L E F T _ H A N D _ B A N E
| Name | Scavera [skæv.ɛɹ.ə] |
| Voice | Mass Effect: Vetra |
| Theme | Tiny Gods |
| Inspirations | Supernatural Encounters Yuthura Ban Gray Paladin |
| Class | Force Adept |
| Birthworld | Socorro |
| Iconoclasm | The Left-Handed God/Typhojem Soulworm Lady with the Locust Heart Malmourral Immortal Gods of the Sith |
| Totem Beast | Tra'cor |
| Personality Traits | Felicific Theologue Hedonistic Anti-Nihilistic |
| Eyes | Grey-Purple |
| Skin | Bubblegum Pink |
| Wargear | Photo-reactive Personal Armor Longswat-44 sniper blaster rifle -- "Sparker" Ionization Coils -- Macroscope -- Tripod BK-43 blaster rifle ACP Repeater Gun ISBR BR-14 blaster pistol |
| Everyday Carry | DT-57 "Annihilator" blaster "Revelatum" |
| Combat Style | Gunkata Blunt-Firearm Use Dun Möch |
| Starship | S40K Phoenix Hawk-class light pinnace -- Modern Reproduction |
| Rank | Crusadist |
| Writing Groups | Sith Order High Republic |
| Species | Twi'lek |
| Languages | Galactic Basic High Galactic ur-Kittât High Sith |
| Gender Identity | She/her |
| Force Sensitive | Yes |
| Character Alignment | Nobledark |
| Height | ~5'2 |
| Weight | ~140lbs |
| Color Code | Yuthura Purple | #A25DEE |
And they hated us.
The subterranean cathedral was an anachronism. Anathema to the humble nature of Jedi bearings. Monolithic glass pane windows dominated every wall. Outside, yet over six hundred feet of ice-packed intrusive rock. They still cast cool red on the pale stoned floor as if kissed by Tor. She remembered not the journey.
Her quest remained.
Legions upon an endless legion of pews repeated forward at her left and right. She walked the center as a bride on the yellow carpet. Eyes forward, steps assured.
Above the pulpit was a great and terrible fresco. Black colossi wore death masks of jen'jidai and tsis both beyond their time. Beams of red power birthed through their palms as they slayed angelic beings of white and gold. Gore-red lettering floated above the head of each figure.
A cant forgotten by time and place.
Behind the pulpit she took her standing-throne.
Grand Pontiff of the Lost and Damned.
She struggled against the grimoire on the lectern. Its weight oppressive as its contents. The entire core of the world drug down on her hand, begging it to remain in place.
She brushed clean the dust and opened the iridian-bound abomination.
Then, she died; the daymare claimed her every waking second.
Rhen Var never would sooth the wounds, for this evil infected the roots.
Turning to the code of the long-dead crusaders, she set to the stars.
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