Character The Host of the Netherworld

[The Host]

|| THE BASICS ||

• Full name: Originals Name Is Unknown at this time.
• Preferred Name: Host
• Alias:
  
  • The Ghost
  • Host of the Netherworld
  • Fire Demon
  • The Nightmare
• Titles: N/A
• Species: Previous Species - Near Human
• Race: Unknown Race
• Birthworld: The Netherworld
• Homeworld: The Netherworld
• Faction(s): Independent
• Rank(s): None
• Class:
  
  • Bounty Hunter
  • Demon
• Master(s): N/A
• Padawan(s): N/A
• Force Sensitive: Yes
• Force Alignment: True Neutral

|| PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION ||

• Gender: Masculine Tendencies
• Age: Unsure.
• Height: Six Foot
• Weight: Two Hundred Twenty Five Pounds
• Complexion: Ivory White
• Eye Color: Red/Yellow/Orange
• Hair Color: Red/Yellow/Orange
• Distinguishing Marks: Pretty much a Walking Dead Body.
• Voice Sample: -
• Appearance Description: The personage of the Host actively emits an Aura of Uneasiness. Seeing the being in the flesh, so to speak, can instill a feeling of unease, confusion or discomfort with him around. Not to mention, its kind of intimidating to see a skeletal body that is perpetually on fire by the will of the Force. Some may consider him a Demon of the Dead, or a Nightmare from the Netherworld. Boogyman-esk in his demeanor. Speaking rarely, but when he does, its a very dark and heavy tone. Sounding as if there were a hundred voices kept within one body. A roar of preverbal flames that spew from his maw. This primeval entity is not truly known. Whoever he was before is now long gone.

|| ORIENTATIONS ||

• Marital Status: Unknown
• Sexual Conduct: Undetermined
• Languages: Understands and can speak a host of languages. Unsure how many.
• Occupation: Bounty Hunter of the Netherworld
• Residence: None
• Family: Unsure of the Familial relations to this individual.

|| ATTRIBUTES ||
A body lacking flesh. Pain is felt, but ignored. Our body is one. Our Minds work to complete our objective. The Voice of the Force spoke through us. We consume all our sight lands upon. We are to be the Host of the Netherworld. Our will be the divine order. The Force. Darkness. All consuming. Corrupting. Yet the light blinds us. Can blind us should we not be prepared. All weapons, all technology under our control. We control all. The force gives us strength. Eons ago, we lived and enslaved. We ate the flesh of humans, yet were in love. Our love, our children. Gone.

The flames we control. All of the flames. Even our body is engulfed in it. Heat, Cold. Thermal. It is our will. Our righteous fury. Even our vision can consume all, burning them to ashes. All we touch becomes part of us. The brain, the droid, the ship, the vehicle. All aspects of what we touch we control. The very ground we walk. The air we cannot breathe. The water we shape. The Force is ours, only ours, to control. We are the Force.

|| POSSESSIONS ||

• WEAPONS
  
  • Lightsaber
  • Angel's Call
  • Vibro-Shiv
  • Heavy Blaster Pistol
  • Verpine Slug Thrower
  • Pulse Cannon
  • Charric Blaster Rifle
  • Scatter Shot Shotgun
  • Thermite Grenade Launcher
  • Gravity Disc Launcher
• CLOTHING/ARMOR
  
  • Huckleberry Holsters
  • Combat Boots
• VEHICLES
  
  • Horizon Tread Speeder Bike
  • K'kayeh Class Assault Ship

|| BIOGRAPHY ||
The only thing I- We remember, is waking into the abandoned wasteland of the Nether. The world was broken years ago. Flashes of a woman's face. Children's faces. Flames consuming our body. Our body was not of our own. Human-like. The Skeletal structure was normal. As normal as it could be. Picked clean by eons of time it felt like. Body groaning and cracking as we moved. The body moved without much provocation. A hand extended in front of our faces. Faces? No. Singular Face. All could see it. The boney appendage barren. Only clothed in a leather coat. A jacket with spikes. Looking like we woke up from a Galactic Mall. Leather pants, and riding boots. Beside us, weapons of the force. Lightsabers, Swords. Some were piercing through the jacket into our chest. The hands gripped down. Feeling the cold steel as it ripped it out.

Cold steel? How could we feel? How could I- no we experience this all at the same time? Our minds as one in this moment. It's when I- We heard a voice. A deep tone within our ears. Did we have ears? Yet the tone shook all of our body. What was left of it. This frame was given a commandment. A singular one that we must follow.

"Consume All that flee the Nether."

The command itself vague. The demand of the voice was to consume the soul. We could feel it. The absorption of their essence. I was to bring them back home. Bring them back to the Netherworld. Not just that, but return all to the Nether. The Land of the Dead.

With conviction, and a singular purpose, We stood. The blades falling from our lap. The voices all spoke together We are to be the Host of the Netherworld. The entity that will bring all into our selves. Consuming all of them. Jedi, Sith, Dark Side, Light Side.

We are, The Host.