Race: Zabrak
Age:20
Skin: Deep Red(Black tattoos cover his body)
Hair: Spikes(Full Coverage)
Eyes: Red
Height:5’11’’ (1.8m)
Weight:120 lbs (54.5kg)
Strength: High
Speed: Low
Intellect: Middling
Wisdom: Low
Force Sensitivity: Medium
Real Name: Ventas “Vile” Black
Ventas was born on the crime riddled moon of Nar Shaddaa. From a very young age he knew what it was to fight to survive. His Zabrakian parents abandoned him at the age of three. He grew up enslaved to a gang of swoop bandits in the lower levels of the moon. Ventas could build, race, and fix an engine by the time he was 7. He was doing full rebuilds for the gang by the time he was 13. By 16 he was a slave no longer, but a full-fledged member of the gang. “Swoop Kings” they were called, led by a human named Grimsby for as long as Ventas could remember. The baddest, in their minds, guys around. Their territory had been challenged several times over the years, but nobody could combat their ace in the hole. Ventus could fly circles around every swoop gang on the moon, his swoop was, after all, an ultra powerful custom job that he had fixed up himself over the years. Salvaged together from the wreckages of many different swoop races.
By the time he reached adulthood at 18 galactic standard years old, he held a coveted place among his gang-mates as right-hand to the boss, Grimsby. Grimsby was an enigmatic 30-something with a heart of pure wrought iron. If he didn’t like something, he told you about it. If he didn’t like how you treated someone that he was particularly fond of, you would be strung up by your thumbs for hours, if they weren’t immediately cut off.
Grimsby’s temper was something that was easily stoked, but not easily quelled. None of the ‘Kings’ wanted to even begin to test his temperament on a day-to-day basis. None but Ventas, now ‘Vile’ to his fellow ‘Kings,’ could even speak to Grimsby before his moring cup of caf.
It was a day like any other when Vile had awoken to a scream, he grabbed his small vibroknife and ran to Grimsby’s room, followed closely by several other Kings that had heard the scream during their own morning rituals.
As the door to Grimsby’s room opened all that was inside was a bloody body with a note attached that read “Cheaters never prosper, ‘Poop Kings’ Suck!” an obvious play on their name. After a quick inspection, this corpse was definitely Vile’s oldest friend, Grimsby. He took a moment to compose himself before the sinking realization, that he himself had that day become the leader of the Swoop Kings gang, set in. A few deep breaths in and out were all he needed before issuing orders to the men that he had brought with him.
“Get dressed, we’re on deck in five minutes,” he spoke calmly to the shirtless beings in the room with him, two humans and a chiss.
As he went back to his bunk, he began to pack his belongings to move into Grimsby’s old room. Things moved very quickly, if they didn’t have strong leadership in the next few days, another gang would definitely move in on their territory. No doubt word was getting out this very second about their leader’s demise and what it would mean for some of the bolder gangs in the area.
After polishing his horns in the mirror and washing his face, he put on his black shirt for mourning, with a red jacket for power. This striking, deep red man was now ready to face his fellow gang members.
He stepped forward from his room and was greeted by the solemn faces of two underlings, both likely vying for his number two position, neither of whom would get the position he noted mentally as he continued walking with them behind him.
It was a prick at first, some sort of danger, he knew, from his days working on explosive Swoop bikes. He didn’t know how he knew, he just knew that he knew. He spun around quickly, drawing his own Vibroblade. He frowned, not only because it was too late, but because the Swoop Kings themselves had attacked him.
“Swoop Kings is a human gang! Die alien scum!” the two of them shouted as their blades managed to barely cut into Vile’s side before he grabbed both of them by the face.
“You filthy ingrates” he spoke plainly as he bashed both of their heads into the wall behind them, the one on the right left a bright red stain on the plasteel grating, both slumped to the ground as he kicked their vibroblades away from them and started walking toward the main garage of their hideout. Where they would gather for meetings.
This would have to be brought to everyone’s attention, he thought. The Kings would never turn on one another, it had to have been a plant from a rival gang.
But as he turned the corner into the garage, the double auto-doors slid open to reveal a grisly scene. Seven humans that had been in the gang for years were standing over the bodies of a dozen or so of their comrades in arms.
All Ventas could see was red at that point, his body writhing with hatred. Hatred for these men who would slaughter his brothers so cruelly, without remorse. These brothers who had stood by his side when his own parents would not. Simply because of the lineage of their parentage. This was absurd and he was going to let them know it.
The first two men were down within three seconds, Vile’s own vibroblade was stained red with the blood of his brothers already as five more men bared down on him, their own blades drawn at their sides. This would not be a day he would enjoy. He could look back on these feelings in his future, draw on the hatred, the anger, the fear, the absolute LOATHING he had for these five men as he cut their eyes from their sockets, peeled the skin from their bodies and cut their tongues out of their mouths before slitting their throats in turn.
Vile was alone now, his mind was shattered but he had access to the funds. He could get off world. But where would he go? Where could he go? Nowhere in the core, for sure. It had to be on the outer rim. Tatooine, perhaps. No. He hated sand. Hoth? No, snow was unbearable. It had to be a place that was at least the smallest bit tolerable. Viscara it is.
Aboard the first shuttlecraft he had found off of Nar Shaddaa he met an intriguing human in all black clothing, moreso the human had met him if truth be told. Another refugee perhaps, or maybe he’d been followed by a remnant soldier of the gangs of Nar Shaddaa’s seedy underbelly. They say that nobody gets out alive. While that had been true for a lot of the Kings, he had to feel it in his heart that he would be the exception to the rule, not another of its victims.
The man introduced himself as a travelling priest, preaching the good word about a ‘Church of Emotional Purity’ where all men and women could be themselves. Everyone was equal, yet those who strived towards being more equal could, in fact, be better. Not just than their peers, but better than they had previously been.
Hogwash, Vile thought to himself, as the man preached on about his religion to all of the people aboard the shuttle. Though he would not dare to draw attention to himself. As the shuttle made its stops along the way to Viscara, people filed out of the seating space, more and more left until it was just the two of them remaining aboard. Vile felt the man staring at him from across the seating area before he could feel him walking his way.
“Don’t preach your bantha snot at me, priest.” he rolled his eyes as he spoke and faced the opposite direction.
The priest smiled and began to speak directly to him, something he had not, Vile noticed, done to anyone since he got onto the shuttle, he had simply been speaking at people the entire trip. “But you are the only one I have been preaching to for the whole of this trip, young warrior.” His voice had a deep gravelly quality to it, almost as if he had been gargling rocks his whole life.
“Well then, you’ve wasted your time old man.” Vile shot back, his eyes still set ahead.
“No need to get snippy, Ventas.” the older man spoke with certainty, and Vile’s hand dropped instinctively to the vibrodagger at his hip.
“Who the hell are you, old man, and how do you know my name?” he asked, now a bit unnerved at having been called out.
The hooded man gave no sign of outward aggression as he spoke. “My name is unimportant, young Ventas, please put your dagger away so that we might have a peaceful conversation before you depart from this shuttle and leave me for good.”
Vile was having none of that, he had been duped for the past 18 years by his -own- swoop gang. He wouldn’t fall for bullshit again. He lunged forward quickly at the old man and with relative ease, he was disarmed, his dagger had left his hand through no fault of his own and he lay on the ground with a heavy weight on his chest, though nobody was touching him.
A laugh came from the direction of the man in the hood before he spoke, “Do not take offense, but you have a great destiny and I would see to it that you stayed on that path. My goals here are my own and how I know you is a secret known only to me and my order.” he clarified, “When you arrive on Viscara you will get on a shuttle that will take you to Korriban, or you would have, had you been but a few years earlier. As it stands, the Academy hesitates to take anyone that is not of Human Descent unless they have proven themselves in some way. So stay on Viscara until you think you can hold your own in the Sith Order.”
“You have great unbridled power behind you, I can feel it bubbling up even now, but without proper training you will flounder, allow me to be your teacher behind the scenes until I can get you a meeting in the Academy on Korriban.”
Vile spat onto the ground as he felt the weight on his chest lift up. “Why me? What makes me different from a million other beings that you could have ‘helped’?” He practically spat the words out as well, his disdain for this man apparent.
“I have watched them all, they are lacking. You have what they do not. A fire.” his eyes glinted as he spoke the word fire and he grinned as he heard the shuttle come out of hyperspace. “Stay on this planet for a while, I will see to your training soon. Until then, know that the knowledge you seek is readily available, all you must do is look within.” The ship landed on the planet and the cargo bay doors opened.
Vile gathered his belongings, intent on not letting the encounter with the man bother him as he collected his rucksack of belongings, took his vibrodagger from the floor and placed it into its sheath. He half-expected the man to bar his exit, but he stepped aside as Vile walked by toward the exit of the shuttle. “Eat Mynock Guano, old man.”
The old man simply smiled. “Feel the hate, feel the passion, feel the anger.” he spoke from the open door as the ship began to take off, then began to shout as the ship rose higher and higher, “FEEL THE POWER FLOW THROUGH YOU!”
And then, as soon as he was there, he was gone. The crazy old man had left Ventas’ life for what he hoped was for good. He shook his head as he continued onward into the Czerka base to declare himself.
