Character
| Age | Twenty |
| Species | Rattataki |
| Gender | Female |
| Height | 1.78m (5’10”) |
| Weight | 75kg (165 lbs) |
| Force Sensitive | Yes |
Nuhura has a strong and striking presence that commands attention. Her pale alabaster skin is smooth and her face is unblemished except for the deep dusky blue tattoos she applied herself after her fourth major arena victory. These markings are bold and symmetrical—three sharp lines rise from the center of her brow toward her scalp like arrowheads, while two curved streaks follow the natural shape of her cheekbones.
The markings were applied after she learnt more about her cultural heritage and how fierce warriors often had unique tattoos on their face. Her cheeks are fuller and rounder than most Rattataki, giving her face a softer shape compared to the typically sharp and angular bone structure of her kin. This difference makes her stand out even more, blending a natural smoothness with the hard edges of her warrior-like markings.
Her eyes are a deep, darker shade of blue and is typically focused and curious, as though she is studying everything in front of her. The colour is rich and stands out well to contrast with the white of her skin. Around her eyes, smudged dark shades of pigment not unlike that of her tattoos, creates the effect of shadows, making them look even deeper, as though they have seen and absorbed more than they let on.
Her lips are full and firm without being overpowering and are painted the same dusky blue as the rest of tattoos and makeup on her. She is bald like all Rattataki and is devoid of any hair at all anywhere on her body. Nuhura’s physique has been shaped by the demands of survival in the fighting pits.
Although her frame is not bulky, from her toned shoulders to upper arms there is a visible sign of defined muscles from one who has fought, endured and survived. Her chest is full but firm with muscles built on with rigorous training, intense combat and pure survival. Her lower half is equally just as fit with hips that are sturdy and powerful thighs thick but not bulky—shaped by years of movement, by running, leaping, and driving force through her legs in combat.
Born into slavery and raised in environments where weakness was exploited, she learned early on that power—whether physical, mental, or social—is the only true currency in the galaxy. Nuhura is passionate and highly driven not just by her own survival but also by an inner fire that refuses to be extinguished. It pushes her to want to carve her own path in the galaxy.
Most of her life had been under the palm of so many others that she now strongly desired to make her own choices, both good and bad, and decide her own path in life. She refuses to be defined by the chains of her past and meets every challenge with a bold, almost reckless determination. Fear does not hold her under its grip—she thrives in battle, in adversity, in the thrill of proving herself against all odds. Nuhura also has a dry sense of humour, and despises those who give up or back down too easily. To give up too easily would be to lack strength and be weak, as she sees power as a necessity in the galaxy.
She values and recognises that strength comes in many forms—not just physical might but also mental and social strength. Her passions run deep, fueling both her ambition and her ability to connect with those who earn her respect. Nuhura views blind trust as a dangerous vulnerability. While she may be slow to trust, once loyalty is given, she is fiercely committed. She does not do things halfway; she fights, loves, and seeks power with the full force of her being. Nuhura does not tolerate betrayal or weakness, and she has little patience for incompetence or those who expect to rely on her without proving their worth, for that was the way she had survived the hardships in her life.
Unwavering Courage
Fear is not a big factor in her decision-making process. She does not hesitate in the face of superior opposition or retreat when the odds are stacked against her. This fearlessness, combined with her exceptional combat prowess, makes her particularly dangerous in unpredictable combat situations.
High Speed Combat Prowess
Despite lacking the typical physique one might think of as a warrior, she is a highly skilled combatant. Her style prioritizes precision, speed, and psychological warfare over brute strength. She is also faster than most people realise and engages in barrages of blows that leaves them too busy defending to go onto the offence. She is particularly effective against larger or more traditional opponents who favour brute strength, using speed, agility and misdirection to turn fights in her favor.
Burning Passion and Determination
Everything Nuhura does, she does with an inner burning intensity. She fights not just to survive, but to prove herself and to constantly push her own limits. She is not content with complacency and continuously seeks to improve on her skills and techniques, making her a deadly whirlwind of force in battle.
Exceptional Pain Tolerance
Due to her past experiences, she has developed a high threshold for pain. Physical suffering does not easily deter her, and she is capable of withstanding extreme physical pain and psychological stress without breaking. This means that she does not easily succumb to psychological pressure, making her highly resistant to intimidation or coercion.
Temperamental Volatility
Although she usually trains to maintain an air of composure, she has a deep, simmering temper that can surface when provoked. When provoked—especially when her intelligence is insulted or her past is used against her—she can become reckless and aggressive, sometimes leading to unnecessary confrontations.
Difficulty Accepting Help
Due to her independent nature and cynical world view of others due to past experiences, she struggles with accepting assistance, even when it would benefit her. She would rather suffer through a challenge alone than risk owing anyone a debt or appearing vulnerable.
Struggles with Authority
Nuhura does not respond well to traditional hierarchical structures, especially when orders come from individuals she does not respect. She refuses to follow commands blindly and often challenges authority figures if she perceives them as weak, incompetent, or undeserving of their position.
Unforgiving Grudgebearer
Nuhura does not easily forgive those who have wronged her. If she perceives someone as a traitor, a coward, or an obstacle, she rarely gives them a second chance. Those find themselves on a permanent list of enemies. This unwillingness to let go of past grievances can often lead to unnecessary conflicts that lead to wasted time or energy that could be productively used elsewhere.
Nuhura did not remember the faces of her parents or the sound of their voices. Her earliest memories were of a Twi’lek slaver, an old man with cold, unfeeling eyes. His grip on her wrist was so tight it left dark bruises, and his lekku twitched in irritation whenever she moved too slowly. He never called her by any name, only "girl" or "whelp," as though she were nothing more than a stray animal to be sold. Day after day, he paraded her before potential buyers, forcing her to stand straight, eyes down, body still. Obedience was the way to avoid any beatings, and she learned that quickly. The routine continued on daily, a cycle of punishment until, at last, he finally managed to sell her off.
She was passed from owner to owner more times than she could count. Each new master brought new rules, new punishments. She was beaten when she was too slow, too weak, too defiant. She was fed just enough to keep her alive, allowed just enough rest to keep her useful. Some masters wanted obedience. Others wanted fear. All of them wanted control. When she grew older and taller, she was sold again—this time to the fighting pits. There was no explanation, no farewell, only to be woken up violently and shoved into a transport cell crammed with others who shared her fate. The air was thick and suffocating with the familiar stench of filth and unwashed bodies. Some whimpered softly while others sat in silence and clutched their knees.
Somewhere in the dark, a trembling voice spoke out a prayer. Another rougher voice answered. "Won’t do you any good. The only gods in the pits are the ones with credits in their pockets."
After that, there were no more words. Just silence for the rest of the journey. When the transport finally stopped, she was herded out alongside the others. The first time she saw the arena, she did not understand what it was. Large gates clanged shut behind them, sealing their fate. Three hulking Weequay handlers wielding stun batons barked orders, dragging them through dimly lit tunnels that reeked once more of filth and pungent unwashed bodies, this time with the odour of blood, both dried and fresh, added into the mix. Cells lined the passageways, packed with slaves of all species eyeing out the new arrivals.
Moans and groans periodically drifted through the air, the sound of suffering never too far away from anyone. She was shoved into a chamber where other children gathered, their bodies thin and frail, just like the lot of them. There were no greetings, no words exchanged. Only fear and apprehension.
They were given wooden clubs and ordered to fight each other. The overseers did not shout or scold. They only waited for one to fall. She lost her first fight and several after that. But in the training pits, failure was just another lesson. Every bruise, every broken bone, every moment spent gasping on the dirt taught her something new. How to brace for impact. How to strike faster. How to ignore pain. The smartest among them understood that this was the time to learn—because soon, they would be thrown into the real fights with deadlier opponents, where losing meant dying. In the arena, there was no second chance, no mercy. The sands in the fighting pits drank well, frequently turning dark with the colour of dried blood.
The overseers made sure they understood, forcing them to watch these battles—the future that awaited them once they were old enough. If they were weak, they were worthless. And the worthless did not last. Pain became her teacher, and she learnt well. She watched, learnt and adapted. Nuhura was no longer just surviving, she was now learning how to win. She grew stronger, muscles hardening up under relentless training. She had long moved on to real fights by now, and her victories continued to rack up.
She now caught the eye of wealthy patrons who placed hefty bets on her, and offered her gifts to keep her strong and winning. Nuhura learnt how to make the crowds love her and as the bets came in, so did the flow of credits. A new name had been bestowed upon her, one that the crowd absolutely loved. The Pale Phantom. Ask any fan and they would tell you that was because of how fast and agile she was in combat. The day finally came and she earned enough to buy herself from slavery. For the first time in her life, Nuhura was no longer a slave. She had freed herself of her chains, and was now realised what power was.
Power was control, and for the first time in her life, she had it.
She craved it. She needed it. And she would stop at nothing to have more.
