[hider=Mor'gann Arnhar][center][h1][color=Olive]Mor'gann 'Mor' Arnhar[/color][/h1]
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[color=Olive][b]|[u] {Full Name} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent]Mor'gann Arnhar[/indent]
[color=Olive][b]|[u] {Age} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent]16[/indent]
[color=Olive][b]|[u] {Species} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent]Human[/indent]
[color=Olive][b]|[u] {Gender} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent]Female[/indent]
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[color=Olive][b]|[u] {Force Sensitive/Alignment} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent]Yes - Grey[/indent]
[color=Olive][b]|[u] {Appearance} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[hider=Appearance]
[indent]The first word to come to mind when one is looking at Mor’ would be the worn and dated clothing that speaks of a far more barbaric nature that does not fit with an age of space. Wearing a soft shirt of some cloth under a hardened leather tunic-vest, the latter of dark [url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Maalraas]maalraas[/url] leather. One shoulder would be adorned with a pauldron made from the hardened spine of a [url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Zakkeg/Legends]zakkeg[/url] and her forearms would be armored with battered and chipped plasteel. With soft leather breeches layered over with hardened sections and hard leather boots that lace up her legs, all under a cloak of [url=https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Drexl]drexl[/url] leather.

Not cutting the most imposing figure, Mor stands at five feet and seven inches and is lean from a life of little food and more work that would be reasonable. Scarred from various fights and hunts, the most notable is scar pulling down one corner of her lips into a slight grimace. Her yellow eyes, hinting at her blood not being purely human, are shocking when ringed with the dark paint she circles them with and her chin-length black hair. Her nose looks like it has been broken before and healed into something resembling a beak.[/indent][/hider]
[color=Olive][b]|[u] {Equipment and Personal Belongings} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[hider=Equiptment and Personal Belongings]
[indent]Soft leather breeches, a tunic-vest of maalraas leather looking several years old and patched, leather boots, scarred and chipped plasteel bracers, hardened leather vest, a zakkeg plate for a shoulder pauldron, a cloak of drexl skin, unstable and old lightsaber (red) and an old albeit well cared for blaster. She also has several knives upon her person. Two for skinning, one for the butchering of meat, and another for fighting.

In a pack, she carries a small pot, and several tokens from creatures she's killed. Fangs from Maalraas, Drexls, and Bomas to name some. Several hides from the creatures of Dxun to use as barter. A basic kit to set up a camp and a first aid kit made up of a variety of the herbs used on Dxun.[/indent][/hider]

[color=Olive][b]|[u] {Physical Abilities} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[hider=Physical Abilities]
[indent]Naturally agile and dexterous, Mor took up moving unnoticed and silently due to her situation as an outcast. She has a very keen eye for detail and picking up on situations with a sharp ear. While quick on her feet, she can't always avoid taking damage and has learned how to endure the pain of it. She can go a bit longer than others with less food, but it does take just as much a toll as food was something scarce in her youth. She is very quick to pick up on things and is often doing something with her hands. Trained as a Shaman by her mentor, Mor'gann's memory and perception are sharp as the lessons are taught orally down thru the clan.[/indent]
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[color=Olive][b]|[u] {Force Abilities} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[hider=Force Abilities]
[indent]Running a bit faster than normal and force jumping when running away from something. Being a bit more aware of her surroundings while looking out for danger. Blending a bit more with shadows when slipping through very tense areas where being seen would be VERY bad.[/indent]
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[color=Olive][b]|[u] {Limitations} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[hider=Limitations]
[indent]Until a short time ago, Mor is very limited in what she knows of life off of Dxun. Technology is something very odd to her. Incurring her ability to fly a ship being very rough. She speaks a combination of Old Mandella, High Galactic, Ancient Sith melded into an odd dialect. Though she does understand enough in the basic language to get her point across herself, though she cannot read it at all. She can't lift anything heavy as she isn't strong, nor does she have the staying power to take a hit and stay standing. She's not to sort who can go toe to toe with a trained fighter and win without using her preferred method of ambushes or hitting a weakened spot constantly. And she certainly cannot take on a group of opponents.[/indent]
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[color=Olive][b]|[u] {Personality} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[hider=Personality]
[indent]She doesn’t often speak and with good reason for what had she to say that people would listen to, especially a coward like her? Still her thirst for knowledge is insatiable and her desire for it is nearly boundless. A loner among the clans of her tribe on Dxun, Mor watched and listened rather than embroil herself into the games of politics of the village. Hardened at the fact of taking a life, Mor has little quarelm if it comes to such an act, though she will spare someone just as often as kill them. If her tribe was not so relentless about stamping out weakness. A fact that later made her leery of accepting aid from others, and more often seeking ways to even out the supposed ‘debt’. An odd fact as she was prone to giving favors to the weak or small in the village and asking for nothing in return. In her eyes, it was pointless to make things harder on them and if she built some good will, then all the better. Not that good will was built.

If one were to get to know her, Mor would be snide and snarky individual. With a penchant for dry humor and pessimism. She has a very firm ‘no’ which she will use repeatedly and can really dig in her heels on a matter. Prone to flights of panic and nerves when confronted with what she would consider a ‘hopeless’ situation, unusual as she is usually considering the possibility of her death. [/indent]
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[color=Olive][b]|[u] {Place of Origin} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[hider=Place of Origin]
[indent]Dxun. A backwater moon circling the planet Onderon, where death is a constant threat. The civilization that Mor'ann comes from dwelt in the village that dwelt near the Tomb of Freedon Naad, a place where power and strength were one and the same. The village was a simple thing with small fields surrounding various huts for storage and the clans of the village. The middle most ring being those of the children cast out of their clan houses to train with others of their age to become hunters in their time. Mor’s mother was a self-serving woman. Jealous and greedy in her pursuit for the best that could be offered no matter the means. It was this that led her to her death shortly after Mor had been given over at six to live within a children's huts.

The resources on Dxun are limited to the many creatures and what could be gathered and quickly. The many past battles and struggle to build places on Dxun left the hostile planet with a scattering of the remains. From old mandalorian armors and weapons to the remains sealed away in the temple. While the village seldom interacted with outsiders they did get the occasional trader looking to buy low and sell high, gaining the skins of various creatures and the odd relic from the temple of Freedon Naad. The farming and making of the clothing and tools the village needed were left to those too young, old, or feeble who did not have what it took to hunt for themselves. Those on the bottom of the social order. The exception to this and holding the middle ground between the weak and strong were the shamans. The hunters were physical fighters and were reluctant and distrustful about anything they themselves could not fight. Such as a possessed and haunted temple. A rumor passed down from generation to generation and kept alive by the odd strange sighting within the beskar temple. Thus the shamans were kept fed and cared for by their apprentices and those hunters who had excess.[/indent]
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[color=Olive][b]|[u] {Background} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[hider=Background]
[indent]Born to Tau’ra of the Arnhar Clan and one of her many tryst, Mor'gann's mother didn't pay much attention to the daughter once she was six years of age. It was a common practice among those who were strong enough to hunt to leave their offspring with groups of others about the same age. They would learn from the elders who had achieved a great deal in the prime of their years ruthlessly taught the younger generations the basics of the skills they would need later in life. These groups were given housing in the barracks built for their use if their families didn't keep room for them in their clan hall. This caused new clans to form of youths that grew up together rather than returning to the halls of their ancestors. Mor in her youth was small and slight, a trait that brought the mockery of the other children who were larger and stronger than her. She learned quickly how to avoid detection and left the barracks she had been groups in shortly after being placed in there. There were several other children who shared the same mindset as her, and most left their lessons to eek out an existence farming the land for what little it could give. The choices were that or to die off. A sad but brutal truth. Weakness was not an acceptable trait on Dxun.

Mor stuck through the lessons however, learning how to hunt the less dangerous beasts and how to avoid other children who would seek her out for trouble. Often trouble was often pinned on Mor as well, no matter whether or not she was actually involved in it. For four years she fought ruthless and dirty for everything. Drawing more dislike from her peers for her methods which were deemed cowardly. Mor would lead away a tormentor or two and then systematically trick them up and beat them or lead them into trouble where the same thing would happen. It was in the small girl’s best interest to avoid out right fights though she was being trained in them. For her engage in one would turn a mob against her as their barrack would join.

When she was ten though, things changed dramatically. One of the shamans of the clan had taken an apprentice but the young fool had died due to fighting a pack of Maalraas and losing. Noted for her Sensitive to the energies of the Temple, Mor was picked from a line-up along with another boy about her age who was not so attuned. The elders of the village were eager of this chance to get rid of a ‘coward’. So it was decided that the two would fight, and so they did. It was a close match and Mor put the boy down hard. Leaving him alive as an act of mercy, which was not acceptable. The boy was shamed and in his anger gave Mor the scar that marred her face into a grimace. He would have killed her, but Mor was far faster and crushed his throat with her staff. Leaving him gasping on the ground as death claimed him. Mor’gann learned the hardest lesson of her young life then. She could not afford mercy in a fight, and so she began her training to be a Shaman. 

Something that hovered between a student and a servant to the old man. Hunting and helping him in his care of the temple to keep the spirit that dwelled there at bay. Mor spent long hours honing her skills fighting with the staff and vibro blades the clan kept. The enemies of her youth still tried to corner her and with far less success. Being a Shaman’s offered some protection what it did not, her own far more ruthless nature did. Now instead of merely leading astray a few to leave them with broken bones rather than bruises. Some never returned, and no fingers could be pointed at Mor as there were other rivalry or causes. Especially when the hunters would find the missing person with wounds from a zakkeg or maalraas, a far more likely cause. In truth, Mor led them away and left them wounded. Their death was not a direct result but she did have a hand in it.

The elders however were growing more suspicious, especially when treasured prizes were going missing though she was not involved with this (except for the pauldron of a zakkeg). Suspecting her days were number, a fact furthered by the illness that had befallen the Shaman she studied under. Mor gave her mentor, a decent man if harsh, a more worthy death than the disease. Slitting his throat to make his passing far faster. She had no desire to remain on Dxun and to serve the village as a shaman. There were other places and options for where else did the trades that sometimes descend upon the ruins come from? Paying off one with hides and a few trinkets from her mentor, Mor left the village with one last act of treason. She killed the four guards to the village’s artifact, a relic lightsaber that had been found in the temple years ago. A feat that left her partly wounded, not that she inform the pilot of this. The killing of the guards had not been her intent but if they had learned of the deed before she was off the planet it would have meant her death. The price for her flight was a couple of years worth of hides and trinkets, but Mor’ann’s payment took her all the way to Taris, far from the grasp of Dxun and the elders.
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