Character
Dankaia Virkenn
| Species | Sangnir (Lowblood) |
| Birthplace | ? |
| Age | 26 |
| Gender | Female |
| Height | 5'7" |
| Weight | 135 |
| Hair Color | Black |
| Eye Color | ? |
| Skin Color | Pale White |
| Build | ? |
| Faction | ? |
| Force Sensitive | Yes |
| Force Align. | Light |
| Force Rank | Rogue Knight |
| Voice | ? |
| Writer |
Extinct
|
B I O G R A P H Y
Dankaia Virkenn's story began within the soaring, crystal-lit halls of the Jedi Order, where she arrived as a quiet child with solemn golden eyes. From her earliest days, she felt the Force stir in her like a soft storm, guiding her hands, sharpening her senses, and whispering truths she could not yet understand. The Masters spoke of her as one touched by destiny, for she wielded compassion with the same natural ease as a blade. Among the other younglings she trained with, Dankaia was the steadfast one—the girl who rose before dawn to practice, who meditated with fierce devotion, and who treated even her rivals with a hero's courtesy. Within the Order's sacred chambers, she grew not only in skill but in conviction, believing deeply that the Jedi were the guardians the galaxy needed, and that she too would one day stand among them as a protector in full.
Her ascension to Jedi Knight came after long years of trials that tested both her spirit and steel. She undertook daring missions along the fractured border-realms, where she became known for her uncanny calm amidst chaos and her unwavering drive to shield the innocent. But fate is rarely kind to those it marks. During a rescue far beyond the safe starways, she was caught in a catastrophic energy rupture—a cosmic tempest that shredded hulls and shattered bone. Her sacrifice saved hundreds, but the price she paid was carved into her body forever. When she awoke, she bore new limbs of alloy and lattice-light, her breath powered by whispering circuits, her nerves rewoven with glowing threads. She was neither fully flesh nor fully machine, but something reborn between.
The Order praised her survival, yet in the quiet corners of the Temple she felt the subtle weight of changed glances and unspoken doubts. Her connection to the Force had shifted—no longer a tranquil river, but a wild and unpredictable current flowing through both sinew and cybernetics. Feeling estranged from the life she once knew, Dankaia made the agonizing choice to leave the Jedi behind. She walked away not in anger, but in aching clarity, driven by the belief that destiny had carved her a path the Order was not prepared to follow.
Thus began her life as a rogue wanderer of the star-wilds—a former Jedi Knight who refused to abandon her ideals even as she shed the robes that once defined her. She fought for outcast colonies, dismantled tyrants on forgotten moons, and sheltered the lost with a gentleness at odds with her jagged silhouette. Though no longer bound to the codes of the Order, she lives by her own creed: that one could be broken and remade, and still choose to shine. Across the galaxy, the story of Dankaia Virkenn spread—of the cybernetic knight who turned exile into purpose, and who sought, with every step, to leave the worlds she touched brighter than she found them.
The Dark Secret...Her Struggle
Dankaia Virkenn had survived ambushes, black-ops raids, and close-quarters combat with men twice her size—but nothing had prepared her for the Sangnir. The infection hadn't come with fangs and folklore; it came with a hypersonic crack of bone, a flash of claws in the dark, and a viral payload engineered from a species older than human civilization.
The med-scanners in the safehouse flickered violently as her vitals flatlined, surged, then rewrote themselves line by line, as if an invisible coder were hacking her genome in real time, yet, left her cybernetics unmolested. She remembered the pain only in fragments: blood boiling like overheated coolant, nerves firing so fast her vision stuttered, her heartbeat splitting into two asynchronous rhythms before stabilizing into something unmistakably inhuman. When consciousness returned, the world looked sharper, smelled richer—and the scent of her allies' blood hit her like a railgun to the skull.
She learned quickly that the Sangnir condition wasn't a curse—it was an algorithm, one that ran parallel to her mind and tried relentlessly to override her moral priorities. The Hunger and the Thirst weren't just impulses; they were system alerts, escalating in severity the longer she denied them. She controlled them the way a hacker might contain a rogue assassin droid: constant monitoring, disciplined routines, and rigid fallback protocols.
Dankaia fed only on animals or the violent criminals she hunted in the neon back-alleys of the galaxy, telling herself that turning predators into prey was a form of justice, one that didn't compromise her ideals. But every time her teeth broke skin, every time her vision went red around the edges, she felt the Sangnir code whisper that it would be easier—cleaner—to surrender and let the predatory instincts run at full efficiency.
Her greatest battle was never with the monsters she tracked but with herself. She hid her condition from allies and enemies alike, terrified that one misstep would reveal the truth: that the former Jedi Knight turned rogue operative was now something far more dangerous than any dossier suggested.
The secret hung over her like a classified file sealed with explosive ink—one leak could bring everything crashing down. Yet she refused to succumb. In a universe full of corrupted systems, Dankaia Virkenn fought to be her own firewall, holding the line between monster and guardian even as her curse constantly probed for weak spots.
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Dankaia Virkenn carries herself with a friendly, open-minded warmth that disarms even the most jaded people around her. She has a talent for leaning in, listening, and making a person feel like their perspective matters—even when she is already ten moves ahead in her analysis. Charming in a way that feels unforced, she navigates tense negotiations with a light touch, a quiet smile, and a tone that suggests she believes solutions are always within reach, even when the situation is mathematically hopeless. Beneath the cybernetics, beneath the vampiric curse pulsing like encrypted static through her bloodstream, she is—at her core—sympathetic, the kind of former Jedi Knight who offers help before it is requested and stays long after the crisis has technically ended.
Yet Dankaia's personality is a double-edged circuit. She can be talkative to the point of distraction, an enthusiastic cascade of insights, theories, and warnings that sometimes overwhelms the very people she is trying to protect. And she knows she is good—exceptional, in fact—which feeds a streak of conceit she tries (and often fails) to keep under control. Her confidence isn't bragged so much as implied in the way she corrects veteran analysts or walks into a firefight with the certainty of someone who has survived far worse. Still, she can see the way others notice it, the way their eyes flicker with annoyance or admiration, and that awareness only sharpens her self-assured edge.
But the real friction point—the core of her inner turbulence—lies in the Sangnir curse threading through her veins like a corrupted program. Frustration radiates from her whenever the Hunger surges, a cold, predatory algorithm gnawing at her restraint. She despises its timing, its randomness, its willingness to surface at the worst possible moments. It is the one element of her life she can not outthink, outfight, or outmaneuver. Every time it rises, she feels a jagged conflict between what she is and what she refuses to become. That frustration—quiet but volatile—is the pressure point that shapes her, pushes her, and threatens to break her. And yet she fights it, again and again, because she knows the line between protector and predator is one she cannot cross, no matter the cost.
S K I L L S--&--A B I L I T I E S
Dankaia Virkenn operates like a one-woman multi-domain operations suite—fluid, adaptive, and unnervingly precise. Her lightsaber aptitude, refined during her Jedi years and tempered by her post-Order life, is less an art form and more a tactical algorithm mapped directly into muscle memory. She favors efficiency over spectacle: clean angles, controlled footwork, and strikes calculated with the restraint of someone who understands exactly how much force it takes to neutralize a threat without escalating a situation. When the Sangnir reflexes surge—speed sharpening her reactions beyond typical humanoid thresholds—her blade work becomes something closer to predictive combat modeling, as though she is reading her opponent's decisions before they finished forming.
Her slicing and hacking skills are the quiet counterpoint to the flash of combat. Dankaia can slip into secured systems the way mist seeps beneath a sealed door, bypassing firewalls, burying her tracks, and making machines betray their creators without ever tripping a fail-safe. She isn't just skilled; she is conversational with code, able to "talk" to droids and computers in a cadence that makes them pliable. Be it an outdated security automaton or a cutting-edge military AI, she treats them like colleagues rather than tools, and they respond—sometimes with unexpected cooperation, sometimes with reluctant compliance, but always with results.
Piloting, too, comes naturally to her, though she does claim it is simply a product of experience. In truth, she flies like someone who trusts neither gravity nor the people firing at her hull. Her hands dance across control consoles with effortless precision, turning even unwieldy craft into extensions of her own awareness. She can thread a starfighter through debris fields or coax a damaged transport through atmospheric turbulence with the same calm confidence, her cybernetic enhancements quietly optimizing reaction speed and sensory input.
But perhaps her most underestimated skill is her voice. Dankaia could negotiate with a room full of mercenaries, soothe a panicking civilian, or manipulate a hostile interrogator into revealing their intentions—all while sounding disarmingly genuine. Her conversational style blends soft humor with razor-sharp analysis, making her equally capable of persuading allies or disarming enemies. She speaks to machines like they have personalities and to people like they deserve a chance to explain themselves. In a world full of encrypted motives and weaponized secrets, her ability to bridge biological and digital minds make her not just dangerous, but indispensable.
T H R E A D S
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F A C T O R Y
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C O D E X
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