Moony
Age: 20,000yrs old (Due to deep cryo-cycle stasis)
Species: Oneiroi
Gender: female
Height: 8ft
Weight:276lbs
Force Sensitive: Is the character Force sensitive or not? Are they Force Dead?
Force sensitive
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Moony stands at a ungodly height of eight foot an Oneiroi female, wearing a mask over there face with a singular protruding red horn with unusual blueish green hair and dark brown skin, there clothing was unusual to say the least with a long draconic tail dragging behind them.
INVENTORY
N/A
PERSONALITY AND BELIEFS
Moony is overly curious about everything after wondering her planet
She very bold and highly aggressive if she feel countered/outnumbered
She incredibly clingy to those she deem as "friends" new concept for her.
Given how isolated she was she enjoys seeing and tasting new technology.
Afraid of space travel (Never experienced it)
STRENGTHS
Heightened awareness:being more attuned with surroundings,thoughts,feeling's,small details
Heightened strength: physical strength greater then most creatures
Tough scales:due to being artificially made there scales are naturally harder then normal and acts as natural armor.
Acidic breath/spit:generate and manipulate acid,shapes can include steam,sphere,mist from the mouth can even melt objects or organisms
Cold Resistance: resistance to extreme cold weather/water
WEAKNESSES
Short-tempered: Hot-headed nature usually causes conflict, quick to anger ,may alienate allies or escalate unnecessary situations
Heightened sensitivity: increased sensitivity to touch,light,sound,taste,smell,temperature
HISTORY
For an eternity, she dreamed of nothing. Suspended in flickering stasis, her mind wandered the void senseless, timeless, formless. Her creators were long dead. Her purpose forgotten. Her pod, one of thousands buried deep within Mizanrs' ice-choked catacombs, hummed faintly with a dying pulse… until it didn't. One day, the power failed.
There was no ceremony. No alarms. Just the slow, irreversible thaw. Her breath fogged the inside of the glass. Muscles spasmed. Vision blurred. She emerged from the fluid coughing feral, blind to identity or meaning. All she knew was hunger.
She stumbled naked into the ruins of the stasis vault, surrounded by hollow silence. Her cryopod's light had gone out. The others flickered dimly or not at all. Some pods were shattered. Others were sealed. Whether they held life or rot was unknown. She did not call out. The Oneiroi do not seek. They feel. And she felt only emptiness.
The cold was irrelevant. It was inside her now woven into muscle and bone after millennia of cryo-cycle dormancy. Her feet cracked frost underfoot as she moved through the halls of a dead world, scavenging what she could. Droids rusted and limping became prey. She melted their joints with acidic breath, gnawed their power cells, tasted copper and coolant on her tongue. Some, like her, had awakened only to wander others had fallen to madness and still clung to flickers of movement in broken loops of forgotten programming. Hunger never left her. She consumed whatever didn't fight back.
Even the others.
Frozen Oneiroi corpses were scattered across the complex, curled in fetal postures, collapsed against ice-slick walls. Some died in panic. Others starved after failed reawakening. She does not know their names, nor did they bear them. But from one head bowed, one horn broken, mask still intact she took everything. The mask came first. Smooth, cold, clean. She placed it on her face without thinking. Then the clothes a tattered mantle, some boots, layered scraps.
Why? Not for warmth. She did not feel warmth. She did it for ritual. For meaning. To wear the face of another is to become more than alone. In that moment, she stopped being just the one who woke.
She became the one who endures.
For 143 days, she survived in silence. No speech. No writing. No signs of culture. Just scavenging, listening, waiting. She explored deeper chambers, passed through derelict labs, and walked frozen bridges that led nowhere. Droids skittered away from her. Corpse-birds mechanical carrion units long malfunctioned sometimes tried to attack her. They never succeeded.
And through it all, she wondered: Were the others still dreaming?
Or were they watching her from behind glass, afraid to wake? She stopped checking the pods after the fiftieth. It was easier not to hope. Then came a vibration in the snow. Distant. Rhythmic. Alien. A sound not born of Mizanrs. A ship. A pulse of life that did not come from a Oneiroi chamber.
Not part of the Dreaming Deep.
For the first time in over a hundred days, her claws gripped something more than frost. Her breath curled with steam, acidic and anxious. She did not know whether to hide, approach, or attack. But she did know one thing: Something real had come. And with it, perhaps, a name.
Age: 20,000yrs old (Due to deep cryo-cycle stasis)
Species: Oneiroi
Gender: female
Height: 8ft
Weight:276lbs
Force Sensitive: Is the character Force sensitive or not? Are they Force Dead?
Force sensitive
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Moony stands at a ungodly height of eight foot an Oneiroi female, wearing a mask over there face with a singular protruding red horn with unusual blueish green hair and dark brown skin, there clothing was unusual to say the least with a long draconic tail dragging behind them.
INVENTORY
N/A
PERSONALITY AND BELIEFS
Moony is overly curious about everything after wondering her planet
She very bold and highly aggressive if she feel countered/outnumbered
She incredibly clingy to those she deem as "friends" new concept for her.
Given how isolated she was she enjoys seeing and tasting new technology.
Afraid of space travel (Never experienced it)
STRENGTHS
Heightened awareness:being more attuned with surroundings,thoughts,feeling's,small details
Heightened strength: physical strength greater then most creatures
Tough scales:due to being artificially made there scales are naturally harder then normal and acts as natural armor.
Acidic breath/spit:generate and manipulate acid,shapes can include steam,sphere,mist from the mouth can even melt objects or organisms
Cold Resistance: resistance to extreme cold weather/water
WEAKNESSES
Short-tempered: Hot-headed nature usually causes conflict, quick to anger ,may alienate allies or escalate unnecessary situations
Heightened sensitivity: increased sensitivity to touch,light,sound,taste,smell,temperature
HISTORY
For an eternity, she dreamed of nothing. Suspended in flickering stasis, her mind wandered the void senseless, timeless, formless. Her creators were long dead. Her purpose forgotten. Her pod, one of thousands buried deep within Mizanrs' ice-choked catacombs, hummed faintly with a dying pulse… until it didn't. One day, the power failed.
There was no ceremony. No alarms. Just the slow, irreversible thaw. Her breath fogged the inside of the glass. Muscles spasmed. Vision blurred. She emerged from the fluid coughing feral, blind to identity or meaning. All she knew was hunger.
She stumbled naked into the ruins of the stasis vault, surrounded by hollow silence. Her cryopod's light had gone out. The others flickered dimly or not at all. Some pods were shattered. Others were sealed. Whether they held life or rot was unknown. She did not call out. The Oneiroi do not seek. They feel. And she felt only emptiness.
The cold was irrelevant. It was inside her now woven into muscle and bone after millennia of cryo-cycle dormancy. Her feet cracked frost underfoot as she moved through the halls of a dead world, scavenging what she could. Droids rusted and limping became prey. She melted their joints with acidic breath, gnawed their power cells, tasted copper and coolant on her tongue. Some, like her, had awakened only to wander others had fallen to madness and still clung to flickers of movement in broken loops of forgotten programming. Hunger never left her. She consumed whatever didn't fight back.
Even the others.
Frozen Oneiroi corpses were scattered across the complex, curled in fetal postures, collapsed against ice-slick walls. Some died in panic. Others starved after failed reawakening. She does not know their names, nor did they bear them. But from one head bowed, one horn broken, mask still intact she took everything. The mask came first. Smooth, cold, clean. She placed it on her face without thinking. Then the clothes a tattered mantle, some boots, layered scraps.
Why? Not for warmth. She did not feel warmth. She did it for ritual. For meaning. To wear the face of another is to become more than alone. In that moment, she stopped being just the one who woke.
She became the one who endures.
For 143 days, she survived in silence. No speech. No writing. No signs of culture. Just scavenging, listening, waiting. She explored deeper chambers, passed through derelict labs, and walked frozen bridges that led nowhere. Droids skittered away from her. Corpse-birds mechanical carrion units long malfunctioned sometimes tried to attack her. They never succeeded.
And through it all, she wondered: Were the others still dreaming?
Or were they watching her from behind glass, afraid to wake? She stopped checking the pods after the fiftieth. It was easier not to hope. Then came a vibration in the snow. Distant. Rhythmic. Alien. A sound not born of Mizanrs. A ship. A pulse of life that did not come from a Oneiroi chamber.
Not part of the Dreaming Deep.
For the first time in over a hundred days, her claws gripped something more than frost. Her breath curled with steam, acidic and anxious. She did not know whether to hide, approach, or attack. But she did know one thing: Something real had come. And with it, perhaps, a name.