The Bounteous Hunt
Thrill of the Hunt
Mav Reyti
"My prayers belong to my people, I beseech Balagoth to let my people go... may the light of Nogras guide them beyond the Rift into renewed life."
FACTION: The Primeval, A New TestamentRANK: Genocide Refugee, Preacher, Religious Healer
SPECIES: Mirialan
AGE: 33
SEX: Female
HEIGHT: 1.7 meters
WEIGHT: 54 kilograms
EYES: Brown
HAIR: Black and red
SKIN: Green
FORCE SENSITIVE: Attuned on a spiritual level, but otherwise untrainable
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STRENGTHS
Strong willed - She is unfettered in achieving her goals, and remains determined to see them through to the point of killing her.
Religious Belief - Her faith in the Primeval is unwavering, even in the face of an Extremist of that faith laying waste to her own people. The alternative is to accept that her family truly and finally is gone forever.
Agility - Her lithe and healthy body grants her incredible speed and maneuverability.
WEAKNESSES
PTSD - Her personality is almost permanently fixed upon her grief, always afflicted with irritability, severe anxiety, social isolation, and occasionally self-harm. She is haunted by flashbacks and nightmares, reliving her experiences through all hours of her life.
Chronic Insomnia - To sleep is always to relive a nightmare, and to be awake is only moderately better.
Chronic Grief - Inexplicable loss of her mother, the utter destruction of her people, the loss of her father, son, and presumably her lover as well. There is very little this woman does not suffer for.
BIOGRAPHY:
The Innocent Darkness
Born in 821 ABY on Mirial, Mav Reyti was an unremarkable child. Primitive, naive, and sheltered from the destructive reigns of terror that wrecked across the galactic cosmos day in, day out. Of course, for the first twenty four years of her life there was little she had to worry of. There was no looming Empire, no well intentioned occupation, and no militant cult embroiled in internal strife... catching Mirial in the crossfire...
This was the last vestiges of the Four Hundred Year Darkness, the last peaceful reign of the Gulag Plague. The Galaxy cut off from Mirial, just as any other world, yet afflicted with the weakening strains of the horrendous virus that destroyed hundreds of years of history. Her people, limited in their technology, but strong in their faith, remained where many others would have fallen to the disease.
Her parents, like many accomplished members of her tribe, became healers... but their tasks held a cultural place within the hearts of the tribe. A place of faith, and belief, that the light can be drawn out of anything... no matter how far gone or close to death they became. Her father, became a Halter, a healer of remarkable ability that could literally satiate the plague from spreading within an individual. While her mother became a Reverser, a healer of profound ability that could calm the affliction of the Gulag Plague with time, and turn back the clock for the dying.
With her parents of such divine gifts, as a child she never failed to see the light within others, and in an age of darkness, remained innocent to the suffering that would come there way soon enough.
The Empire
Then the darkness was no longer innocent.
When the galaxy finally realized the plague no longer had sway over the populations, the greed of sentient beings saw opportunity in an age without order. Once more a darkness had risen from the ashes of an older darkness, more temperamental and unstable than ever before. The rise of the Sith Lords had come once again, and their torrential grip clasped around defenseless worlds like Mirial in a manner not seen in hundreds of years. A world once starved of communication, was now flooded with mandates and laws, an end to the old way of life and enslavement to the life of the new.
Her people were forced to slave away to the likes of Darth Sidic and his cronies, the Triumvirate and its resultant Emperor Moridan, Empress Desmius and her war machine, Emperor Voracitos and his crushing self-enriching indulgence, and others... a long line of tyrannical rulers each far worse and far crueler than the last. These were some of the darkest times Mirial had ever known, and it was all Reyti could do to simply keep her family together. Despite the horrors however, she persevered... she prayed... she had faith, and saw the light few others could.
Then one day... the Empire, simply... vanished from Mirial.
Vanishing
Empires were not the only thing that would vanish from this life on Mirial.
"You are doing well Mavy, I always knew you had the touch." Her mother's hand reached over and ruffled the young womans hair gently, as her green hands waved over the sick body of a villager. Every so often she would place hand on various parts of the body, and press inward, as if directing some kind of inner energy within them. Her eyes closed, and her breathe controlled, a gentle unintelligible word was expressed as part of a ceremony. Intermittently, she would grasp herbs in her hands and squeezed them tightly in her palm until it became like a powder, or fan incense towards the sick man.
This, was the ritual of halting. It was a kind of magic, that required no more sorcery than belief. If they had faith that the disease would halt, and the patient believe it could be halted... somehow, it was. Through the power of mind, these particular Mirialans had mastered a tribal art of curing the sick of debilitating disease.
Sweat poured from her face, dripping down her neck and into her turquoise tunic. The young girl was only momentarily distracted from her tasked, as her mother began to hum, but she knew the familiar buzz from witnessing her miracles. While a Halter engaged in their ritual to stop a sickness or infection from spreading, a Reverser would also begin their ritual, to undo the damage done to the body, and expel whatever affliction that caused it through the mouth. Mav concentrated as hard as she could on her perception of the poison, mindlessly engaging her hands to still the rampant decay... to Halt it in her place. She had practiced many times with her father, and only now did she do so alone, training with her mother.
Minutes later, her mother was nearly complete with her ritual, pressing her herbed hands to the chest of the patient, and pressing it upwards towards the throat... already Mav could feel the arching back of the old man, slowly excreting the darkness from within him, on the cusp of being free of his affliction once more.
"Mav... I love you."
When she opened her eyes, her mother was gone, and at the moment the man began to rapidly die. Alone, there was nothing she could do. The man died... and deep within Mav... so did she.
Faith
Hope, was the only thing they could do. Hope, and pray that their loved ones would someday return. Her own village looked to she and her father, for some solution to bring back their loved ones, and pleaded to them to cure their sick. But she and her father could only halt sickness and disease, neither possessed the gift of her mother, to truly cure them. Her village began slowly dying, more and more entered her tent, and all she could do was delay the inevitable a few hours at a time. Sometimes they would recover on their own, and thank her, though she denied their gratitude. She was ashamed she could not help them, that she could not in some way make them to recover.She began losing hope... losing faith.
Then the Priests arrived, descended from on-high, inspiring awe in their technological prowess and the strength of their warriors. To some, hope rekindled, and when they began to preach their message of a never ending society, where souls never died, merely changing forms that never truly forgot the ones they loved within their hearts.
For Mav... she had nothing, but watched with a curious gaze from afar... witnessed the change in her people. Saw the sick and dying recover under the hands of a Priest of Nogras. At first, she was angry at them, filled with jealousy, questioned their audacity to make her more irrelevant than ever before. She confronted one of them. She screamed, and stormed, roaring hatred and loathing, but by the end of it, the Riftsinger merely waited for her exhaust herself before placing a tender hand to her shoulder.
Something light up inside of Mav that had been dead a long time, as the Riftsinger spoke in understanding and empathy, and taught her the art of recovering from loss. Granted her a text to read, and once revealed she was uneducated... read it to her, day after day. Like a child to a mentor, she sat before the hooded man in white robes, and learned to listen not with her ears, but with her heart.
From then on she remembered what it felt like to love.
GENOCIDE
She sat crying in the corner of a refugee ship, seemingly talking to herself. Other refugees like herself, seemed to scatter and separate from her. They could not stand the suffering any longer, and she among them suffered most vividly. It had been weeks since her loss, and she felt weakest of them all.
"No! I won't tell, I won't speak of it! I should not live, I should be with my father and my son... my son... my son..." Sniffling, she held her knees closer, rocking back and forth. A mother's grief was not something that can easily be put to rest... they had all lost so much, but it was clear the sadness they all felt had claimed her as another victim.
It would take time for her to recover, as all refugees of genocide must... but she had already died within herself, and with it had nothing else to lose. An obsession would grow within her, a belief she was taught not so long ago that a Soul never died.
She would find her way back to Mirial, and she would find her family again... and she would find a way to recover all that was lost.
Though who, would guide her there?
SHIP:
N/a
KILLS:
Never
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
N/a
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