Xaden Malacos
Character
Xaden Malacos
Age: 17
Species: Pure Blood Sith
Gender: Male
Height: 5 feet 10 inches = 1.778 m
Weight: 140 Lbs. 63.5 K
Force Sensitive: Force Sensitive
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Standing just under six feet tall, Xaden carries the stature of a warrior twice his age, his lean, athletic frame coiled with barely contained energy. His skin is a deep, blood-red, with jagged black ritual tattoos slashed across his neck, shoulders, and down his spine — each one earned during brutal initiation trials in the tombs of ancient Sith.
Unlike the elders who hide behind ceremony and grandeur, Xaden's style is stripped-down and tactical, reflecting his youth and the harsh training he's endured. He wears a sleeveless, dark gray tunic reinforced with lightweight obsidian armor along the shoulders and forearms — practical for dueling, with crimson cloth layered beneath that moves like flame when he spins. His boots are scuffed and marked with ash, and his gloves are fingerless, revealing the blackened nails and faint scars from lightning he's only beginning to control.
His eyes blaze a golden-orange — still bright with youthful intensity — and burn hotter in moments of anger or fear. Twin ridges crown his brow, framed by short, thorn-like horns, one of which is cracked from a brutal sparring match he won by sheer rage. Facial tendrils, thinner than those of older Purebloods, hang tightly against his jawline, some pierced with thin rings etched in Sith script.
INVENTORY
Strapped to his side in a custom sheath is his training lightsaber — a double-bladed weapon with a crude, angular hilt he assembled himself, still warm from overcharging when emotions run wild. His belt carries only the essentials: a survival dagger, a fragment of a fallen acolyte's mask, and a shard of a shattered kyber crystal he's sworn to bleed once he earns his true saber.
PERSONALITY AND BELIEFS
Xaden speaks with precision and calm authority. He rarely raises his voice, but when his temper flares — in battle or under pressure — it's sudden, brutal, and often explosive. He's disciplined, but there's always the sense that something dark simmers beneath his calm. Xaden doesn't seek admiration, but his presence commands attention. Other acolytes are drawn to him out of respect or fear. He has a natural leadership quality, not because he's loud or charming, but because he's competent, focused, and dangerous. Xaden follows the rules of the Sith Academy — not out of obedience, but because he understands the game. He knows how to play within the system to gain influence, favor, and survival. He'll serve a master, but only one he can learn from or eventually surpass. He demands excellence and efficiency, holding both himself and those around him to impossible standards. Failures — even small ones — gnaw at him, and he trains relentlessly to ensure they don't repeat.
How he thinks
Xaden believes the galaxy is cold and uncaring. Power is not about domination — it's about control. Over his fate. Over his emotions. Over the chaos of the world around him. He strives for perfection not out of arrogance, but because weakness terrifies him. Bearing the name Malacos, Xaden feels the weight of something lost or tarnished. Whether he's trying to reclaim his family's place or build a new legacy, his name is more than a label — it's a weapon, a mission, and a burden. Rage is useful, but only when directed. Xaden believes a Sith who is ruled by emotion is no better than prey. He respects control, patience, and long-term thinking — even as he wrestles with his own inner volatility.
Beliefs:
"Mercy is betrayal in disguise."
He's seen what happens to those who hesitate. He believes mercy is just the first step toward defeat — a crack in the armor that others will exploit.
"The Force doesn't guide. It obeys."
To Xaden, the Force is not a will to follow, but a tool to command. Jedi treat it like a god. He sees it as a blade — and the stronger the will, the sharper the cut.
"Pain is the price of growth."
Every injury, failure, or humiliation is a lesson. He accepts pain not as suffering, but as payment. If he bleeds, he learns. If he loses, he adapts.
Fears/Phobias:
Xaden's deepest fear is not death — it's being helpless. Paralyzed. Rendered irrelevant. He's haunted by the idea of losing his agency or being controlled by someone stronger.
Xaden also doesn't like to be touched. Xaden reacts viscerally to unexpected or prolonged physical contact, especially skin-to-skin. This fear isn't rooted in trauma, but control. Physical contact feels like vulnerability — an invasion of his personal domain. Touch becomes symbolic of weakness, exposure, or manipulation. (How it shows: He flinches slightly when grabbed, especially from behind. He never initiates touch — even in victory. He may subconsciously keep a small gap between himself and allies, even during tense standoffs.)
STRENGTHS
Tactical Intelligence
Xaden is a natural strategist, even under pressure. He sees patterns in behavior, predicts his opponents' next move, and knows how to exploit weakness — not just in battle, but in conversation, hierarchy, and emotional dynamics. While others rush into fights with raw rage, Xaden calculates. He knows when to provoke, when to retreat, and when to strike with precision.
Example in use: In a duel, he lets a stronger opponent tire themselves out or reveal their style before dismantling them piece by piece. In politics, he plays rivals against each other without ever drawing attention to himself.
Focused Force Discipline
Though still young, Xaden shows unusual mastery over his connection to the Force — not in overwhelming power, but in control. Where others let the dark side consume them, Xaden shapes it like a blade. His ability to focus his will allows him to channel powers like telekinesis, Force choke, or lightsaber precision with enhanced efficiency. He doesn't overextend or waste energy.
Example in use: During trials, while others blast the room in chaotic fury, Xaden might levitate a saber to disarm a foe mid-charge or silence a room with a well-placed Force push — fast, minimal, deadly.
WEAKNESSES
Rigid Worldview
Xaden believes in a strict philosophy: strength rules, mercy kills, control is everything. While this gives him focus, it also blinds him to nuance. He has difficulty understanding motivations outside of power and survival, which can lead to misjudging Jedi, underestimating more idealistic rivals, or failing to grasp subtler manipulations — especially ones that involve empathy or long-term emotional influence.
Example in use: He may dismiss a Jedi's compassion as foolishness — and fail to realize it's the key to their strength. Or he may misread a rival's humility as weakness, only to be outplayed by patience.
Explosive Temperament
Beneath Xaden's cold exterior is a dangerous, tightly coiled fury. While he prides himself on discipline, his temper can ignite suddenly when provoked, especially by disrespect, failure, or being made to feel weak. When he loses control, he doesn't just lash out — he overreacts. This can cost him precision in combat, disrupt his Force focus, or escalate situations beyond reason. His reputation for calm makes his rare outbursts even more shocking — and sometimes, destructive.
Example in use: During a sparring match, a mocking comment about his bloodline pushes him over the edge. He ignores the objective, nearly kills his opponent, and draws the attention (or wrath) of his instructors.
HISTORY
Xaden Malacos was seventeen when he emerged from the Tomb of Marka Ragnos, wounded, half-starved, and covered in ash and blood not all his own. The other acolytes had failed — some killed by the tomb's defenses, others by his own hand. He didn't speak of what happened in the darkness. He didn't need to. The instructors at the Sith Academy saw it in his eyes: not rage, but cold determination — the kind that carved itself into the bones of legends. He knelt before Darth Severian, a Pureblood Sith known for her mastery of mental domination and political precision, and was named her apprentice with a single nod. He didn't thank her. Gratitude was weakness. Acceptance was enough.
Under Darth Severian's brutal tutelage, Xaden's talents were honed like a blade pulled through fire. He was not trained like the others. She gave him more than strength — she gave him strategy, precision, subtlety. While others learned brute power and raw aggression, Xaden mastered silence, misdirection, and control. He became an extension of her will: infiltrating rivals, dismantling threats through manipulation, even learning to tear secrets from the minds of Jedi prisoners. He never asked for recognition. He didn't need it. He measured his worth in survival — and fear.
As the years passed, Xaden's reputation grew in the shadows. At twenty, he recovered a lost Sith holocron from a buried stronghold on Ziost, turning an entire rival excavation team against one another without igniting his saber. Later, during a political dispute between two lesser Sith, he eliminated both apprentices without ever being tied to the scene. Whispers began to circle — that Darth Severian's apprentice was more than just a servant. That he was a successor. Perhaps even a threat.
It was then that Severian's lessons changed. She began giving him near-suicidal assignments. She withheld knowledge, delayed his advancement, placed him in situations designed to test his loyalty and obedience. Xaden saw through it. He didn't speak out, but his hatred deepened — not as wild rage, but something colder, patient, and much more dangerous. He began pushing back in small ways: questioning her plans, suggesting alternatives, asking why, when before he had only obeyed. When she ordered him to eliminate a Jedi Padawan — one who had once spared Xaden's life during a skirmish years earlier — something shifted.
He refused.
Not out of compassion. Not out of weakness. But because the order itself revealed her fear. Severian wasn't protecting the Sith. She was protecting her power.
The betrayal came swiftly. A fabricated mission to Nar Shaddaa — a supposed hunt for a rogue Sith agent. Xaden knew something was off, but pride and purpose carried him forward. In the industrial ruins beneath the neon sprawl, he found no agent — only Severian's private guards and a Sith alchemist named Darth Varnox, a relic-bound specialist in ancient preservation techniques. Varnox carried a device Xaden recognized too late: a modified carbonite freezing unit, repurposed as a prison.
The ambush was brutal. Xaden fought with terrifying precision, using the Force to crush bones, rip steel from the walls, and hurl bodies like weapons. His crimson saber was a blur, slicing through soldiers as if the air itself bled. He nearly reached Varnox — nearly — when the freezing unit fired.
A wave of searing cold consumed him mid-leap, locking his limbs, his lungs, his rage, in one agonizing instant. His final expression was fury — arms outstretched, saber ignited, teeth bared. He was frozen like that, encased in carbonite, a silent scream preserved in time.
Severian had the slab transported to her private sanctum. For a year, she kept it mounted behind her throne — not as a trophy, but as a reminder. She spoke of him only once, when a younger apprentice asked who it was.
"A failed heir," she said. "Too proud to kneel."
But over time, the presence of the slab began to disturb her. Servants reported a strange pressure in the Force, pulsing faintly from the carbonite like a heartbeat. A few claimed they heard whispers when they walked past it — not voices, but intentions. Cold, clear, vengeful.
Eventually, Severian ordered it removed. Not destroyed — she could never bring herself to do that. Instead, she had it sealed in a reinforced containment crate and quietly loaded onto an unmarked transport bound for an archive vault on Dromund Kaas.
The ship never arrived.
Whether through sabotage, accident, or fate, the vessel veered off course during hyperspace transit. It was declared lost. No wreckage was found.
And so the slab drifted.
Out beyond the Rim, past forgotten trade routes and dead systems. Adrift in silence and blackness, slowly turning in the void. Inside, Xaden remained — frozen in carbonite, consciousness trapped but alive, soul gripped by a single enduring truth:
He remembers everything.
One day, someone will find him.
And when they do, the galaxy will remember him too.
Age: 17
Species: Pure Blood Sith
Gender: Male
Height: 5 feet 10 inches = 1.778 m
Weight: 140 Lbs. 63.5 K
Force Sensitive: Force Sensitive
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION
Standing just under six feet tall, Xaden carries the stature of a warrior twice his age, his lean, athletic frame coiled with barely contained energy. His skin is a deep, blood-red, with jagged black ritual tattoos slashed across his neck, shoulders, and down his spine — each one earned during brutal initiation trials in the tombs of ancient Sith.
Unlike the elders who hide behind ceremony and grandeur, Xaden's style is stripped-down and tactical, reflecting his youth and the harsh training he's endured. He wears a sleeveless, dark gray tunic reinforced with lightweight obsidian armor along the shoulders and forearms — practical for dueling, with crimson cloth layered beneath that moves like flame when he spins. His boots are scuffed and marked with ash, and his gloves are fingerless, revealing the blackened nails and faint scars from lightning he's only beginning to control.
His eyes blaze a golden-orange — still bright with youthful intensity — and burn hotter in moments of anger or fear. Twin ridges crown his brow, framed by short, thorn-like horns, one of which is cracked from a brutal sparring match he won by sheer rage. Facial tendrils, thinner than those of older Purebloods, hang tightly against his jawline, some pierced with thin rings etched in Sith script.
INVENTORY
Strapped to his side in a custom sheath is his training lightsaber — a double-bladed weapon with a crude, angular hilt he assembled himself, still warm from overcharging when emotions run wild. His belt carries only the essentials: a survival dagger, a fragment of a fallen acolyte's mask, and a shard of a shattered kyber crystal he's sworn to bleed once he earns his true saber.
PERSONALITY AND BELIEFS
Xaden speaks with precision and calm authority. He rarely raises his voice, but when his temper flares — in battle or under pressure — it's sudden, brutal, and often explosive. He's disciplined, but there's always the sense that something dark simmers beneath his calm. Xaden doesn't seek admiration, but his presence commands attention. Other acolytes are drawn to him out of respect or fear. He has a natural leadership quality, not because he's loud or charming, but because he's competent, focused, and dangerous. Xaden follows the rules of the Sith Academy — not out of obedience, but because he understands the game. He knows how to play within the system to gain influence, favor, and survival. He'll serve a master, but only one he can learn from or eventually surpass. He demands excellence and efficiency, holding both himself and those around him to impossible standards. Failures — even small ones — gnaw at him, and he trains relentlessly to ensure they don't repeat.
How he thinks
Xaden believes the galaxy is cold and uncaring. Power is not about domination — it's about control. Over his fate. Over his emotions. Over the chaos of the world around him. He strives for perfection not out of arrogance, but because weakness terrifies him. Bearing the name Malacos, Xaden feels the weight of something lost or tarnished. Whether he's trying to reclaim his family's place or build a new legacy, his name is more than a label — it's a weapon, a mission, and a burden. Rage is useful, but only when directed. Xaden believes a Sith who is ruled by emotion is no better than prey. He respects control, patience, and long-term thinking — even as he wrestles with his own inner volatility.
Beliefs:
"Mercy is betrayal in disguise."
He's seen what happens to those who hesitate. He believes mercy is just the first step toward defeat — a crack in the armor that others will exploit.
"The Force doesn't guide. It obeys."
To Xaden, the Force is not a will to follow, but a tool to command. Jedi treat it like a god. He sees it as a blade — and the stronger the will, the sharper the cut.
"Pain is the price of growth."
Every injury, failure, or humiliation is a lesson. He accepts pain not as suffering, but as payment. If he bleeds, he learns. If he loses, he adapts.
Fears/Phobias:
Xaden's deepest fear is not death — it's being helpless. Paralyzed. Rendered irrelevant. He's haunted by the idea of losing his agency or being controlled by someone stronger.
Xaden also doesn't like to be touched. Xaden reacts viscerally to unexpected or prolonged physical contact, especially skin-to-skin. This fear isn't rooted in trauma, but control. Physical contact feels like vulnerability — an invasion of his personal domain. Touch becomes symbolic of weakness, exposure, or manipulation. (How it shows: He flinches slightly when grabbed, especially from behind. He never initiates touch — even in victory. He may subconsciously keep a small gap between himself and allies, even during tense standoffs.)
STRENGTHS
Tactical Intelligence
Xaden is a natural strategist, even under pressure. He sees patterns in behavior, predicts his opponents' next move, and knows how to exploit weakness — not just in battle, but in conversation, hierarchy, and emotional dynamics. While others rush into fights with raw rage, Xaden calculates. He knows when to provoke, when to retreat, and when to strike with precision.
Example in use: In a duel, he lets a stronger opponent tire themselves out or reveal their style before dismantling them piece by piece. In politics, he plays rivals against each other without ever drawing attention to himself.
Focused Force Discipline
Though still young, Xaden shows unusual mastery over his connection to the Force — not in overwhelming power, but in control. Where others let the dark side consume them, Xaden shapes it like a blade. His ability to focus his will allows him to channel powers like telekinesis, Force choke, or lightsaber precision with enhanced efficiency. He doesn't overextend or waste energy.
Example in use: During trials, while others blast the room in chaotic fury, Xaden might levitate a saber to disarm a foe mid-charge or silence a room with a well-placed Force push — fast, minimal, deadly.
WEAKNESSES
Rigid Worldview
Xaden believes in a strict philosophy: strength rules, mercy kills, control is everything. While this gives him focus, it also blinds him to nuance. He has difficulty understanding motivations outside of power and survival, which can lead to misjudging Jedi, underestimating more idealistic rivals, or failing to grasp subtler manipulations — especially ones that involve empathy or long-term emotional influence.
Example in use: He may dismiss a Jedi's compassion as foolishness — and fail to realize it's the key to their strength. Or he may misread a rival's humility as weakness, only to be outplayed by patience.
Explosive Temperament
Beneath Xaden's cold exterior is a dangerous, tightly coiled fury. While he prides himself on discipline, his temper can ignite suddenly when provoked, especially by disrespect, failure, or being made to feel weak. When he loses control, he doesn't just lash out — he overreacts. This can cost him precision in combat, disrupt his Force focus, or escalate situations beyond reason. His reputation for calm makes his rare outbursts even more shocking — and sometimes, destructive.
Example in use: During a sparring match, a mocking comment about his bloodline pushes him over the edge. He ignores the objective, nearly kills his opponent, and draws the attention (or wrath) of his instructors.
HISTORY
Xaden Malacos was seventeen when he emerged from the Tomb of Marka Ragnos, wounded, half-starved, and covered in ash and blood not all his own. The other acolytes had failed — some killed by the tomb's defenses, others by his own hand. He didn't speak of what happened in the darkness. He didn't need to. The instructors at the Sith Academy saw it in his eyes: not rage, but cold determination — the kind that carved itself into the bones of legends. He knelt before Darth Severian, a Pureblood Sith known for her mastery of mental domination and political precision, and was named her apprentice with a single nod. He didn't thank her. Gratitude was weakness. Acceptance was enough.
Under Darth Severian's brutal tutelage, Xaden's talents were honed like a blade pulled through fire. He was not trained like the others. She gave him more than strength — she gave him strategy, precision, subtlety. While others learned brute power and raw aggression, Xaden mastered silence, misdirection, and control. He became an extension of her will: infiltrating rivals, dismantling threats through manipulation, even learning to tear secrets from the minds of Jedi prisoners. He never asked for recognition. He didn't need it. He measured his worth in survival — and fear.
As the years passed, Xaden's reputation grew in the shadows. At twenty, he recovered a lost Sith holocron from a buried stronghold on Ziost, turning an entire rival excavation team against one another without igniting his saber. Later, during a political dispute between two lesser Sith, he eliminated both apprentices without ever being tied to the scene. Whispers began to circle — that Darth Severian's apprentice was more than just a servant. That he was a successor. Perhaps even a threat.
It was then that Severian's lessons changed. She began giving him near-suicidal assignments. She withheld knowledge, delayed his advancement, placed him in situations designed to test his loyalty and obedience. Xaden saw through it. He didn't speak out, but his hatred deepened — not as wild rage, but something colder, patient, and much more dangerous. He began pushing back in small ways: questioning her plans, suggesting alternatives, asking why, when before he had only obeyed. When she ordered him to eliminate a Jedi Padawan — one who had once spared Xaden's life during a skirmish years earlier — something shifted.
He refused.
Not out of compassion. Not out of weakness. But because the order itself revealed her fear. Severian wasn't protecting the Sith. She was protecting her power.
The betrayal came swiftly. A fabricated mission to Nar Shaddaa — a supposed hunt for a rogue Sith agent. Xaden knew something was off, but pride and purpose carried him forward. In the industrial ruins beneath the neon sprawl, he found no agent — only Severian's private guards and a Sith alchemist named Darth Varnox, a relic-bound specialist in ancient preservation techniques. Varnox carried a device Xaden recognized too late: a modified carbonite freezing unit, repurposed as a prison.
The ambush was brutal. Xaden fought with terrifying precision, using the Force to crush bones, rip steel from the walls, and hurl bodies like weapons. His crimson saber was a blur, slicing through soldiers as if the air itself bled. He nearly reached Varnox — nearly — when the freezing unit fired.
A wave of searing cold consumed him mid-leap, locking his limbs, his lungs, his rage, in one agonizing instant. His final expression was fury — arms outstretched, saber ignited, teeth bared. He was frozen like that, encased in carbonite, a silent scream preserved in time.
Severian had the slab transported to her private sanctum. For a year, she kept it mounted behind her throne — not as a trophy, but as a reminder. She spoke of him only once, when a younger apprentice asked who it was.
"A failed heir," she said. "Too proud to kneel."
But over time, the presence of the slab began to disturb her. Servants reported a strange pressure in the Force, pulsing faintly from the carbonite like a heartbeat. A few claimed they heard whispers when they walked past it — not voices, but intentions. Cold, clear, vengeful.
Eventually, Severian ordered it removed. Not destroyed — she could never bring herself to do that. Instead, she had it sealed in a reinforced containment crate and quietly loaded onto an unmarked transport bound for an archive vault on Dromund Kaas.
The ship never arrived.
Whether through sabotage, accident, or fate, the vessel veered off course during hyperspace transit. It was declared lost. No wreckage was found.
And so the slab drifted.
Out beyond the Rim, past forgotten trade routes and dead systems. Adrift in silence and blackness, slowly turning in the void. Inside, Xaden remained — frozen in carbonite, consciousness trapped but alive, soul gripped by a single enduring truth:
He remembers everything.
One day, someone will find him.
And when they do, the galaxy will remember him too.