Siala Kai of the Dreaming River Clan
NAME: Siala Kai
FACTION: Not known
RANK: None
SPECIES: Human (Dathomiri)
AGE: 24, discounting time spent in the Oubliette.
SEX: Female
HEIGHT: 5'9"
WEIGHT: 153 pounds
EYES: Green
HAIR: Coppery
SKIN: Tanned Caucasian
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES (Required: 2 Weaknesses Minimum) :
+Force Sensitive - The Force can be a great ally for those who can sense it.
+Skilled Huntress - Life in the wilds of Dathomir taught Siala many things, including how to hunt the deadliest of prey and how to handle many types of melee weapons. Her time out in the galaxy has done nothing but further develop those skills.
+Survivalist - Siala has lived the life of a nomad for years, first on Dathomir and then in the wider galaxy. As such she has learnt many things about surviving off the things around her, including how to trap animals for food and skins for clothing.
=Misandrist - It takes a lot to overcome the prejudice of generations, and Siala still struggles with the idea that men can be seen as the equal of women. Not that some of the men she has known have done much to further this cause.
-Up Close and Personal - Siala may be a capable fighter, but she's never been comfortable with a blaster in hand. As such she has a tendency to avoid using them wherever possible, and her aim is far from good when she is compelled to make use of one.
-Fish out of water - Even in the years before her imprisonment in Oubliette, Sialla was out of place in the galaxy. Now that seven hundred years have passed and the entire shape of the galaxy - a galaxy she was just getting used to - has changed, this is even more pronounced.
Not used to luxuries - Used to the hard life, Siala is sometimes a little overwhelmed when she finds herself surrounded by luxuries such as one might find in a fancy hotel or wealthy estate.
APPEARANCE:
Siala is a warrior and huntress. This fact is baked into every facet of her body, from her lithe, toned build to the myriad of scars that lace across her tanned skin, to the way she eschews fancy and frivolous clothing in favour of functional lizardhide armour the like of which have been worn by the sisters of her clan for centuries. She is rarely seen without at least one bladed weapon belt at her waist, strapped to her ankle or slung across her back, and marks her face with intricate designs in bone dust whenever she feels it is likely that battle may be on the horizon. Her hair, which is the colour of burnished copper is cut to the shoulders to prevent it being too much of a risk in battle, and her emerald green eyes are hard and unyielding.
BIOGRAPHY:
Siala's story began many lifetimes ago, on a primitive world known as Dathomir. She was born into The Dreaming River Clan, one of the many clans that dwelt upon the world. Her early years were not special; from the moment she could walk, she began to learn to fight, to fend for herself, as was the way of the tribes. From the first bloom of womanhood, she was taught of spells, of the weaves that bound the galaxy and the magic that could shape them. And so the years passed, peaceful beyond the occasional conflict between clans.
But that changed when the offworlders came.
Siala never saw them; they went to other clans, most notably the Singing Mountain Clan. But she heard of them nonetheless. Everyone did, for theirs were tales that were destined to become legends; the tales of the doom of the Nightsisters would be told around the fires for years to come.
With the Nightsisters gone, the offworlders left soon enough, but the knowledge of their existence could not be forgotten.
Soon, sisters of all the clans began to seek ways to leave Dathomir. That was no easy task; though now the outside galaxy knew of their existence, few were those who came to Dathomir. Many of those who did were from the Praexeum, the academy formed by one of those who had slain the Nightsisters, and more than a handful of sisters chose to leave with them, to learn the ancient ways of the Jedi. Others bartered passage with traders who came hoping to exchange shiny beads for precious materials. Still others fell victim to slavers, though spells and martial skills were enough to keep all but the most foolhardy safe.
As for Siala, she took a different route. A vessel, one whose female captain had an unhappy relationship with the authorities, stopped on Dathomir in the hopes of finding some rare cargo to sell to the spoilt young lordlings in the Empress Teta system. The witch watched her for long hours as she scoured the landscape for something which might make the journey worthwhile, before finally, just as the woman and her crew were about to give up, revealing herself and making the proposal that she had been considering all day; in exchange for passage offworld, she would help them obtain two Rancor eggs, a prize that any noble would pay highly for.
It was an audacious gambit, but the deal was gladly struck. Quickly Siala sketched out a plan, explaining where the nest might be found and what should be done while she herself drew off the mother. There was risk in this, of course - Siala had little fear of the Rancor, but it would be easy enough for the other woman and her crew to take the eggs and leave - but to the witch's mind it was better to discover that the woman was untrustworthy when her feet were still firmly planted on the soil of Dathomir than when she high in the heavens and entirely out of her element.
Yet as it turned out, there is honour amongst some thieves, for when Siala returned some hours later, having led the angry mother Rancor a merry chase through the canyons which the Red Hills Clan called their home, the other woman was waiting just as had been agreed.
So it was that Siala came to leave her homeworld, but that was merely the start of things.
For a year or more, the young Witch drifted. She went from planet to planet as the fates willed, working as a mercenary or a bounty hunter or a tracker where necessary to pay her way. She saw much, and learnt more, honing her skills with blade and spells. Until, eventually, she met him. Omega. Omega was a pirate, a scoundrel and a scumbag. Honour meant nothing to Omega, just the power of the credit. Omega was exactly what Siala had been taught to expect of a man who had any sort of power, and he was anathema to her. And yet they say hatred can be as powerful an attracting force as love.
Their first encountered ended poorly; Omega was strong in what he called 'The Force', and he used that power to seal the Witch's windpipe, choking her into unconsciousness with a gesture. Yet he did not kill her, for though Omega's sins were legion, he was pragmatic man and he sensed a power within Siala that was not so very different from his own. And so it was that Siala found herself this man's prisoner, a fate which could hardly have been more humiliating, for all that he was not particularly unkind to her. In fact, he seemed to take her as something of a challenge; spending long hours expounding on their similarities, on the way that her spells were just a superstitious take on the Force. On why, sometimes, the hard decisions had to be made. At first, she spat on him. Threw curses in his face and promises to flay the flesh from his bones when she escaped. He never seemed to care. In truth, the threats seemed almost to please him. And one day... one day he gave her the opportunity to make good on them; unlocking her restraints with a gesture, he threw a knife onto the ground before her. He was unarmed and unarmoured, vulnerable and within her reach. Siala knew she could kill him before he incanted any spells, before he drew upon his Force.
Yet somehow, it was she who found herself flat on her back a moment later, blood trickling from her mouth as the sundered halves of her blade tinkled to the ground.
"You have a lot to learn," Omega noted, standing over her with a grim half-smile upon his face, "I can teach you, if you are willing to learn." Thus speaking, he reached down, offering her a hand to pull herself up on.
For a long moment, Siala was silent, though her flashing eyes spoke volumes on the hatred she felt for this man. But then, just when it seemed the man was likely to withdraw his proffered hand, she nodded. "I will learn."
Omega was true to his word, and as the days ran to weeks and months, he taught Siala much. Not just of the Force, but of the galaxy she found herself loose in. Of the need to sometimes strike first, or to strike when it seemed there was no need to strike at all. Of the need to harder the heart. Oftentimes, he spoke of others out there in the void, ones who had taught him similar lessons, or whose philosophies were darker still. And, eventually, she found herself accepting some of his teachings, though ever the teachings of her Clan lingered in the back of her mind. Soon thereafter, she began to accompany Omega as he led his band of cutthroats into battle, whetting her blade on the blood of those who stood opposed to her master.
In such circumstances, it was perhaps inevitable that she would commit that one crime that would have seen her cast out from her Clan.
She used a spell in anger.
It happened in a grimy little cantina on world that was hardly less of a backwater than Dathomir itself. They weren't there for any major reason; it was just the first world they'd encountered after a job where there was a chance to take on supplies. The cantina was a cesspit, the sort of place that makes even the sorts of people you'd find in a hive of scum and villainy think twice before touching any of the furniture, and from the moment Siala and Omega entered there'd been an edge to the atmosphere. Their drinks came quickly enough, but with a little something extra. A drug of some sort lacing them. Omega was always quick to drink, and he finished his in a moment, but Siala had been raised to treat every drink as precious, and had taken little more than a sip before Omega slumped down against the bar. Still, that sip was enough to set her head spinning, and to leave her fingers feeling stiff and heavy as she fumbled for her blade. Around her, the bars patrons drew close, reaching for weapons and wearing smirks upon their features.
It would have been easy to say that what Siala did next, she did out of necessity, but that's not true; she saw them, saw what they intended, and she hated them for it. So she whispered the words she had been taught - a habit that Omega had not been able to break - and summoned the weaves. It was a crude spell, but the best her drugged mind could manage. And it was effective, slamming into the closely grouped thugs and scattering them across the cantina floor.
The realisation of what she'd done brought bile to Siala's throat, and she sank to her knees amidst the wreckage, stunned and horrified.
But in the days and weeks that followed, Siala saw none of the signs of a descent into darkness that the Book of Law had spoke of, and in time her horror began to fade. Omega, seizing his opportunity, began to teach of the Force as a tool, something to be utilised in whatever way was necessary rather than some mystic force which could corrupt the unwary. And slowly, but surely, Siala came to see what he meant.
And that was when Omega was taken from her.
Assassins, creatures of a renegade splinter of the Republic, struck whilst Omega was overseeing a deal on the Rim. He killed more than a few, but they were legion, and the outcome inevitable.
His death resonated through their bond.
Someone other than her might have cried. They might have broken down, crushed by the loss of their master. But Siala Kai was not like others. She was of Dathomir, and Dathomir bred its daughters strong and proud.
She vowed revenge.
In the weeks that followed, she used every shred of her skill as a hunter and a tracker to locate the ones responsible for Omega's murder. The task was no easy one, for these were creatures born of darkness and deception, and their skills at evasion were easily the equal of her talents at tracking. But eventually, by luck or fate, she cornered one on the storm-locked world of Nyriaan. Hours turned into days as she tracked the murderer through lashing rain and flashing lightning, until, finally, they came together within the wreckage of an ancient starship that had crashed upon the world in an age long past. The hunt through the ship was a brutal one, marked with ambushes and scuffles, neither Siala nor her prey able to gain an advantage with either blade nor the Force.
In the end, she cornered him a vast, cavernous chamber, empty except for a blackened metal casket that sat at an angle in the heart of the chamber.
She should have known that it was a trap. That a murderer such as he wouldn't stand and fight. But she didn't. Whether grief and rage clouded her vision, or her confidence in her own skill and prowess blinded her to the dangers, she charged in.
And once more felt an invisible hand grip her throat, choking the breath from her lungs.
Given a moment, she might have escaped. Might have managed to choke out an incantation to set the deck beneath the renegade's feet to flame. But that moment was denied her, for even as the choking grip killed her momentum, the assassin struck again, smashing a wall of invisible power - much like that she had used in that nameless cantina - into her body and sending her crashing against the casket with force enough that Siala heard her own ribs snap. Another shove, hard enough to grate broken ribs against steal, sent her reeling into the casket's maw. And then, with a mocking grin and a bow, her onetime prey sealed her into darkness.
Alone with her pain and her failure, Siala screamed and raged. She lashed out with the Force, snarling the strongest of incantations, but managed nothing. She struck at the walls surrounding her, pounding till her blade broke and her body threatened to drop her into the oblivion of unconsciousness. But to no avail. She was trapped. Entombed. There was nothing to do but sit and wait for a rescue that could never come, or the eventual release of death.
But death... death never came. Time passed, immeasurable in the darkness, yet nothing changed. There was no hunger, no thirst. No suffocation as the air faded away. There was just stagnation. Stasis.
And so she came to realise the true horror of her tomb.
Alone in the darkness of the Oubliette, Siala remained unchanging as the years fled from the future into the past. Untouched by time, and haunted by the threat of madness, she lingered on the very fringes of existence as plague and destruction wracked the galaxy, as life faded almost to the point of extinction and then sprang back, like the shoots of spring after a long winter.
And in the fullness of time, fate brought another soul to Nyriaan, to the wreckage of the ancient starship. To the place that had become Siala's tomb.
SHIP:
Long rusted into wreckage.
KILLS:
None
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
None
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ROLE-PLAYS:
Pending
NAME: Siala Kai
FACTION: Not known
RANK: None
SPECIES: Human (Dathomiri)
AGE: 24, discounting time spent in the Oubliette.
SEX: Female
HEIGHT: 5'9"
WEIGHT: 153 pounds
EYES: Green
HAIR: Coppery
SKIN: Tanned Caucasian
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES (Required: 2 Weaknesses Minimum) :
+Force Sensitive - The Force can be a great ally for those who can sense it.
+Skilled Huntress - Life in the wilds of Dathomir taught Siala many things, including how to hunt the deadliest of prey and how to handle many types of melee weapons. Her time out in the galaxy has done nothing but further develop those skills.
+Survivalist - Siala has lived the life of a nomad for years, first on Dathomir and then in the wider galaxy. As such she has learnt many things about surviving off the things around her, including how to trap animals for food and skins for clothing.
=Misandrist - It takes a lot to overcome the prejudice of generations, and Siala still struggles with the idea that men can be seen as the equal of women. Not that some of the men she has known have done much to further this cause.
-Up Close and Personal - Siala may be a capable fighter, but she's never been comfortable with a blaster in hand. As such she has a tendency to avoid using them wherever possible, and her aim is far from good when she is compelled to make use of one.
-Fish out of water - Even in the years before her imprisonment in Oubliette, Sialla was out of place in the galaxy. Now that seven hundred years have passed and the entire shape of the galaxy - a galaxy she was just getting used to - has changed, this is even more pronounced.
Not used to luxuries - Used to the hard life, Siala is sometimes a little overwhelmed when she finds herself surrounded by luxuries such as one might find in a fancy hotel or wealthy estate.
APPEARANCE:
Siala is a warrior and huntress. This fact is baked into every facet of her body, from her lithe, toned build to the myriad of scars that lace across her tanned skin, to the way she eschews fancy and frivolous clothing in favour of functional lizardhide armour the like of which have been worn by the sisters of her clan for centuries. She is rarely seen without at least one bladed weapon belt at her waist, strapped to her ankle or slung across her back, and marks her face with intricate designs in bone dust whenever she feels it is likely that battle may be on the horizon. Her hair, which is the colour of burnished copper is cut to the shoulders to prevent it being too much of a risk in battle, and her emerald green eyes are hard and unyielding.
BIOGRAPHY:
Siala's story began many lifetimes ago, on a primitive world known as Dathomir. She was born into The Dreaming River Clan, one of the many clans that dwelt upon the world. Her early years were not special; from the moment she could walk, she began to learn to fight, to fend for herself, as was the way of the tribes. From the first bloom of womanhood, she was taught of spells, of the weaves that bound the galaxy and the magic that could shape them. And so the years passed, peaceful beyond the occasional conflict between clans.
But that changed when the offworlders came.
Siala never saw them; they went to other clans, most notably the Singing Mountain Clan. But she heard of them nonetheless. Everyone did, for theirs were tales that were destined to become legends; the tales of the doom of the Nightsisters would be told around the fires for years to come.
With the Nightsisters gone, the offworlders left soon enough, but the knowledge of their existence could not be forgotten.
Soon, sisters of all the clans began to seek ways to leave Dathomir. That was no easy task; though now the outside galaxy knew of their existence, few were those who came to Dathomir. Many of those who did were from the Praexeum, the academy formed by one of those who had slain the Nightsisters, and more than a handful of sisters chose to leave with them, to learn the ancient ways of the Jedi. Others bartered passage with traders who came hoping to exchange shiny beads for precious materials. Still others fell victim to slavers, though spells and martial skills were enough to keep all but the most foolhardy safe.
As for Siala, she took a different route. A vessel, one whose female captain had an unhappy relationship with the authorities, stopped on Dathomir in the hopes of finding some rare cargo to sell to the spoilt young lordlings in the Empress Teta system. The witch watched her for long hours as she scoured the landscape for something which might make the journey worthwhile, before finally, just as the woman and her crew were about to give up, revealing herself and making the proposal that she had been considering all day; in exchange for passage offworld, she would help them obtain two Rancor eggs, a prize that any noble would pay highly for.
It was an audacious gambit, but the deal was gladly struck. Quickly Siala sketched out a plan, explaining where the nest might be found and what should be done while she herself drew off the mother. There was risk in this, of course - Siala had little fear of the Rancor, but it would be easy enough for the other woman and her crew to take the eggs and leave - but to the witch's mind it was better to discover that the woman was untrustworthy when her feet were still firmly planted on the soil of Dathomir than when she high in the heavens and entirely out of her element.
Yet as it turned out, there is honour amongst some thieves, for when Siala returned some hours later, having led the angry mother Rancor a merry chase through the canyons which the Red Hills Clan called their home, the other woman was waiting just as had been agreed.
So it was that Siala came to leave her homeworld, but that was merely the start of things.
For a year or more, the young Witch drifted. She went from planet to planet as the fates willed, working as a mercenary or a bounty hunter or a tracker where necessary to pay her way. She saw much, and learnt more, honing her skills with blade and spells. Until, eventually, she met him. Omega. Omega was a pirate, a scoundrel and a scumbag. Honour meant nothing to Omega, just the power of the credit. Omega was exactly what Siala had been taught to expect of a man who had any sort of power, and he was anathema to her. And yet they say hatred can be as powerful an attracting force as love.
Their first encountered ended poorly; Omega was strong in what he called 'The Force', and he used that power to seal the Witch's windpipe, choking her into unconsciousness with a gesture. Yet he did not kill her, for though Omega's sins were legion, he was pragmatic man and he sensed a power within Siala that was not so very different from his own. And so it was that Siala found herself this man's prisoner, a fate which could hardly have been more humiliating, for all that he was not particularly unkind to her. In fact, he seemed to take her as something of a challenge; spending long hours expounding on their similarities, on the way that her spells were just a superstitious take on the Force. On why, sometimes, the hard decisions had to be made. At first, she spat on him. Threw curses in his face and promises to flay the flesh from his bones when she escaped. He never seemed to care. In truth, the threats seemed almost to please him. And one day... one day he gave her the opportunity to make good on them; unlocking her restraints with a gesture, he threw a knife onto the ground before her. He was unarmed and unarmoured, vulnerable and within her reach. Siala knew she could kill him before he incanted any spells, before he drew upon his Force.
Yet somehow, it was she who found herself flat on her back a moment later, blood trickling from her mouth as the sundered halves of her blade tinkled to the ground.
"You have a lot to learn," Omega noted, standing over her with a grim half-smile upon his face, "I can teach you, if you are willing to learn." Thus speaking, he reached down, offering her a hand to pull herself up on.
For a long moment, Siala was silent, though her flashing eyes spoke volumes on the hatred she felt for this man. But then, just when it seemed the man was likely to withdraw his proffered hand, she nodded. "I will learn."
Omega was true to his word, and as the days ran to weeks and months, he taught Siala much. Not just of the Force, but of the galaxy she found herself loose in. Of the need to sometimes strike first, or to strike when it seemed there was no need to strike at all. Of the need to harder the heart. Oftentimes, he spoke of others out there in the void, ones who had taught him similar lessons, or whose philosophies were darker still. And, eventually, she found herself accepting some of his teachings, though ever the teachings of her Clan lingered in the back of her mind. Soon thereafter, she began to accompany Omega as he led his band of cutthroats into battle, whetting her blade on the blood of those who stood opposed to her master.
In such circumstances, it was perhaps inevitable that she would commit that one crime that would have seen her cast out from her Clan.
She used a spell in anger.
It happened in a grimy little cantina on world that was hardly less of a backwater than Dathomir itself. They weren't there for any major reason; it was just the first world they'd encountered after a job where there was a chance to take on supplies. The cantina was a cesspit, the sort of place that makes even the sorts of people you'd find in a hive of scum and villainy think twice before touching any of the furniture, and from the moment Siala and Omega entered there'd been an edge to the atmosphere. Their drinks came quickly enough, but with a little something extra. A drug of some sort lacing them. Omega was always quick to drink, and he finished his in a moment, but Siala had been raised to treat every drink as precious, and had taken little more than a sip before Omega slumped down against the bar. Still, that sip was enough to set her head spinning, and to leave her fingers feeling stiff and heavy as she fumbled for her blade. Around her, the bars patrons drew close, reaching for weapons and wearing smirks upon their features.
It would have been easy to say that what Siala did next, she did out of necessity, but that's not true; she saw them, saw what they intended, and she hated them for it. So she whispered the words she had been taught - a habit that Omega had not been able to break - and summoned the weaves. It was a crude spell, but the best her drugged mind could manage. And it was effective, slamming into the closely grouped thugs and scattering them across the cantina floor.
The realisation of what she'd done brought bile to Siala's throat, and she sank to her knees amidst the wreckage, stunned and horrified.
But in the days and weeks that followed, Siala saw none of the signs of a descent into darkness that the Book of Law had spoke of, and in time her horror began to fade. Omega, seizing his opportunity, began to teach of the Force as a tool, something to be utilised in whatever way was necessary rather than some mystic force which could corrupt the unwary. And slowly, but surely, Siala came to see what he meant.
And that was when Omega was taken from her.
Assassins, creatures of a renegade splinter of the Republic, struck whilst Omega was overseeing a deal on the Rim. He killed more than a few, but they were legion, and the outcome inevitable.
His death resonated through their bond.
Someone other than her might have cried. They might have broken down, crushed by the loss of their master. But Siala Kai was not like others. She was of Dathomir, and Dathomir bred its daughters strong and proud.
She vowed revenge.
In the weeks that followed, she used every shred of her skill as a hunter and a tracker to locate the ones responsible for Omega's murder. The task was no easy one, for these were creatures born of darkness and deception, and their skills at evasion were easily the equal of her talents at tracking. But eventually, by luck or fate, she cornered one on the storm-locked world of Nyriaan. Hours turned into days as she tracked the murderer through lashing rain and flashing lightning, until, finally, they came together within the wreckage of an ancient starship that had crashed upon the world in an age long past. The hunt through the ship was a brutal one, marked with ambushes and scuffles, neither Siala nor her prey able to gain an advantage with either blade nor the Force.
In the end, she cornered him a vast, cavernous chamber, empty except for a blackened metal casket that sat at an angle in the heart of the chamber.
She should have known that it was a trap. That a murderer such as he wouldn't stand and fight. But she didn't. Whether grief and rage clouded her vision, or her confidence in her own skill and prowess blinded her to the dangers, she charged in.
And once more felt an invisible hand grip her throat, choking the breath from her lungs.
Given a moment, she might have escaped. Might have managed to choke out an incantation to set the deck beneath the renegade's feet to flame. But that moment was denied her, for even as the choking grip killed her momentum, the assassin struck again, smashing a wall of invisible power - much like that she had used in that nameless cantina - into her body and sending her crashing against the casket with force enough that Siala heard her own ribs snap. Another shove, hard enough to grate broken ribs against steal, sent her reeling into the casket's maw. And then, with a mocking grin and a bow, her onetime prey sealed her into darkness.
Alone with her pain and her failure, Siala screamed and raged. She lashed out with the Force, snarling the strongest of incantations, but managed nothing. She struck at the walls surrounding her, pounding till her blade broke and her body threatened to drop her into the oblivion of unconsciousness. But to no avail. She was trapped. Entombed. There was nothing to do but sit and wait for a rescue that could never come, or the eventual release of death.
But death... death never came. Time passed, immeasurable in the darkness, yet nothing changed. There was no hunger, no thirst. No suffocation as the air faded away. There was just stagnation. Stasis.
And so she came to realise the true horror of her tomb.
Alone in the darkness of the Oubliette, Siala remained unchanging as the years fled from the future into the past. Untouched by time, and haunted by the threat of madness, she lingered on the very fringes of existence as plague and destruction wracked the galaxy, as life faded almost to the point of extinction and then sprang back, like the shoots of spring after a long winter.
And in the fullness of time, fate brought another soul to Nyriaan, to the wreckage of the ancient starship. To the place that had become Siala's tomb.
SHIP:
Long rusted into wreckage.
KILLS:
None
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
None
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ROLE-PLAYS:
Pending
