How did you discover your force sensitivity?

A brief flash of insight or knack when choosing potential sites for

Describe a moment where you fell prey to your moral weakness or experienced a tragedy/horror that still haunts you.

Before a baroque throne, in the hidden recess of an abandoned temple dedicated to a force cult, he was made to see

How did you come to join the NJO?
Name one NPC your character has a strong connection with. This could be a family member, a friend, a work contact, or a bitter rival.
Describe a moment in your life where you demonstrated your moral strength despite adversity.


Arkanian brilliance is a thing best beheld at a distance; focused through the lens of academia and turned toward the diligence of attaining mastery in any field.

It instills a sense of pride for so widely recognized a trait, -well- in so far as a trait can be attributed to one's species, but there exists a certain warmth in that assurance, one which I still hold closely to heart.

While recognized in the galaxy for attaining peerless medical acumen, my people's bedside manner leaves much to be desired, really their entire psycho-social make-up could do with a bit of scrutiny, but it's -difficult- to accept fault when all that one surveys are the triumphs of one.

To an Arkanian, distinction is currency, competition therapy and self-assurance is necessity; how else should one proceed through the world, if not trusting that which one has spent so much time attaining? However, in that same and plenary survey, we often overlook many things which should -by all means- be a given.

Tact, is unknown to us, and proper deference is all but reserved for other species to give to us in-turn: We know better -after all- we're built -better-, more precise, more intently, than whatever happenstance was necessary to distill you.

In the face of Quermians, and the "up-lifted" Yaka, it's difficult to forget, that the cruelties we so bestow on others, ignore the cruelties we inflict on ourselves. From geneginered Offshoots created to serve, to the modifications on our own species, we're far divorced from anything coming from nature, it's far too unpredictable.

But we hold our reverence for those so gifted, so blessed to be given our perfect form : Eyes like mother of pearl, capable of envisioning the world in vast arrays of color, unfiltered through adaptation to the lesser "visible" spectrum. And hands, like our forebears, four-digited, powerful and clawlike, a match in form and function.

It was the latter of these (for which I'm alack) that saw me held to a lesser esteem than my contemporaries. Termed "the other," I cursed my position, thinking myself lesser, in that same fashion in which they termed me. I wouldn't be heading any departments, nor allowed to pursue independent research, why trust something so important to the imperfect?

So I became a technician to a more respected figure, in a vain attempt to provide myself a platform with which to attain a higher station. Researchers can't -well- provide if they're deprived of matter with which to pore over and obsess. A necessity, is what I became, better to endanger the technician, far too dangerous to entrust this task to someone from the outside, -he can still be useful- yes.

More a glorified gopher -than anything-, I was given the task to scope out prospective sites for my backwards-looking superiors; menial work, but more satisfying for the thought of being given agency. I still had my leash, but its length, had significantly expanded.

On behalf of a patron, whose details I wasn't privy to, I aided my master in his research: collating information from various sources to present a prospect, a plan or site intimated of in strange texts; cross-referenced and made usable to my master's purposes, I would then set out. Easily my favorite part of the job, it meant I was largely unsupervised for most of my employment, and I could take my time to seek out these places on my master's behalf.

Holding a keen interest on ruins and sites attributed to force cults, I wandered though sprawling jungles, blasted wastelands and complex cave networks not unlike those of my home. My findings -were- for the most part minimal, artefacts left behind were of the more mundane variety, fetishes, effigies to strange and distorted gods, bodily remains, but it was all important to my master's efforts.

Over time, I grew to possess a certain instinct, a sort of insight which aided me in prioritizing my tasks; knowing which sites were likely to hold something of interest made me a more usable asset, which meant less time back at home. I relished my time exploring these dark corridors of the galaxy, collecting paraphernalia and other minutia associated with users of the force; such primitive things but their hold on me was powerful, and I couldn't help look their way.

My greatest and most shameful finding involved a grotto. The strangely hewn stone of what I originally thought as a cavern, intimated worksmanship of the most devious kind, with a sort of subtlety which untrained eyes would mistake as coincidence. Following these "natural" grooves in the stone, I came onto a recess that dug deeper underground, even to my eyes the darkness was cloying.

But I wasn't so presumptuous as to neglect bringing the necessary preparations, I prepared an emitter tube and fastened it to my harness, scaling down the recess as I felt my way around in the shadows, the darkness -elastic-, gathered around the light of my emitter in quivering anticipation, threatening to swallow it.

Further and further down, the winding path revealed a small alcove to me, leading into a deeper chamber. My emitter's light struggled to light a path more than a foot from my person. Treading over precarious grounds, I touched on masoned stone, tracing strange grooves and contortions that betrayed the "natural" cut of the stone.

Within that recess, in that shadow, that pall that fell over me and impeded my passage, in that absent light -I saw-. I saw the chamber, as tenebrae lifted its shroud, as tendrils recoiling before an unpleasant stimulus. A reflective action that intimated intelligence, but I found no one. As the shadow peeled back, the stone rose from its ornate latticework of grind and cut, onto a baroque throne.

Cut into the likeness of some towering figure, I saw beneath the dark recess of its eyes, I saw : glistening, something which moved and dripped down onto the ground, staining it with pitch. In the dark of its eyes, he showed me the chamber in its grotesque splendor : a monument erected to great and decadent kings, who feasted on the force, gorged until they were ready to burst.

I'd been made to see, and deigned that none more should share in this knowledge.

Morality (50)