Syra, The Possessed Scoundrel.

[Syra]

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"Your body will serve my purpose... consider this a gift." - Unknown Sith Spirit​

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Name: Syra
Pronunciation: [Sigh-Ruh]
Alias(es): "The Hound".
Titles: Special Enforcement Officer (Former.)
Occupation: Unaffiliated Bounty Hunter, Contract Killer.
Allegiance: Whoever pays top-dollar, typically Darksiders.

Species: Human.
Home-world: Coruscant (Deep Levels.)
Descent: Rattataki/Human Hybrid.
Gender: Male.
Age: Thirty-Five (Galactic Standard.)
Height: 6'0"
Weight: 162 lbs.
Physique: Muscular/Athletic.
Eye Color: Gray-Blue.
Complexion: Near Chalk-White.
Hair Color: Black

Force Sensitive: Yes.
Affiliation: Imperial (Former.)
Rank: Imperial Special Forces (Former.) Rogue Acolyte (Current.)
Force Alignment: Darkside - Possessed by Sith Lord from the era of Darth Bane's Rule Of Two.

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Notable Personality Traits:

• Bipolar.
• Ruthless.
• Stubborn.
• Pragmatic.
• Irritable.

Extensive Cybernetic Augmentation:

• Advanced Bio-stabilizer implant
• Advanced combat implant
• Advanced combat system
• Advanced sensory implant
• Appraiser's eye
• Durability implant
• Repulse-hand

Voice Sample: Imperial Guard

Appearance: Syra's features, namely everything, are obscured in a peculiar suit of form-fitting leathers and portions of duraplast. Rarely ever will he reveal his true identity unless under force, or if killed. One of the very few stand-out features of Syra would be his left hand, which unlike his right, is not shaded in black by a glove. A matte black repulse hand takes its place to blend in with the rest of the shadowy figure; alas, there is not much to discern about the man. Virtually everything about him is as opaque as his outward facade.

Notable Possessions:

• Ancient Lightsaber
• Dated Sith armor.

Strengths:

• Physical Prowess.
• Bladesman.
• Strategic.
• Adept Tracker/Hunter.

Weaknesses:

• Severe Personality Disorder - Possessed.
• Impulsive.
• Unrefined usage of the Force.
• Drug Addict.

 

[Syra]

Biography: ​

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Twisted, trapped; these are the words that aptly describe Syra. His mind and body no longer his own, but instead eaten away by a parasite that had lay dormant for nearly two millennia. A broken man searching for purpose, for a meal ticket to scrape by in his failure of a life due to his poor reputation among the once proud Empire. Every night, every day of killing for credits to fill a void that would always leave a hole in a once proud man's heart. There was virtually nothing left to live for. Drugs came cheap, and addiction began to take its course as Syra searched for every contract, every high he possibly could find.​

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All for the sake of forgetting. Dismissing his haunted past, shaking off the cold reminder of what he had done wrong. He could have been a hero to the Empire, but alas his selfishness had swayed him from making the right decision. ​

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After years of being dishonorably discharged, the Imperial-become-scoundrel found himself among the deepest levels of Courscant's underworld. A place that would be his new home, where he could blend in to the rest of the scum that had fallen into its depths. There, he was a ghost with a set of skills that would grant him the employment of being a hunter of the indebted, those that could not make end's meet. He would be their nightmare, as well as their jailer. ​

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But fate would have something much different in store for Syra the Scoundrel, something he would have never fathomed. ​

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Upon one fateful day in the black market something reached out to the man. It whispered so faintly in his ears, yet was quite profound. It seeped slowly into the cracks of his psyche, taking form into the shape of a silhouette. Modulated breathing filled his ears, and he imagined himself as something else... his hands clad in dark leather, his body cloaked in shadow with the hilt of a lightsabre in his right palm.​

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Snapping out of it, Syra saw a peculiar corner of the market that he hadn't noticed before, and in it was an open cargo container containing some very old, but still legible writing. According the information given, it was a suit of armor that belonged to an unknown Sith - excavated from the ruins of a place dubbed 'Moraband'. Having heard stories of this planet, Syra soon felt the tug of the same presence that called out to him.​

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"...Embrace..."​

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Enthralled and almost in a trance, Syra collected the items and made haste to leave the area before whomever was guarding it came back to realize their merchandise was stolen. From that day forward, the former Imperial felt a strong connection to the suit of armor and its accessories. Deciding to don it, the rush of euphoria came over the thief. His spine went cold as a chill ran down it, and his mind seemed to escape into an immaterium where nothing much made sense to him.​

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But therein lies his biggest mistake.​

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Suddenly, Syra's breathing became complicated, his skin felt like it was on fire. Agony consumed him as he could feel the strange existential pain of his very spirit being ripped out of his body. Now being invaded by a presence that he could not identify, now being locked away in his own mind. ​

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"Your body will serve my purpose... consider this a gift."​

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And with that, Syra was no more. ​

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He was something - someone entirely different.​