"You silly little girl, you've survived so long survival shouldn't hurt anymore.
You keep trying to turn your body bulletproof.
You keep trying to turn your heart into a bomb shelter.
You are soft and alive. You bruise and heal. Cherish it.
It is what you were born to do.
It will not be beautiful, but the truth never is.
Come now, you promised yourself.
You promised you'd live through this."
Name: Keira Jaymes Priest
- Mand'alor the Iron (former)
- Warmaster (former)
- Commander of the Second Grand Army of the Republic (former)
- Warmarshal (former)
- Al'nau'ramikad (former)
- Secretary of the Red Ravens (former)
Species: Human (Corellian)
Weight: 130 lbs
Force sensitive: Force Dead
+ Above average strategist.
+ Though not an eloquent speaker by any means, she knows how to get what she wants.
+ Conditioned warrior.
+/- Tenaciously stubborn.
+/- Cybernetic left arm and right leg.
- A wanderer at heart, she’s not the best at maintaining close, personal relationships.
- Has the capacity to be arrogant and overestimate her own skill.
- Impulsive decision maker.
- Mental scars to match the physical ones.
- Limp in her left leg due to it being broken in multiple places. Not overly pronounced, but it has the capacity to be a hindrance.
* Family: Reid and Kaya Zambrano-Ticon (twin son and daughter), Desric Ticon-Sedaire (son), Dani Ticon (older sister), Nikola Ticon (younger brother) Tabitha Ticon (younger sister), Alkor Centaris (younger brother), Ginnie Dib (younger sister), Torin Verd (cousin).
* Fluent in Old Corellian and Mando'a.
"She's like whiskey in a teacup."
- Cybernetic left arm.
- Cybernetic right leg.
- Minor burn scar that spiderwebs across her jaw on the right side of her face.
- A circular, puckered scar on her right side from being shot with a crossbow.
- Three ropy claw mark scars on her right shoulder.
- A burn scar that stretches diagonally from the edge of her left shoulder to a half inch below her collarbone.
- Numerous small scars on her head, covered by her hair.
- The raised ridge of a scar from a graze with a bullet that twists around her left side.
- Burn scar from a lightsaber across the front of her abdomen.
- Scar that begins at the right side of her throat and cuts diagonally towards her sternum from a lightsaber.
- Limp in her left leg courtesy of a certain Vong overlord.
- Scar between her shoulderblades from a tomahawk.
- Tattoo on her back, from shoulderblade to shoulderblade.
- Scar at the joint of her right shoulder that has caused lasting nerve damage.
Biography (Up until RP):
As a child Keira was rather ordinary, with no fantastical aspirations to become a hero of the galaxy or a willingness to travel exceptionally far, never to return. Never did she consider herself anyone special, and growing up on Corellia she never really had a reason to think otherwise. Green through and through, the only thing that perhaps set her apart was her stubborn and relentlessly persistent attitude. But even that was commonplace among others of the Ticon bloodline, and so was regarded as a typical facet of her personality. It was to be expected.
What wasn't, however, was her joining the Jedi. Her Force sensitivity had been known since she was around eight years old, and, belonging to a largely criminal family, her talents were utilized in that field for the betterment of herself and those about her, for their own personal gain and nothing more. But when the Republic's Order approached her one day in the form of a Jedi Knight that had been on-planet beforehand, she accepted the offer of a different life, one with meaning. And so she was brought to the Temple on Ossus, the new environment coming as nothing short of a culture shock.
In comparison to the rough and tumble way of life that encompassed the equally ragged around the edges planet she called home, Ossus was as clean-cut as they came. The Temple itself was plain, her quarters ascetic, robes and clothing allotted identical to nearly every other sentient present. The Code she was taught was just as dogmatic and bland, and to make matters worse she was expected to abide by it. But she played along, for a time, hoping to one day access the ability she had been promised, all the while wanting to do good for the galaxy as a whole. That was the purpose of her being there in the first place, after all.
However, nothing lasts forever. At the age of sixteen, after being in the Order for four years, she left. Of course, it wasn't quite so simple. She had tired of the rules and regulations that were required to follow, tired of the constant expectations seeming to hang relentlessly over her shoulder. And so one night she stole away, taking nothing more than the clothes on her back, her lightsaber and enough supplies to survive for a week. Without so much as a goodbye letter she left, leaving no trace of her ever having existed in the first place other than the empty room left behind, stripped bare of all signs of life.
For a time, that sufficed. Free of all obligation once more she settled for wandering the galaxy, still doing good in her own way, intervening in scenarios that required some sort of moderation. As a rogue Force sensitive she answered to no Council or higher-up, listening only to her own morality and occasionally the needs of others.
"You were born broken. That is your birthright."
Roleplays (Roughly IC chronological order):
"Tell me, how does it feel to live with your fists curled, always seeking something to fight?
How does it feel to be so rabid, so vicious, so hellbent on making a ruin out of yourself?
How does it feel to be the knife between your own ribs? Darling, you are the war and the battlefield
and there is no victory or glory in bringing yourself to your knees.
They have sung of your rage, see; and none of them have known that most of it is aimed at yourself.
It will always feel hollow,
somewhere, somehow, like you’re full of holes; it will always feel like you’re inadequate.
You must learn to live with it, one way or the other, before you fill the grave you’ve dug.
(You’re choking on the thoughts, half too cowardly and far too proud to end what you began;
but it’s so late, by god, too late – you’re halfway to hell, the flames licking the soles of your feet.
It’s fine, you think. You didn’t know what you wanted when you picked up the axe, anyway.)"
Edited by Keira Priest, 11 July 2019 - 07:31 PM.