Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Character Dravik Thorne

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DRAVIK THORNE

BirthplaceUnknown Outer Rim world
Age38 Years
RankBounty Hunter
HomeNomadic
SpeciesHuman
GenderMale
Force SensitiveNo, but witch altered
Height1.87m
Weight89 Kg
Distinctive featuresFaint witchmark runes beneath skin; glowing green left eye, eldritch left arm
WriterYou


Once a soldier known for cold precision, he became prey himself after crossing into Dathomir territory. The Witches captured him, broke him, and reshaped him with their rituals.

He left changed. Now he walks the galaxy with pieces of their magic still clinging to his body and soul. He is a ruthless bounty hunter, but also a puppet on strings, controlled from far away.

TRAITS:

  • Highly disciplined former soldier with tactical training
  • Periodic blackouts when witches seize partial control
  • Haunted by fragmented memories of his captivity
  • Reluctant servant of the witches, driven by survival
  • Strong willpower that sometimes lets him resist their influence
  • Precision marksman

BIOGRAPHY:

Dravik Thorne was once a disciplined soldier, known for his calm under fire and a stubborn refusal to abandon his squadmates. He fought for years across Outer Rim conflicts, surviving battles that should have killed him. His loyalty, reliability, and lack of ego made him a natural backbone in any unit.

That man is mostly gone.

The Capture
During a deployment near Dathomir, his unit disappeared into the mist. Only Dravik survived. The witches took him alive, curious about his endurance and iron discipline. Where others screamed, Dravik endured. Where others broke, he bent. They saw potential and dragged him deep into their rituals.

The Transformation
For weeks he was suspended between life and death, his mind scraped open and filled with the whisper of ancient spirits. The witches unveiled old magic, binding shadows to his bones and forcing power into his blood. They carved patterns down his arms that only glow when the spirits stir.

They did not want simply to break him.
They wanted to use him.

The Release
One morning they simply opened his chains and told him to go.

But the gift was no kindness.
His mind occasionally goes blank, only to awaken mid-hunt, mid-kill, mid-mission. The witches reach through the markings burned into his nerves, turning him into a puppet when it suits them. He feels them tug at the edges of his consciousness, their voices like claws on glass. Sometimes he blacks out and awakens with blood on his hands or a completed task he never chose. Other times, he resists just enough to twist their orders into something less cruel.

Now he wanders the galaxy as a bounty hunter. His employers think he is simply another gun for hire. Only Dravik knows that he is still a puppet on invisible strings, moving between his own choices and the will of the coven. He hopes that one day he can find a way to break their hold and reclaim the life they stole from him.

No one goes through what Dravik experienced without changing. He had built a reputation for being ruthless and cruel.

He is a dark shadow of the man he once was.


EQUIPMENT:

  • Eldritch rifle powered by witch magic, able to fire unstable spectral rounds
  • Reinforced combat armor with ritual inscriptions hidden beneath the plating
  • Combat knife infused with minor witchcraft, glows when the coven exerts control
  • Personal datapad with encrypted logs tracking his memory gaps

The Eldritch Rifle

Dravik carries an abomination in the shape of a rifle. The nightsister witches forged it from bone, metal, and bound spirits. The weapon hums with a low unnatural vibration and vents green mist when charged.

It fires bursts of condensed magick-energy that tear through armor and scorch the soul more than the flesh. The rifle only obeys him.

The Eldritch Eye

His left eye shows the taint of nightsister magick. It glows brightly when he is being controlled by a witch.

When he has marked his prey, the eldritch eye allows him to track woth great precision. Once he has sight of his quarry, they cannot hide from his sight again.

The Eldritch Arm

His left arm is normally covered in a large glove or hidden beneath his coat. It is a nightmare to behold. The great dark claw can change shape and is incredibly strong. His arm can extend outwards and his prey rarely escape once he has them in his grasp.
 
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The alleys of Nar Shaddaa never slept. Neon flickered across the wet duracrete, painting sickly colors over the bounty he had finally run to ground.

The man lay against a rusted bulkhead, wheezing, clutching at a leg that had failed him three rooftops ago. Dravik had fired a precise shot that cut across the outside of his thigh. Blood welled up from his leg.

Dravik stopped a few paces away and looked down at him with quiet irritation.

"That was it? I expected more," he said. His voice was flat, almost disappointed.

"I thought you might give me something to remember. Instead you folded the moment you lost your nerve."

The man tried to crawl backward, breath hitching in panic. Dravik ignored it. His right hand stayed relaxed at his side on the grip of his side arm, but the left lifted, the darkened flesh shifting as witch-sigils pulsed to life beneath the skin. Sickly green light coiled around his forearm, rising like smoke.

"You could have run farther," Dravik continued. "Given me a minute of exercise. Could have found a corner to turn and fight. But no. You dropped and here we are."

The man offered a whimper of a protest. He kept both hands clamped around his thigh.
Dravik stepped closer, watching without emotion.

"I need a code," Dravik said. "I don't even know what it does. I'll kill you quickly? How does that sound?"

"Please? Let me go. It's Tibanna-Blue-Seventeen."

Dravik sighed.

He pulled a pad from his jacket pocket and typed away.

"Well that's disappointing." Dravik tucked the pad away. "Don't even know what the fuck that does, but apparently it's the right code."

Dravik dropped to one knee. His eldritch hand shot out and wrapped around the man's neck. They hissed and struggled and clawed at the arm. Wisps of green smoke rose around his neck.

"Next time," Dravik said to no one, "run farther, put up a fight or try and give me a fake code. Make it interesting."

The struggling stopped. The hand of witch-magic relaxed, the green coils fading back into his skin. Dravik exhaled once.

"Boring."
 
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