Krrowv

[Krrowv]

INFJ[/URL][/FONT][/SIZE]
ORIENTATION: Heterosexual
PARENTS: Deceased
SIBLINGS: Four (Deceased)
MARITAL STATUS: Widower
SPOUSE: Mr'oia (Deceased)
CHILDREN: Two (Deceased)

STRENGTHS

Strength at Arms:
Togorians are large, tough, mighty creatures, and Krrowv's harsh lifestyle has made him more so than most. Surprisingly swift for his size, he can cross the distance to an enemy in a few leaping bounds. The strength of his huge hands is enough to crush skulls, and his claws are razor-sharp, but he seldom relies on natural weapons. His sc'rath, the traditional blade of his people, is exceptionally deadly in his hands, driven by the talent of a natural swordsman and honed by years of brutal practice.

Honed Alertness:
Krrowv's natural senses are far beyond those of a human. He can see further with less light, hear higher frequencies and smaller disturbances at a greater distance, and pick up nuances of smell which most species can only imagine. These senses make him extremely difficult to surprise or sneak up on. Naturally suspicious and made cynical by his difficult life, Krrowv always expects things to go wrong - and is always ready with a backup plan when they do.





WEAKNESSES

Scars Inside and Out:
Krrowv has taken a lot of physical abuse during his life, and he has the scars to prove it. His fur is broken in places by poorly-healed blaster burns and vibroblade cuts. The cruel barbs of the electo-lash have left their marks as well. Blows that strike this scar tissue cause him tremendous pain, giving clever and dirty fighters an advantage against him. All this is to say nothing of his mental scars; Krrowv has buried his children with his own hands.

Bulk and Inexperience:
Krrowv's large size has its benefits in combat, but it also has its drawbacks. He can never blend into a crowd, and finds it difficult to hide effectively. Many devices, such as starfighter cockpits, are simply not designed to accommodate someone as large as he is. Because so much technology is not sized for him, Krrowv lacks experience with much of it. He can lock down a damaged stabilizer, but the finer points of datapad use are far, far beyond him.


APPEARANCE
Krrowv is a little above average height for a Togorian male, with broad, powerfully-muscled shoulders and a tight, wiry chest. His fur is not quite midnight black, with hints of grey where age is beginning to creep in. His eyes are an intent yellow, keen and perceptive. Despite his well-built form and obvious strength, there are signs that even the notoriously dense Togorian bone tissue has not entirely protected him from injury; twisted pink-white lines of scar tissue run across his chest, back, and hands, ugly reminders of oppression.

Krrowv favors thick, durable clothing that provides some protection but doesn't get in his way. He favors leatheris vests and trousers, leaving his arms and feet free to utilize their full range of motion. He tends to wear dark colors, which blend well with his fur, and tries to keep the worst of his scars covered. He often travels armed, whether with a blaster rifle slung across his back or his people's traditional sc'rath sword thrust through his belt. He can be a menacing presence, looming over his foes, but can also be surprisingly gentle.

BIOGRAPHY
Krrowv is old enough to vividly remember Togoria before it burned. Born at the tail end of the 800-year darkness, he was - like many of his people - blissfully ignorant of the turmoil beyond his homeworld. During the galactic chaos that had resulted from the Gulag Plague, the Togorians had quietly continued their traditional way of life. The males hunted, the females built, and everything had its place. Krrowv roamed the planet's forests, hunting the native beasts in a manner that had not significantly changed in millennia.

In time, the young Togorian took a mate, Mr'oia. Though their traditional lifestyles meant they lived together for only a month out of each year, they were devoted to each other, and kept in close contact as one hunted and the other herded. Years of quiet love went by, and Mr'oia bore two children, Sr'oren and Hselle. Krrowv loved his children dearly, and even as he continued to hunt he spent much of his time near home in order to be close to them. A daughter and a son, his pride and joy and future. They were ten and eight when the Sith first came.

The Togorians had always been a fierce people, unwilling to bend before any outside force. But the Dark Lords Kaine Zambrano and Darth Hauntruss were not concerned with conquest on that first bloody assault. They simply killed and killed and killed. Untold thousands died by their command, their blood spilled for a dark ritual that none of its victims understood. Krrowv and his family managed to escape the carnage, learning the full extent of what had happened only when it had ended. Many of his friends, fellow hunters and littermates, were not so lucky.

Krrowv was struck by the utter senselessness of the attack. It had been unprovoked, committed for reasons he could not begin to fathom. He held his mate and children close and thanked whatever power was listening that they had been spared from this horror, this event which he never expected to be surpassed in his nightmares. Unfortunately, such expectations were utterly wrong. Only a few years later, as his children grew into adolescence and life on Togoria began to return to something approaching normal, the dark armies and infinite fleets of the Sith returned.

There did not seem to be rhyme or reason to the violence this time, either, though the enemy was clearly bent on conquest. Krrowv and his fellow hunters lay in wait wherever they could, ambushing Sith soldiers and ripping them apart without mercy, but their actions were only drops of rain against a planet-wide inferno. The armies of the Sith killed and burned indiscriminately, butchering the Togorians without remorse or pity. And when there was almost nothing left to burn, when a population of millions had been reduced to a few hundred thousand, they turned slaver.

They had already killed his children. Krrowv discovered this when he returned to the family's camp and found it burned to nothing. The fight went out of him as he clutched their charred bodies and felt his heart grow cold and empty. When the Sith made their second pass, they rounded him up easily, slapped a collar and shackles on him, and shipped him off into orbit. Krrowv could not bring himself to cry for Togoria as the world's forests withered to ash on the wind beneath the fires of orbital bombardment. He had no tears left to shed; his world was dead to him already.

They put him and the others they had spared to work in the mines, stripping away the resources that had lurked beneath the pristine woodlands. Time passed with mindless, back-breaking work, and even though he wished it, Krrowv found himself unable to die. Some part of him was driven to survive, to keep living no matter what was done to him, and he couldn't turn it off. His one shred of hope was that his mate had somehow survived, but he believed it to be a fool's hope. And yet it was answered, one day deep in the tunnels, when by chance he met Mr'oia's beautiful eyes.

Some small ember in his heart rekindled then, and his survival instinct began to make sense again. The two of them could never be the same, but perhaps they could find each other again despite that. When the planet came under attack by the forces of the Mandalorians and the Republic, when that liberation army began to win, he felt a surge of hope. Life had broken him, but perhaps he could make something out of the pieces. When the Sith were driven away, he was among the first freed from the mines, and stayed to help free the others. That reunion he'd prayed for came to pass.

For the Mandalorians and Republic, the battle showed that the Sith could be defeated. For the Togorian people, it was a pyrrhic victory at best. Togoria was a wasteland. The creatures they had hunted and herded were all but extinct. The taint of the dark side lay so heavily over the planet that even those who were not sensitive to the Force could feel a malaise in the air. But Togorians had always been stubborn, and they refused to admit defeat. Bit by bit they began to rebuild their city at Caross, and Krrowv and Mr'oia were leaders in that effort.

That was why he was away when the Sith came back. He had left Togoria, had gone to Republic space seeking financial aid and building materials, when he heard of the new invasion. Dread mingled with disbelief in his heart. Had they not suffered enough? He listened with horror to the tales of New Caross, the work camp where the last of his people had been imprisoned, and knew that Mr'oia must be among them. The Republic, powerless to even hold back the Sith much of the time, could do nothing. And so he turned to the criminal underworld for hope.

Many smugglers and crime bosses claimed to Krrowv's face that they could rescue a person from New Caross. They would do it for a favor - his services as a bodyguard, a man's legs broken, a rival's cargo stolen - or a vast amount of credits. Invariably they lied. Krrowv was new to deceit then, and easily fooled in his desperation. He soon found himself ensnared in a web of impossible debts, trying to juggle the wrath of a dozen lenders and stay alive long enough to achieve his purpose. He learned much about the underworld by the end, but by then it was far too late.

When the One Sith fell, divided among dozens of warlords, contingency plans went into effect. The Togorian inmates of New Caross had never been intended to survive; their punishment, their slow deaths by starvation and exhaustion, had been the camp's purpose far more than any material contribution to the Empire. And when the servants of Darth Carnifex left Togoria behind, withdrawing to consolidate their power, the star destroyer Hammer ended its long vigil over the prison by bombarding it to another ashen speck on the planet's surface. There were no survivors.

Now there was truly nothing for Krrowv to live for. His family was gone. His world was gone. He was among the last of his kind, a proud people that would soon vanish, little more than a footnote in the history books. And yet his drive to survive did not abate. It dragged his tired mind and body onward, forced him to focus on the situation at hand. In order to keep living, to keep the vicious swindlers he owed from carving him up, he would have to find the credits to pay his pointless debts. And so he put his new underworld skills and empty heart to work.

 

[Krrowv]

RESERVED