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| Jovian Grey
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Twi'lek
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Male
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1.9m
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220lbs
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None
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Red Iris
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None
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Purple
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Wrruushi
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None
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House Sunrider
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Yuki Suoh
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16853
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Jovian Grey is an Odanite padawan.
Character History
Jovian's striking appearance only reveals a fraction of his extraordinary life; his body tells a story through the intricate tattoos and scars etched into his skin. Hailing from a far-off world, he was born to a mother deeply entrenched in the interstellar trade. In his formative years, Jovian's perception of the universe revolved around servitude. Even in infancy, he was regarded as an adornment, often tethered to the individual he was meant to enhance. His unique crimson complexion and distinct features deemed him unfit for manual labour, leaving him at the mercy of those who sought to enlist his services.
At the tender age of 13, he was sold into servitude to a merchant destined to be bound to him for life. As a small Twi'lek, he trembled with fear while his mother, with a heavy heart, consented to his departure, choosing to erase his existence from her life. Left to spend his final night in solitude, he grappled with profound sadness and uncertainty. When the merchant arrived, he was captivated by Jovian's striking appearance. A sense of unease emanated from Jovian, compelling the merchant to flee, yet fear held him in place. The merchant enticed Jovian with the prospect of travelling to his planet without constraints, granting him the freedom to roam the ship at will.
Jovian, feeling unsteady, seized the opportunity to explore the ship, relishing the newfound freedom from the weight of a chain. As the ship descended, Jovian sensed a black bag being placed over his head. Memories flooded back of the steps he had taken and the dampness against his skin before a collar and shackles were fastened onto him. The shackles on his hands were then connected to a large ring around his neck, severely limiting his field of vision to the small space between his jewelled fingers. He was forced into a large cell, and when he removed the bag, he was greeted by absolute horror.
Male Twi’lek; Black, Blue and bloated, lay strewn around him, sharing his likeness. His horror could have echoed through the chamber and to the sky above. His wails and animalistic cries were greeted by the echos of his suffering. For days at a time, he was forced to sit with these bodies with his hands, the only things to cradle his sobbing face. Between the days of horror, the merchant would send his men to tattoo Jovian; during this time, his hands were free but paralysed from fear.
Within the dim cell, the moonlight illuminated a face in the corner. While Jovian usually blocked the small window on the door, this time was different. As time passed, an echo started to emanate from the decaying face. "Jovian," it cried. There was a different darkness now emanating from it. Jovian was arrested “Obtain your freedom, they will be here tomorrow. Destroy them.” The face was different; a man with glowing blue eyes called to him. Jovian felt his body slide closer to the man standing in the corner “You know what you have to do. Destroy them.” He called out to Jovian. A scream echoed from his head, and he knew what he needed to do.
Jovian lived out the next three years in a life of planning; he began to notice the guards' routine, and a new power seemed to surge through him. Small applications of this power drug the bodies around the room… unfortunately, sometimes unleashing the foulness contained within them. One night, from what Jovian knew, was his sixteenth birthday. The guards came for Jovian and escorted him to the upper bedroom. He was extensively bathed and oiled in things that he had never smelt. This was a complete change from the environment that he spent his time in. Other servants dressed him in Nightsister armour and escorted him into the bedroom. Having practised coming in tune with the force, the voice came to him again: ‘You know what you have to do!’
The merchant was seated behind a grand oak desk positioned prominently in the centre of the lavishly decorated room. His gaze was fixed on Jovian as an unsettling sense of dread washed over the young man. With cautious steps, Jovian advanced towards the merchant. The merchant, realising his oversight, offered Jovian a "snack" as a peace offering, consisting of fresh air, a bath, and some food. Though Jovian was seething with anger, he managed to suppress his emotions, using them as a source of determination. The merchant beckoned Jovian closer until they were mere feet apart, their tension palpable in the air. The merchant looked at Jovian and asked for his forgiveness, suddenly, the man that Jovian saw stood behind the pair. Time seemed to slow as Jovian looked at this cloaked man ‘Jovian, are you so quick to give him forgiveness?’
Jovian seemed to fade out of consciousness. There was a warm sensation on his hand and a scream. He heard that in the cell, and when the darkness seemed to fade, the merchant's entrails were displayed in front of him. Jovian's hands shook as he fixed his gaze on the struggling merchant, his own breath coming in short gasps. It felt like an eternity as Jovian watched the man's desperate battle for air.. When he felt like life was nearly gone, Jovian started to stab him more, feeling the rage of the dark cell, a slave and an adornment. Being abandoned by his mother for credits, it all flowed out of him like a raging river. The cloaked man laughed as he faded away, leaving Jovian covered in the merchants' blood and a new freedom.
Early Life
Jovian’s early life was far removed from the opulence and objectification that would later define his years as an ornament. His childhood was spent in the heart of a nomadic Twi’lek community, traveling across harsh and desolate worlds. Born into a tight-knit family, his crimson skin made him stand out among his kind, and from an early age, he was often the subject of whispers and curious glances. His people revered beauty and grace, but his vibrant red hue, though rare, cast him as something of an oddity.
Despite this, Jovian’s youth was not devoid of joy. He was close to his mother, a strong and resilient woman who led their small group with a quiet authority. She taught him the importance of survival, of navigating the dangers that came with their transient lifestyle. His father, on the other hand, was a warrior—a protector who had seen many battles. Jovian idolized him, following in his footsteps whenever he could. His father would often take him on scouting missions, teaching him to move silently, to observe, and to defend himself. The lessons were practical but also served to shape Jovian’s view of the world—a place of constant danger, where trust had to be earned and rarely given.
In his early teens, Jovian discovered a natural talent for dance and acrobatics. His lithe frame allowed him to move with a fluidity that fascinated those around him. He would perform for his family and community during celebrations, often improvising to the rhythm of the drums and the hum of Twi’lek chants. There was freedom in movement, a rare joy in an otherwise stark existence, and for those brief moments, he felt untouchable.
But life in the nomadic Twi’lek community was never easy. Resources were scarce, and their group often found themselves at the mercy of larger, more powerful factions. When he was fourteen, a devastating attack by slavers shattered his world. They raided his village, tearing apart everything he had known. Jovian watched as his parents fought desperately to protect their people, but it was futile. His father fell in battle, his mother captured alongside many others.
Jovian, too young and too small to be of much use to the slavers as a laborer, was taken for a different purpose. His striking appearance, once a source of pride, now marked him as a valuable commodity. He was sold off to the highest bidder and thrown into a life of servitude. His captors quickly realized his beauty and grace could be exploited, and he was groomed into something far more degrading than a simple servant. He was transformed into an ornament, trained to entertain, to dazzle, and to submit.
It was in these early years of captivity that Jovian’s spirit began to harden. The boy who once danced for the joy of it now danced to survive, his every movement a mask to hide the growing rage inside him. The lessons his father had taught him—patience, observation, and survival—became more vital than ever. He learned to bide his time, to endure, all the while waiting for the moment when he could reclaim the freedom he had lost.
Though his early life was marked by both love and loss, it was these experiences that forged the foundation of who Jovian would become—a man driven by a quiet but unyielding strength, shaped as much by his heritage as by the chains that would later bind him.
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Physical Description
Jovian is a striking and unforgettable figure, a male Twi’lek with a unique and unsettling appearance shaped by both his alien heritage and his traumatic experiences. His skin, a vivid crimson, stands out among his kind, a hue that only deepens the alien mystique surrounding him. His long, elegant lekku — the head-tails of his species — drape over his shoulders, now adorned with intricate, dark tattoos. These tattoos wind across his skin in complex patterns, each telling a part of his painful story, their sharp lines and curves contrasting with the occasional jagged scar that runs through them, testaments to the violence he endured.
His physique is lean but well-defined, a reflection of both his malnourishment during years of captivity and the latent strength he cultivated in secret. His limbs are graceful, yet his movements hold a weight of caution and intensity, as though every action is meticulously calculated. His hands, delicate yet scarred, seem at odds with the violence they’ve inflicted, each finger decorated with intricate jewel-like tattoos that harken back to the time when he was seen only as an ornament.
Jovian’s face is a masterpiece of beauty marred by suffering. His features are sharp and angular, giving him a regal appearance, but his eyes tell another story entirely. They are a piercing shade of deep red, often glowing faintly as if some dark power burns within him. His gaze is haunted, shadowed by the horrors he’s witnessed, yet there’s a fire of determination and a deep-seated anger simmering just beneath the surface. His lips, full and expressive, are often set in a grim line, betraying the weight of the memories he carries.
The scars on his body aren’t just physical; they are emotional, etched into his posture and the way he holds himself—always on guard, always prepared for the next betrayal or attack.
Jovian now dons a suit of dark, ceremonial armor made from a sleek, obsidian-like metal, reflecting both his transformation and newfound power. The armour is lightweight yet impossibly strong, designed to allow him freedom of movement while offering protection. Its surface is polished to a near-mirror finish, but subtle engravings run along the edges.
Around his waist, a dark, flowing cloak is fastened, lined with a rich, midnight-blue fabric that billows behind him as he walks. The cloak’s hem is tattered, bearing the marks of countless battles, but it adds to his ominous presence. At the centre of his chest, a strange, glowing insignia pulses faintly with power, a mark from the force that now flows through him.
The entire ensemble exudes both authority and mystery, making Jovian appear as though he is no longer a mere servant or ornament but a force to be reckoned with—a living embodiment of his dark past and the power he has seized.
Every aspect of Jovian’s appearance speaks to a life of torment, rebellion, and survival. He is both beautiful and terrifying, a living paradox of elegance and brutality.