Fx Any Something dreadful slumbers far above us (Star Wars The Old Republic)

[Ninelie]

Quick intro:
-looking for roleplays set in the Old Republic era
-just want to mess around in this setting. Think of me as a highly casual fan who doesn't mind wandering outside the established lore. Bring your corny characters and even cornier plots!
-I use DMs for roleplays
-expect one reply per week at minimum. I might be more active, depends on various factors.

I would love to:
- put our characters through horrors they never expected to encounter! Rakghouls, Mnggal-Mnggal, that funky virus from Death Troopers, a pissed-off Force ghost, some type of mysterious affliction, device (such as Phobis devices, Seeds of Rage, etc.), machinations of Dread Masters, creature of our own making (or borrowed from lore - Gethul and the cult around it deserved more than one quest. Tbh all of uprisings could be stretched out into proper storylines) - all sorts of fun stuff that will leave them freaked out.

- if horror isn't to your liking and would prefer a less serious vibe, I'm open to ideas. Swindling Hutts out of valuable items, engaging in classic Sith powerplay, fighting a common foe as unlikely allies - whatever strikes our fancy.

My characters:
Character A (Yeerhan) - a socially awkward red zabrak. It's hard to say whether the slightly odd behavior stems from her upbringing or if she was simply born to suffer in all types of social interactions. Way too easy to impress, willing to cooperate even without threats, and occasionally ends up rambling about history completely unprovoked. The rambles will more likely than not include wildly inaccurate facts.
Her hobbies include pursuing knowledge no matter its source, exploring old ruins on backwater planets, and not dying; only the last one came out of her own mind.

Her needlessly convoluted backstory:
-mother was a slave, father her owner
-Yeerhan's paternity came to light sometime later
-the only reason why she wasn't disposed is because her father got killed and his mother's grief was stronger than disgust over aliens
-Yeerhan was basically turned into her paternal grandmother's emotional support animal. Her life is miles better than what it was meant to be, even involved some training once she turned out to be Force-sensitive. But in the end, she's still just a living, breathing dirty secret.
-some time after the Treaty of Coruscant comes into effect, she gains the official status of a neophyte and additional expectations of being a copy of her father. Yeerhan barely knows who or what she is (aside from socially maladjusted and terrified), but she's using this chance to learn more about the galaxy's mysteries.

Character B (Sidilya) - a living bulldozer of a Pureblood Sith. There are only a few people she respects, and all of them can kill her.

Arrogant, sadistic, a massive showoff - she's all of that and more. The entire galaxy is just her playground, its inhabitants walking punching bags.
Yet she still can be easily appeased by any so-called unworthy being simply by getting her ego massaged. Unfortunately, a wrong tone can set her off, willing to burn a planet in retalation for the crime of not having her ass properly kissed.

Thanks to her lineage, this lady is also one hell of a dumb brute. Or at least that's what one of numerous rumors claim about her. It certainly would explain why she lashes out without thinking at all.

FAQ
1. How old is she?
Old enough to have two daughters (a young adult and a teen). They may be mentioned or even make an appearance in the story.
While we're on the topic of family, she also has an older sister (the only contact she'll have with her are assassination attempts) and a niece.

2. What can I expect from her?
- If your character isn't a Force user, she'll be just condescending as hell.
- If they're Sith, it's only a matter of time before she starts mocking them for something trivial. An alien will receive shit the moment they meet
- Jedi, to her, are the perfect victims to wind up and throw foul remarks at.
The one trait Sidilya admires is persistence. Be it Jedi adhering to their code or a Sith giving back everything she gives, they will eventually earn her begrudging respect. She just has to get through the rage stage first before viewing them as a person worthy of her attention.

3. Is she redeemable?
Nope.

Half-baked ideas for:
Creatures (meant for a Jedi character)

"A Sith Lord is finally ready to walk the right path." These words washed over your YC the moment they answered their holo, leaving them with no room to even process the meaning behind them before the speaker continued on. "He's just the first of many, I believe with your assistance we can spread the light among his companions as well. I'm sending the coordinates now, please move with the highest of urgency. This is a rare chance which we cannot afford to lose." Even though the voice kept breaking up every few words, it still was familiar enough for YC to assign a name to the man - a Jedi Master with a rather standoffish and no-nonsense attitude. They crossed paths a few times and apparently also left a good enough impression on him to remember them.

The somewhat of an acquaintance's voice kept warbling on the importance of a face-to-face meeting, slowly but surely devoured by interferences until only silence reigned over comms. Any attempts to contact him were unsuccessful - a slightly concerning fact, but the earlier interferences pointed towards the mundane explanation of technical difficulties rather than any outside factors.
There's only one way how to get answers to any lingering questions, even if the shared coordinates point to a planet uncomfortably close to Imperial controlled sector. It could be a trap, but the acquaintance didn't seem distressed or under any pressure at all. In fact, his usually annoyed voice had an almost serene edge to it.

Assuming he's speaking the truth, this is the perfect chance to deprive the enemy forces of a few pawns before the inevitable war throws the galaxy into yet another turmoil. It will be difficult, but any task worth undertaking is.
Besides, what's the worst that can happen?
(Except for oddly behaving colonists, even odder dig sites, and an omnious hum which digs its tendrils deep into everyone's brains.)

Rakghouls

Deep in Hutt's space lays Paztal, a planet with interesting past and present.
The latest settlers were certainly an odd bunch, willing to endure a cold climate just to have a nice, comfortable sanctuary for unsavory elements to finish their deals and complete the not-completely-legal exchanges. It was certainly a smart move - the business is full of life, feeding into the city surrounding the spaceport and helping it steadily grow faster than Hutt.

And at the very edge of this marvelous settlement is a bar. There are no polite terms to describe it aside from shithole, hidden away from all prying eyes; the perfect place to hold inconspicuous meetings.

That's where Sidilya is currently freezing her ass off, growing angrier with each second. Perhaps it's the threatening aura keeping other patrons far away. Or maybe it's the combination of her red skin, bone spurs jutting along her chin, and prominent eyebrow-stalks that created an illusion of a permanent frown. Very few are willing to cross a pureblood sith, especially one that's drumming her fingers against the table; she's this close to crushing someone's windpipe.
At last, her informant entered the bar, an entire half-hour later than they agreed on. Unable to stay still any longer, Sidilya got on her feet and made her way towards the fool. "You have ten seconds to grovel for your life." Each word dripped with disdain, making it crystal clear how violence would get involved sooner or later.

Her annoyance stopped dead in its tracks, silent while she processed the surge of emotion that just washed over her. She's actually scared, terrified to draw another breath lest she attracts the attention of the thing in front of her. He's human but also not; far too pale bordering on greyish, with eyes and cheeks sunken deeper than a corpse's. And in those eyes, there's nothing. No fear, no anger, not even apathy. Only pure void.

It wasn't the Force whispering warnings to her. No, this was a case of the most primal senses picking up on a threat and shrieking orders to get away from it. Yet her legs felt far too heavy to move, keeping her firmly pinned to one spot.

Naturally, this pissed her off. She is on top of the food chain, the one that sows fear in all beings within a mile radius. "Back off right now!" Her barked command left no room for disobedience, perfectly masking just how uncomfortable she felt. But the...informant? Former informant? Thing? Whatever, doesn't matter, tried to lunge at her.

Tried being the keyword, as she reacted in the only way she knew how - by grabbing it by the throat and flinging the offending being far away from her, sending it crashing over the bar. As could only be expected, the bartender didn't appreciate suddenly having an absolute mess to clean up, shouting at the pureblood while making his way toward her.
Either he's completely insane or foolishly brave. No matter the case, Sidilya gladly began to hurl insults back; anger is far easier to embrace than whatever occupied her mind just seconds ago.

None paid any mind to the slowly rising body behind the bar. None witnessed its change from a pathetic human body into a glorious killing machine, built from sinewy muscles and adorned with razor-sharp claws. None knew of the disaster coming their way.
(long story short - infection makes its way into a settlement and now it's everyone's problem.)

Devices

30 minutes and 30 seconds.
If Sidilya didn't know any better, she could swear that numbers exist only to mock her. Anger began to bubble deep within her, only to wither away under the suffocating heat that could be felt even inside buildings. Then again, the only thing that's holding these walls together is rust.

30 minutes and 29 seconds.
Her fingers began drumming against her thigh while she glared at the display behind the bartender. He refused to look her way, perhaps in an attempt to not provoke her. Idiot. She toyed with the idea of ordering something just to force an interaction between them.

30 minutes and 26 seconds.
She clenched her hand into a fist, almost tearing a hole in her pants from how tightly she was holding onto the dark brown fabric. But before that could happen, she forced herself to relax and not think about how a damned sun forced her to waste time here. A sun! If it weren't for her own recent close brush with a heatstroke, she would laugh at the local's claims that it's not wise to travel outside this shithole of a town during certain times of the day. Though going from the countdown display and the fact that the bar is packed, maybe, just maybe, they were right about staying put. This place is probably shielded from rays by a thing. That thing works and she's not interested in such trivial details as its name.

30 minutes and 24 seconds.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a human staring at her. Sidilya wasted no time before straightening her back and making a show out of rolling her shoulders. A brutal training followed by never-ending physical tasks etched both scars and muscles into her body. It's slightly unfortunate that her torso is hidden away beneath her tunic, but at least it had short sleeves. She rested her elbow on the table, subtly flexing her muscles, only to find out that her potential admirer already looked away. Asshole.

The moment that counter reaches zero, she's out of here. Along with pretty much everyone else, going from the fragments of conversations she could catch on. A group of Mandalorians is discussing tactics on how they'll take down some beast, porcine-like aliens oinked away in a corner furthest away from her and they better stay there. All kept a wide berth away from her, not counting the alien-ugh, zabrak, whatshername. The red one sitting next to her. Honestly, she should be honored that Sidilya was gracious enough to accept her assistance.
Anyway, all kept a wide berth away from her. Perhaps it's thanks to the lightsaber that hung on her belt, marking her as potential trouble. When combined with her red skin, the bone spurs jutting along her chin, and prominent eyebrow-stalks that created an illusion of a permanent frown, she's a walking picture of pure sith.
(The race to find rare artifacts starts off in the slowest way possible.)

A pissed-off Force ghost/some type of mysterious affliction
WIP

Swindling Hutts out of valuable items

There's no place seedier than Nar Shaddaa; the moon's very name is synonymous with criminal's haven. Nothing is too sacred to sell, no one important enough to not experience chains of slavery - anything a buyer can think of, anything their heart desires, can be found here. For the right price, naturally.

Today's auction at Goruba the Hutt's palace is no different. It was a grand affair, starting off with a feast outside of the Hutt's residence. All attendees were encouraged to enjoy themselves while they waited for their corpulent host to finally grace them with his presence. Slaves and serving droids were locked in a neverending dance of servitude, tending to their esteemed guests without a single moment to catch their breath. A single mistake could provoke wrath, followed by a blow, if they're lucky. If not...
Few guests stood out from among the usual bunch that attended such events; the very air around these individuals felt off, a silent warning to not cross them at all costs. As fine as their clothes might be, they are not to be mistaken for some mere socialites. No, these humans are far above any royalty, each able to wield Force with enough fury to devastate armies. Seeing it unleashed on a single person would indeed be the most horrible of sights.

Yeerhan had every intention to give off the same air of deadly elegance, aggressively ignoring the fact she already failed a long time ago. Her clothes are fine - simple black robes with long sleeves were always the right choice for any occasion.
It's just her very existence that's the problem. An anomaly, fit only to be scorned by all citizens of the Empire. Being a red-skinned Zabrak is just the start of her woes. The complicated slave brand running from her lips all the way to her ears was a prime target for mockery, far too obvious even beneath the thick lines of her facial tattoos.
Yet she held her head high and posture stiff, observing her surroundings with a thoroughly unimpressed expression; after all, she is better than all of these Force-blind fools!
At least that's what she was told by her grandmother. She didn't dare to question the old woman, so it's the truth.

But beneath the carefully maintained mask laid an outright mess of thoughts, all so thoroughly entwined that not even Yeerhan herself knew how she felt. So here she is, having an internal crisis right next to the busy bar.
It's simply too much. Too flashy, too obnoxious, too loud, too crowded, too noxious - her senses were going haywire, working overtime to keep up with the onslaught of sensations. She found herself gripping her own sleeves, hoping to introduce at least some familiarity into this mess. Unfortunately, the thin fabric did very little to calm her down; guess there was no other choice but to latch onto something else. How about her goal? She has to get her hands on a certain datapad by any means necessary. As far she knows, it's not even among the items being auctioned, much to her-
That's as far as her internal monologue went before hitting a wall; all these neon lights and holo-ads are just painful to look at, stabbing her retinas again and again and again-

Her eyes kept wandering until they settled on the person nearest to her, focusing only on them while she struggled with the urge to destroy those bright torture devices.
After staring for a good ten seconds, she blurted out the first thing on her mind, so desperate to have something, anything, to keep her occupied. "Why is there an open bar? That's way too charitable for a Hutt, right?" A tiny part of her couldn't help but wonder whether it was an inappropriate question to ask. The other part was busy with trying to keep her voice devoid of emotions. Pity that it failed right at the very end and allowed her intonation to rise, too baffled to pretend otherwise.
(It's always morally correct to rob a Hutt - a motto which would explain why everyone and their mother is deadset on raiding some random Hutt's dwelling.)