Obsidian
Character
FACTION: Independent
RANK: None
SPECIES: Nanomachine Gestalt Consciousness infused within a Growth Decelerated Human Clone host body
AGE: Appears in his mid to late twenties
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: Approx. 6ft 6in
WEIGHT: Approx. 150lb
EYES: Void Black
HAIR: Raven Black
SKIN: Sickly Pale
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes Please
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STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES (Required: 2 Weaknesses Minimum):
Arrogance (Weakness): He has an unquestioning confidence in the inferiority of the great majority of those who he sees before him. While he is quite aware of his shortcomings, he tends to only realise he had underestimated his opponent after the fact. His overreliance on his philosophy that all sentient beings are self-serving makes him unable to adapt to presumed illogical actions and activities.
Combat capabilities (Strength): As a self-declared nobleman, he is well versed in the use and maintenance (at least in theory) of most all conventional weapons from vibroblades and blasters through to armoured vehicles and capital ship weaponry. His close quarter combat relies on a single handed blade that resembles several different forms of fencing that emphasises less on slashes and overemphasised swings and instead quick series of thrusts and parries. His marksmanship is steady and accurate when he is provided with room to breathe. This sport-like approach to combat makes him ill-suited to real combat and so sees him easily bested by an experienced warrior.
Cowardice (Weakness): Due in part to his personal distaste for personal combat (he considers his marksmanship and swordsmanship to be akin more along the lines of equestrian sports befitting a noble lineage) he often is the last to enter a scene of combat and almost always the first to leave. When possible, he is always ready to use others to shield his escape, believing his life to be valued far higher than the ‘lesser’ beings. In case of ship-to-ship combat, perhaps because of the detached nature of the conflict, he appears to be less inclined to escape, though it is a highly relative term.
Nanomachine infested blood (Strength): A part of memory transfer technology developed in centuries past by a group of scientists working for the Benefactor, they sought to create an immortal shell to house the consciousness of their Liege Lord. Amongst their various experiments that ranged from chemical induced memory transfer of brainwaves to the mechanisation of the body and eventually the brain, the nanomachine technology was arguably their most bizarre. Needless to say, that their efforts were like always, a half failure.
The nanomachines were driven by a gestalt consciousness, a central memory core that stored the standard template of what was believed to be the best of health of the host body at the time. While this was supposed to provide the host body spectacular regenerative properties, eternal youth and eternal life of good health, the reality was far darker than the sadistic scientists had bargained for. It literally destroyed the growth of new cells, slowly replacing them with a “template” substance that was “supposed” to be there. The continuous growth and development of a human body was stifled to the point of literally tearing the host body apart and reconstructing it.
Another side effect was the sheer amount of energy required to fuel the colony of nanomachines. While they reduced the energy costs to a bare minimum, the result was the host was leeched of all heat it could produce and sometimes, even that was not enough. The Host body is always generating cold by leeching the heat from the surrounding atmosphere. As a separate side effect, this leaves the host perpetually hungry for more energy sources.
The nanomachines formed a black tar-like viscous blood, draining the life out of the skin. Combined with the coldness of the body, the host looked like it was clinically dead. The heart formed the primary nexus for the nanomachine system, connecting it to the brain through the blood vessels.
Because the nanomachines are connected so closely to the individual tissues and cells of the body, they are capable of boosting the capabilities of the body to perform temporary feats of great strength. However, such straining of the body tends to destroy the hyper-strengthened limbs forcing the nanomachines to leech more power to reconstruct the damaged parts of the body, more than likely debilitating the host for extended periods of time.
Finally, due to the body reconstructing itself at even the slightest malfunction incurred by the host, the nanomachines have noticed and disabled the anomaly that is the sense of pain. Unable to feel pain, but register the nervous system reaching a specific threshold, the host is unable to realise to what extent the pain inducing injury would be unless he visually confirms. A luxury not always available to a man injured.
Partial Amnesia (Wekness): He has lost his memories due to a failed memory upload. He has sufficient knowledge to live in the wider galaxy, however, what he did, who he was and all matters pertaining to his abilities and contacts is a patchwork of short sequences and highly incomplete memories. Whilst he may be able to stitch together his memories into something more useful given time, it is expected to take a while.
APPEARANCE:
Tall, lean, deathly gaunt and a miracle of medical achievements. There are many ways to describe the individual. He often wears wears a black military dress uniform with a black tie and black trench coat, black leather cavalier jackboots and white collared shirt and matching white gloves.
He often carries an ornate silvery metallic cane-sword that can be carried like a sceptre or used as a cane. From the tip to the head of the cane, features four bat-winged serpents intertwining around each other, holding aloft an orb with a clockwork pentacle engraved on the surface of its upper hemisphere. The cane itself looks like a Caduceus in the way the bat-winged serpents have their wings outstretched at equidistant 90 degree angles from each other with the orb at the centre looking at it from the top. A single button at the base of the orb in between the bodies of the serpents releases the catch and allows the vibroblade out of its sheathe, the wings turning into an intricate guard of the rapier, the orb acting as its pommel and the serpents themselves as the grip.
As his primary sidearm, he possesses a heavily modified, but equally feared and highly illegal Mer-Sonn Model MSD-32 Disruptor Pistol. At an optimal range of two meters and a maximum range of eight meters, the sidearm is clearly designed to be a close quarter weapon to be used in conjunction with the cane-sword after all options of utilising minions have been exhausted. Depending on the mode of fire utilised, the weapon has either two or ten shots of disintegrating death per powerpack.
One last accessory of his is his ceremonial flechette pistol. The Malaxan Firepower Incorporated, FWG-5 flechette pistol. The flechette pistol of his is a miniaturised version of a larger weapon designed to throw shrapnel over long distances at a target. It is a brutal weapon with the power equivalent of a heavy blaster bolt. Unlike the practical look of his primary sidearm, the flechette pistol is adorned with the silvery winged serpents feature in the design, the barrel forming its mouth. Despite its ceremonial intentions and its rare usage by its current owner, it remains a potent and functional weapon.
BIOGRAPHY:
Nearly two thousand five hundred years before a lowly moisture farmer was projected to galactic fame in a single genocidal act of terrorism over the insignificant outer rim world of Yavin, around thirty three centuries prior to the current galaxy, there lived a man who poisoned his own father, incited his rival conglomerates to send assassins after them, and orchestrated the death of his two elder brothers. This merchant lord, this new patriarch galvanised his remaining clansmen on his home world of Coruscant, silenced the security forces and under the nose of the ever watchful Jedi Order proceeded to unravel the fabric of every major corporation that was a native of Coruscant and had less than flattering relationships with their own.
The House of Roktar called their new patriarch as Azurael, a heartless man whose only directive in this life was power and wealth.
But all things must come to an end. Life is not eternal and youth but a fleeting frame in a long stream of footage. Azurael, with his indomitable greed and ambition could not bear his aging body and his offspring lived in fear of his domineering personality. In thirty years, he had established a commercial empire that spanned the known galaxy, handling goods and services from weapons manufacturing to pharmaceuticals, from energy grids to hydroponic farms, whatever had potential to profit, the Roktar clan invested and reaped.
After the age of fifty, Azurael turned his entire enterprise and that of his family inwards. They retreated from the competitions in the greater galaxy and liquidated their assets, only leaving scientists in the research and development departments in their employ. On Coruscant, they conducted experiments, they purchased exotic beasts and they imported cloning cylinders hiring various masters of the technology. For over thirty years, until the day of Azurael’s death, they sought a new technological breakthrough to extend their patriarch’s life. What they obtained was not perfect, but sufficed to extend the lives of their memories. Clone bodies with the memory of their predecessors. But not just any clone bodies, growth decelerated bodies. They succeeded in the creation of two.
The first they named Moonstone, the second Obsidian.
The scientists themselves could not preserve their own lives, the process too inefficient, too expensive. They on the other hand succeeded in the creation of five clones with the knowledge of their respective specialisations preserved intact. Not the clone of any specific individual, but a database of knowledge in a human shell. These clones were growth accelerated unlike their charges and so were grown simultaneously with varying rates of growth to allow for the eventual normalisation of their lifespan into that of around fifty to a hundred years.
As for the rest of Azurael’s clansmen, when their patriarch died in his eighties, there was nigh no one else to remember or recall his past crimes even if they knew. He promised to return reinvigorated and in full command of his clan for the rest of eternity and while his sons were sceptical, such was their fear of their patriarch that they dared not undermine their father’s last will and testament. They continued to re-expand the commercial empire he had folded back and while never as competitive as the more galaxy wide mega-conglomerates of historical fame, they maintained a hefty fortune and a prime locale at the centre of government. They married, they bred, and they established a dynasty of their own.
Eventually, as the generations passed, the guardians of the two foetuses began to show signs of clone madness. The five began to refer to themselves as the “Guardian Lords” of the two “Immortals”, hidden away deep in the depths of Coruscant’s lowest levels, their only guests the increasingly reverent clansmen of the Roktar clan that had also degenerated to cultists paying tribute to the five, almost ecclesiastical, caretakers.
Five hundred years had passed since the death of Azurael Roktar, and the time to release the pair had finally come. The regents of the House Roktar, alongside the five Lords released the pair and worshipped them as living gods. Moonstone and Obsidian looked to each other as brothers and while the former admonished them for their foolishness, the latter secretly goaded on their behaviour but with equal (albeit hidden) disdain.
Had Moonstone survived his first five centuries out of the cloning vats, perhaps he would have been able to undo the curse of the clone madness afflicting his servants, but alas, destiny was not to be so kind. As the firstborn, he was a prototype and as is the fate of most prototypes, he was not a perfected model. His body deteriorated after so long in existence and he began to rot away. The least his “Guardians” could do was look on in abject terror as the idol of worship began to deform and degenerate. As a final act of filial kindness, Obsidian silenced his elder “brother” and took absolute control of his new powerbase.
Centuries passed. Phanius resigned his commission as a Jedi Master, a Darth Ruin rose to prominence, a new Sith war was declared and a thousand years of war blighted the Galaxy. Azurael’s already twisted cynical memories corrupted the mind of Obsidian as he aged one human biological year a century. He travelled the war-torn galaxy selling goods and services to his clientele both Sith and Jedi and Republic. He witnessed the vanity of the Jedi Lords, the hedonism of Sith Lords and the corruption of the Republic mired in bureaucracy. But he did not wish to change the status quo. To him, this was reality and only mortals, manipulated by an eternal observer were to touch it.
He collected Sith relics and Jedi artefacts, he gathered the archives of entire worlds as compensation for his services. He invested in Sith undertakings when they were torn asunder and he bolstered the Jedi armies with hired volunteers when he saw them falter. Whoever was willing to perpetuate the war, whoever would lengthen the conflict, the Benefactor would provide.
But then, the war ended. The Sith once again was the cause of their own undoing. They self-destructed and left a tattered Jedi order victorious. Obsidian was left with nothing to do. The mortal descendants of his original continued to earn him the financial means to influence this galaxy but he was left with nothing to do. So he returned to Coruscant and wasted away his days, until one day, his wealth and power earned him the attention of an order of the rich and privileged, with too much time and money on their hands. As a hobby, he joined the Order of the Canted Circle.
Centuries passed once more, Obsidian would organise minor racial conflicts or civil strife to pass the time, his scientists would continue to develop the cloning technology to make his back-up bodies more efficient, more perfect, more truly immortal. He was waiting for that time when he would become perfection itself and he would reign over the Galaxy as a passive observer for all eternity. But they never reached that dream of perfection he sought.
That was, until one fateful night, when the Canted Circle was almost destroyed by a pair of dark side adepts. They called themselves Sith and they laid bare the minor rituals the Order of the Canted Circle indulged in as but parlour tricks. Plagueis and Sidious, a Muun and a Naboo Human. Sidious and Obsidian would in the years to come forge a strong bond of friendship and servitude. Obsidian did not care much for what Sidious wanted, but it was something to pass the time.
Obsidian never revealed himself to the public eye, he only allowed his scientists and resources to aid whatever his eventual Emperor wished. Like the Sith and the Jedi and the Republic nobility in the New Sith Wars, the Emperor and his subjects became the newest “clients”. Like most clients whose ambitions take them far, Obsidian witnessed the fall of this mortal as well. To be precise, twice.
Retreating from his primary base of Coruscant, which soon fell to the Rebels, Obsidian retired to the remote mountains on Commenor. There he intended to lie low until the next client crossed paths. But it was not to be so. Obsidian’s body was destroyed and only his consciousness was left in the newest technology his scientists developed to store his memories, the nanomachines.
For centuries, this failsafe refused to activate. For nearly eight hundred years, the Obsidian Lord disappeared. His minions and powerbase scattered. The error in programming meant that his memories became fragmented.
And so, Obsidian, would not awaken.
Thus begins this tale, a man whose only goal is to live forever, whose only directive for now is to regain his fragmented memories and re-establish his powerbase so to passively observe and be amused by the act of mortals. For the path of immortality is long and without a doubt, futile effort. But this long-lived mortal need not know the inconvenient certainty that nothing lives forever...and thats another story.
SHIP:
Modified Carrack class Light Cruiser, Deus Ex Machina – Perhaps an escape vessel hidden away under the mountain fortress that served as the Benefactor’s castle estate, this light cruiser, known for its speed and firepower will serve as his new mobile base of operations. In light of this, the Benefactor has seen fit to rename it into the same name as his previous mobile seat of power.
Modified VT-49 Decimator, Oculus Deus – Modified to literally dock into the frame of the above mentioned Carrack class Light Cruiser, this powerful freighter sized vessel serves as the personal sanctum of the Obsidian Lord as well as his escape vessel from a doomed escape vessel in cases of emergencies in times of emergencies. It can also serve as a surface-to-orbit shuttle in circumstances where a whole light cruiser may not be welcome or diplomatic to land in.
Four modified I-7 Howlrunners, Custodis Immortalis – The rebels in the Galactic Civil War in the centuries past, proved the power of single-man starfighters in times of conflict. In addition, they proved the ineffectiveness of many of the warships of the day to deal with these small crafts. To this end, to not only defend against hostile starfighters, but also perhaps to serve as a better escape vessel in case of dire emergencies in times of emergencies in time of emergencies, the Obsidian Lord had deemed it prudent to house four hyperdrive equipped Howlrunners collectively known as the Guardians, perhaps as a reference to the misguided fools who served as his caretakers when he was but a foetus. Regardless, the launch of the four starfighters from hidden armoured compartments and the Oculus Deus simultaneously from a doomed Deus Ex Machina would increase the chance of the right vessel with the Benefactor on-board escape…or so the theory goes.
KILLS:
No PC Kills to date. Does he look like he can kill someone to you?...okay....I get your point.
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
No Bounties claimed to date. Does he look like a Bounty Hunter to you?
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ROLE-PLAYS:
Oculus Serpentis, the Awakening
