vessel
RHYSE CALDER
| Music | Sea, Swallow Me |
| Full name | Rhyse Calder |
| Class(es) | Sith Acolyte |
| Birthworld | Cotellier |
| Current Homeworld | Jutrand |
| Age | Young |
| Rank(s) | Acolyte |
| Faction(s) | Sith Order |
| Species | Human |
| Gender | Male |
| Force Sensitive | Y |
| Character Alignment | True Neutral |
| Height | 5'8" |
| Weight | 132lbs |
The Story So Far
Personality
Strengths & Weaknesses
Notable Skills
Items
Relationships and Associations
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SUMMARY
Pitifully ordinary. Rhyse Calder had been beneath notice for most of his life. On Cotellier, people of value—those with ambition, skill, or luck - left to pursue greater endeavors. The rest? They were left behind, swallowed by the mines. Nova Crystals were in high demand, filling the pockets of corporate magnates while the miners beneath them worked themselves to the bone for a fraction of the profit. For Rhyse, life was routine. He woke, went to the mines, harvested Nova Crystals, turned them in, and left. He snuck in food where he could, slept when exhaustion finally took hold, and then did it all over again. A cycle, endless and unchanging.
He thought himself the unluckiest person alive.
The dark rings beneath his eyes had become as much a part of him as his own name, a permanent marker of fatigue and a life spent scraping by.
But everything changed the day the mine collapsed. The tunnel had caved in without warning, sending miners scrambling for safety. Yet, when the dust settled, it revealed something that had no place beneath the surface of Cotellier—a vast sanctum of blackened stone, swallowed by time and forgotten by history. And from its depths, whispers slithered out.
They called. Murmured. Enticed.
No one dared enter. No one wanted to know what lay within. But someone had to. Rhyse was not that person. He clutched his bag, keeping his head down, ready to leave the moment the foreman gave the order. But the order never came. Instead, the whispering continued - not just from the sanctum, but from the men around him. First, he was encouraged to step forward. Then he was told. Then he was pushed.
The sanctum swallowed him whole. Inside, the air was thick, heavy with something ancient and oppressive. The walls bore carvings too worn to read, yet they spoke nonetheless, their meanings scraping at the edges of his mind. And at the center, resting atop a jagged altar, was something awful—something dark and twisted with evil. A sword. Its surface was black as the void, its form unnaturally sharp, pulsating with a slow, rhythmic energy. The whispers roared now, clawing at his thoughts, wrapping around him like a vice. Rhyse tried to back away, but his body refused. The Fellsong Blade had found him. A creation of Darth Bellum, Fellsong was more than a weapon - it was a prison. A vessel of a spirit that refused to die. And as Rhyse's trembling fingers brushed its hilt, he felt the air in his lungs seize.
His mind burned. His body locked.
And then, he was no longer alone. Something had fused with him—something vile, powerful, and infinitely older than he could comprehend. He gasped, but the sound was swallowed by laughter - low, amused, and inside his head.
Rhyse Calder emerged from the tunnel, but he was not the same. The other miners had been waiting, unwilling to follow but too afraid to abandon him. When they saw him return, they took a step back. His face was pale, his breathing unsteady, and his eyes - his eyes were wrong. Not in color, not in shape, but in something deeper. Something unsettled. He gripped the sword too tightly, knuckles white, his fingers refusing to let go even when he willed them to.
He had heard the whispers before. Now, they never stopped.
The mine's overseers took him to the planetary enforcers. He barely heard the questions thrown his way—where did he find it? What did he see? Could the crystal veins still be extracted from the collapsed tunnel? He answered none of them. The words rattling in his skull were too loud, drowning everything else out.
Then came the Sith. A Sith Lord had been stationed on Cotellier, watching over the planet from the shadows. Rhyse had never seen them before - why would he? Men like him never crossed paths with those who could wield the Force. But now, he was no longer just a miner. He was to be made Sith.
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Who said it? -
Rhyse Calder never wanted to be special. He never wanted to be chosen, burdened, or cursed. But fate never asked.
A pitifully ordinary young man from Cotellier, Rhyse spent his life overlooked and underestimated. He wasn't ambitious enough to leave his homeworld nor desperate enough to fight against his lot in life. He did his job, kept his head down, and expected little in return. He had no grand dreams, no aspirations - only the dull certainty that nothing would ever change.
Yet, despite his cynicism, Rhyse was not heartless. Beneath the exhaustion and the dark rings under his eyes was a quiet resilience, the kind that came not from belief in himself but from the simple refusal to break. Even when he was roped into something far greater than himself, when he was bound to the Sith blade Fellsong and the spirit within, he did not collapse under the weight of it. He endured. Because that was all he knew how to do.
He was never meant to be a Sith, but now that the Dark Side has its claws in him, he cannot escape it. And worse still, a part of him doesn't want to. The power offered to him is intoxicating, dangerous, and yet - it is the first thing in his life that has ever made him feel like more than a nobody.
So Rhyse keeps moving forward, not out of ambition but because there is no way back. He is sarcastic, self-deprecating, and deeply out of his depth, but something lurks beneath his reluctance. Something restless. Because for all his insistence that he was never meant for this path, he has never felt more alive.
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STRENGTHS
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WEAKNESSES
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NameDescription
Fellsong
The sentient Sith sword that has bound itself to Rhyse.
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