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Post by 𝑲ɴᴏᴄᴋʙᴀᴄᴋ 𝑵ᴇᴄᴛᴀʀ ⍋ on Aug 4, 2019 8:02:39 GMT -5
Cataclysm A Star Wars Roleplay
Tended by 𝑲ɴᴏᴄᴋʙᴀᴄᴋ 𝑵ᴇᴄᴛᴀʀ ⍋ & qixoni Character Page
Welcome to Cataclysm's character page! This page is designed to keep everyone's accepted character sheets nice and tidy for easy reference. They'll be sorted according to affiliation to keep things simple. If you'd like to sign up, head on over to the joining page for the application sheet. Make sure to post any applications on the joining page and not here. Thank you! Member List
𝑲ɴᴏᴄᴋʙᴀᴄᴋ 𝑵ᴇᴄᴛᴀʀ ⍋ Ssav’rask’maaviina, Niska Sideralis, Carlyle Rouck, Osricᵠᶦˣᵒⁿᶦ Varkhond, Renet Q. Volderos
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Post by 𝑲ɴᴏᴄᴋʙᴀᴄᴋ 𝑵ᴇᴄᴛᴀʀ ⍋ on Aug 4, 2019 8:06:08 GMT -5
The First Order
Ssav’rask’maaviina, “Vrask”
The Sovereign Sadist x Admiral of the Cardinal Fleet, the First Order Chiss x Male x 30 x It’s complicated 6’2”, Dusty (Prussian) blue skin tone with the classic piercing red Chiss stare. Unlike the jet-black locks associated with his species, Vrask’s hair is stark white with the occasional silvery grey streak at his temples and widow’s peak. He’s usually seen with an aloof expression, his nose tossed ever so slightly into the air while his eyes peer down the bridge, a slight frown tugging on the edges of his lips in a classic, indifferent scowl. Vrask’s expression is often unchanging and uncaring with his eyes, half lidded but no less perceptive as they pick apart lower ranking officers. His uniform disguises a well-built body (he is the product of high class Chiss breeding, after all) that he keeps in shape with an exercise regimen of his own devising. He wears a glove near constantly on his left hand on account of scarring left from searing hot shrapnel. Vrask’s mien alone has startled the likes of the alien-wary First Order officers who were unprepared for the unsettling appearance of a Chiss, especially one of Vrask’s stature.
He didn’t get the nickname “The Sovereign Sadist” for nothing. He’s earned a reputation, even among the Order, for disregarding collateral damage. Noted for being determined and methodical, has a very deliberate way of articulating, one that sometimes borders on equivocation. He’s the proud owner of a superiority complex when it comes to the Chiss as better than humans. Rather stoic and indifferent, though logical and sly when he wants to be, Vrask is perceptive and analytic as well as highly principled. He’s rarely the sort to bother getting his hands dirty and would rather delicate any such discomforts to his subordinates. Should he be personally grieved, or the injustice directed against him and his name, however, he would not hesitate to pull his blaster. A series of family incidents as well as one monumental personal tragedy led Vrask to the ranks of the Order during their extended stay in the Unknown Regions. While he did intentionally leave Csilla, he would never have predicted the nature of his encounter with the remnants of the Imperial fleet, nor the length to which he would become entangled with them. The start of his service was as that of a diplomat, attempting to orchestrate better relations between the Order and aliens (or at least making it look like the Order was trying) but the death of a close…friend at the hands of a Resistance ambush lead him to take up a military role instead. While his initial recruitment into the stead of Lieutenant was founded on a personal vow for vengeance, it has since evolved into something far greater. A personal desire to seek order in a galaxy so cluttered, an innate necessity for a role of power. The exactness of the emotions is not something he cares to articulate. He knows what matters to him, and he’d just as soon leave it at that.
@𝑲ɴᴏᴄᴋʙᴀᴄᴋ 𝑵ᴇᴄᴛᴀʀ ⍋
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Post by 𝑲ɴᴏᴄᴋʙᴀᴄᴋ 𝑵ᴇᴄᴛᴀʀ ⍋ on Aug 4, 2019 8:06:44 GMT -5
The ResistanceVarkhond
Spymaster; Chief of Intelligence; The Hound x The Resistance Bothan x Male x 37 x Married to the job Standing at an impressive 4'11 for his species, Varkhond takes pride in his form. Sturdily built with broad shoulders, strong squared hands and compact muscle mass, even though he's small his figure is imposing. His facial structure resembles that of a Bull Terrier with a pronounced snout that curves downward slightly. Small blue eyes set into deep sockets twinkle with a hunger for thrill and adventure.
His thin fur that coats the whole of his body is brindle. Deep variations of brown some nearly black in spots. Mixed with lighter coppery and tawny streaks throughout.
Dogmatic and domineering at times, Varkhond comes across as a boisterous and lively entity at nearly every occasion. Not skittish when it comes to saying what's on his mind nor when it comes to laying down the law on those who attempt to skirt around it. Boldness and truth are his foundations. So much so that Varkhond has employed shrewder tactics over the years to expose it. Keenly equipped to sniff out lies and deceit.
Some have accused Varkhond of being addicted to the risk and intrigue his subterfuge provides him- but he'd say that's simply a load of bollocks. (Even if it might be more on the mark than he'd care to admit.) Varkhond has an itch that grows all the worse the longer he sits idle. Every fiber of his being yearns for action and excitement. He's fond of saying: "Nothing monumental ever happened thanks to bureaucrats shivering the day away in their tea rooms. Bickering over policy without saying anything of use."
Born on a small world in the outer-rim into poverty. Varkhond witnesses the crueler face of the galaxy up close and personal. Criminals stabbing each other in the back for an inch more influence over their rivals. Stormtroopers issuing patrols, cowing civilians into order. Aliens treated worse than dirt by the pristine white fist of the Empire. The fingers of which seemed to dig themselves deeply into worlds the Republic couldn't always leap to protect.
Knowing them as the only law in the galaxy among the chaos of the criminal underworld that seemed to grow more treacherous by the day. He often found himself wondering how no one dared to stand up to the Empire. In his corner of the world no one whispered a bad word about the ivory bastions. At least not in Basic, not without the shroud of night. For they might have been oppressive but they did provide a modicum of safety against the unknown.
However, this wasn't enough reason to Varkhond to simply bend the knee. In his adolescent years he roused a fair amount of discord among his peers and led a small band of rebels to raid Imperial supply drops, to destroy or reprogram droids and to cause as much havoc as he could for the Empire.
Sadly his minor scale rebellion--while effective-- didn't last long. His allies were taken captive or killed and he was thrown into an Imperial prison. It was there he stayed for a number of years. Biding his time and working on his more cunning talents.
Its amazing how much you can learn in an imperial prison just by listening closely. Though luckily, his incarceration didn't last too long. In a matter of three years the empire had fallen into ruins and on a raid led by republic operatives, Varkhond was rescued and upon relaying to them the Intel he had collected. They deemed him an asset they could use and he didn't hesitate for a moment when they offered him a spot among their ranks. Varkhond had found where he belonged. Though once the concordance was signed and both sides laid down their arms, he was at a loss. Varkhond knew the other side. There would always be hostility between good and evil.Once the First Order began to rear its ugly head and Varkhond's fears were confirmed. He got word General Leia was putting together The Resistance, and Varkhond was one of the first to pledge his allegiance.
@ᵠᶦˣᵒⁿᶦ Sideralis, Niska
Lieutenant Sideralis x Resistance [Undercover in the Ranks of the First Order] Epicanthix x Female x 25 x Single 5’9”, willowy with narrow, ashen grey eyes. Through extensive training, she’s learned to carry herself with the grace and poise of a First Order officer while keeping her eyes trained securely on the ground. Had she not gone into spy work, she might have found success as a dancer, the sort that flitter about on stage on their tippy toes like pylat birds. A determination lies heavyset in the creases of her eyes that gives her a gravitas beyond her years and station. While her hair is naturally depthless black, she regularly dyes it into a fluffy blonde that gets yanked up into a bun so tight it would give lesser beings migraines. All this in an effort to pass as human in the ranks of the Order and avoid their xenophobia.
To describe Sideralis’ job as demanding would be an understatement. Slipping under the radar of the Order’s paranoia and relaying information back to the Resistance is no easy task. Her personality has hardened to suit the task. Uncompromising and well-disciplined, from a glance one would believe she’d truly been raised in the Order. She deals with her subordinates, both in the Order and in the Resistance with the knowledge that failure in any task might lead to destruction.
Having been taken from her family at the age of three by the Order’s hands, Sideralis has always harbored some amount of hatred for the actions of her captors. Despite this, she knew the only way to make her life bearable was to make her way through the ranks so that she could hold some amount of power. Her plan landed her in the lap of the Cardinal Fleet, and under the threatening stare of Admiral Vrask, of whom she was assigned to be Lieutenant. This station gave her special privy to examine the goings on of one of the Order’s most nebulous and brutal officials. She saw this as a distinct opportunity to turn the tides in her favor. Information about the Cardinal Fleet in return for a position high in the New Republic once the First Order was brought to its knees by the Resistance. Sideralis reached out to Spy Master Varkhond at her earliest possibility, and since then has acted both as her own purveyor of own information and as a hub for other spies within the Order’s ranks.
@𝑲ɴᴏᴄᴋʙᴀᴄᴋ 𝑵ᴇᴄᴛᴀʀ ⍋
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Post by 𝑲ɴᴏᴄᴋʙᴀᴄᴋ 𝑵ᴇᴄᴛᴀʀ ⍋ on Aug 4, 2019 8:07:26 GMT -5
The New RepublicVolderos, Renet Q.
Senator Volderos; The Silver Vulptix; "Daddy" x The New Republic Human x Male x 55 x Daldenae's most eligible bachelor A mature human male, with a handsome physique and a smile so charming it could melt durasteel. With a thick auburn mane of waves, untamed yet always seeming to fall just right. Grey streaks rush through his hair from his temples giving him a stately and refined edge. His face bears almost no sign of aging other than the faint smile lines he now proudly bears around his lips and beside his eyes. Which are a stormy blue, richer than the deepest seas of Mon Cala and they droop ever so slightly at the corners giving him a relaxed and friendly resting expression.
At full height Renet stands at a respectable 5'10. Though his day-to-day finery typically involves a heeled boot that puts him closer to 6'1. His favorite color to wear is that of his house a decadent cobalt blue with silver accents that mirrors his eyes. He bears a beauty mark and usually a clean shaven face, though on occasion he has been known to sport a well groomed beard. Engaging, intuitive, and eloquent. Renet is a man of charm and Savoir-faire. Having been part of the political and social scene most of his life Renet has become a bit of an expert in his dealings with other people. Bolstered by his innate charisma that seems to radiate off him like a beacon of warmth, everything down to the turn of his head and the dimples on his cheeks have been bred to dazzle and win over the hearts of any who witness him.
Renet has a business man's cunning when it comes to maneuvering the tricky webbing of political drama and regulation while allowing for a kinder side for his people. As a populist he is always fighting for more power to be placed in the hands of the individual world rather than the Senate. All his professionalism aside Renet is not all business and smooth talking, he tends to be ornery and even nosy at times. Stepping into situations fearlessly and taking charge are a natural course of action for him.
In his youth he was a notorious womanizer and a partier. Some of these habits have stuck around--though much less noticeable. Giving his speech a natural lilt of flirtation and leaving him with a fondness for the vivid nightlife of the various worlds he visits. Born and raised on the colony world of Daldenae, a lush world with vast cities and sprawling plains, Renet spent most of his former years exploring and indulging himself. Allowing for hedonistic behaviors to develop, he was trouble. Stealing speeders, getting into fights, wooing young men and women alike. Even enjoying some of the galaxys more illicit substances from time to time.
However there comes a time for every man to grow up and Renet did so without a fight. Gracefully transitioning into the life of a Senator, a voice for the people he had grown up with and loved so much. It was during his period of being more active in the political scene that he was approached by Leia Organa and was pitched the idea of a Resistance. She knew trouble was coming and she'd need all the help she could find. Renet, being the man he is, graciously agreed to help sponser her in that venture as long as he remained anonymous in doing so. There was no need to broadcast his hand in something so much bigger than himself. So while he's out in the world winning hearts and rallying the citizens of the Republic, when the speeches end and he's got a moment to himself he sends aid to the Resistance. In the hope that they'll come out ahead in this war.
@ᵠᶦˣᵒⁿᶦ
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Post by 𝑲ɴᴏᴄᴋʙᴀᴄᴋ 𝑵ᴇᴄᴛᴀʀ ⍋ on Aug 4, 2019 8:07:56 GMT -5
ParhelionRouck, Carlyle
Helioc; The MuttxLeader of the Parhelion Near Human x Malex 32 x Better left unsaid Shimmery orange hair and enigmatic green eyes. Constantly cloaked in Parhelion red, including a lavish pair of gloves he wears constantly to hide the bruises and split skin across his knuckles. Walks with a gimp. He’s constantly done up like he’s moments away from hosting a party, and there might be a glass of champagne in his clutches at any time. There are slight signs of aging around his eyes, but one only notices it in the moments where he wanes into irrational reactions. The definition of a loose cannon, Carlyle excels at presenting himself as a polite, fully functioning member of a respectable society. However, one cannot quite get over the sensation that something might not be quite right with him, like there’s something dangerous brewing just under his surface. In fact, there is. He can be wildly unstable at a moment’s notice, often leading to a beating towards whoever has the misfortune of angering him or just standing nearby. Driven by the desire to remain in power above all things and hold such power above others. Though he has a distaste for brutish flares of superiority, he prefers captivating the room in a silent dominance (he just wants to be the star of any room he walks into, okay, but it’s a little hard when he’s got people like Lorelei trailing after him. He’s not pretty enough to compete).
Inherited the Parhelion from his predecessor, Lun. She had kept the Parhelion in the shadows of the galaxy, working mostly in backhanded contracts between less than savory elements, dealing in people’s lives and counterfeit credits. Carlyle was taken under her wing once he proved to be a scrap worth his salt on a raid of the inner bowels of his home planet, Coruscant.
Little Carlyle flourished under her tutelage, quickly coming to understand the seedy ways of the criminal underground. He began, however, to lust after more. Carlyle wanted prestige for the Parhelion, something he knew they could not achieve through the types of dealings they were having. He began to push Lun towards more high-risk interactions. Getting into the arms trade, for example, or smuggling coaxium. Lun refused vehemently. Shifting their priorities in the way Carlyle desired would only bring them the wrong kind of attention from the powers that ruled the galaxy.
In the end they couldn’t see eye to eye, and he was left no recourse but to strangle Lun in her sleep. Soon after, he donned the sobriquet “Helioc” and began working in the arms industry.
@𝑲ɴᴏᴄᴋʙᴀᴄᴋ 𝑵ᴇᴄᴛᴀʀ ⍋
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Post by 𝑲ɴᴏᴄᴋʙᴀᴄᴋ 𝑵ᴇᴄᴛᴀʀ ⍋ on Aug 4, 2019 8:08:24 GMT -5
Unaligned Osric
Ozzy x Unaligned; Owner of The Veil Teashop Umbaranx Androgynous [He/Him pronouns] x 23 x Depends on the day Like all umbarans, Osric exhibits the pale skin and colorless eyes, though he seems to carry his with something more akin to grace than some of his corpse-like brethren. He moves like a ghost through his teashop as if drifting across the coils of incense and steam. Often clad in red silken robe that slip across his skin like swaths of glittering blood. Besides is poise, Osric is set apart from his species by the copious length of shimmering black hair than hangs down his face and shoulders like a gathering oil slick. The nature of the hair is a mystery, as it clings to him perpetually as if he were nearly emerging from a pool but remains silken and soft to the touch. If asked about the enigma that is his hair care, Osric offers only a nebulous, though genial, smile and a few bats of his lashes. Osric rarely wears shoes (or shirts for that matter), and as such, pads about The Veil with an unnatural silence. His nails are exquisitely manicured, long and pointed and coated in black polish that shimmers with the same gloss as his hair.
Ozzy has a spiritual sort of vagueness about him. As if perhaps he was meant for a different plane of reality, and some Celestial screwed up and slipped him into this one instead. He’s willing to divulge little about his past, though is never rude beyond being dismissive of those who inquire. Osric is kind in an understated sort of way. He values the guests at his shop, after all.
The only thing he might care more about is the teacups he cultivates as an extensive collection within his shop. Osric offers them the highest form of reverence, communing with them in a brief, silent meditation before one calls out to him, one that he may offer to whichever guest has arrived in search of a drink. Ozzy believes most fundamentally in the individual personality of each and every teacup, and that they choose a guest with which to be united. Little is known about Osric’s past, and even less has ever been said. He somehow came into ownership of The Veil, which he uses to sell both tea and spice to the discerning customer. There are rumors about a long lost connection to Helioc, but these are speculations Ozzy is neither willing to confirm nor deny.
@𝑲ɴᴏᴄᴋʙᴀᴄᴋ 𝑵ᴇᴄᴛᴀʀ ⍋
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