Second draft...

"Only the dead have seen the end of war."

[b]Name: [/b]
Once WrrlWarr, (quiet hunter) Now KallaTatha(Madclaw)
[b]Gender:[/b]
Male, very male
[b]Species:[/b]
Wookiee
[b]Age: [/b]
200/400
[b]Homeworld:[/b]
Kashyyk
[b]Physical Appearance:[/b] 
[img=http://i109.photobucket.com/albums/n60/demetriknighthawk/kallatatha-1.png]
Take hand solo and chewbacca both as an average example of heir species physiologically. Now imagine han solo as a bench pressing space marine, he would be as strong as chewbacca is on average. Now imagine chewbacca is a bench pressing space marine and you have KallaTatha.

Strong, that is the most common word used to describe him, as well as damn scarry. Long black claws like an ursine fed into his fingers, from his first knuckle his fur was kept bound away in tight (corn)rows up along his hand, seeming to follow the bones of the hand to the wrist, then it became a massive specific explosion of rows, like someone was writing somthing into his flesh through his fur all the way shoulder, the lack of carpet made every twist and curve of his muscles a display for all to see whither they liked it or not. The same process was performed to his legs as well it seemed, tightly wound along his feet then jagging out from the ankle to his hips, showing off every twist and curve of his massive frame. Those who knew could see the sith glyphs twisted and cut into his flesh and the keloids exposed by the parting of fur, for all others it made him look like neither man nor wookiee.

Eight feet and eleven inches of furry fury rang onto every deck plate with three hundred and eighty pounds of weight when he wasn't in armor. The bronzium half-plate he wore was plated a matte red with a mandalorians helm that carries a head crest of some probably inspiring beast. His left arm carries an ascension gun above the wrist to keep the fingers free and his right hand is protected by a clawed gauntlet. His belt has pouches and loops and a scattergun hanging from the left side to tap against the thick leather kilt he keeps for public decency. He favors the kilt over pants due to the need for full movement in every action, it is also why he wears only half plate, risking the exposure to his joints for the mobility needed to avoid the blow in the first place. Across his back is a powerful blade forged in the crucible of sith alchemy and hard won trophies.

[b]Personality:[/b] What kind of person are they under fire, off duty, on the job, dealing with friends, family, enemies, ect ect? I figure get at least a paragraph here, so folks have a baseline to expect as the character develops. (Sidenote: I usually consider a paragraph about 4-5 complete sentences.

Peace is a lie, there is only passion. 
I can not allow myself to fall to peace. Not everything is training, but everything is preparation for war. 
Through passion, I gain strength. 
I must focus my drive, my desires can only be made by me, I can not rely on anyone else to do what I am unwilling to do.
Through strength I gain power.
I am an instrument of the force, even without the force, I am to be feared for my own strength. 
Through power I gain victory
The force flows through me and fills me at my command. With the force I will make the universe tremble under my gaze
Through victory, my chains are broken
Once the universe fears me, it will fear my master.
The force shall free me.
My debt shall be paid.

He knows his current place in the universe, for now it is it is the predator. It is his place to consume, to kill. He is the kath hound on a collar to be unleashed as needed. He will serve his maser until he is no longer needed. When that happens, all will know of his true plans and pains. He embodies the living force, seizing the opportunity of life with each breath. In combat he battles with an unbridled ferocity between one man or one against an army. 

He has known what one might consider a fondness close to love and felt the pain of its removal by a brutal death. More so, this was compounded by itself as he was the one forced to kill the one he cared for. All the same he still has a fondness for any Gamorean women and will take efforts to avoid harming them if he can.

His off-time is often absorbed by training, be it growing stronger or honing his current strengths. This can be from power lifting to Arena combat to studying wild animals on a safari hunt, even when made to read over technical manuals it is a form of training. He is to keep a sense of his surroundings and those within his 'sphere of influence' which is a term to describe his spatial awareness and reach of his weapons.

When called to battle, he falls within himself to release his deepest power. He becomes his rage, a primal beast brought to a horrific fury but put to a focus. He would always prefer to be the side-part of a raiding party, but if made to lead, he will lead by example and expect all others to keep up the same body count. He is uncomfortable when put to a vessel for combat, unable to simply ram himself into enemy spaceships. But he is loyal to the death and will fight with what he is given orders to fight with.

[b]Skills:[/b] 
Minor Force skills: He sat at the foot of masters, a kind and quiet youngling, learning what it is all would-be padawans must know before consideration under a knight to teach him more. Sadly it never got much past the remedial lessons but they are still lessons he hones all the same.

Force lore: While not too skilled in almost any aspects of the force, he is read in as many ways the force can be used. Just because he can’t see into the next room or the nearest planet doesn't mean his next target won’t see him coming.

Pilot: While he is not a jedi ace, nor even much of a starfighter, he is proficient in heavier small ships like bombers and up to light space transports. He has even driven a tank more than once into battle and escorted his master's vehicle through simple runs in speeders.

Combat: Now this is his wheelhouse. Solider, warrior, fighter, killer, murderer, butcher. He was trained to be dangerous from any range. He can operate a battery on a starship for orbital bombardment to level a planet, he can pilot a bomber to destroy a city, he can drive a tank to destroy a home. He can use all blaster weapons from heavy repeaters down to hold-out pistols, but he doesn’t like it. 
This beast favors and savors melee. He can hold his own with a Lightsaber and if put into a box is a pinnacle of Juyo, He embraces it not just as a Lightsaber form, but as a mindset to all combat; take their aggression, their pain, their fear, their hate. Bring it all in and around like a mace then add his own darkside fuel to the mix and let it erupt back upon them with all his force.
His namesake comes from more than just his bloodlust, he is highly skilled in the martial arts as both the broad spectrum of blows as well as the racial combat of Wrruushi even with its avoidance of claws to maximize his upper body strikes. Wrruushi is power at the sacrifice of speed with a lack of claw he finds unappealing. Stava’s emphasis of speed and endurance to overwhelm blasterfire with sheer offensive prowess that included pressure points or nerve jabs that he adds extra emphasis at the end of a talon to make the nerve damage permanent all on top of hard rapid strikes with every limb to reinforce the Juyo mindset. 
While he loves nothing more than the feel of hot blood soaking into his fur, he is not all teeth and claws. Decades have been invested into the blade at his back, both the years it took to find every piece needed and the near century it has been by his side. The blade is long wide and thick; nearing more of a wedge than a sword with its broad blade used at times as a shield in the exposed joints his armor doesn’t protect to close in with devastating blows. The overlong handle gives him the advantage of reach against any other melee opponent as well as able to unleash attacks with the back of the glaive into an avalanche of agony.
 [b]Equipment:[/b] 

His wrist mounted bowcaster, made to launch grappling spikes rather than plasma bolts. This allows him to reach impossible areas or winch himself faster than he could run as well as fire into an opponent and pull the lighter of the two to the heavier for quick close combat.
[img=http://images1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20100705200830/oddworld/images/b/b3/SteefBow1.jpg]

His clawed gauntlet is an understanding that to ignore the gift of a tool is to court death for pride. Be it steel or bone, it is the act of claws cutting that is the point rather than what the claw is made of. As such he had a gauntlet made of ship hull plating of the first starfighter he managed to destroy.
[img=http://i49.photobucket.com/albums/f253/DecimusJuilii/Tigerclaw.jpg]

His scattergun is a use of older but reliable tech he actually keeps around for use against fellow sith. He keeps a random assortment of solid slug, scatter pellets, acid in glass balls and rubber rounds to bounce around the area fired off hopefully faster than the enemy can sense and adjust before it is too late. While focused for lightsaber opponents, it works just as well against droids and insensitive enemies. 
[img=http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/736x/dd/c6/fa/ddc6fa81410c759fb4aa6e363d131c4f.jpg]

If he were to have a prized item, it would have to be his polearm. The [url=http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Sith_sword]sword[/url] itself is a work of folding several metals together with sith alchemy baths to strengthen the blade. The swirl of science and sorcery grant it strong magnetic properties as well as serve as a focus to the darkside of the force. The blade itself is thick as an inch at the back of the blade but incredibly dense, far heavier than even its oversize would suggest, the longer full tang handle allows him to wield it either one handed with a sufficient counterweight to never be off balanced or wield it two handed for dull terrible devastation. He has been eager to spread the rumor that he can carve open hull plates with his blade.
[img=http://www.trueswords.com/images/prod/forged_warrior_naginata_scimitar_sword.jpg]
[b]Powers:[/b] 

He has been trained in control to master himself and reach through the force to a well of power that fills every fiber of his muscles to raise him to an incredible boost of physical power. Rage is his power and his birhright, but the rage of the sith is different than the rage of the wookiee. The power of the wookiee is a primal tie to the power within oneself. 
Sith rage is virgin wrath.
He has learned how to blend these aspects into a whole. To visualize, he invokes the raw red power of his ability to enhance his physical might through the force, around the red he coils the black Serpent of the sith, but to keep the sith wrath from strangling the power of the force, he invokes the brown roots of his bloodline, twisting the three together into a braid. All supporting and enhancing each other to his full frightening potential.
Tactice telekinesis: While the skill to move even the smallest objects without touching it is child’s play to jedi younglings, it wasn’t a way he developed his skills. Be it a mental block or personal wiring, he can only access telekinesis when he is in physical contact with the object which often is perceived by others and him to mean he manifests an incredible amount of physical power by lifting objects over his head in the range of hundreds of kilograms. Where the telekinesis ends and his own enhanced ability begins is a bit of a grey guess.
[b]Flaws:[/b] 
Two centuries of bloodlust are starting to catch up to him. He is constantly trying to live moment by moment, acting in the now to outrun his past actions. He doesn’t like to play chess, he doesn’t like to play checkers. He only wants to be a piece justified by only taking orders.
To keep him loyal and a bred-in weakness, he is susceptible to mental compulsions but has been conditioned enough to resist betrayal by means of psychological implants that cause him such mental anguish that he might default to rage and attack the mentalist. If one were to brush his mind with lengthy telepathy to feel out the correct path, he would be easy to manipulate.

As useful as it would be to be able to throw bolts of lightning and hurl boulders with his mind. His over-focus of control means the only way he can use the skills of alter is by physical contact with an object.
He has no skill in the powers of sense except for the awareness of danger in combat to keep him alive, he can’t even tell who is in the next room without a recording rod and a holo-projector.

[b]Personal History:[/b] 
[hider=long enough to need a hider]
Two centuries ago, a wookiee was born of a priestess to the name of WrrlWarr, his name comes from the fact that he did not come screaming into the world, but rather quietly clinging to another, a stillborn sibling. Many saw this as an ill omen that death would be his only companion, how right they would be.
He was mistakenly passed over the last time a jedi recruiter was in the area by the presence of a mandalorian raid testing their might against the arboreal warriors that ended the life of his father. The jedi felt he was sent there to save those in need and moved on without any recruits. As such, he spent a few years in his homeworld before he started showing signs of the force within him. He would manifest not only bouts of physical strength beyond his child size, but also a quiet rage that made the elders concerned for his wellbeing. 
Before they called for the jedi to look him over, they cut his claws back to the quick so that he might not use them if he was taken away. Suffice to say, he didn’t take it well but he remained silent as the female Kel-dorian took him from those who he perceived betrayed him.
The temple took the older youngling in out of responsibility for missing him the first time, Wrrl’s strength in the force was good but not mind blowing. His combat skill was more than any other youngling, only because of his ability to physically overwhelm his opponents. His power of control was fair, but his focus on the now kept him from being able to see beyond himself in all senses of the words. Worse, when the masters looked into him, they found too much darkness and resentment in his silence even after years of meditations.

A decade later, he was dismissed from the temple for failing to connect with anyone willing to teach him as a padawan learner and placed in the agricorps. He didn’t fight, didn’t protest, in fact he had barely said anything but the merest minimum over the years until the day he let the training saber fall from his side and walked out of the masters circle to the shuttle with palpable hate rattling the senses of anyone near him. The first stop was Ithor, a lush world in little need of any help. From there he requested his ways back around from one world to the next to Kashyyk.

[b]"Damn these fools of my village, they feared my strength would make me chieftain, as well it should, so they send me to thr jedi temple. Damn those jedi who dare ask me to give up my anger and strength for peace, anger is my ancestrial right and I will wield it like a sword upon thosw who would deny me my place. If the village will not have me as their chieftan, then there will be no village!" This has been written in blood on the walls of the visitors outpost where 7 wookiee bodies lay ripped limb from limb.[/b]
Now it isn’t to say that half a dozen wookiees just stood there and let themselves get killed, it was a brutal fight that he didn’t walk away from unharmed. In fact is was there at his lowest when he was approached by one in black robes who took the shattered cub off the shadowlands floor and prepared him for his future. 
Wounds heal, pain fades and with some folk even a limb regenerates. For the child known as Wrrlwarr, he awoke in a crimson glass bacta tank barely held together by his own tendons with a figure standing across a pane of red glass. Before a word was uttered, the pain and rage began as sith poison seeped into every open wound. This continued for days or weeks perhaps years or hours, the body knitted together a stitch at a time as the agony made his connection to the dark side of force shake the transparasteel panels that refused to shatter. Finally, after nothing but his own screams and heartbeat to listen to, he heard a single voice in his head.

“Your life is mine. You got your vengeance and lived to remember it instead of dying on the ground. You most likely would have gotten eaten and passed through the next scavenger that smelled your stink. You got what you wanted out of your life, now I have uses for you.”
The water drained and the wookiee realized that the crimson was not the glass but the fluid he sat within. The moment his feet touched the ground, he exploded into motion, bouncing off the clear walls in a frantic attempt to escape through sheer force. To his credit, the steel buckled before his reserves ran dry and he blacked out once more.
He awoke some time later on a table dressed in bandages stinking of some potion that seeped in his newfound wounds. Across from him sat the same figure reading over a scroll who once more spoke in Warr’s mind while never looking up from its reading: 
“You may not know, notice, or remember, but it has been almost a year now putting your body back together while tearing your mind apart. Your loyalty to me will be absolute, your loyalty to the dardside will be infinite.”

Rising up with a growl, he was thrown an iron pipe as the one on the seat vanished and the kel-dor jedi recruit was in its place. The growl became a savage roar from him that shook the masked lightsider from whatever reverie held her in its sway.

Pipe in hand like a spear, he threw himself at her faster than either of them could realize, she held the plasma blade upright to sunder the length of metal. Steel turned red to white in a blink but he pressed on with a terrific roar that flung the waxy steel into her masked face. The hand she threw up in defense caught red hot steel which made her loose the focus needed for the fight as furry knee rose into her ribs with enough force to sent her sprawling across the floor coughing up blood.

The fight was over but he was not done, what happened next was fully inhumane and beyond writing. Suffice to say, it was worthy of poetry to the most sadistic gods. He felt the pressure on his shoulder as he rose from the orange pulp that was once alive and turned with an exhausted rage burning through his body. The wookiees own twisting body slid the dagger across his throat to let him fall back clutching his neck.
“Such an uncivilized manner of communicating with all those roars and grunts, we shall fix that and then the real work begins.”
As the wookiee choked on his own blood until he finally blacked out, he was placed back up on the table and set to work again. By the next time the paralytic venoms that passed for a sedative had worn off, his throat had been replaced with a prosthetic vocabulator in the form of a gorget or collar.
For the next decade or so he was trained in horrible brutal ways, every test seeming to be an attempt on his life as wave after wave of physical trainer was brought in with seeming the sole intent of killing the wookiee either through exercise or sheer violence. When he wasn’t being killed, he was forced to kill others by claw, by sword, by blaster. Year after year he was shaped into a solider of the dark army, every scar grew over in great maiming lines that formed and defined him until he was ready for the training to end.

His first unsupervised mission was simple, he was dropped onto the world of Gammor with nothing and told to become the next warlord in a year or the planet would be bombarded to ash. He had his problems, for one he did not speak gamorean and, with his vocal chords set back to shyrriwook, they barely understood him. Such as it was that the first days were spent cracking heads and resting without sleep when needed. 
Days to weeks to months, he slaughtered his way through singles to dozens of the fat pigs who stood no chance against the sith-spawned beast. Eventually he became enamored by a female gamorean who would champion him with food and warmth. She treated him and pampered him in controlled amounts no different than a female lion-tamer would handle her beast, she showed him a way to express his passions of battle into a passion of the body and became her lover for the rest of the year while he raged a one wookiee war upon the rest.
In the dark of the night, his master collected the wookiee with a single word and ordered him to pilot the ship. Once in the sky he made the next command for Warr to bomb his fortress to the ground. With no training to sense others, even he could feel the anguish of the severed link from one he had connected with and it hurt more than the decades of sith poison put together.
[b]“I killed mothers with their babies. I've killed great philosophers, proud young warriors, and revolutionaries. I've killed the evil, the good, the intelligent, the weak, and the beautiful. I have done this in the service of my master, and I have never more than once shown any mercy.”[/b][/hider]