siderealrpg

[siderealrpg]

Are you guys still active?

Hello! Technically, yes! We do wish to allow everyone to move at their own pace, so in all honesty, we aren’t exactly experiencing rapid-fire, constant levels of activity. But that being said, we are still around and happy to welcome any new applicants!

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do you have any banned fcs?

We don’t have a proper set list of banned faceclaims, and generally trust the discretion of our applicants. Some things do fly under the radar, in which case we will let you know if there’s an issue. But if you’re unsure about a certain faceclaim, you’re more than welcome to run it by us beforehand!

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Cipher Two

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Welcome, Desh Silva  ( Alfonso Herrera ), to a galaxy far, far away, and welcome, Jenn  ( she / they ; GMT -6 ), to SIDEREAL. Thank you so much for your application; we look forward to writing with you!

At this time, please refer to our after acceptance guidelines, let us know if you have any questions or concerns, and feel free to come join us on the Discord server. Your bio will be posted as soon as possible.

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Applications. ( +01 / 01. )

Alfonso Herrera

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( CONTENT WARNING FOR SUICIDE MENTION. )

Agents like him are nothing but water under the bridge.

Long time undercover operations where Cipher ceases to exist—if it comes down to it, they tell him, we’ll disavow any knowledge—he’s used to the feeling of drowning.

“Cipher Two.” One of the higher ups, he recognizes, greets him on the way to his debriefing. “Welcome home. And good fucking work.”

But he fights to stay afloat.

Cipher merely bows in response, doesn’t bother with a thank you, sir—the man is already moving on before Cipher can even raise his head—people like him only cared about results, no matter the cost.

The results being the dismantling and subsequent destruction of a gang with an unfortunate affinity for Republic interests—he’s just come back from Nal Hutta, his latest assignment totalling five months. It was slow work, dull work, far too slimy for his liking ( but at long last the Empire’s puppet leaders may continue their work unimpeded ). The establishment of identity, trust ( or at least the lowering of suspicion ), bridging the gap between us and them; such thankless work. Until he had found a lovely diamond in the rough: a man desperate enough to get caught in the affairs of the gang, threatened to be their dealer.

It was a fact that Cipher had exploited mercilessly, preying on his vulnerability, working his way into his confidence until he had found his way in. It was quick to unravel after that.

So when the man is put on minute-to-minute watch, in case of suicide, Cipher knows for a fact that it’s his fault.

“How so?” the prison guard had asked when Cipher told him as much.

“I was supposed to be his only friend in the world.” Cipher regards the man curled on his cot from a monitor. “I made him trust me. And then I betrayed him.”

“I think,” Cipher says slowly, and taps his finger twice against the tabletop, “that he’d be better off dead.”

“Yeah, well.” The guard shrugs. “That’s not for us to decide.” A beat. “Only for us to carry out.” He sends Cipher a cheeky grin.

Cipher can’t help but bark out a laugh, shaking his head at the irony of it all. “True enough.”

“See you later, man.”

“Yeah.” Cipher takes one last glance at the broken man on the monitor. “See you.”

And like a snake shedding its skin, he leaves it all behind him.

-

“Well, you’re a Cipher, but… still,” Watcher Twelve says softly. “That can’t have been easy.”

“No.” Cipher keeps his head lolled back against the plush of the armchair. He turns to her, a slow, wry grin spreading across his lips. “It’s scary just how easy it was.”

「 Written by Em. 」

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Hello everyone! This is an announcement for our current members and any prospective members alike. Starting Friday, 04.26, we will indefinitely be pulling our promos from the tags. While we are extremely grateful for the growth that this group has experienced in such a short period of time, we do want to dial things back for a bit to allow everyone settle in and ensure no one is getting too overwhelmed.

Members will still be allowed to apply with new characters and anyone who wishes to join us may still do so, but we will be relying more on word-of-mouth for the time being. 

As always, if you have any questions or concerns about anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let us know. We are here to help!

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Welcome, Cipher Two ( Deng Lun ), to a galaxy far, far away, and welcome, Em  ( she / her ; GMT -4 ), to SIDEREAL. Thank you so much for your application; we look forward to writing with you!

At this time, please refer to our after acceptance guidelines, let us know if you have any questions or concerns, and feel free to come join us on the Discord server. Your bio will be posted as soon as possible

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Applications. ( +01 / 01. )

Deng Lun

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Ghost is requesting an apprentice for Itriro Izem.

So I’m looking for someone who, like Itri, once trained formally in the Force, under either the Sith or the Jedi, but has become disillusioned in some way. The details are up to you, but ultimately, they came across (or heard of) Itri, and for a few years has been training with Itri to maintain a balance between both light and dark side, under his guidance. Anything additional or details can be discussed.

Requested character’s name | Up to player. World of origin | Up to player. Year of birth | Up to player. Gender + pronouns | Up to player. Species | Up to player. Occupation | Up to player. Previous affiliation(s) | Sith or Jedi Current affiliation(s) | Up to player. Faceclaim | Up to player.

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Jashara Kelen

Lark Ciprian

Nevariane Khan

Thio Damaris

Valandra Dravvad

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( CONTENT WARNING FOR DEATH, MURDER. )

Valandra’s story begins with a woman finding her in a clearing in Naboo. She had been left there for no more than a day but had it not been for Lord Dravvar and his wife she would have died of starvation and thirst in that forest. She doesn’t remember the people who put her there as she was only an infant, instead Valandra’s memories are filled with her true parents.

Lady Dravvar could not conceive a child and was growing old and so it was an easy choice to adopt the girl who looks like she could have been her own had it not been for the horns on her head. Valandra was as loved as if she had been a true Dravvar. She was loved by one but not the other. Lord Dravvar wanted desperately a son to pass his riches down to, an heir to his domain. He had wanted a boy and instead got a bastard girl and for that all Valandra ever got from the old man was resentment and disdain. Still she was happy. She was loved by one and one was enough.

Until finally the gods answered her father’s prayers and her mother became pregnant. The blessing turned to curse soon enough though as her mother died in childbirth and the child did not survive. It was on that same fateful day that Valandra discovered her force sensitivity as in her grief and rage she used the force and sent her handmaiden flying across the room. The blood and the injuries were enough to alarm her and give her father an excuse to be rid of her.

He calls her a danger, a disruption and he sends her away. He has never wanted her, only her mother did and she was kept here by her wishes, he says. And so she is sent away with a bag containing bare necessities. Not enough to last her long. Her newfound powers frighten her more than the possibility of dying in Naboo. She has heard of the Jedi but she knows they are old men and she is tired of old men choosing her fate for her.

The name of a Sith warrior makes its way to her, a woman. Skilled and powerful. Someone who could teach her and has taught girls like her. She steals a ship, seducing it’s captain before slitting his throat in the dead of night and so her hands are stained red before she even makes it to Darth Ferran. The rage inside her hasn’t died down, not since the passing of her mother and the day her father tossed her aside. Her anger makes her a perfect weapon for the Sith and they can make a warrior out of her they tell her, if she is willing to sacrifice.

She trains for years under Darth Ferran’s watchful eyes and her skills are well honed. She has risen from a lowly apprentice to a feared Sith warrior and she has almost forgotten their words. They ask her to prove her fealty one last time, to head back to Naboo to cut off her last ties to that planet and to her old life.

She slaughters her father’s guards and then him. There’s hesitation for a second, the tiny flicker of light still within her fighting to make itself known but Lord Vaddrak calls her a monster and his eyes are so full of hate and before she knows it she’s passed her lightsaber through his body and she feels nothing. No rage. No sorrow. Only pride. She has proven herself to her master. She is far stronger than her father ever suspected. She’s won.

「 Written by Meg. 」

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( CONTENT WARNING FOR MURDER. )

Amon doesn’t remember his parents. He was told later in life that his parents had been off-worlders, archaeologists that left him and one other child with the tribe of Sand People that raised them. Life on Tatooine should have been harsh, with the sun and the sand and dangerous beasts, but Amon was always well protected by his tribe and by his best friend, Nox. It was a simple way of living, and the two children often passed the time by developing what they would later realize were Force abilities.

Being half-Miraluka, Amon’s eyes didn’t develop quite right, so he’d been using the Force to help navigate for as long as he could remember. In addition, he frequently had dreams that ended up reflecting reality. Apparently, such things created waves in the Force, and by the time he and Nox reached their early teens they’d garnered some extraplanetary attention.

A Sith and a Jedi Seer both arrived, both with their own agendas, and the children were split. Amon, for his part, was not taken to the Jedi Order, but to the much more secretive Jedi Covenant. An ill-advised group of Jedi Seers, all bent on preventing another Sith war and willing to do anything to make that happen.

Amon was happy with them for a very long time, for a given definition of the word. He spent almost no time anchored in the present, but he and his WatchCircle managed to save a few lives, once he’d graduated from the tutelage of his master Krynda Draay. Unfortunately, saving lives wasn’t all that the Covenant was about.

In order to prevent a Sith uprising, one of the WatchCircles decided it was necessary to take drastic actions. A padawan had been seen going Dark on Taris, and so it was decided that they would arrive and slaughter the entire group of padawans living there. For the first time, Amon truly couldn’t stomach the thought of what they were going to do. He contacted the Jedi Order, got an Investigator to hear him out, but all of it was too late. The padawans were dead, and that blood was on his hands.

Under suspicion from the rest, he barely lasted until the Covenant was dissolved. After everything, he turned his back on his visions and joined the Jedi Order proper. Among them, he learned different ways of using the Force, though in no area did he excel like he had with his Force Sight.

Not long before things grew truly dire for the Order, Amon took on a job to investigate the Sith occupation of Keshtah. It turned into a diplomatic escort, as he attempted to bring one of their number back to Coruscant for negotiations– somehow, everything that could possibly have gone wrong did. A short trip between planets became a two year odyssey, and by the time they finally neared Coruscant things had deteriorated so far that the Council’s only advice was for Amon to go to ground. Hide. Keep his political charge safe and avoid being killed with the rest of them.

「 Written by Kit. 」

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A whirlwind of emotions. That’s what had been left on the steps of the Coruscant Temple. A five-year-old with a grin as bright as the star around which Coruscant orbited, it was only the start of a long road of sliding across the spectrum of the Force. The masters of the temple realised that he needed to be taught the tenants of the Order, the ways of the Jedi, as quickly as they could, because young as he was, he was boisterous and his Force untamed, prone to Dark influences if left unchecked. For years, they tried. For years, Tiago resisted — not by any conscious means, rather than that was simply not something he was capable of. He was a boy quick to smile, quicker to hug, and laugh, his emotions bright as his grin. He was heartfelt, fervent, a roaring flame amidst carefully kept embers. They suspected he might fall one day, but not when.

By the time he was twelve, they had all but given up. Their effort to calm down the fire within him was all for naught, but he was a diligent student in the Force, and just as much in the martial aspects of his training. Things took a turn when Tiago discovered he could make fire for the first time — thus started years of correcting his fellow vahla friend’s missteps by… simply setting his clothes on fire. It never went further than that, usually, and it was also never malicious, but it was problematic.

Throughout his studies, Tiago seemed to effortlessly glide from Light to a dip into the Dark as though taking swim in a pool, heaving himself out again without any hooks digging into him. Most days, his fluctuating was less extreme, and he was firmly rooted in the Grey. For Tiago, it wasn’t about balance. Balance wasn’t something particularly on his mind. He was an emotional person and it was his strength, and to undo that was to undo him. His aptitude for healing came from his deep empathy, his capacity for statis from his stubbornness, and his propensity for pyrokinesis from his joy for life (and fire). Tempering his emotions, his being, was to temper his ability to interact with the Force, and subconsciously Tiago had always fought against it.

When he started his training as a sage, they thought — hoped — it might even him out, if time hadn’t. It didn’t. In training, Tiago displayed a capability for both Light and Dark uses of the Force, and while the latter was never used particularly destructive, without the intent to kill, it was still enough to alarm. He would be kept an eye on, and, when his training was concluded, sent away on mission after mission. Out of sight, out of mind. And yet he always came back, a bit beaten, a bit bruised; some days the fire inside him had simmered to a small campfire, and other times it was roaring, bordering on destructive.

Through it all, he always remained in contact with his friends. Until two of his friends disappeared without a word. Out of courtesy, Tiago went to the council, requesting that he be sent after them to see what happened to them, concerned by the growing unrest. They suggested it was best he didn’t. Ultimately, Tiago agreed with them, and then went anyway.

「 Written by Ghost. 」

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( CONTENT WARNING FOR BLOOD, DEATH. )

The world expands before you, doesn’t it? Sprint through the streets, whoop and holler, sing your childhood for everyone to hear. Nothing can stop the glee in your step. You cannot stop loving this world.

And yet, the light in this world must always meet darkness. And the sun sets too soon for you, doesn’t it?

~

( the light is blinding when you are found beneath the floorboards, tear stains on your cheeks long dry. they pull you out into the sun, these saviors, huddle around you as to shield you. but you have already seen the blood dripping through the wood. you understand your family is gone, and by the glimpses of bodies you pass, so is the rest of your village.

their screams still echo with your every footstep. )

~

The monks do not push you; they simply guide you throughout the temple, feed you, care for you. But you remain silent, following their lead but never offering anything more. And there are nights where they blow out the candle at your bedside that  you stare at the ceiling until the suns rays peak through the window.

And yet, even when you don’t close your eyes, the charred bodes press against your skull.

The monks whisper, worry, and after some time, before you fade altogether, they lead you to the heart of the temple and finally push you to the center. And there, someone in similar garb, but somehow doesn’t seem to belong holds out their hand to you.

“I won’t be able to ease that which haunts you,” they whisper, “but I can teach you how to accept it — and maybe ensure you never suffer like that again.”

And you think i don’t trust you. And you wonder how can you fix me? And you decide i want to live again.

You swallow, swallow, swallow, and your throat hurts as you whisper, “Okay….okay.”

~

It begins with discovering how to breathe. Through the hours of the day and in the moments staring at the ceiling, breathe in, breathe out, over and over until you close your eyes by choice, and your memories no longer suffocate, no longer threaten everything you are.

Then your new guide shakes you awake the next morning, asks what now fills you. And you want to say fury, you wish to say vengeance. But your hands don’t close to fists, and your body folds into yourself.

“I am nothing.”

They smile. “Then you will be reborn.”

~

You train until you fall, wheezing for air that does not come easily, and there, your mentor, Ishale, stands above you. “Again,” they say. “Again.”

So push yourself from the ground, stand tall, strong, ignore that the other acolytes are receiving different training, do not acknowledge that you are now under the wings of someone who is a guardian and is not in the same breath. Breathe in, breathe out.

Train until you kneel, then train until you stumble, then train until you do not fall at all. The screams of the past are fading, and you can only continue moving forward. The Force surrounds you, as the other monks like to repeat, and you try your hardest to feel it in your bones and let it guide you in ways that this new life cannot.

And then one day, Ishale rushes into your room, throwing a lightbow to you. “Do not suffer,” is all they say, and you understand. You shouldn’t, but you do.

~

( you try so hard, and yet, when it is over, the screams still echo )

~

You leave because you are fading once more, and Ishale recognizes this, decides it is time for you to move forward another way. The two of you promise to return one day, for the temple will surely call to one of you again.

And the two of you find a different set of work, providing guidance in some forms, but more importantly to others, protection. It is enough; it should be enough.

~

( you stare at the sky, and you have to remind yourself to breathe. over and over, until the sky turns pink from the rising sun, you have to remember this is not the end. the force is in the air, surrounding you, embracing you. this you must believe; this you must treasure. it is enough. it is enough. it is enough. )

~

“If you want to go,” Ishale starts one night, and you whip your head to them. They stare at you, as if they see everything, and really, they always have, haven’t they? “If you wish to be on your own, then you should go. Do not stay out of obligation.”

~

You remain for another four years. When you leave, it is with whispered goodbyes and tears barely held back.

~

Ask yourself, when you decide to offer yourself as an ally for those running, if this is what was meant when Ishale said you were to be reborn. Is this what you were destined for, when your parents shoved you into hiding? That you should offer yourself to be sacrificed as they once were? If you are still so tied to your past, does that truly mean you are a new person facing the world? Or is this what the Force shaped your destiny to be?

Are you still nothing?

~

( when you see the light, though, you cherish it. and while darkness may follow soon, you hold it close. and maybe that’s all you will need ).

「 Written by Roni. 」

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( CONTENT WARNING FOR VIOLENCE. )

Maybe if he’d been a soul on a different planet he wouldn’t have spiralled the way he did.  In memory his childhood carried a running theme of war, all angry and red. If he searched for it, looked hard enough, maybe he’d remember the time he’d winced at the sound of a blaster being fired and that same angry red left over from a kneeling man’s head.  He’d never immediately remember the wince; instead his first thought would be the tight grip on his shoulder that silently yet forcefully told him to look. He’d learn not to flinch. Through training he’d stand out as quick, and above all, resourceful; improvising something from nothing and tilting the field in his advantage.  He was greeted more than once with accusations from other children that he only fought dirty; and he didn’t particularly care. He was sixteen when he watched the movements of a skirmish happen in front of him— powerful swinging kicks in his direction and quick jabs towards his body. It all appeared in slow motion, played out for him before anyone had moved, found in the anticipation of twitching and tensing muscles.  The match was met with silence. He’d been too fast, too accurate, and too ready. They all knew in that moment that he belonged somewhere else. Korriban was the unravelling. The detriment was slow, creeping through his mind. He had rage. He had the passion and the anger; his life had been red. But Korriban, it taught him how to sleep soundly in his bed at night. He didn’t consider tortured screams— didn’t seen the faces of others as he effectively snuffed their flames.  Korriban twisted and shredded his conscience, making a terrible weapon out of apathy.

「 Written by Jenn. 」

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For the first thirteen years of her life, Lark didn’t really question the darkness that surrounded her family. She was a child of simple joys, playing, exploring, watching the skies with her best friend in the world, dreaming of the day she would fly away. Her perspective changed when Ten discovered her parents had killed his. He hated her for it, and he left. Her thirteen-year-old mind turned all her anger toward her family. She worked against them in secret, hiding away money and resources a tiny bit at a time until she could afford to run away for good.

Lark fled Nar Shaddaa, doing odd-jobs across the galaxy to pay her way to Coruscant. She signed up to the Republican Navy because it was the most opposite thing from her parents’ lives she could think of. Where they were darkness, the Republican Forces were light… right? Over the years, she fought in battles, wars, loved and lost. The death of her mentor in the Battle of Malachor V and the aftermath surrounding it made her question the very nature of good, evil, and all the greys in between. Nevertheless, Lark performed her duties in the years to come, being a small part in the gigantic machine that helped end the Jedi Civil War. But another war is always around the corner, and in many ways, Lark is still trying to figure out her place in it.

「 Written by Riley. 」