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About Swara-Ann Trevelyan

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  1. House Trevelyan “Modest in temper, bold in deed” -House Trevelyan motto House Trevelyan is a noble family from Ostwick in the Free Marches. Originating in the dual walled Free Marcher city of Ostwick, the Trevelyans are a noble house noted for their piety and connections within the Chantry and the Templar Order. Younger members of the family are often expected to follow a career in service of the Chantry either as a member of the Chantry itself or as a Templar, regardless of their personal feelings or motivations. Many members of the family presently serve as members of the chantry and the Trevelyans are reliably on a first name basis with most of the Chantry in Ostwick. The Trevelyans have relatives among the nobility of Nevarra and the Tevinter Imperium, including House Pavus. The Trevelyans also maintain a relationship with the Montilyet family of Antiva. Lucille Trevelyan - Swara's great-aunt. Lives in Ostwick. Bann Trevelyan - Swara's father. Lady Trevelyan - Swara's mother. Lady Osher Lotharn Trevelyan Bayart - A cousin of Swara's whose skill at court intrigue and proficiency with The Game are well know. To her, reputation is everything. Lord Albrecht - A distant relative of Swara's who temper, poor manners and mouth are constantly forcing the family to keep him in check. Philliam Bernard Aloicious Trevelyan, better known as Philliam, a Bard! - He's a bard. Not a very good one... but still a bard. Swara Annelise (Swara-Ann) Trevelyan House Trevelyan is littered with prestige and pious accolades, of that it is certain. Of Swara, however, very little is certain and not much of it is flattering. What is known is that she was (is) a Ley Sister of the Ostwick Chantry where she was receiving her education and secondary schooling. While the Free Marches certainly never protest to a woman taking up arms, it was expressly forbade in Swara-Ann's case, lest she harm herself, or others. Rumors abound that along with her status as a Ley Sister, came the fact that she was sent off to the Chantry because she was as dump as a post. Bann Trevelyan, who was somewhat overprotective of his rather dull child, sent her away to serve The Maker but The Breech and The Great Cause that followed interrupted her studies and she never took her vows, making her a true Sister. She has spoken many times about how she escaped Ostwick, fled to Fereldan to join the Inquisition and serve the Maker as best she can restoring peace and hope to the world of Thedas. Beautiful, nurturing and kind to a fault, Swara-Ann sees the good in everyone and truly believes the world would be much better if everyone just listened and made a better attempt to understand everyone elses' feelings. She's a hugger and talker and her perpetual smile is almost as infectious as her bubbly good cheer. The rumors of her being dumb as a post are certainly true, but her skill with a blade and desire to use in the Maker's name are certainly up to snuff. She is quite aware which end goes in the bad guys and is not afraid to put to the sword anyone who would keep the world from being restored to it's proper, peaceful glory.
  2. I've provided you with prices. You may find the 'Droid Accessories' table on page 369 of the revised book.
  3. Originally Posted By: Michael PetersI'm making a Scoundrel droid... who's primary function at the time of his creation was translation. Have you considered having a 'Translator Unit' installed on the Droid? It costs 1,000 credits for the best model. Everytime the droid hears a language for the first time it may make an Intelligence Check DC 30-5 (depending on model purchased, the 1,000 credit unit is DC 5). Once the droid has successfully translated the language it may speak it normally (some ST add the language to the droids languages, others permit the droid to speak it only until the droid breaks off contact and must roll again the next time the language is encountered. I'm not sure how it's done here.) Translator Unit DC 30 50cr DC 25 150cr DC 20 300cr DC 15 500cr DC 10 750cr DC 5 1,000cr May the Force serve you well.
  4. Polla Pello struggled against her bindings but to no avail. With every youthful grunt of exerted strength she only grew more tired and gotten nowhere. She was in a blackened room with the only illumination coming from thin bulbs of red radiance from the edges of the floor and ceiling. Her arms were sore as she hung on a vertical table bound like a “T”, but the Zabrak child, barely into her tenth year, was unharmed for the most part. The door to her ‘cell’ slid open and Darth Nephtis stepped through with a quickened pace. Her expression showed that she was either not very pleased or in a very serious mood. “Your father thinks you dead, child.” She said, her heels echoed through the small room as she approached the child. Polla could do nothing but cry. She was afraid, scared, sore, and just wanted to go home. “Shh… shh…,” Nephtis kissed her gently on the forehead while slipping her long gloves off her arms. “So innocent. So innocent indeed…” The Sith Lord was intoxicated by the child’s fear, sorrow, and pain. “I-I wanna see my daddy,” sobs and sniffles filled Nephtis’s senses and she looked upon her, those blood red lips of hers refused to give way to darkness and remained a crimson contrast to the shadows of the room. “I wanna go home.” “My dear,” dark purple bolts of Force summoned energy coursed through the small child’s frame. She wailed in misery and cried out in pain. Every second was an eternity; the ten year old felt her skin blister and took the scent of her own flesh into her nostrils. Darth Nephtis’s smile was all she could see through the haze of the flesh-scented smoke and saline tears once the energy had subsided. “You are home and I will find your innocence child, and tear it from you kicking and screaming!” More energy filled the room and the girl’s screams were heard all throughout the halls of the Sith Lord’s lair. A few of the soldiers that served under her found themselves feeling remorse and pity for the poor child. All they could do was close their eyes and hope it was never them on that table.
  5. From the shadows Darth Nephtis stepped into view, her red lips visible the entire time, but Vigo Pallo was in no shape to notice. Her pale skin could barely be seen, almost covered by her black krayt leather clothing. Her boots reached as high as her thighs and her skirt hung as low as her knees slit up to her hip on each side for maximum mobility. Vigo Pallo noticed the lightsaber clipped at her side. Like a runway starlet she placed one foot in front of the other and gently stepped down the three steps into the meeting area of the office. He sat behind the large desk and in front of it were three comfortable chairs used to meet with all manner of criminals and corrupt officials. “Careful what you say Vigo, I may take offense.” She replied as she sat down in one of the chairs. She heard his desk drawer open. “Care for a drink?” Vigo Pallo reached into his drawer to get her a glass. “Your blaster is not there, fool,” Darth Nephtis slung her feet up onto his desk, making herself comfortable. “Nor is your panic button working.” Frustration gripped the large Iridonian, he gripped the glass, squeezing tightly as if to crush it. “Just kill me already, woman! I’m already tired of your games!” The Sith woman smiled and her crimson lips remained visible regardless of the luminance in the room. She clenched her fists, fitting the tight leather gloves she wore. The creaking sounds played havoc with Vigo Pallo’s nerves. “I’m not here to kill you Vigo Pallo. I’m tired of killing tonight.” “What is it you want then?” He poured another drink for himself. Just the mere presence of Nephtis drove his fear and nerves to the brink of a meltdown. “I’m not backing down. She pays up, or I go to the Republic with all of it. Either she pays, or they will. Nothing personal, just business. She has two days left to consider my offer. If you kill me, she’ll get nothing.” “I told you already you tub of worthless cowardice, I’m not here to kill you.” She took her feet of his desk and stood up. He watched her closely as she moved along the desk’s side. She half-way sat upon its edge, one foot still on the floor while her leg rested comfortably upon the polished surface. “This game you and my Master are playing has me rather intrigued.” “I don’t follow.” Vigo Pallo stammered, his voice shaken by her proximity to him. “It amazes me how people with such similarities and things in common always find it so difficult to agree with one another.” The Dark Jedi lazily swayed her leg back and forth, creating an illusion that she may be off balance. “Everyone always wants more now, never realizing that if they are patient they will get everything they desire in time.” Zabraks were a tough species to crack. The Vigo didn’t know where she was going with her little lecture, but he wasn’t buying it and she wasn’t even past the first sentence. She was a violent and scary woman, but when it came to intimidating Crime Lords, this lady had a lot to learn. “My business is in the here and now, I’m not about to put off profit until tomorrow that I can have today. The Galaxy goes through Sith Lords like a Hutt at a buffet. I want to make sure I get my credits, period. You’re Master and I have nothing in common, Jedi.” He let the ‘Jedi’ slip off with a snide tone, as if she were to suddenly become humiliated by her fall to the Dark Side and immediately repent. She picked up the holo of Pallo’s family up from its place on the desk. “Vigo Pallo, loving husband, successful ‘business man’,” she let that part slip with a bit of emphasis. “And father of two daughters, very impressive.” “Three daughters, and I know what your trying to do,” Corellian Brandy splattered across the desk, the glass in Vigo Pallo’s hand broke, cutting his thumb, but he didn’t notice as the implied threat boiled his blood. “If you think I’ll sit here and…” “Silence.” The vile Jedi spoke and her tone implied more than a threat this time. In a single word she regained control of the conversation. The Iridonian man immediately was overcome with the fear of a thousand times worse than any he could ever have fathomed in his mind. “As I was saying…” Nephtis stood again and placed herself behind the Crime Lord’s large chair and rested her gloved hands gently on his quivering shoulders. She knew he felt the final moments of his life drawing near and her crimson lips grinned with enjoyment. “Two. That is what you and my Master have in common. You both possess incredible willpower; neither willing to give into the demands of the other.” Sweat droplets gently streamed down temple. The fear was subsiding but he still dare not move with her so close. She leaned around, whispering into his ear almost seductively. “It’s all very exciting.” Leaving her perch over his shoulder Darth Nephtis made her way to the exit. She said nothing more until the door detected her presence and slid open on it’s own allowing yellow light to shine into the room upon the Crime Lord Vigo. Tears had formed as his mind tried to guess which if his children the Sith had stolen from him. “I told you I was tired of killing for one night,” Her shadowy exotic frame held every ounce of his attention. “My master has two days to decide, you have two daughters left. I’m curious to see which side will give in first. I’ll be following the outcome of this negotiation very closely.” The door slid closed as the echoed laughter of Darth Nephtis filled his ears.
  6. The portal slid open and a shadowed figure walked through the shadows of the archway, its features obscured by the light from the outer passageway mingling with the darkness of the chamber it now entered. The darkened room was an office, its feature not completely blackened but in a state of twilight as the lights from the city outside shone through the plate glass window that reached across the entire length of the office’s northern wall. The man, a zabrak, hustled as quickly as he could, his corpulent frame prevented him from moving too hastily. His breathing was raspy, like his lungs were about to collapse from over exertion. The lower drawer to his desk slid open followed by a crystal glass that sent a shimmer around the room with its reflective facets. Corellian Brandy poured into the glass a bit tumbling over the rim as the man’s hand shook nervously. “Something troubling you Vigo Pallo?” Cooed an accented voice speaking galactic basic, feminine and alluring and obscured by the shadows of the unlit office. The overweight alien, sweat beading from his brow, smiled as he tipped the glass to his lips gulping the sweet liquor down in a single swallow. He hardly seemed surprised to hear himself addressed from the shadows. “I should have guessed. It was only a matter of time before that bitch sent her bitch to do her dirty work."
  7. "Tell me what you regard as your greatest strength, so I will know how best to undermine you; tell me of your greatest fear, so I will know which I must force you to face; tell me what you cherish most, so I will know what to take from you; and tell me what you crave, so that I might deny you…" ~Darth Plagueis
  8. Discarded from her master's attention Darth Nephtis pulled her cloak over her quivering shoulders, perhaps subconsciously to warm the icy chill of her Master's disapproval that still coursed through her athletic frame. Once she finally regained her composure she pulled her wide hood over her beautiful features. In moments shadow engulfed her face and all one could see is the crimson of her lips upon a sheet of darkness. She had been given her orders. Without further delay she set off to complete her Master's desires. The sound of her boots upon the stone became nothing but echoes to Lady Riventi's ears.
  9. She gasped as her eyes grew wide with terror. The impact against the wall tore the air from her lungs and the hope from her mind that she might live another day. Her hands gripped her throat instinctively in a vain attempt to fend off the assault. The power of the Force gripped her body entirely and its might heeded only the call of its master, Lady Riventi. The torment she endured while held against the wall was a swift and brutal reminder of Sith culture. It served as a lesson for Nephtis to remember: the relation between Sith Master and Sith Apprentice was a simple one. There will always be a Master who possesses power, and an Apprentice to desire that power. With a graceless tumble Nephtis fell to the floor, gasping for air and wincing under the strain to force her body to listen to her commands again. The Dark Side of the Force still rippled through her causing nausea and pain with every movement and thought. "G-gone, dead," she managed, clutching her chest tightly and wrinkling the stiffened black leather of her Sith armor. "I understand, Master. I will do as you ask." She coughed and choked in a heap of black velvet and dark leather. There was no apology. Sith did not apologize. She had taken the lesson her master had to teach her, and a painful lesson it was. Weary and broken, she staggered back to her feet using the wall to support her. Her knees wobbled, mixing well with her shortness of breath that made the chamber warp and weft from lack of oxygen.
  10. Nephtis tingled at the cold touch of her master's hand. To be held in favor was an honor and Nephtis's loyalty was nothing short of adamant. Lady Riventi referred to Darth Nephtis's incarceration on her last mission where spent six months in a Jedi isolation chamber awaiting trial. Nephtis couldn't help but grin as the memory returned to her. None knew how she escaped, not even master. I was this event that had secured her place among Lady Riventi's elite Sith followers and favored servants. "The Jedi are weak," she dared an argument to her mistress's plans. "Reconnaissance will take months, if not more. Why do we waste our time and resources on gathering intelligence when when we know their weaknesses. Our fleet could over run the entire outer rim within the same time it will take us to gather more redundant information." Darth Nephtis stepped forward with confidence. "Allow me to simply crush the Jedi and their pitiful Republic for you. I can do it."
  11. Darth Nephtis slowly raised her head revealing the the cold, pale beauty of her features offset only by blood red lips. A vile grin crept slowly long the smooth crimson gloss. "My life is yours, I exist only to serve you, Master." She stood up slowly, the mantle of her dark cloak fell over her concealing her features beneath with a gentle 'swish' of black velvet and dark satin. "Tell me what I must do," excitement rose in her voice at the prospect of fulfilling her mistresses desires. "I never fail."
  12. Boots echoed, muffled slightly by the long black flowing robes that draped the elegant, graceful figure as she approached the dark and exotic frame wreathed in black silks. Rare spices and aromas assaulted the apprentices senses and the fire did nothing to warm the chamber. The apprentice knelt, dropping her head to gaze upon the cold black stone. Her hood slipped forward slightly, and a stray strand of white mingled in contrast with a few rogue locks of ink black hair. "What is thy bidding, my Master?"
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