Keres Strix
Character
Name | Keres Strix |
Aliases | N/A |
Age | 60 (30 in human years) |
Species | Half-Sephi, Half-Dathomirian |
Gender | Female |
Faction | Galactic Empire → Dark Side Elite |
Homeworld | Thustra |
Occupation | Field Interrogator and Recruitment Specialist for the Dark Side Elite |
Height | 5'9" |
Hair Color | Blue/Black |
Eye Color | White |
Skin | Steel grey-blue |
Scent | Steamed Milk and honey, damp earth, earl grey |
"Different wounds, different weapons."
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They survived the same burning halls, the same betrayal that turned their family colors into funeral shrouds. But where Janus turned inward, fortifying himself with silence, philosophy, and control, Keres stepped straight into the fire. She didn't flinch. She never would again.
Her memories of that night differ. She doesn't remember the strategy, only the heat. The weight of her mother's jewelry box in her arms. The sound of laughter—his laughter—like glass shattering inside her skull. The way blood, in firelight, looked black and slick as oil.
But most of all, she remembers the precise moment fear gave way to fury.
The Life Bond between the twins pulsed with shared terror, but beneath Janus's steady calm, she felt it: a hunger not just for justice, but for suffering.
While Janus turned empathy into a weapon, Keres learned that pain could be beautiful if wielded right. Her rage became ritual, her vengeance methodical. Where he dissected with care, she struck with pleasure.
When the Imperials finally breached the rubble, they found two survivors. One wept.
The other was smiling.
Keres had tasted something sweeter than any childhood treat she'd ever been denied—the suffering of those who deserved it.
And she never forgot the flavor.
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Sexuality | Pansexual
Relationship Status | Single
Personality |
Feral | Obsessive | Intimate
"Scream if you need to. I like to know which part's working."
Where Janus reads people to understand them, Keres breaks them to feel alive.
She doesn't stand behind glass or watch from a console. She leans in. Kneels beside them. Hands warm, breath shallow, skin damp from effort. Blood clings to her wrists like jewelry. The room always smells of iron, antiseptic, and burnt cloth. Sharp things on metal trays. The rustle of a plastic drop sheet. A soft grunt behind the gag.
She likes it quiet, so she can hear the moment they change.
She doesn't care why they break. Just when. That instant, the begging turns to whimpering. When the dignity seeps out like marrow. That's the moment she takes for herself.
And she's meticulous. No wasted motion, no cruelty for its own sake. She tunes each session like an instrument, pacing, angle, and tone. A knife used too early dulls the story. She wants to see how deep someone can go before they forget their name. And when they do? That's when she smiles. Not mockingly—genuinely. As if something beautiful just bloomed between them.
Emotional Landscape
Keres feels everything at maximum volume. There's no dampener, no delay—each emotion arrives with the force of a detonation. Joy isn't mild; it's manic. Anger isn't annoyance; it's combustion. Love isn't warmth; it's need. She doesn't process feelings so much as drown in them, and by the time she comes up for air, something's already broken—sometimes her, sometimes someone else.
Impulse and Control
There's no soft middle between desire and action. If she wants something, she moves. If she's hurt, she lashes. If she loves, she clings. Her world is immediate and physical—doors slammed, objects thrown, bodies touched. Emotional urgency drives everything. That can make her brilliant in the field, where instinct and heat are assets. But it also makes her dangerous in stillness, where nothing distracts from the storm inside.
Sadism vs. Control
She enjoys torture—but not in a chaotic way. It's not the pain itself that thrills her. It's the precision. The power. The control. She gets to decide when it starts, how it escalates, and when it ends. In a life where most of her inner world is chaos, those moments are the only time she feels in charge of something.
Mannerisms & Habits Touch-oriented thinking
She touches everything. Fingers brush over interrogation tools not out of affection, but memory. She trails her hand along the corridor walls while walking. Taps her thigh when thinking. Presses her palm flat to the glass when watching a prisoner. The world makes more sense through sensation.
Unblinking stare
When listening, she doesn't blink often. Not threatening, just unnervingly still, as if trying to memorize your face. When she does blink, it's slow, deliberate, as if recalibrating.
Uncomfortable in prolonged stillness
Can't sit in debriefs or silent strategy rooms without some form of kinetic outlet; rolling a stylus, flicking a blade, walking laps. Stillness makes her itch.Character Tropes Alignment Motivations
The Broken Bird (subverted)
Traumatized, yes. Vulnerable, no. She doesn't need saving, she needs space to burn.
Neutral Evil (with chaotic leanings)
- She follows no moral code; only loyalty, pain, and instinct.
- She doesn't believe in rules unless she writes them.
- Violence isn't just a means to an end—it is the point, sometimes.
- She isn't cruel to everyone. But when she is, it's with purpose. Or pleasure. Or both.
- Janus is the only reason she hasn't burned more than she's built.
- Control through destruction
- To be irreplaceable to Janus
- To feel real through sensation
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Position: Field Interrogator and Recruitment Specialist for the Dark Side Elite
More to come for this as I write with her.
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Force AbilitiesGear- Life Bond (with Janus)
- Psychometry: Particularly attuned to emotional imprints left by trauma and violence
- Mind Probe/Memory Walk
- Memory Rub
- Mind Shard
- Custom lightsaber with extended hilt
- Alchemized surgical instruments
- Torture kit including restraints, stimulants, and medical supplies
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