Sith Lord Malrius

Name: (Dathomirian Name - Unknown to most) Dataik Grijtan. (Sith-granted name) Malrius.

Nicknames/Aliases: Sith Lord Malrius, Master.

Species: Human (Partial Iridonian, even more distantly Red Sith).

Gender: Male.

Age: 28.

Homeworld: Dathomir, Howling Crag.





Height: 5’11”.

Weight: 162 lbs.

Eye Color: Yellow.

Hair Style: Completely bald.

Hair Color: N/A.

Facial Hair: N/A, unable to grow.

Skin Color: Pale Tan (the colour).

Build: Not particularly well built, albeit muscled through use. Narrow shouldered and hipped, typical ‘long and lean’.

Distinguishing Features: Partial Iridonian ancestry has left tell-tale marks in his lack of hair, skin/eye colour and slightly clawed fingertips. Believes to have Red Sith blood in him, and has undertaken a number of surgical ‘improvements’ to ‘bring out his genes’: has ‘eyebrow stalks’ and sharp pointed teeth.

Apparel: Almost constantly wears a thin dark-grey Armourweave breastplate (with red highlights) and similar coloured Armourplast gauntlets. Will wear a black robe – the old outfit of the Prophets – over the top of loose fitting pants, the hood drawn tightly over his face. This robe may be left open, exposing the armour underneath. Boots adorn his feet, capped in dark plastoid.

Weaponry: Curve-handled Lightsaber, made of a dark-grey Phrik alloy and built specifically for Makashi combat. The blade is produced by two crimson synth-crystals in a Dual-phase pattern, which range at 1.3 metres and 2 metres. The 2 metre synth-crystal was of the Compressed variety, being thinner and more precise in combat (this blade also oscilates with energy at regular intervals). The Lightsaber has a comfortable padded leather grip, stained a deep burgundy.





Profession: Sith Lord, Sorcerer, Master to Five Apprentices.

Skills: Naturally, is agile and lithe. Trained, to use the Force as a Sith Sorcerer. Is less adept at Lightsaber combat. Can pilot ships to a degree where he is capable in space combat. Can drive a swoop quite well, too. Is lacking in other skills, due to his devotion to learning the Force. He is experimenting with Sith Alchemy, though, through a holocron in his posession.

Force-Sensitive: Yes.

Training: Trained by the Prophets of the Dark Side for one year as a child, mostly learning basic things: Like how to read.

Vehicle: A Sith-produced Eclipse-class Swoop Bike, stored in the garage of The Phantom Pain.



Starship: A Sith-produced Phantom-class Covert Operations Dropship/Starfighter calledThe Phantom Pain.

Other Possessions: All contents aboard The Phantom Pain.

Companions: Apprentice Mako (Sal), Apprentice Kairon (Zen), Apprentice Tayl'ance, Apprentice Nekar'ado, Apprentice Meyab.




Factional Affiliation: The Sith Empire.

Rank: Sith Lord.

Sexual Preference: Heterosexual, has a thing for the more non-Human Near-Humans.

Relationship Status: Married to his career.

Personality: Lord Malrius is egotisitcal, like all good Sith should be, believing he is indeed "the best". He is a pragmatist, often setting goals on things far in the future and working to achieve them sooner than he originally planned. Often these plans are far-reaching and quite grandeous, although none of them have yet come to fruition (bar, perhaps, killing his old Master), he is intent on making gains and completing them all. He is not quick to anger, like some Sith, prefering to be calculative and logical in his actions. Although, his inner hatred for those who dare stand in his path is strong - and merciless. Malrius will not hesitate to kill anyone who gets in his way, or shows complete incompetence (one of the few things that can bring out his anger). This calculative approach to being a Sith might make him seem more 'sociable' than the others of his order, prefering charm and charisma to lightsaber duel. This has led him to develop a, sometimes 'kind', sarcastic and more often than not mercilessly cold and cruel personality. It's really what mood you catch him in at the time.

That, is merely the tip of his iceberg. For all Sith follow their passions, their lusts, their needs.





Force Archetype: Sorcerer.

Powers Known/Level of Mastery:

• Adept = Advanced Telekinesis, Choke, Chain Lightning, Protection Bubble.
• Apprentice = Close Telepathy, Force Speed, Force Drain, Force Slow, Force Sight, Tutaminis, Basic Mind Tricks, Force Jump, Detoxify Poison, Force Valor.

Lightsaber Forms Known/Level of Mastery:

• Adept = Makashi.
• Apprentice = Soresu.

Dathomir. A planet of darkness and despair, ruled by matriarchal clans of Witches. Men are little more than slaves, or breeders - if they were lucky they wouldn't be killed after their part was fulfilled. This was the life the young native Dataik Grijtan was to lead. Work, breed, die. His mother couldn't care less about the offspring, disapointed it was not a daughter, and the father was already dead. Raised by other slaves, mostly the males of the clan and a few alien 'females' (some of them, he wasn't sure what gender they were). They were kind, although sad to raise another discarded child fresh from the womb. His adoptive mother, was a Twi'lek, but he can only vaguely remember her.

Before she died. They all died, his clan. Well, most of them. For in 1 ABY, 4 years after the unwanted child had been brought into this world, the Howling Crag would be thrown into chaos. An Imperial Dropship, hurtling uncontrollably from the sky, crashed into a glade not far from the village. Witches went out to inspect the wreckage and upon their return, began an attack on their fellow sisters and slaves that was unlike anything recorded in the planet's history. Snarling, screaming, shuffling things. They bit and clawed and the young boy cried out in fear. His 'mother' took him, running, into the swamps beyond. Before she, too, collapsed in groaning pain. The last thing that Malrius could remember about his 'mother', was the look of gratitude on her face when Imperial Stormtroopers found the pair.

And shot her.

His clan was dead, refugees from the surrounding areas (mostly Slaves who ran, like him) were hemmed into a tightly-packed Quarantine Camp, outside the newly-dubbed Dathomir Quarantine Zone. Overseen by an Imperial Stormtrooper Garrison, the refugees were issued food packets and bedding, before being told to sleep together in tents with people they didn't even recognise. The young Dataik was no exception. He had nobody, here, and often larger children - or even adults - would steal his food packet and leave him hungry that day. At first, he was scared. Sad, even. But, he survived (barely) for two years in this squalor. This prison. But when one particular Rodian tried to take his food for the hundredth time, the boy snapped. Angry, he just wished with all his heart that the Rodian would go away. Forever.

The rock that flew from across the yard and caved in his skull made him go away.

Stormtroopers didn't care when people died in the camp, or when they cried out in pain from assaults. The boy had seen, and heard, the suffering more than once. So it was strange, to him, when the white men marched over and dragged him away. Forced into a cold cell with a man in a black robe, the four year old had no real idea what was happening. The six year old was absolutely terrified. The robed man smiled, a sickening action that reminded him of the beasts that had tore apart his clan. He had seen something in the boy, with some sight he did not know about. Taken, that night, into the back of a Dropship and carried away to the stars above. Stars he had enjoyed viewing as a young child, that had lost all their glamour to him now.

Korriban. The young boy had never seen so much... Emptyness. The entire planet seemed void of life, red sands and rocky cliffs with nary a plant in sight. Everything that did live here was so... Cruel, harsh. The boy had replaced one prison for another. He had spent a year, in space, with the Robed Man. They had visited several dozen planets, the Robed Man disapearing for weeks at a time and returning with other children, each as afraid as he was. A man in a grey uniform taught them basic, how to read and write, who their Emperor was, who to obey, how to fire a blaster - if they got that far. Now he and the children had been taken to this planet, and for the first time in a year the boy could feel ground beneath his feet. Dead, dry, horrid ground. But ground. Another Robed Man, this one not a Man at all - but some sort of Alien with horns and tentacles - approached the group. He beat them, brutally, until they lined up straight. He asked the boy his name, the boy could not remember he had a name.

"You are now called Malrius." he had said, and presented him a vibroblade. The seven year old took it, looked at it, looked at the alien and was confused. "Kill the child to your right." the Alien had said, and Malrius dropped the knife and broke down into tears. "Pitiful, weak. See what weakness brings you." Pain, unfathomable unexplainable pain shot through the boy. His screams died in his throat and his body josstled across the dusty ground. The other children cried out in fear, and they too recieved their new Master's wrath. Malrius would see it as a gift, when he would remember this day.

Months of pain and suffering followed, untill Malrius was understood the obedience that was expected of him. Pure, unflinching, obedience. To the Emperor, to the Sith, to his Masters. For he had many, now. They trained him day and, often, night in the 'Force' that they called it, the magic he remember the Witches could use. They tried to teach him how to fight with a blade, but he suffered at this - and suffered for his ineptitude. Every failure was a lashing, or a shock. His fear of the shocks spurred him on to never fail, or try not to. In his use of the Force, this was clear. The boy rarely failed to keep up with lessons, or surpass his superiors' expectations. He could throw another Acolyte, as they were termed, clear across the room by the age of 9. By the age of 10, he could throw two droids. But his skills with blades made him suffer every single day, and he grew angry at it - at himself.

He could not fail, he knew the price of failure was Death. He needed to win, but he could not beat most of the other students with a blade. So he didn't. He begun to cheat, using the force to aid his fights. Speeding himself up, making himself stronger, secretly pushing a blade aside with the Force to open up an entry for his own. Every time he cheated, used the Force to aid him, his beatings got less, and less. The Force was his saviour, the Force had freed him from his prison. By 12, beatings were few and far between. He was all but a success.

Four more years followed, intense study in the Force under newer more powerful Masters. They begun to phase away his lightsaber training, now that he had grasped the basics. Other Acolytes would come to him, trying to best him in a fight like it was some sort of trial. Some did, and beat him senseless for it, but others found themselves on the wrong side of an angry Malrius. He would use the force to crush them, before releasing his anger all over their faces with his fists. Oh how he had grown to hate their mocking faces during the lightsaber trials. Oh how he enjoyed beating them into bloody pulps. Even if the shocks afterwards were painful, they were so worth it. The pain meant little, anymore.

He found a lover, in his final year. A Twi'lek, with orange skin. She was powerful, in her own right, a skilled force user (not quite as skilled as he) and more skilled at sabers. They would practice together, she would polish his saber skills and he would touch up her Force knowledge, then retreat to private areas to embrace their Passions. Malrius grew close to the girl, slightly younger than he, and she grew close to him in return. Their love flourished, and she was so very happy for him when a Master approached and told him he was going to become his personal apprentice. He told Malrius how to make a Lightsaber, with his lover he collected the necessary parts and she even aided him in creating it - the leather grip, her own touch. She had always been the more artistic of the two.

"My apprentice," his master, Lord Kanaius, had said when he approached with his completed blade. "What a fine example of a Lightsaber you have made yourself!" Malrius couldn't help but feel overjoyed at the praise, finally - some approval.

"Now kill the child to your right."

His lover fell to the blade she had helped forge.

He hated his master, for what he had been told to do. He hated him for six years. Six long, horrible years. He hated learning from him, but did learn everything he could from the wretched old fiend. He hated looking at him, but stared him deep in the eyes when they sparred with blades or practiced force powers. He hated his fellow apprentices, too, who all seemed to crave attention from their Master. He hated him. So, when Malrius believed he had learned all he could - including secrets of so called "Sith Purebloods" that had existed long ago, and how Malrius himself supposedly had some of that genetic material in him - he killed him. On Korriban, Malrius had picked up a young Apprentice himself, a Human by the name of Mako. A bloodthirsty, angry thing eager to prove himself to the Sith. Malrius extended him the option, "You will be my Apprentice," he has said, "Should you help me kill my own Master."

The two were more than enough to overpower the man in the night, and Malrius' fellow Apprentice that his Lord was bedding that night. Of the four apprentices, only two now remained. The last, another Human, Malrius took to exerting his dominance over. He was a promising student in the Force, Malrius knew that, and would serve well under his own wing. But he needed a lesson, first - in obedience. Imprisoned for weeks, tied down and tortured repeatedly - Malrius broke his old Lord's last apprentice, even going so far as to remove his tongue. Yet broken, he was not - broken out, he was. The Apprentice escaped Malrius' clutched, fleeing Sith space forever, but by that time Malrius had secured his new title as Sith Lord.

Sith Lord Malrius.

Mako had proven a stalwart warrior, but his cunning was lacking. His force-skills, even more so. Malrius needed somebody he could use as a weapon against the Force - should he need it. Back on Korriban, Malrius found a promising young Echani named Kairon - his second apprentice. The three would train, day and night. Malrius was not a cruel Master, but he was nevertheless hard on the two. He hammered them into shape, from lumps of crude metal into weapon of Sith Supremacy.

It would take another year-and-some for Malrius to pick up his next Apprentice. Well, it was more she threw herself at him. On a regular trip to Korriban's Academy, Malrius found himself struck by a beautiful young Chiss girl. Not, stricken, no - actually struck. With a rock. The girl had been practicing out in a courtyard he had been passing through, and he turned his anger on the girl. She did not cower in fear, and as he approached to strike her down - he found himself calmed by her presence. Those red eyes. That soft skin. She had managed to charm him without but a single word, perhaps through the Force or just her natural whiles. Malrius knew immediately he did not have to mould this one into a weapon, she was already a hidden dagger that just needed a hand to guide it. She left with him as his third Apprentice.

Malrius enjoyed his apprentices. They would do anything he asked of them, and they each had their uses in the political battleground that was the Sith Order. His newest Darth, a fellow Lord that had killed the Darth of his old Master, was called Darth Treykata and he was demanding more and more work from Malrius in exploring the (very, very dangerous) tombs of Korriban and Dromund Kaas for relics and artifacts. While Malrius kept a number of these finds for himself, he found that the workload was becoming too much for his small group. They hardly had time to rest. So he looked to aquiring a new apprentice - yet he had every percievable roll filled. It dawned to him suddenly, that his weapons - like a training sword - needed to be honed from time to time. So came, a year after his third apprentice, his fourth. A powerful Twi'lek, strong in martial prowess and exceptionally good at tactical combat, was picked by Malrius from a plethora of potential Apprentices. His name was Nekar'ado, and he was an extra pair of hands - and enough to keep the other apprentices on their toes with his constant need to duel and test their abilities.

Now, Malrius felt he had completed his group of Apprentices. He could teach them all, comfortably, and there was just enough chaos in the group that each of them would effectively train the others on how to fight a varied combat style. It was almost like they trained themselves! They begun to recieve off-world missions, covert operations into the outter rim regions of the Galactic North, seeking out relics of ancient Sith Empires passed. They found many, but the greatest treasure they came across, Malrius kept for himself.

A Miraluka, as rare as they were these days, was sat - with but a few combat droid guards - researching Sith ruins. It was as if Exar Kun himself had returned from the dead and left a bounty before them. Not only did they completely pillage the ruins of valuables, they bagged the Miraluka too. Imprisoned on their ship, Malrius would spend months breaking the woman. Naturally Force-Sensitive, she was a valuable asset to the team - considering she already seemed to know some minor knowledge of Force powers (apparantly from holocrons in ruins). But it took many sessions of shouting, beating, shocking... But Malrius wasn't all cruel, he shown her compassion. He would ask her, why did she resist? He only wanted to show her a world she was missing out on, power she should grasp and take for her own. He promised her riches - not credits, nor mere power, but ruins. He could show her the artifacts she had so desperately been searching for, and even more teach her how to use them. She collapsed, eventually, into his waiting arms as the Fifth Apprentice. She would fly their ship, she would find the artifacts with her natural Force Sight, and Malrius would send his Apprentices in to flush out the prizes.

It's beautiful, really. Teamwork.