless, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Pale gray eyes, almost metallic in hue, give the impression of someone always calculating — or watching from a place far darker than the moment. They rarely blink. His skin is slightly pallid, worn from harsh environments and poor rest.
His hair is semi-long and dark blue, an unnatural shade gained during prolonged exposure to kyber-infused Force rituals in the cult’s inner sanctum. The energy warped more than his mind — it altered his body on a molecular level. In dim light, subtle streaks shimmer faintly like mineral veins, crackling with dormant energy. Some whisper the color is a sign of a failed binding — others say it’s a mark of something worse.
A faint but deep scar curves across the right side of his skull, just above the temple — a relic from a forced mind-probing ritual gone wrong. He survived. The cultist who performed it didn’t.
He wears combat-ready armor, always — matte black and carbon-worn, with modular plating for speed and silence. The armor bears no insignia, but faint scratch marks, uncleanable blood stains and burn trails remain from blades, blasters, and explosives. It’s clearly modified by hand: heavier gauntlets, padded neck guards, embedded knife sheathes. Beneath the armor, tattoos from the cult remain — runes, brands, and twisted symbols, many scarred over or burned in places where he tried to erase them.
Luccant's presence is a paradox: silent but heavy, he walks like a ghost with purpose, a man who’s died once already and refuses to go quietly a second time.
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+Combat Expertise – Years of brutal training under the cult sharpened Luccant’s skill in bladed combat and close-range blaster tactics. He fights to kill, not impress.
+Psychological Warfare – Luccant uses fear, silence, and intimidation as weapons. He understands the mind is a battlefield.
+Manipulation – Luccant is manipulative and will get what he wants, one way or another.
+Survivor’s Grit – Luccant refuses to die. No matter the pain, no matter the odds — he keeps going.
+Probe Awareness – Luccant has a natural sensitivity to attempts at mental intrusion. He can often tell when someone is trying to read his mind or influence him through the Force, though resisting it is not guaranteed.
~Emotionally Guarded – Lucaant understands social cues and can navigate them with sharp wit when it suits him. He’s observant, often dryly humorous, and knows how to press buttons—but not out of cruelty. Empathy, however, doesn’t come naturally. He rarely feels what others feel unless it’s useful to the moment. He speaks plainly, sometimes brutally, and tends to prioritize truth over comfort. He isn’t unkind, just… uninterested in dressing his words in warmth.
~Hypervigilant – Years of trauma left Luccant constantly on edge. Sudden movements, loud noises, or unannounced presence can trigger defensive reflexes.
~Detached Morality – He does what he must, not what’s right. Whether it’s pragmatism or learned apathy is unclear.
~Unmoored from the Light – Luccant doesn’t follow the Jedi Code, nor fully embrace the Sith. His powers are driven by instinct, emotion, and survival — a dangerous path without structure.
-Anger Issues – After years of abuse, Luccant developed a short temper.
-Instability in the Force – Luccant’s connection to the Force is raw and fueled by emotion. When overwhelmed, it lashes out — sometimes beyond his control.
-Overthinker – He overthinks everything, and if anything coincides, he will overthink the worst outcome.
-Distrustful – Years of betrayal and abuse left Luccant slow to trust — even allies. He often assumes manipulation or ulterior motives.
-Sleep-Deprived – The past won’t let him rest. He rarely sleeps well, and when he does, he often wakes in a panic.
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Mr. Usher — Professional and always are his side, literally.
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Westar M-5 Rifle |
DC-17 Hand Blaster |
Phrik Vibroblade |
Coded Datapad |
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A mind for a mind — Uninvited visit and philosophical discussion with a hive mind.
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Nothing, yet
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