Vice
Slight
NAME: Vice
FACTION: N/A
RANK: N/A
SPECIES: Human
AGE: 26
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: 5'11"
WEIGHT: 165 lbs.
EYES: Hazel
HAIR: Black
SKIN: Pale
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes.
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STRENGTHS:
Driven:
Nothing will stand in between Vice and his goals, or so he believes, choosing to chase after them relentlessly, at any cost.
WEAKNESSES:
Slave to Emotions:
Vice lets his emotions take control of him all too easily, giving into fits of rage and uncanny fear on a whim.
Untempered:
This man has no formal training, learning everything he has through his own practice and intuition. He is nothing when compared to a master of the arts.
APPEARANCE:
Slight in figure and form, standing at an average height, this figure is clothed in black robes which obscure most of his physical traits beyond rough pale skin and dull hazel irises. Beyond his choice of clothes he is rather mundane, nothing about the figure strikes as unique beyond a bronzed sword which reeks of the dark side to those attuned.
The blade is wide and heavy, forged to a fine point on one end and a heavy center on the other. A simplistic sword-guard protects the hands of the wielder. The pommel is inset with a single subdued amber-like stone. A product of sith alchemy no doubt.
BIOGRAPHY:
Since his earliest memories, the man grew up as a wandering vagabond and scavenger. Hopping from planet to planet as a stowaway on various transport ships, he did what he could to get by. Thieving, was his most common profession, taking what credits he could to purchase the sustenance needed to survive.
Upon hiding in the cargo of a rather unique vessel, black and pointed in appearance, he found himself bound the dreaded planet of Korriban. He was discovered, but rather than killed he was dropped into the deadly wastes to starve, rot, and die. It was here that he learned the true values and skills of survival. Instead of stealing from people, he stole from the land and animals which inhabited Korriban's scorched surface.
Anything it took to survive, he would do. Spears of fang and bone, and clothes of leather and chitin, he preyed upon the dark side creatures, as they did upon him. Scars and wounds covered his form, only adding to his determined visage and bloody disposition.
Skulking across the rocky desert at night, he tracked a group of K'Lor'Slugs he had recently caught wind of deep into the earth, uncovering an old yet empty tomb. The presence of the dark side was weak, compared to many other fonts across the planet.
A lone coffin rested rested at the center, the only memory of a sith lord long since forgotten. The surface of the sarcophagus was riddled with imagery of a haggard and broken old man. Devoted to his experiments he eschewed normality to delve into hidden secrets, only to be cut down by rivals seeking to exploit his work.
His last achievement was the discovery of a lone blade, ancient in nature. Upon his death the blade was not taken by his rivals, rather abandoning it to the corpse which they left in their wake.
Scavenging old stone tablets and and rotten tomes of lore, the man pushed open the coffin to reveal the old skeleton. Flesh had long since rotted away, leaving only pristine bone and a singular bronze blade which called to him. Sheathed in decrepit leather a word lone was punched into the metal spine. "Vice."
Wrenching the blade from the hands of the skeleton he departed. With his new tool in hand he felt a sudden hunger for more than just mere survival, this ravenous desire taking him beyond the wastes and once more back into civilization.
FACTION: N/A
RANK: N/A
SPECIES: Human
AGE: 26
SEX: Male
HEIGHT: 5'11"
WEIGHT: 165 lbs.
EYES: Hazel
HAIR: Black
SKIN: Pale
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
STRENGTHS:
Driven:
Nothing will stand in between Vice and his goals, or so he believes, choosing to chase after them relentlessly, at any cost.
WEAKNESSES:
Slave to Emotions:
Vice lets his emotions take control of him all too easily, giving into fits of rage and uncanny fear on a whim.
Untempered:
This man has no formal training, learning everything he has through his own practice and intuition. He is nothing when compared to a master of the arts.
APPEARANCE:
Slight in figure and form, standing at an average height, this figure is clothed in black robes which obscure most of his physical traits beyond rough pale skin and dull hazel irises. Beyond his choice of clothes he is rather mundane, nothing about the figure strikes as unique beyond a bronzed sword which reeks of the dark side to those attuned.
The blade is wide and heavy, forged to a fine point on one end and a heavy center on the other. A simplistic sword-guard protects the hands of the wielder. The pommel is inset with a single subdued amber-like stone. A product of sith alchemy no doubt.
BIOGRAPHY:
Since his earliest memories, the man grew up as a wandering vagabond and scavenger. Hopping from planet to planet as a stowaway on various transport ships, he did what he could to get by. Thieving, was his most common profession, taking what credits he could to purchase the sustenance needed to survive.
Upon hiding in the cargo of a rather unique vessel, black and pointed in appearance, he found himself bound the dreaded planet of Korriban. He was discovered, but rather than killed he was dropped into the deadly wastes to starve, rot, and die. It was here that he learned the true values and skills of survival. Instead of stealing from people, he stole from the land and animals which inhabited Korriban's scorched surface.
Anything it took to survive, he would do. Spears of fang and bone, and clothes of leather and chitin, he preyed upon the dark side creatures, as they did upon him. Scars and wounds covered his form, only adding to his determined visage and bloody disposition.
Skulking across the rocky desert at night, he tracked a group of K'Lor'Slugs he had recently caught wind of deep into the earth, uncovering an old yet empty tomb. The presence of the dark side was weak, compared to many other fonts across the planet.
A lone coffin rested rested at the center, the only memory of a sith lord long since forgotten. The surface of the sarcophagus was riddled with imagery of a haggard and broken old man. Devoted to his experiments he eschewed normality to delve into hidden secrets, only to be cut down by rivals seeking to exploit his work.
His last achievement was the discovery of a lone blade, ancient in nature. Upon his death the blade was not taken by his rivals, rather abandoning it to the corpse which they left in their wake.
Scavenging old stone tablets and and rotten tomes of lore, the man pushed open the coffin to reveal the old skeleton. Flesh had long since rotted away, leaving only pristine bone and a singular bronze blade which called to him. Sheathed in decrepit leather a word lone was punched into the metal spine. "Vice."
Wrenching the blade from the hands of the skeleton he departed. With his new tool in hand he felt a sudden hunger for more than just mere survival, this ravenous desire taking him beyond the wastes and once more back into civilization.
