Approved Verse Rastee

Name: Verse Rastee

Profession: Sith; bounty hunter.

Age: 21

Appearance: Short; short, curly blonde hair and yellowish eyes. Unhealthily pale, slightly yellowish skin. Wears red robes over dark grey light armour. Not an inch of visible skin below her eyes; gloves, boots, trousers under her leg armour under her robes; the works. Bottom half of her face and most of her neck has been replaced by a raspy cybernetic mask, sculpted into the image of a scowling demon. She's not sure where the cybernetics came from (she was unconscious when it was installed), or what inspired the design, but she's very fond of it and gets agitated when people make fun of it.

Force Sensitive: Verse is as sensitive to the Force as her fellow apprentice is skilled with a lightsaber. Her sensitivity is a wound that was rubbed raw during her apprenticeship, so that even slight Force vibrations send spikes of pain shooting through her skull. This is something she has learned to cope with over time, although for much of her apprenticeship it has limited her growth. This vexed her master to no end. Since her maiming, and since her near-death at the hands of Revan and the Jedi, she has become more accustomed to constant, lasting pain, and has learned to use this to make progress in leaps and bounds--one last gift from her master, you could call it, if you were an asshole.

She's proficient in telekinesis and foresight, and especially in the detection of the usage of Force powers. On one occasion, during the assassination of her master, she managed to use Force Lightning, but her projection of it was wild and largely out of her control. It has left her in a state of near-constant permanent exhaustion. This has only led to her becoming ever-more filled with anger, naturally.

-Light armour (might deflect a grazing blaster bolt or an ordinary knife; not good for anything else)
Low-grade focus designed to help her channel her abilities a little better.

Weapons, armor, gadgets:
-Dueling lightsaber (curved hilt); designed to work with Form II stances and motions at the expense of other forms.
-A blaster pistol
-Her master's old lightsaber (busted, but she still carries it around in her pack).

Bio: This kid, who never really had a name, was born into abject poverty. Which was lucky for the Sith, I suppose. When someone force sensitive is born into a wealthy family--a Coruscant socialite, some interstellar merchant, a general, whatever--the Jedi snap them up pretty quickly. Hard to hide a kid who starts throwing shit with their mind when they throw their first temper tantrum. But if you're, say, born into a family of miners on some old, half-dead asteroid where most of the workers barely manage to scrape together enough scrip to pay off the rent on their own tools, well. When dark-robed figures come calling, waving around full credit sticks and dire threats, there's only really one possible outcome, isn't there? When their neighbours asked where their kid had gone, they claimed she'd fallen into one of the shafts that led out into The Open. Happens all the time. Everyone forgot about it before too long. And after waiting a few months, to be sure that the money was good, the couple bought off their tools, covered the loan on their home, made a down payment on a ship, got shaken down by a pair of corporate security agents, failed to make their next payment, and found themselves on the wrong side of an airlock. So that was the end of anyone who knew anything about the kid.

This other kid, who we're going to call 'Verse,' grew up under conditions that were, probably, better. At the Academy, you got three square meals, most of the time. You got training, so that you didn't scare off your friends. And those 'friends' were all out to kill you anyway, so sometimes scaring them off wasn't so bad. She made it through. More than that--the Sith, she found, had policies that appealed to her. The Code resonated. Passion, strength, strength, power, power, victory--victory, freedom. Sure. You can see how that might be appealing to someone whose early memories were of darkness, debt, and endless claustrophobic tunnels.

And she managed to attract a master, too! A prestigious one, no less. He already had an apprentice--from a prestigious family, too. Verse hit it off with her. They still tried to kill each other, but it was a friendly kind of attempted murder. They exchanged knives. Kept little bottles of poison in pouches to slip into each other's drinks. All very normal Sith stuff. The master, it turned out, sucked, but that wasn't such a huge problem. He only managed to nearly kill Verse once. And by then she'd been planning to kill him for years, so maybe that was fair play.

Then Revan came. And the Sith Brotherhood became the Sith Empire. Their master, idiot that he was, raised his voice in dissent, and for his trouble he was sent after a Jedi master who--surprise!--knew he was coming. Verse went with him, and nearly died a second time. Embarrassing! She made it out, barely, searing the image of her master's killer into her mind, and found her back way to her sort-of-sister. Then they went into 'hiding.' Hunting bounties, mostly. And training. Verse hated the Jedi, of course--all their arrogant posturing isolationism; what a waste of good talent--but she knew exactly what Revan had done to her, and to the order. That was what she needed to avenge herself on. All her anger and frustration--years of it, building up since before she'd been taken to Korriban--centered on Revan. She and Corre were going to get him. One way or another.