Biography:
The heart of man has the capacity for evil, for all the lies and greed that dwell deep within the recesses of the heart's ever-present black pit. Truth becomes blurred as it mingles and sleeps with the lies, only to spawn the abomination that will become death.
Riches and lavish lifestyle coddle the rot and decay, like a wallpaper to cover the diseased skin so that none may discover the foul at face value.
A crooked smile beneath a mask, the teeth of a devil hiding a forked tongue.
-
Syra is a man of great talent, one that can bring a smile to even the most ill-fated folk. Charisma and sway put many-a mind underneath his spell, his complex method of toying with the minds and charity that he would so often flaunt as his own sincere generosity. But it was nothing more than a twisted facade to lure the weak and willing, to put a leash upon the necks of the blind.
To lead them into the dark where they would never be seen again.
Riches boasted the notion that Sir Syra was genuine in his cause to bring forth a better economic stance towards his people, to put their happiness and well-being before any temptation that money could afford. A wave of his hand, and suddenly the spirits of all were lifted to a tranquility and solace that no other presence could mimic. He was truly endowed with he nature of a hero, a savior.
But nothing as such was the truth. Far from it.
The man known as Syra was a miscreant, a monster just beneath the flesh. His midnight hours consisting of sacrifice and the worship and participation of Sith traditions and ritualistic practices. The gathering of other nobles such as himself to toy with the future of humbled citizens, their families taken in the darkest hours to be sold off for slave labor. But those that bore a striking beauty to the eye, they were collected for something much more.
Syra admired beauty above many things, and to populate his jurisdiction with more beautiful people was all too enticing. The wombs of many were made into machines, factories to give his fellow nobles the children they had always dreamed of. This was Syra's true charity to his people, his contribution to a brighter future for himself and those with the wealth to mold it.
But even those with a societal standing as grandiose as Syra's were not safe, for their treasury was seen as a gain for his own gluttonous pockets. Murder, bloodshed, all things that only heightened the exhilarating path that was corruption. The Sith became evermore an icon for his debauchery, and his servitude for their influence was nigh unbreakable.
Though power was not truly everything. The intense high of even the most exclusive designer drugs brought Syra deeper into the pit of filth where he happily wallowed like a maggot burrowing into diseased flesh. The sweat that gathered upon his brow under the moonlight of countless nights as he welcomed his Sith associates to overthrow the men and women that were supposedly part of his operations.
Soon there was nothing left, and the barren state of his private community had left Syra ever-wanting.
With his newfound source of income and confidence, he set off to leave his foul mark upon others. To indulge deeper into the decadence of his own wicked heart's whims.
To paint the galaxy as he saw fit.
