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Member Since 13 Nov 2017
Offline Last Active Yesterday, 11:51 PM


02 January 2018 - 08:46 PM



(Thread Theme)



  • Planet Name: Zhilaseraya (Grey Mine, in Yaziksmert.)
  • Demonym: Czelosmertian.
  • Region: Outer Rim.
  • System Name: Pomnesti.
  • System Features: The system, similar to Zhilaserya, is mostly bare. Zhilaseraya is a lonely planet, mirroring her inhabitants the Czelosmert in their xenophobic behavior.
  • Coordinates: R53
  • Major Imports: Food and water.
  • Major Exports: Durelium and Hfredium ores. 


  • Gravity: Slightly more than Standard.
  • Climate: Arid and cold.
  • Primary Terrain: Barren plains and mountains.
  • Major Locations: Imperiyagorodnya - "Imperial City," the original forced labor area established by the Empire over 900 years ago. It has developed into the main super city on Zhilaseraya that houses 60% of the populace.

Gratazhk - The capital district of the main city. Heavily guarded by armed police, contains what little variety of nobles you can run into in Czelosmertian society.

Pyligorod - The massive industrial factory center mixed in with slums, called "Red City" for its many rusted and corroded buildings and the red flames that constantly burn in the factories.

Domaserf - The housing districts dispersed around Pyligorod that hold many of the workers.

Domatsari - Home of the Csars, the royal district within Gratazhk where only the elite live, including the royal family.

Kholodniy Seraya - A huge expansive, confusing mine system home to a large rebel group deep in the arctic mountain ranges.



  • Native Species: Czelosmertians.
  • Immigrated Species: No permanent non-natives permitted.
  • Population: Heavily populated within the massive city Imperiyagorodnya. Sparsely populated in smaller cities and in the mining districts outside.
  • Demographics: All permanent residents are Czelosmertian.
  • Primary Languages: Yaziksmert, Galactic Basic.
  • Culture: Czelosmertian culture is ingrained in family values, national pride, and violent sports.

Czelosmertians have large families, supporting as many children as their economic situation can allow. The source of a Czelosmertian's happiness is often their family, as their world can provide very little true happiness. Their entire culture, their scholars, their historical figures, and anyone of any stature knows that the strength of a society lies in the strength and health of the family. The kingdom exploits this focus on large families to have an endless supply of workers and soldiers in the flitting life span of the average Czelosmertian, which is 25-30 standard galactic years.


Not surprisingly, Czelosmertians are extremely socially conservative, and outlaw homosexuality, prostitution, and hard narcotic use. While Czelosmertian have a very male dominated culture, women are valued just as much as men for their role as mothers, which is a position that some scholars regard as "higher than General." There is a saying during Czelosmertian marriage,"Neither is the husband a Czar and the wife a Peasant, nor the wife Czarina and the husband a Serf, but are both Royalty, are both subject and obedient to each other." While there are unhappy marriages, Czelosmertians rarely get divorced due to societaland social pressures, the most likely large family they've fostered, and the law not being accustomed to handling such requests very easily. However, abusive relationships, whether mental or physical, are exponentially low compared to galactically reported levels. 


A remarkable, surreal phenomena in Czelosmertian culture shows this high respect and genuine love that can develop for women; where despicable and often downright evil men are observed to be the softest, most caring and loving person in the company of his wife or children. Even Czar Gratka the Third "the Immolater of Domaserf ," a man who was so short tempered and prone to violence that two thirds of his generals rebelled against him, was seen to 'lower his voice and brighten his countenance whenever his wife entered the room, a smile as genuine as a young lover would have for his betrothed.'


However, this does not mean that Czelosmertian men and women are incapable of disliking or even acting out in anger towards their families. Again, in the case of Czar Gratka the Third, his son Prince Ulyev, heir to the throne, barged into the war room while his father the Czar and his few remaining generals were planning how to defeat the massive loyalist army that had just vowed to dethrone Czar Gratka. Calling for his father to step down, to surrender to the rebels and prevent more Czelosmertian bloodshed, the Czar's famous anger was brought to a boiling point. Taking his heavy royal scepter in hand, the Czar struck the side of his son's head in a fit of rage, killing him instantly. The Czar, realizing what he had done, became inconsolable, and threw himself out a nearby balcony a few days later. Artist Demtri Petnarsky later depicted this tragic event in his painting, "Czar Gratka and the Prince."


Despite constant internal turmoil and frequent rebellions, the people are united under a common idea that they are the most resilient, the toughest, the most masculine race in the galaxy. While it is certainly a pride for their nation, it can be considered more of an extreme racial pride, which is unsurprising given their xenophobic nature. The rebels are often the mountain people, the ethnic group known as Gorasmert, who account for roughly 70% of the miners that extract the precious ship building ore needed to keep the economy going. The Gorasmert are subject to work in dangerous mines, with shifts rivaling that of the most overworked city dweller, and paychecks that would make even the most content factory worker turn against his bosses. 


However, the Gorasmert people are rarely united under one flag of rebellion. This is because without the Kingdom, they receive no food or water besides what their pathetically maintained hydroponic farms can manage. The other reason being the Gorasmert people are extremely volatile and often unpredictable when they rebel, and when one prominent mountain dweller rebels and calls himself warlord, 4 more spring up. Even more complex is that these hypothetical 5 other factions could have very intricate diplomatic ties.


One warlord could be a foreman for a mine system that is taking up arms to protect the company he works for, and in exchange make much more money than what he would of. One warlord is a separatist that wishes to create a whole new Galactically recognized state upon the vast mountains of Zhilaserya. One warlord wants to overthrow the Czardom and crown his bloodline as king. And the last warlord just thinks the previous is a nonce and thinks he should be the king instead. But, there is sometimes a warlord that rises up that is able to unite all the fractured tribes of the mountains. But, as of yet, the man to hold this title has always been defeated.




  • Government: Heredity Primogeniture Monarchy. 
  • Affiliation: None.
  • Wealth: Low, due to government corruption and exploitation by various intergalactic powers it can never seem to be very rich.
  • Stability: Low. Guerrilla attacks, factory worker riots, and bombings are common place.
  • Freedom & Oppression: The planet has a history of long periods of civil strife dotted by briefer periods of peace. During peacetime, the Tsar is often more lenient, giving tax cuts and putting large sums of the budget into celebrations and holidays. During wartime, the Tsar cracks down heavily on opposition, and is no stranger to "total war" on the would-be rebels.


  • Military: The military is composed primarily of conscripted young men, who employ often poor tactics against local rebel forces. Lacking many force multipliers such as artillery, fighter craft, or tanks, the army usually gets itself into ineffective slugging matches with the rebels. If given proper equipment and training, they could probably eliminate the rebels quite easily, but until then they are more of a containment force than anything. The Navy is almost nonexistant, with a few trade barges converted into frigates and destroyers.
  • Technology: The technology is limited to very cheap means due to the poverty of the planet. Although technically on the same technological level as the rest of the galaxy, not all the citizens have access to the same luxuries as other worlds due to low income.


The planet was discovered by the Republic during the Clone Wars, and was found to be an extremely mineral rich planet. But, due to political and logistical concerns at the height of the war, the planet was not colonized. It was not until about 10 BBY when the Empire found a use for the planet as a hard labor camp. Using mostly human rebel sympathizers, criminals, and members of the resistance from the Outer Rim territories, it was made into a work camp planet. As the Galactic Civil War raged on and more troopers were needed elsewhere, the planet was established as a self governing puppet state, ran by former workers who were given opportunities to save themselves from labor through cooperation. The planet eventually broke away from the Empire after the destruction of the second Death Star, the Empire being too busy to consolidate its holdings in the Core states to bother with outer rim planet. The people rebelled against the newly independent planet, and were repelled by loyalist forces in short order. 


Quickly acting to solidify any legitimacy the government had, the head of the once puppet government, Governor Met Tirran, crowned himself and his lineage as royalty, with their claimant being all of Zhilaseraya. Promising a rich lifestyle that would exploit the riches of the barren planet, many remained on Zhilaseraya with this promise of prosperity. The Kingdom upheld a strict political and military isolationist doctrine with the outside galaxy, and to this day keeps it that way. The only outside interference is through trade deals.


The people were slowly mutated, the planet not shielding them from the local star's radiation, and the horrid atmosphere getting worse every year. Eventually the humans mutated into something not quite human, a down trodden human offshoot condemned to their backwater planet's toxic atmosphere.


During the four century age of darkness caused by the Gulag Plague, what little economic growth that was made in its first few centuries was dashed away when all its prime buyers were wiped off the face of the galaxy. The plague itself did not affect the planet directly, as the isolationist and xenophobic nature of the Czelosmertians came into play. Attacking or turning away any would-be refugees before they could enter the system, the plague did not manage to infect the people of Zhilaseraya. But many suffered, as what few economically stable worlds that existed could support the demands for food and water that the planet needed. Not to mention, no one was buying their precious ship building ore, there was no demand for navies in a time where the galaxy was dying.


So the hardy Czelosmertians began to die out in great number due to starvation, and were forced to subsist off meager hydroponic farms and pathetically thin herd animals native to the world. The population remained at a low level, not seeing a boom until the last century. By the time the galaxy had rebuilt itself and the old factions were reformed, the Czardom was well rooted in its isolationist values. The Czardom was on a few times challenged with the possibility of being conglomerated against its will or diplomatically coerced into alliance by various factions, but each time it was avoided. But the strategically important resources within Zhilaseraya mean that her neutrality can only go on for so much longer, especially in a time where planets are being forced to choose a side or be destroyed by all. 


When the Void was called forth, and millions dissipeared around the galaxy, Zhilaseraya was for once affected directly. It's Czar, Czar Alezand "the Firm", a iron fisted force sensitive ruler that kept the peace, was gone. With him went several key nobles, thousands of random commoners, and even a few prominent leaders within the ethnic mountain people tribes. The main mine vein, Kholodny Seraya, was said to be haunted by demons of some sort. Panic was in the streets. Having no heirs of his own, the throne was given to the Czar's brother, Czar Mirkov "the Reluctant", a Coruscant-trained doctor working within the slums of Zhilaseraya. 


The cities were united under the new Czar, but the miner people, the Gorodsmert, leaderless and terrified of the force apparitions within the mines, unsurprisingly rose up in rebellion. And so the system was embroiled in another civil war, and just as they had always done, the loyalists succeeded in quelling the cantankerous Gorodsmert after a two year period of war. 


The neutral balance of the Czardom can not last forever. There are whispers that the rebels are infiltrating the city-dwelling society and when they next rebel they will cripple all of Zhilaseraya economically. Hungry factions look at Zhilaseraya as easy pickings for a mineral rich planet, and there is little the planet can do to stop them. The future, as always, looks grim for the Czelosmertian people and for Zhilaseraya.


02 January 2018 - 08:45 PM



A team of Czelosmertian loyalists preparing to attack anti government rebels, 845 ABY.

(Thread Theme)



  • Intent: To create an interesting human offshoot that relies totally on breathing apparatuses and medical implants to survive.
  • ​Image Credit: http://boards.4chan.org/tg/
  • Canon: No.
  • Links: N/A


  • Name: Czelosmert, pronounced Chelloshmert. (Literally, "Man-Dead.")  
  • Designation: Mina
  • Homeworld: Zhilaseraya.
  • Language: Yaziksmert (Literally, "Language-Dead.")
  • Average Lifespan: 20-30 without medical implants, 70-80 with. 
  • Estimated Population: Scattered 
  • Description: Czelosmertian people have the appearance of terminally ill patients affected by radiation poisoning. Almost all of them have no hair on their bodies and if they do it's only on their heads. They are always wearing breathing masks that are attached to their home world's carbon monoxide/nitrogen atmosphere mix. Czelosmertians are a very stoic, xenophobic race, and as a result aren't very sociable. 


  • Breathes: Highly toxic carbon monoxide/nitrogen/oxygen mix. 
  • Average height of adults: 2-3 inches shorter than average human.
  • Skin color: Pale, sallow. 
  • Hair color: Black.
  • Distinctions: Pale skin, slightly shorter on average, always wearing a breathing mask, carrying breathing tanks, usually have some kind of cyborg implants to increase longevity. 
  • Races: Gorasmert, the hardy mountain dwelling rural Czelosmertians that have descended from the miners of the original forced labor groups.
  • Gorodsmert, the city folk who have descended from the masses of forced labor factory workers. 
  • The differences between these two groups is minute, some indistinct accents that foreigners cannot pick up on and long time political disputes.
  • Strengths: Hardy, the Czelosmertian people have been through much and are unlikely to give in or quit. They can adapt to various circumstances merely because of their own will power.
  • Already Dead, Czelosmertian, while living very volatile and short lives, can withstand more damage than the average human before succumbing to their wounds.
  • By Cyborgs, For Cyborgs, Czelosmertians are adept at making cyborg implants and upgrades for human-like races.
  • Weaknesses:
  • Death Breather, Czelosmertians can only survive for 2-3 minutes in an oxygen rich environment without their breathing masks.
  • Terminal, Czelosmertians can only live a short life of 20-30 years without regular medical implants and surgery. Without these implants they are incredibly weak.
  • Xenophobic, Czelosmertians don't socialize much with outsiders, and as a result will form enclaves in other planets.


  • Diet: Relatively the same as humans, though favoring meat. 
  • Communication: Czelosmert is a mix mash of several human languages that have become one over the past millennia. 
  • Technology level: Despite having the same technology as everyone else, their home planet is in poverty and they are forced to use less technologically advanced means in day to day life. Despite this, it's not uncommon for families to maybe have a holocommunicator, or a cheap speeder, or a blaster for self defense.
  • Religion/Beliefs: None.
  • General behavior: Czelosmertians, for the most part, are a hardy race of people who work dilligently despite their short comings. They do not show emotions easily to outsiders, and are not open to talking with someone they've just met unless it is necessary for them to do so. They typically have a disdain for the ultra wealthy, and coupled with their planetary poverty will typically engage in galactic criminal activity. 


Zhilaseraya, originally known as GZT-5052 by the Empire, is an extremely resource rich planet that was once under Empire control. The Empire had never mounted a full resource extraction campaign until several local human planets in the outer rim began to rebel. In response, the Empire cracked down as swiftly as anyone had expected and detained many. Those who were found guilty of rebellion activities were sent to GZT-5052. GZT-5052 at that time was not originally as toxic as it is today. But due to the factories that were put in place there to save the Empire the money of transporting the raw materials, the planet became polluted very quickly. The cheap factories pumped out huge clouds of smog in massive number, over a quarter of the planet became a city devoted to the production of refined durasteel for the Imperial Fleet. In able to take away as many troops as possible to the planet to assist in quelling the Rebellion, the Empire installed a puppet government so that the humans there could rule over themselves.


GZT-5052 was incredibly toxic to the humans, the planet protected them poorly from the local star's radioactive rays, and began to irradiate the people below. The Empire carelessly allowed the prisoners to breed, imparting the same sentence upon their children. After the destruction of the second Death Star, the Remnants made sure places like GZT-5052 were under lock and key from Rebellion interference. The staunch resolve to keep the planet under Empire Remnant control is what doomed the Czelosmertians to their fate. Within a few generations, the radiation on the planet had weakened them greatly. They found it less bearable to breathe oxygen than the toxic air of GZT-5052. This affinity for the toxic air soon became a necessity within the next few generations. By then, they had broken away from Remnant control, the only blood being spilled having been that of the Empire puppet government on GZT-5052. The Empire Remnants never had the power to retake GZT-5052 and left them to their own devices, thinking they would devolve into chaos without them anyway.


The Czelosmertians over the centuries developed their own culture, language, and way of life. They exported massive amounts of not raw, but refined metal resources, their toxic planet seeming to have an endless supply of them. As the mortality rate due to the radiation and toxins increased, so did the medical advancements and implants that allowed them to live somewhat close to human longevity. Regardless, Czelosmertians have always seemed to suffer, as they are a chronically poor people that are always exploited by someone at the upper levels of government. 


Today, they are led by an enigmatic autocrat who rules Zhilaseraya with an iron fist, and has been waging a brutal total war against the rebels in the mountains. Despite his uncompromising strategy, the war has been going on for nearly two decades, leaving a great deal of the rural and outer lying cities wrapped up in a seemingly endless war. The Gorasmert insurgents wage an equally brutal, terroristic war, using underhanded tactics and guerrilla warfare to undermine the power of the planetary government. 


When separated from their own race, Czelosmertians become much more opportunistic, violent, and willing to commit crime. This has led to a significant minority of mercenaries, assassins, and organized crime members in the underworld to be Czelosmertian. 


Every Dog Has His Day.

14 November 2017 - 05:21 PM

Darth Metus


"Why'd I even bother with this thing?"


This aging slaver was getting too old for this kind of 'product.' He swore to himself that he'd limit himself to the less 'physically capable' species after a close encounter with an angry wookie that got out of his holding cell. At first there was the potential to sell this monstrosity, this killer of such a rare species, to a Hutt of some sort. But when the 'product' overheard this, it made the slaver a certain promise that it would do his best to uphold to him if he went along with it. Usually unphased by threats from those in captivity with no future of being free, the slaver was perturbed by this greatly, for whatever reason.


He was closing into the space port over Ryloth soon, in a short queue to dock. As he scrolled through his manifest on his holopad, he found himself repeatedly scrolling to that one certain product and mulling his decisions over. "I gotta get rid of this thing." 


He looked at the price. "10,000 credits?" He thought. "Anyone will take one look at this thing and wager he's not worth more than 2,000 for how dangerous he is." He adjusted the price down to 2k credits and updated the product's sale profile. After staring at it for a little longer, he reconsidered, and lowered it to a very generous 1 grand. "If he's not gone after this, I'm spacing him. Don't care how much I got him for." 


The slaver pressed a button on the intercom and leaned in as he observed his ship gently self-navigating into the docking bays of the space station,"X-55, lemme get 50 general servants, 50 hard labor, 20 pleasure products out in the bay ready for processing. Oh, and, uh... Put 'Nasty' in the lot with the hard labor slaves." He lifted his finger off the button and leaned back into his chair. There was a pause, then a robotic voice replied,"Affirmative, captain. Interrogative, is it wise to put that Worgian with the hard labor group? My manifest records indicate he is a--" The captain quickly leaned forward and pressed down on the intercom button again, cutting the droid off,"Just do as I say, X-55. Make sure his shock collar is operational, put a muzzle on him, bind his hands, chain his legs, and get a couple chokers on him. He'll be a hard sell, but I've done worse than him!" The droid immediately replied,"Yes, captain."


The captain hummed to himself as he took a sip from his mug, kicking his feet up as the ship entered its final docking procedure to the Rylothian space station. "These rich, fruity Confederate types won't know the difference anyhow." 





The slaver registered himself a spot to 'set up shop' on the main floor of the space station. He quite liked the security of a civilized space station, less chance for his merchandise to escape as well. Straightening out his tunic, he watched as some affluent looking Twi'leks accessed the portable holoconsoles that his droids had set up in front of his venue. He smirked to himself as he saw them scroll through some of the 'pleasure' models. "Easy money." He moved to sit at a desk placed between the two roles of consoles. As he was just settling into the chair he heard a pained bark and followed by an angered roar behind the venue. Some of the Twi'leks looked up at the slaver in a startled manner. He smiled and nodded at them, gritting his teeth as he feigned nonchalantly leaning back into his chair. He pulled his handheld communicator off his belt and angrily whispered hoarsely threw it,"X-55, I told you about the damn muzzle!"




Back behind the venue, in the dark and gloomy holding area for the slaves being sold, laid an arrangement of crates with shielded door barriers and several slots open on either side. There was a large group of slaves of various races and sexes already outside their crates and ready to be taken out into the venue, surrounded by a small security detachment. At the end of the row of crates there laid an especially thick and large crate that was surrounded by several security droids with stun batons and shock lances. One droid with a white line down the middle of its head pointed to the crate. "Security units, interrogative, ready to proceed with transportation of product: Nasty?" They all blurted out at once,"Affirmative." X-55 dropped its hand and nodded,"Proceed." 


A loud growl erupted from the darkness that permeated behind the red shield of the crate. The hulking mass of Mirvak, wearing only the rags his master allowed him, appeared before the droids. He was bound at his hands, his feet in chains, his shock collar was blinking actively, but there was no muzzle to be found. X-55 raised his hand as the droids readied their shock lances to stab through the slots on either side of the crate. "Halt! Product: Nasty, is not muzzled. Cannot be processed to holding area until it is muzzled." 


A droid walked up with a large leather muzzle, and the hair on the back of Mirvak's head and neck stood on end as he growled lowly, snarling as he spoke in a deep rumbling voice,"Lose your hand if you try that, machine." He backed away into the darkness of the crate as he finished saying this. X-55 looked to the other droids surrounding the crate and lowered his hand again,"Prosecute!"


The lances were slotted into the sides of the crate, and Mirvak's body was lit up in the darkness as blue and white arcs of light struck across his body. He let out a dry, pained bark, as his body shook violently and he fell to his knees, absorbing the shock damage as his body convulsed. He laid his head down to the floor but was very much still conscious, his arms supporting his weight as they tried in vain to pick himself up. X-55 looked down to the holopad in its hand, and with one mechanical digit it accessed Mirvak's shock collar and upped the percentage to 75 percent. The convulsing Mirvak roared in great pain and anger, raising his head, scowling so hard into X-55 he could have burned a hole in its processor. The other slaves covered their ears as the monstrosity roared. The roar was shorlty cut off by another burst of electricity that halted his lungs.


Mirvak was in so much pain he could no longer make a sound, his maw agape as he focused all his hatred on X-55, which stood there holding the device of his pain. As X-55 reached down to up the percentage again, its torso began to creak and shutter. The droid's head turned off to one side erratically, then its neck bent down at a 90 degree angle. Its chassis was crushed inward as its voice module began to call out strangely,"Prosecute-Prosecute-Prosecute-Prosekeeeeeeeuuuoooowooooo--" its head completely twisted off and fell to the ground with a clang. Its arms fell to its side and the droid crumpled inward. Mirvak lowered his head and passed out from the pain, his amateur force rage having unknowingly 'pinged' himself to other force sensitives in the area.


The droids continued to shock for a moment more, then one of them, X-54, called out,"Cease, product is incapacitated." The droids retracted their shock lances and lowered the shield on the crate. The portable communicator lit up on X-55's hip, the slaver captain whispering angrily,"X-55, I told you about the damn muzzle!" As two droids moved in to secure the muzzle over Mirvak's face, X-54 plucked the communicator from the destroyed X-55 and spoke into it. "Captain, X-55 suffered critical systems failure. This is X-54, taking command, Product: Nasty, is muzzled and ready for sell." There was a pause, then the captain replied,"All the money I put into you damn things and you still manage to blow your circuits for no reason! Well, get him in line with the other products and get him ready to be sold. I want him bumped up on the sales queue and I want him marked as a 'special deal.' Now!" The droid obediently responded,"Affirmative, captain." 


Mirvak was moved into the lot with the rest of the hard labor servants, two droids holding staffs with tight ropes around his neck on either side of him. He panted hard into his muzzle, sitting on his knees as his eyes fluttered and his head lolled from side to side.


Outside, the captain propped his head up by his hands on his desk and rubbed his temples. He had no idea that he was about to get rid of Mirvak faster than any of the Worgian's previous masters ever had.


Darth Metus

Looking for a (preferably dark) master

14 November 2017 - 12:27 PM

My character is designed for, atleast at the moment, to be under the control of someone. I'm interested in a dark side user or maybe even a criminal to buy him off the slaver who holds him currently. 


Quick TL;DR of Mirvak:



- Absolute brute monster, a creation of surviving as a pit fighter.

- Slave his entire life.

- Always a few steps away from being enraged.

- Force sensitive, but it is highly unrefined and untapped. 

- Will probably try to betray you if you don't keep an eye on him.


14 November 2017 - 11:55 AM





(Thread Theme)








NAME: Mirvak / The Wolf of the Confederacy
FACTION: The Confederacy of Independent Systems.

RANK: Acolyte.
SPECIES: Worgian.
AGE: Unknown, young adult.
SEX: Male.
FORCE SENSITIVE: Unrefined and untrained, yes.





HEIGHT: 2.5m/8'2"
WEIGHT: 243kg/535lbs
EYES: Yellow.
HAIR: Black.
SKIN: Black.
GENERAL DESCRIPTION: Mirvak is a hulking mass of a beast, his body pockmarked with scars of various types where the thick coarse fur no longer grows. He wears simple leatheris armor, but stands prouder than a Sith Lord.






+ Brute
Mirvak owes his imposing strength and physical resistance to years of slavery in barbaric pit fighting arenas that would make gladiatorial combat look like a civilized holo-opera. 
+ Frenzy
When in combat, Mirvak will give his all to destroy his enemies. Using his overpowering stature and strength, he “loses himself” to more baser instincts, a Worgian self-defense mechanism that he has honed quite efficiently. In this state, he ignores greater amounts of pain and is not likely to rout from a battle.


+ Despicable Monster

The giant black embodiment of dark side rage can terrify the uninitiated quite easily.


+ Cunning
While not educated in the slightest, Mirvak possesses a dark, bestial wit.
- Easily Manipulated
Mirvak is easily strung up by even the most amateur of puppet masters. Despite his innate hatred for those who control him, he is predictably loyal if his masters have an enemy for him to dispatch. 


- Massive

Mirvak is incredibly huge, and as a result is a larger target, cannot hide except in total darkness, and moves slower than most.
- Blind Rage
Worgians by nature are already prone to being flung into a fit of rage if provoked, Mirvak has had to use this natural instinct to survive on so many occasions in the pits that the switch is always just a chin hair away from being flicked. Pain, humiliation, the risk of failure, and desperation can easily set him into this state. When in this state, the lines between friend and foe can become fuzzy. Not to mention his attacks, while much stronger, are completely uncoordinated and rely on just that, strength, and nothing else.
- Self-preserving
Don't expect Mirvak to stick his neck out for you. While he's no stranger to pain or defeat, if his survival means leaving you behind, he will unless given further incentive.
- Detests Blasters
Mirvak is terrible with a blaster.

- Uneducated
Mirvak is generally not aware of how to operate most computers, machinery, space craft, etc.
Hates Servitude
Mirvak will, if he senses weakness in his master, strike and attempt to take their place by any means necessary.


Dislikes Hutts
Having been made into the monster that he is today as result of a Hutt who owned him, he despises Hutts.










Ungrateful Slave


Sentenced to the Pits


Lost to the Beast