Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Shinjū Aÿasha

"Because some women aren't looking for anything logical, like credits. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some women just want to watch the world burn."
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NAME:
  • Shinjū Aÿasha
  • Darth Exedō
FACTION:
  • Black Rose
  • Infinite empire
RANK:
  • Master Interrogator
  • Empress Exedō
Owner of: Anthropophagi's Ristorante
SPECIES: Teryn from Soledad
AGE: Unknown
GENDER: Genetic abnormality from Soledad
HEIGHT: 6 foot
WEIGHT: 140 pounds
EYES:
Windows to a Hungry Universe
Her eyes are not just a color that changes; they are emotional sigils.
  • Dark Honey: This is her "hunting" gaze. It's a deceptive, almost warm glow that she uses to lure in prey, to feign sanity or empathy. It's the calm before the storm.
  • Sickly Yellow: This is her true, unrestrained nature. When her eyes shift to this blazing, sulfurous yellow, it signifies her connection to the Dark Side and her primal hunger are at their peak. In this state, her pupils may even contract into thin, vertical slits, like a serpent or a great predator, losing all semblance of humanity. It's a non-verbal warning that she is about to feed.
HAIR: The Mantle of the Bloodied
Her hair is the only part of her not perpetually drenched in gore, making it a bizarrely pristine contrast to the rest of her. The vibrant red is unnatural, the color of arterial spray. The "streaks" are not simple highlights; they are trophies. They are strands of hair from particularly noteworthy victims, alchemically treated and woven permanently into her own—a pale blonde from a Jedi Padawan, a jet black from a rival Sith, a silver from a Moff. She runs her fingers through them not as a nervous habit, but to remember the taste of each kill.
SKIN: The Canvas of Carnage
Her skin is deathly white, almost translucent, like something that has never seen the sun—which, if she hails from a deep, flesh-core world, it hasn't. This pallor makes the blood that covers her vibrantly stark. She does not wash it off. It is her armor, her history, and her ritual.
  • Dried, Cracked Blood: This is her "everyday" wear. The blackish-brown, flaking patterns are like a map of past atrocities. It acts as a primitive armor, stifling her scent from trackers, and striking fear into those who see her—a walking monument to death.
  • Fresh, Slick Blood: This is her "ceremonial" garb. After a kill or a torture session, she will anoint herself in the fresh vitae. In this state, her Sanguine Symbiosis is at its peak. The blood is still potent, still connected to the life it once held, and she can wield it with far greater power and control. The scent is metallic and overwhelming, a psychological weapon that announces her presence before she even enters a room.
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes
ITEMS:

Exedō Armor
Lightsaber: A deep crimson blade with a spike and sharp edges on the end of the blade. Thank to Velok a shard has been added to her saber. The living being is in a constant state of pain and its cries can be heard from the blade when it is activated.
Shinju's lightsaber
Banshee's wail Crystal
"Scylla" Sith Sword
Ring of Aza'zoth
Korriban Compass
2x Tuk'ata pups a gift from Cok and Cain her apprentice and happy meal The babies siblings were delicious but she kept the two runts of the different litters to train and teach.
]Defensive Augmentation Implants
Breast implants with defensive Force powers.
]Defensive Augmentation Implants
Gluteal implants with defensive Force powers.

Terentatek Duster - The Cater Coat
Lotek'k Jacket - The Kerrigan Coat
Viscera Scattergun

SERVANTS/PVP TEAM:
The Devourers
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STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:

Strengths: The Instruments of Carnage
1. Ephemeral Horror:
Shinjū's mind is not a fortress; it's a shifting, surreal nightmare. Attempting to use mental Force powers (Mind Tricks, Battlemind, Sever Force) on her is like trying to grasp smoke. The intruder doesn't find a mind to dominate, but is instead subjected to a psychic feedback loop of her own fractured consciousness—a torrent of screaming faces, sensory overload (the taste of blood, the smell of burnt flesh), and paralyzing, irrational fears. This doesn't just resist mental attacks; it psychically damages the attacker, potentially causing migraines, temporary insanity, or even psychic scars.

2. Anatomical Apostasy: "Double-jointed" is a mundane term for what she can do. Her body is a monument to unnatural flexibility, a result of Sith Alchemy, her Teryn biology, or simply her will defying reality. She can contort her body to slip bindings, fit into impossibly small spaces, and perform attacks from angles that defy biomechanics. This makes her a nightmare in close quarters, able to strike around blocks or evade grabs with the fluid, unsettling grace of a predator.

3. The Gourmand of Agony: This is more than skill; it's a dark art. Shinjū doesn't just inflict pain; she communizes with it. Through her madness, she can synesthetically "taste" a victim's fear and "see" the cracks in their resolve as if they were physical flaws. She intuitively knows which memory to exploit, which nerve to press, which lie to offer as solace, only to snatch it away. She doesn't break people; she unmakes them, and in doing so, consumes their experiences, memories, and pain, adding them to the cacophony within her.

4. Sanguine Symbiosis: The blood that perpetually coats her is not just filth; it's a medium. When fresh, it acts as a conduit for her power. She can manipulate it telekinetically, forming whips, shields, or hardening it into razor-sharp projectiles. The more blood present (hers or others'), the more potent and precise her blood-based Force abilities become. She is truly in her element in a slaughterhouse or a battlefield.

5. Pain-Fueled Apotheosis: Her sadomasochism is a combat mechanic. Pain doesn't hinder her; it focuses her and fuels her connection to the Dark Side. A grievous wound might cause a normal being to falter, but for Shinjū, it triggers a state of ecstatic clarity. The more damage she takes, the more her physical strength, speed, and Force potency spike, turning her into a relentless, laughing engine of destruction that grows stronger as the fight goes on.

Weaknesses: The Cracks in the Mirror
1. The Banquet of the Immediate:
This is her greatest and most exploitable flaw. Shinjū is a slave to whim. A meticulously laid plan will be instantly abandoned for a fleeting desire—the urge to taste a unique species, to hear a specific scream, to deface a work of art. She cannot prioritize long-term goals over immediate gratification. An opponent could exploit this by baiting her with a unique or rare individual, knowing she will break formation to pursue them.

2. Psychosomatic Scrambler: Her madness doesn't just block her from sensing Force users; it actively lies to her. The Force around her is a constant, silent scream that drowns out all subtlety. She can only reliably sense a Force-sensitive through skin contact because the tactile sensation grounds her, providing a single, undeniable point of data in the psychic storm. This makes her incredibly vulnerable to ambushes, stealthy Force users, and illusions.

3. The Unwelcome Feast: This is not a choice; it is a debilitating hunger that must be regularly sated. If she goes too long without partaking, she enters a state of withdrawal: her focus shatters, her physical coordination wanes, and her madness becomes even more volatile and self-destructive. This forces her into constant, risky behavior to feed, making her predictable and forcing her to maintain larders or hunting grounds.

4. The Jester's Truth: For all her lies, she has one undeniable tell: she finds horror hilarious. The more gruesome, tragic, or terrifying a situation, the more she will laugh. This is an uncontrollable reaction. In a scenario where stealth or deception is required, her manic, inappropriate laughter will inevitably give her away. She cannot help but applaud the universe's darkest jokes.

5. Empathy of the Abyss: Shinjū cannot understand or predict actions based on logic, compassion, loyalty, or love. She assumes everyone is as driven by base impulse as she is. A sacrifice, an act of selfless love, or a strategy based on patience and discipline are complete and utter unknowns to her. They don't compute. This makes her strategically blind to opponents who operate on principles she has utterly eradicated within herself.

SHIP: The Dark Desire

BIOGRAPHY:

"You want a story? A true one? Fine. The first thing I ever loved was the sound of breaking glass. Our hab-unit on Coruscant was so small, so quiet. My parents... they were ghosts. Pale, whispering things who lived on nutrient paste and fear. They loved the opera. They'd play these wailing, shrieking arias and call it beauty. It was so... controlled. So pathetic. One night, I came home from... from somewhere... and the mugger wasn't a Sith. He was just a man. Hungry. Angry. Real. And when he put his blade through my father's throat, the sound wasn't a shriek. It was a pop. A wet, real, honest sound. And when my mother screamed, he turned to her. And I... I picked up a shard of the vase he'd broken. And I showed him. I showed them all what a real aria sounds like. The police found me covered in red, humming along. They called me a victim. The first lie I ever ate. It was delicious."

"They say Soledad blew up. Pfft. So dramatic. It didn't blow up. It bled out. The ground wasn't rock, it was flesh. The oceans weren't water, they were saline and blood. The Teryn didn't live there, we were its immune system. We purged the infections. The other species that tried to land... they were like little germs. And we... we were the white blood cells. We'd welcome them in, oh yes. Give them a tour. Show them to the finest restaurants. And then... the planet would get hungry. And we would feed it. I was the best feeder. I could make a Hutt last for weeks. But then the Jedi came. A whole fleet of them. A nasty, righteous infection. They couldn't beat the planet, so they scoured it. Cauterized the wound. I was off-world, delivering a particularly stubborn Ithorian to a deep-core vent. I felt my world die. It screamed inside my head. And I laughed. Because its death cry was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard. I am not its last survivor. I am its final, beating heart."

"Locked away on Hoth? Darling, I checked in. The galaxy is so loud. So many rules. 'Don't eat that senator.' 'Don't flay that informant.' 'Don't use the sacred texts as napkins.' It's exhausting. The asylum... now that was a curated experience. Three meals a day (often walking right up to my door), a dedicated staff to 'study' me (such fun toys in their labs), and all the quiet I could ever want. The orderlies... they weren't attacks. They were room service. And the cold? It doesn't kill. It preserves. It keeps everything so still, so perfect. I could see the insanity in the ice, frozen into beautiful, fractal patterns. I left because the menu became repetitive. And because I missed the noise. But I keep the door key. I might go back for a spa weekend. I hear the head orderly has a particularly tender liver."

"Darth Exedō? It's not a title. It's a diagnosis. A name given to me by a very smart man in a very white coat right before I peeled it off him. He said it meant 'the consumed' in some dead language. He was wrong. It means 'the consumer.' But I liked the sound of it. So I took it. Like I took his eyes. And his practice. And his client list. He had such interesting friends. They all came looking for him. And one by one... they all helped me understand my new name a little better."

FAMILY:


FRINGE RIBBONS
Dominion:
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Invasion:
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Event:
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Thank you @[member="Morna Imura"]

and

@[member="Elani Zambrano"] 13/10 would wreck... Now we must really do a thread. I am thinking all you can eat buffet at the orphanage.
 

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