Sankt Yora
The Lady Vicar
ALIAS/NICKNAME: The Lady Vicar
TITLE(S):
Princess of House Shuixin
Vicar of the Forgotten Truth
Executive Director of Offworld Exports
FACTION: New Republic
RANK: Senator
SPECIES: Falleen
AGE: 78
SEX: Female
HEIGHT: 1.47m
WEIGHT: 63 kg
EYES: Onyx
HAIR: Burnt Brown
SKIN: Pale green
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:
+Pore it On - As many Falleen, she can secrete a pheromone through her pores that renders flesh and blood beings in her presence more susceptible to her suggestions.
+Beguile and Enchant - She is a charming and charismatic persona, and tends to amass followers who are either intrigued or charmed by her words, her deeds or her persuasion.
+Faithful Devotee - She is a faithful believer of the Lost Ones, the gods of the Primeval religion. This gives her purpose beyond life itself, a greater calling than her own mortal desires and dreams. She does not publicly display her faith.
+/-Vessel of Balagoth -She is called the Vicar of the Forgotten Truth, and believes she is a vessel of Balagoth, one of the Lost Ones of the Primeval religion. As an executor of his will, she is driven by what she interprets as sign and messages from Balagoth.
+/-Sharp Claws, Sharper Memory - She has near-perfect memory recall, allowing her to relive the events of yesteryear as if they were only just past. This is just as much a blessing as a curse, as painful memories are just as easy to remember as joyous ones, leaving her unable to block anything out.
-Deathly Benevolence - Those souls that are chosen by her to service Balagoth generally find themselves wrapped in her god's cold embrace in the end, delivered unto Death once their service is complete.
-Trappings of Duty - She acts out of a sense of purpose given to her by Balagoth, a duty no one can understand but her. She often passes up opportunities or her own ambitions over the course of this duty, which can leave her feeling unfulfilled.
-Trickery is No Substitute - Although Force Sensitive, she is trained only by readings and self-experimentation. She instead relies on her meager powers and pheromones, as well as more mundane qualities, to deal with threats.
APPEARANCE:
A blue-green Falleen of an average height of 1.47 meters, Sankt Yora is a hawkish female who can deliver a piercing gaze from her onyx black eyes. Her skin is soft and well-pampered, befitting someone of her rank. Her ears are tipped with a sharp peak, giving her an elvish look. Her burnt brown hair is worn long, often tied back behind her head excepting formal occasions. Her attire is regal, formal robes trimmed in woven gold embroidery, cut to make the Lady Vicar appear larger than life. She stands out of a crowd, namely due to her insistence that acolytes and lieutenants wear more plain attire
BIOGRAPHY:
Sankt Yora, hatched as Yoru, was part of the second brood of Prince Zurix's fourth mate, Sitzen, born a few decades after the final outbreaks of the Gulag Plague. A small and weak hatchling, Yoru was called the runt of the litter, and was not expected to survive to her first skin-shedding. Despite defying their expectations, Yoru was never given much credence as a member of the family, and albeit the family's wealth she was given only the last scraps of attention, the last hour of tutoring, the last meal at dinnertime. She grew quiet and sullen, not yet understanding the natural order of things, but already knowing that the universe was cosmically unfair.
The Shuixin Clan was, like their fellow Falleen brood, a player in the larger game of ever-shifting Falleen politics. At a crucial point in their dealings, it became clear that the normal payments of currency, good will or material goods were not enough to gain the political favor they so desired. Thus, it was decided to take more drastic measures, as even among the Falleen nobility it was rare for a child to be traded as a commodity outside of marriage arrangements. Unable to offer the weak offspring as a potential mate, Yoru was offered as a trade on top of a small pile of riches, and was separated from her family nest at a young age.
Her childhood mainly consisted of a series of new owners, akin to foster homes for the Falleen broodling. Eventually, even Falleen clans grew tired of her, and her owners shifted to mercenaries, freighter crews, traders, anyone who might find a use for the reptilian girl. This marked the stages of her childhood more distinctly than the passing of years, her fierce memory storing the identities and treatment of all the owners in this period so well, that even years later she could recall the order and timing of the trades.
During the tenure of a freighter captain named Nexton, Yoru arrived with his ship and crew on the world of Tuulab, a last-ditch effort to resupply their vessel before it ran out of fuel. It was here that Yoru was offloaded in an impromptu trade with a local priest, who generously provided the needed fuel for the ship and only required the Falleen girl in return. Nexton didn't ask questions, and as the ship departed Yoru watched it go, both wonderingly vividly about the next stage of her life.
The priest's name was Ornonn and for a time he merely let Yoru adjust to the new lifestyle. No longer on Falleen, no longer on a ship, and the pace was significantly different. No high tech urban sprawl surrounded her, no instant access to the digital realm of the Holonet, no busy visits to spaceports, no ever present hum of engines providing their life-giving energy to the ship. Tuulab was a simple world, mostly agrarian, whose scattered population often made the trek to Ornonn's temple for advice, blessings and to offer goods to sustain the priest's household.
Over the next few weeks, Yoru was put to work. At first, she was called to sort out the offerings Ornonn received from the folk of Tuulab. Soon she was helping with meal preparation, mixing the oils and concoctions that Ornonn used in his daily tasks, and sometimes following the priest around in his duties. She began to take an interest in the words he spoke to the supplicants who came to their temple, a curiosity over the ancient tomes he referenced ―Ornonn eschewed the typical datapad for flimsiplast-bound works instead. As Ornonn noticed the young Falleen's interest, he began to feed her curiosity with bits of wisdom from his beliefs, helping the girl understand the deeper beauty of the world around her.
Years passed, and Yoru grew in body and spirit. Cloistered in the temple and apprenticed to Ornonn, she became well versed in the literature of the Lost Ones, the four deities that made up the Primeval religion. Ornonn's temple, his temenos, was built in the direction of the sunrise, an shallow-domed building whose above ground chamber was adorned with the items necessary for the worship of each. A low bench was sat before the emblem of each Lost One, and upon the benches were placed tokens of offering. Those that could not be consumed were left, and above all the bench before Halrormalenth, the creator god, was plastered with tokens.
Nogras, the deity of light, was second in line, her bench faced the morning sun and was litered with bright, reflective objects, most made of metal and made to gleam in the sunlight. Balagoth, of chaos and death, was third, an offering given when a family could make the journey following a death of a loved one, though most could not. And Sargon, the blackness, the nothingness, had few favors upon his bench, not that he seemed to care.
It was around the time when Yoru entered her adolescent years that she noticed a change. Sometimes she would catch a glimmer in the background, a quickly-shifting object just out of view, gone when she looked again. Her dreams became muddied, as if she was meant to remember something, a voice, a shape, a presence, but she never could. Her waking hours were sometimes a haze, and Ornonn chastised her for letting her duties and studies both fall to the wayside, so consumed by the haze she was. Finally, after weeks of being disoriented and confused, Ornonn told her to pack her things and leave his care.
Yoru was overwhelmed with emotion, but before she could speak, something came over her. She stood still as a stone, her breath still coming slowly, her body still living, but her spirit detached. It left her and traveled to another place, she knew not where, but what she saw and experienced was not on Tuulab. She felt a presence, though it had no form and no color, only darkness, but even as she watched the formless, colorless darkness shifted, mutated. It felt cold and detached, unfeeling, as if the concept of feeling had never occurred to it. But when it spoke to her, and it spoke in a voice like the raking of claws over stone, a screech so harsh she should have gone deaf with the tone, she could hear the impassioned plea in its tone, the petition to her own cold-blooded heart.
When she returned to the present, Ornonn was standing over her, a tear on his cheek. Yoru asked why he was crying, and as he heard the sound of her voice, the old pontiff cried out and embraced her, rocking her back and forth in his arms. He begged forgiveness, asking her to stay at the temeros, that he was wrong to force her out. At first Yoru wondered if she should keep her vision a secret from Ornonn, but eventually she decided to tell him. She explained what had happened, the presence she felt, what it had said. Ornonn asked a thousand and one questions, and when he was done he fell to his knees before her. To the bewildered girl, he offered his lifetime of service and declared her to be the Vicar of the Forgotten Truth, a vessel of Balagoth. He baptized her, naming her Sankt Yora, and adorning her in clothes and jewelry that outclassed even his own.
With the proper context to interpret her vision, she revealed new details that hadn't occurred to her before. She and Ornonn worked it over, picking it apart piece by piece to understand what Balagoth desired of her. The work was familiar, but their relationship was new, changed. Ornonn was deferential in all things, letting her lead the task and agreeing with her conclusions a bit too readily. Yoru felt honored, but at the same time still too unsure in her faith to go it alone. She wanted Ornonn's advice, his guiding hand, and when the task was over and he still hadn't offered it, she grew to resent him.
Now the tone was different. When petitioners came to their temeros, while Ornonn still received them, blessed them, took their offerings and gave advice, now he turned to Sankt Yora for her input. Over time, she grew better at interpreting what she saw as signs from Balagoth, and could offer the words the petitioners needed to hear. Sometimes the truths eluded her, but she found that the people would still smile and nod at whatever words she gave them, and even Ornonn would seem genuinely impressed by her made-up wisdom. As the years passed, the bench before Balagoth's symbol grew covered with tokens so much that supplicants began leaving them on the floor around it.
Yora grew more confident as she matured, and began to anticipate the moment when Ornonn would finish with a supplicant and turn to her, and in deference would bow and scrape so that visitors would do the same, and listen to what she had to say. The words were not always different, but they always seemed to please Ornonn. At first, the petitioners would turn to Ornonn, unsure of how to receive her words, and then mimic the old pontiff's reactions. Eventually, they began to seem genuinely impressed by her reassuring tones without Ornonn's guidance, even when her words were sour and damning. Sometimes, a supplicant would simply come to see her immediately, and leave without ever speaking to Ornonn at all.
Ornonn did not take well to being shunned in his own temeros, and began to greet newcomers himself, to push himself. His age and the added stress began to show, the old pontiff's movements became slower, appearance more fragile. In the mornings he appeared with deep circles beneath his eyes, and by afternoon they were red, alert and twitchy by some unnatural means. Even the other prylars of the temeros began to take notice, and whispered among themselves of Ornonn's ever-declining health. That only fueled the old pontiff's efforts, who now looked at Yora with eyes of mistrust, taking his meals alone and shuttering himself in his study for hours at a time, only to emerge with renewed mistrust and paranoia.
It was sometime during the summer period, a time when Ornonn's temeros was usually filled with the bounty of the fields, slowly growing to a great crescendo that peaked during the harvest season, threatening to bury the temeros under the weight of offerings. There had been a steady stream of visitors, but for days, not one of them had seen Ornonn, either by his choice or their's. When he finally emerged from his study after a period of sullen brooding, his first act was to approach Sankt Yora and begin a heated debate, ignoring the waiting supplicants in full view of the argument.
As Yora tried to pull him away, to take their dialogue to a more private area, Ornonn struck her in anger. On the ground, too shocked to move, she spied a long, thin tool used in the preparation of offerings. Her perspective seemed to shift, and in her mind Yora knew the tool held a significant, something so important it needed her touch at that moment. She pulled herself to it, grasping it in her hand, examining it in the light. Then a great shadow came over her, pressed down on her, cut off her light and threatened to remove the tool. Yora defended herself, striking back at the form, restoring the light but the tool was different. Now it dripped with a crimson liquid.
When she realized what she had done, Yora left the temeros, taking with her only a modest set of clothes, enough credits to get her offworld, and the bloodstained offering tool. Her feet would never again touch the ground of Tuulab, nor would she ever again enter even so modest a temple as Ornonn's.
Yora fled to the outer reaches of the galaxy, staying far from governments and order. She found herself immersed among criminals, desperately trying to find herself among them, to uncover the truth of her destiny. Almost daily she struggled with the question, is this who she was fated to be? A murderer? A criminal? A fugitive from justice? She prayed to Balagoth for a time, leaving him sizable offerings where she went, waiting for a sign, hoping for a vision. Nothing came.
It was years later, and Yora had fallen in with a pirate crew, no longer seeking meaning from Balagoth or her faith. She ate with them, drank with them, laughed with them as they told stories of their conquests, and as she told stories of her own. At night, she would share the bed of their pirate captain, a ruthless Duros named Phon. Phon was not a kind lover, but Yora stayed with him anyway, certain that he would have her killed if she ever dissolved their arrangement. Over the course of time, however, a curious thing occurred. At times, it seemed like Phon was very agreeable, a bit too agreeable. When this happened, it felt as if Yora was influencing it somehow, but she had little understanding of how. It took her weeks to perfect the trick, like learning how to cry on command, and when she used it in the heat of an argument it always softened Phon's hardened exterior enough for her to break through and win him over.
With this new power in hand, she set out to win over the rest of the crew, driven by her own motives alone. Releasing her newly-discovered pheromones during mealtime increased the attention given to her stories. Pheromones in the meeting room had most everyone agreeing with her suggestions. Pheromones in the cockpit meant she could direct the course of the ship. While everyone still agreed Phon was the captain, it was clear that Yora was the real leader of the crew now.
For a time, this was enough. But Yora grew restless, and as with many similar times in her life, she struggled through it alone. After a successful raid on a Primeval freighter, Yora discovered a reverie chain among the loot. The discovery was her eureka moment, waking the sleeping beast of her faith, the connection to the greater universe that she had tucked away so long ago with the belief that she was a ne'er-do-well criminal. All at once, she saw the signs before her, a blind woman seeing for the first time in years, and understood what she had to do. Bit by bit, piece by piece, she worked through the necessary details, until by the end of it Phon and his first mate were dead on the ship's deck, each the cause of the other's death, the last of the pirate crew succumbed to her deadly pheromones and powers of suggestion.
The ship was sold and with the credits, Yora was set for a time. She wandered the galaxy anew, her purpose now clear to her. Everywhere she went, she found new signs of Balagoth's word, new messages to interpret and meanings to discover. Adopting a few followers, enthralled by her pheromones or her charismatic figure, Yora used them as agents of her own will, giving her access to new opportunities. One such opportunity was directed to her via a new sign, a calling that led her to the Offworld Exports, where she quickly caught the eye of the leader.
Rising quickly within Offworld Exports, Yora, who was known to her followers as the Lady Vicar and to others by more obscure and temporary aliases, made a name for herself. On multiple occasions with the Offworld Export's director, Fylippe, she was commended for her work and given new opportunities to shine. Her contacts expanded, as did her base of power, increasing her prestige inside the company and out. Within a few years, Yora was poised to become a member of the inner circle, and that climb ended when she settled in as Fylippe's number two, granted responsibility over half the company.
The partnership of Yora and Fylippe was genuine, polluted by neither toxins of romance nor ambition. For her part, Yora was content to remain second to the top, for the signs she read told her that Fylippe was more important as a trusted ally than as a deposed enemy, or martyr for his loyal followers. Her own band of loyal followers grew, and though some understood and joined her in worship of the Lost Ones, those numbered few among her supporters who were mostly drawn to Yora by her charisma and position. Those who were attracted to her service for personal gain were quickly weeded out, excepting one.
His name was Chadvark, and from a young age he had been trained by the Jedi. Somewhere along the way, he and the Order had parted ways, for reasons he would not divulge even if asked. He still carried the iconic lightsaber as a weapon, and once or twice Yora saw it used. It excited her, intrigued her, and she often looked for signs that she should adopt something similar. But Chadvark was only half trained, and would be a poor teacher. Still, he knew enough to impress and ward off non-Force Sensitives, and even to overwhelm Yora herself, for her sensed her own hidden abilities, her touch with the Force, a channel she devoted to the will of Balagoth and not for her own personal ambitions.
When it came down to it, that made her weak. It seemed that Chadvark was clever enough to conceal his intentions from her, and from most everyone else. He had gained her trust, accompanied her to a meeting of the board, with even Fylippe present. It was a mistake, and with no security that could match the former Jedi, the meeting turned into a massacre. Yora's loyal guards weren't far behind, but even without his lightsaber, they were far enough behind to allow Chadvark the time to dessecrate the entire board and Fylippe. The former Jedi was in the midst of slowly choking Yora's life from her lungs when she was saved, and Chadvark was killed.
The incident gave Yora a healthy fear of Force Users, and her own public identity. Allowing the rumors of her death to go unhindered, she went underground, leading the company, now her company, from the shadows. She installed a figurehead, a fake board, but all decisions went through her in actuality. She closed off, and no longer would she speak openly about her faith, even among her loyal supporters and friends. Mistrust became her closest ally, and fear her guardian angel. The signs grew weak, the messages muddy and unclear. Uncertainty clouded her future, but she pressed on.
At the same time, she knew she needed her own way to defend against future attacks by Force Sensitives. The galaxy was not devoid of them, and Chadvark's ability to conceal his intentions from her opened her eyes to the potential of Force-wielding beings. She began to organize a secret force of her own, made up of Force Sensitives, who were weak enough to be enthralled to do her bidding. Her followers located targets, with whom she would meet and use a combination of her own charisma, pheromones or brainwashing techniques to enlist their aid. Sometimes her candidates succumbed before they were converted, but eventually Yora arrived at a healthy number of guards.
Systematically, methodically, Yora's new Force User guards, nicknamed the Lady's Keepers, combed through the workforce of Offworld Exports. Without ruffling too many feathers, they sought out the supporters of Chadvark, along with anyone who questioned their leadership a bit too much, and rid the company of them. The purge was quiet, for the most part, with most assuming the departed souls had simply wandered away to other work, only close friends or the odd relative raising a metaphorical eyebrow at the disappearances. When it was done, Yora had a company she knew was loyal, even if blindly so.
Still, this new cadre of protection did not satisfy Yora. She jumped at every mistake, second-guessed every failure, wondered if her band of Lady's Keepers were slipping their bonds of service to her. She found signs that suited her mistrust, compelled her to go further, convincing herself it was the will of Balagoth. Yora commissioned a facility, and there she sent a few of her most loyal, most utterly enthralled Lady's Keepers to run it. As for its occupants, Yora's followers had begun seeking Force Sensitive children, those who would not be missed, for the creation of a new generation of utterly loyal and deadly Keepers, trained by the existing Keepers who were tossed aside as they outlived their useful training expertise.
As part of Offworld Exports' dealings, Yora had frequent dealings with the administration of Cyrillia, which soon became a member world of the Galactic Republic. Among the signs she found there, one called her to investigate closer into the life of Cyrillia's unlikely senator, a Gungan named Jon-Jon Nemo. Nemo's previous career as an attorney revealed a troubling issue, that a young Nemo had once defended an accused murderer, absolutely convinced of the accused's guilt, but nevertheless managed to get an acquittal through a technicality of the law. Through her network, Yora arranged for the Cyrillian governor to learn of this startling revelation just as she made a sizable donation to the world's administrative funds. The governor offered her the role of the departed Nemo, appointing her Senator of the world to the Galactic Republic.
With her fingers in so many pies, as a Republican Senator, the private owner of Offworld Exports, the shadowy leader of her ever-growing army of Lady's Keepers, and a vessel of the Primeval god Balagoth, the Lady Vicar, Sankt Yora, is a shrewd businesswoman, a demanding leader, a charming seductress, a faithful believer, a staunch ally and a dangerous adversary. Whatever she is to the people she interacts with depends on their intentions, her goals and the signs granted to her by Balagoth.
Pray that if you ever meet her, you serve her purposes enough to live.
SHIP:
K-Type Star Yacht
KILLS:
N/A
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
N/A
ROLE-PLAYS:
[Senate Session] Resolution 6240: Rights of Sentience Reaffirmation
United Front (Senatorial Coalition)
[Senate Session] Amendment to the Galactic Republic Charter
[Senate Session] Senate Security Act
The Cost of Doing Business
[Senate Session] Bill Alpha-32116: Enhanced Security and Protection Bill
Second Senate Session
The 11th Hour
The Corrupted - CIS Invasion of NR-Held Kuat
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