Fleshwright
"Your flesh is average, your blood bland. You are of no use to me except as fodder."
GENERAL
Moniker: Marrow
Species: Sangnir Highblood
Birthplace: 'A Nameless World'
Affiliation: TBD / Sith, probably.
Height: 2.03 metres
Age: Dusty.
PERSONALITY
Traits: Idiosyncratic, Obsessive, Isolationistic.
Tropes: Biomanipulation, Mad Biologist, Human Resources.
Theme Song: Natural by Imagine Dragons
TRAITS & FLAWS
TL;DR: Wacky blood mystic born long ago on an isolated Sangnir-ruled world; slaves decided they'd rather not be cattle, actually won (which is just outrageous, as far as Marrow's concerned). Marrow took a long nap and now he doesn't remember his name, thus Marrow. Not exactly a poet.Moniker: Marrow
Species: Sangnir Highblood
Birthplace: 'A Nameless World'
Affiliation: TBD / Sith, probably.
Height: 2.03 metres
Age: Dusty.
PERSONALITY
Traits: Idiosyncratic, Obsessive, Isolationistic.
Tropes: Biomanipulation, Mad Biologist, Human Resources.
Theme Song: Natural by Imagine Dragons
TRAITS & FLAWS
- Fleshwright: Marrow is an experienced manipulator of flesh, bone, and sinew. Blasphemous alchemical techniques and vile sorceries allow him to sculpt flesh as if it were clay, an ability not entirely restricted to the laboratory - weaponised applications are a personal favourite.
- Uncanny Valley: Marrow is deeply unsettling; this serves him well when the goal is intimidation and less well when he must blend in.
- Connoisseur: Marrow is driven by a deep-seated need to hunt and consume exotic prey; he will take great risks to eat, say, a Jedi.
- You look tasty, future specimen. May I have a nibble?
- The clothes on his back.
Marrow was born to a family he no longer remembers in a time before the rise of the Old Republic. Turned in his prime by a now long-dead Sangnir, he climbed the hierarchy of his world and eventually became a masterful Bloodcaller, or so his faded memories indicate.
All he knows for sure is that his part of the Sangnir civilization - a civilization in name only, for as far as he knows they never succeeded in breaching the light barrier, not even for the purposes of communication - fell in fire and blood. A rebellion of their slaves, the very same people Marrow had once belonged to. Kin turned cattle turned 'scourge upon civilisation'.
Marrow survived. As one of a scattered few, he took shelter in stasis tombs to await the inevitable reconquest fleets launched from other Sangnir worlds. The fleets never came. To the best of his knowledge, their civilisation died not with a roar, but with a whimper, quietly fading away while lesser beings flooded the stars with unearned confidence and boundless fecundity.
That, more than anything, solidified his loathing for the trappings of civilisation. If an empire of immortals could fall to mewling thralls, then collective strength is an illusion. If the collective is an illusion, then individual strength is all that is left.
Awakening to a Galaxy he no longer recognises, the being that had once been a lord among his kind arose as little more than a starving beast who could scarce remember who he had been, let alone which name he had borne.
For now, at least, Marrow would do.
All he knows for sure is that his part of the Sangnir civilization - a civilization in name only, for as far as he knows they never succeeded in breaching the light barrier, not even for the purposes of communication - fell in fire and blood. A rebellion of their slaves, the very same people Marrow had once belonged to. Kin turned cattle turned 'scourge upon civilisation'.
Marrow survived. As one of a scattered few, he took shelter in stasis tombs to await the inevitable reconquest fleets launched from other Sangnir worlds. The fleets never came. To the best of his knowledge, their civilisation died not with a roar, but with a whimper, quietly fading away while lesser beings flooded the stars with unearned confidence and boundless fecundity.
That, more than anything, solidified his loathing for the trappings of civilisation. If an empire of immortals could fall to mewling thralls, then collective strength is an illusion. If the collective is an illusion, then individual strength is all that is left.
Awakening to a Galaxy he no longer recognises, the being that had once been a lord among his kind arose as little more than a starving beast who could scarce remember who he had been, let alone which name he had borne.
For now, at least, Marrow would do.
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