Name: Bran Tellen
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Age: Mid-Thirties
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 165lbs
Hair: Brown, Short
Skin: Caucasian, Tanned
Eyes: Brown
Homeworld: Abandoned Mining World P23c
Force Sensitivity: Yes
Appearance:
In Sith Garb
Shrouded in a hood of black that seems to drink in the light, Darth Veynar is a figure of deliberate stillness. His smooth, featureless mask glints with a faint, distorted reflection, forcing those who meet his gaze to see only themselves twisted back. The heavy cloak drapes to the floor, edges worn but dignified, swallowing his frame in shadow. No ornament or symbol breaks the austerity of his attire: just matte black armor beneath, plain gloves, and boots. When his silvery-crimson blade hisses to life with uncanny quiet, it is less a weapon than punctuation to a silence that already weighs on the room.
Not In Sith Garb
Out of his dark raiment, Bran Tellen is almost aggressively ordinary. Of middling height and lean build, with plain brown hair and features so unremarkable they fade from memory, he could pass for any clerk or spacer on a backwater world. His eyes hold no spark of menace, no sign of destiny; they are simply the eyes of a man one might forget having seen at all. In a crowded room he vanishes into the background, a figure whose very existence resists notice. It is in this anonymity that his true danger lies: no one would look twice at Bran Tellen, yet behind that forgettable mask of flesh waits Darth Veynar, the Silent Reflection.
Biography
Bran Tellen was born on a forgotten mining colony in the far reaches of the Outer Rim, one of countless settlements abandoned when the veins of ore that birthed them ran dry. His life was the picture of obscurity: no noble lineage, no tragic past, no mark of destiny. To those who remembered him at all, he was a quiet, unremarkable man who lived unnoticed and unimportant. Yet in the silence of that forgotten world, Tellen conceived of something greater; not a dream of conquest or legacy, but a philosophy that saw individuality itself as the flaw that doomed the galaxy to conflict. In silence, he found clarity.
When he touched the Force, it was not with the fire of passion but with the chill of inevitability. He did not rage, nor did he beg for power. He simply chose it. Taking the name Darth Veynar, the Silent Reflection, he crafted an identity as deliberate as his philosophy. His mask, smooth and featureless, became the face of erasure; his silvery-crimson blade, the punctuation to his silence. In him, the Sith Order found an acolyte not driven by vengeance or ambition, but by the cold pursuit of stillness, a will to fold the galaxy into silence until all that remained was reflection.
Among the Sith, Veynar is not yet a figure of renown, but whispers already follow him. Rivals speak of his unsettling calm, his tendency to mirror an opponent’s words and strikes until they falter, and his presence that suffocates speech itself. He does not seize power with spectacle; he erodes it quietly, steadily, until resistance seems meaningless. Apprentices call him unbearable, unable to withstand his relentless reflections of their doubts. Yet those who survive him speak of a master unlike any other, one who destroys not with rage, but with silence.
Now, as the galaxy churns with war and ambition, Darth Veynar steps from obscurity into the wider Sith Order. His name is still young in their annals, a shadow at the edge of greater powers, but his philosophy is already taking root. Where others shout and burn, he whispers and waits, certain that in time, all things fall quiet. In the endless chorus of Sith, his voice is soft, but it is the silence between notes that defines the song.
