Nice ideas, I’m pretty keen. This seems pretty cool and a good way to exercise my writing. I had already worked on a Star Wars character before I swiftly left this aight some years ago. I got a little excerpt here showing a little insight to the character I’ll cook up for the RP. I think he’s fit in this post-apocalyptic type RP. Hopefully I’ll get a sheet out soon:)

[hider=Chieftain of the Dune Sea]
Mother Dune did not make a loving mother and her children were vindictive and fiercely independent.  [i]Ghorfa[/i] do not kneel. They did not kneel to the Builders of old, resisting until the heavens split and Mother Dune wrapped all the gardens under her sand. They did not kneel to the outsiders, creators of [i]civilisation[/i] which hunted their people like rats. They did not kneel to the Dune Sea, her waves swallowing whole villages. They did not even kneel to the Demon of the Sand with its glowing [i]shrashkka[/i], a vengeful ghost kept at bay by their sacrifices and totems in a now desolate village. It would take much for a single Ghorfa to kneel, much less its whole species.

But for when the sky split open and villages are razed. When water holes long revered by the sand dwellers be emptied. When their precious [i]Uli-ah[/i] are taken away by monsters before they can even marry. That is when things change. When the tale begins anew, the creation of a chapter unforeseen by the Storytellers. Tribal chieftains, wizened shamans, raid-party leaders and the greatest story-tellers gathered in the empty cave of a hunted Krayt Dragon. Tensions were high, talons gripping rifles and [i]gaderfii[/i] tightly. The Dune Mother let its whispers caress the fires of each group, carrying the tension around. Masseffi howled and barked at rivals, unbothered banthas tended to by jumpy riders. Only the shamans and the oldest storytellers sat calmly amongst the greatest gathering of this nomadic people.

In a rough circle around a small fire, light and shadow licking the tall walls of the cavern, sat the leaders of the [i]Ghorfa[/i]. Urr’argh Ak-Shaffi sat among them, calmly shifting his rebreather to sit more comfortably on his face. The movement alerted most of the room, nervous glances and scowls passed each denizen of the circle. They had sat there for six hours now, ever since the Wanderer had stated his terms. If the situation was not so dire, they would have been killing each other for past insults and greed. The desperation was clear to all in attendance.

[color=olivedrab]“We must unite.”[/color] Urr’argh stated again, as if recounting a proverb from the old tales.

More nervous glances broke out, small shifts and fidgets. To speak among strangers who could [i]understand you[/i] is to show weakness. That is why many [i]Ghorfa[/i] would neglect to speak the language of the outsiders, though they knew how to. The [i]Ghorfa[/i] way was as isolationist as it was nomadic. Speaking their guttural tongue to people outside of your clan was taboo. Despite sharing the same cloth, the same blood, the same Mother, the peoples were still split by culture. 

A shaman two persons across from him raised his chin. A challenge to his statement. Two chieftains followed promptly. An alliance perhaps? Who knew the [i]Ghorfa [/i]could ally themselves even without his guiding hand. Urr’argh mused under their gazes.

[color=olivedrab]“We have no choice. They are slaughtering us. Extinction follows. These are not ghosts of the Dune Sea. She is not responsible. These are not the Builders come again. Those devils are not responsible. These are outsiders. They pose a problem. You must kneel to me. I am the strongest.”[/color]

Hacking coughs of protest came from others of the circle. A raid leader stood, [i]gaderfii[/i] held accusingly at Urr’argh. A visible show of defiance against his wisdom. Those broad shoulders shook in rage, the cloth coverings upon his head trembled. This was an insult of the highest order. A [i]Ghorfa[/i] did not point at another [i]Ghorfa[/i] with a sacred [i]gaderfii[/i] unless they challenged something utterly wrong to them. In credit to the Wanderer, he merely pointed his chin forwardand flexed neck muscles, throat bobbing through the skin-tight cloth. A calming gesture, one of peace. Of surety. For one has to be sure of his own strength to expose his throat to the pointed end of a [i]gaderfii[/i].

Such calm assertiveness silenced the hacking coughs. The shaman lowered his chin and the two subordinates followed quickly after. The raid leader still stood, knees tensed and grip tightening. His raiders, cloths painted red from the blood of outsiders, were as tense as their leader, eyes shifting at the shadows looking for unseen enemies.

Urr’argh cracked his neck, bending it to an obscene angle for a human. The sound echoed in the cavern. A calm threat of violence, opposing the insubordination of the raid leader. The raid leader reluctantly sat back down, chin downwards in submission. An almost imperceptible nod came from the Wanderer, an act of acceptance. He looked back at the group.

[color=olivedrab]“I was cast out of my clan, a storyteller surpassed by another, as is the way. I was ready to be eaten by the Dune Sea. To wander aimlessly with the Mother. I was instead taken from her grasp, from her nature by these [i]outsiders[/i].”[/color] The word was spat out, phlegm impacting against the inner world of the rebreather. The younger ones flinched. Inner Water was as sacred as the Outer Water. Such disregard must contain great hate.

Urr’argh continued with the green mucus dripping through a crack in his rebreather.[color=olivedrab] “I am Wanderer for I have walked where no [i]Ghorfa[/i] has walked before. Aside from our [i]kurantt[/i] brothers and sisters, who have shed their old ways for that of the [i]Ghorfa[/i], none of our people have reached the stars. I was kept as pet, slave to the outsiders, trained in their inferior ways of raiding. I was taught their common tongue, told our tongue was [i]primitive[/i].”[/color]

The denizens of the circle sneered as he did, throwing sand into the air in protest. The Wanderer nodded in ascent. [color=olivedrab]“They enslaved me to their ways. They do not have [i]kurantt[/i], they forced the terms of brotherhood upon me. But through this, I learned of the enemy. I learned their tales, their stories. I befriended them, as much a [i]Ghorfa[/i] could pretend to befriend outsiders. I learned of the Great Beyond, of wars eternal, bloodshed greater than any [i]Ghorfa[/i] has seen.”[/color]

[color=olivedrab]“I wandered among the stars, beyond the struggling brothers and learned this all. I know more than any [i]Ghorfa[/i] here has or ever will. I boast of killing green monsters, ten of whom could kill a krayt dragon with their fists! I boast of killing a shaman with glowing [i]shrashkka[/i], like the Demon of the Sands! I boast of conquering a metal beast, green fire spewing forth from its metal skin!”[/color] Urr’argh has stood, towering over the masses in passion. His shadow crept upwards into the upper darkness of the cavern, fingers drumming at his side with excitement.

[color=olivedrab]“I boast, standing before you elders. Leaders of the [i]Ghorfa[/i]. I come before you as the strongest. Against these raiders of the stars, only I am worthy as leader of our people. I know them, I have been with them, walked among them. I know how to defeat them.” [/color]Urr’argh bent down, grasping his customised cycler rifle and slammed its butt into the rocky ground. A challenge to authority. To not challenge it is to submit. He stood rigidly, weight shifted forward.

The first dissenter emerged from his left, lunging from the ground with a short, sharp [i]shrashkka[/i] in hand. The Wanderer raised his strangely short cycler rifle one handed, cranking the lever mechanism while doing so. Grasping the rifle’s wooden barrel steadily, he fired point blank into the dissenter. A gaping hole appeared at their centre, the man crumpling to the ground.

Spurred on by the action, several other dissenters stood weapons in hand, silently running at the Wanderer. He swiftly placed a round through each [i]Ghorfa[/i], talons cranking the lever action with practised ease. As the last body fell, the sand shifted behind him.

Urr’argh twirled, the butt of his long rifle extended. He blocked the swing from an incoming [i]gaderfii[/i], ornate wood standing strong against scrap metal. He pushed, staggering his opponent backwards before punching a round through their head. Blood splattered on to the cavern wall.

Urr’argh turned, slamming the butt of his rifle on the ground. The sounds of the dying permeated in the silence afterwards, as if spread by the uncaring Mother. The others glances at each other, looking for other dissenters. The shamans rose and knelt, chins lowered in submission. Others followed swiftly after until all knelt before him. Before the crack of dawn, before the struggling brothers stood over the Mother, he was named Chieftain of the Dune Sea. And so the war began in truth.

[hr] 

[i]The Tatooine Wars or the [/i]Freedom Wars [i]as the Tusken held them, were a series of heated battles between several slaver parties and the tribes of Tusken Raiders on Tatooine. The locals of Bespin had long grown tired of the constant raids by the nomadic species of Tatooine. With the Massacre of the Farms of 186 ABY and the ever growing number of refugees to Tatooine, food supplies were running scarce. Violence and anarchy, already ever present on the desert world, threatened to spill over even the smallest bit of grain. 

The eyes of the desperate turned towards the Tusken, a nomadic, primitive people which lived beyond the farms and the protective walls of civilisation. A group of savage specimen, wary of outsiders and fiercely protective of their young. They harassed and killed those they labelled outsiders, taking young children and inducting them into their barbaric lives. Few interacted with them without blaster fire and lived. Those who spoke of a proud, honourable people were dismissed as fools. They saw raiders, thieves, kidnappers and murderers. Unthinking monsters.

The years of shattering wars across the galaxy were favourable upon the children of the Dune Mother. They had raided with impunity, the lack of any real orderly response from the locals allowed them to spread and multiply. The Tusken peoples, or [i]Ghorfa[/i] as they would call themselves, thrived in the chaos. No Empire, with Hutts too busy with fortifying their more profitable holdings, they had no authority to answer to. A lawless time awarding a lawless people. Populations thrived.

The locals grew envious. And so, several people of import among the Tatooine populace emerged with a solution. Slaver parties frequented the space around Tatooine, indiscriminate in their taking. As a backwater desert world, Tatooine was often regarded as a poor source of slaves and missed by these bands of slavers. Low population density and thus a lack of any real creds. But the locals, vying for primitive food and riches, green with envy, updated these slavers on the real local population.

More tribes had littered the Dune Sea than ever before, krayt dragon caves emptied out as permanent resting places for a nomadic people. More potential slaves, more potential creds. And thus, striking a deal with the devil, the locals pointed out the migration movements of the Tusken. When the twin suns were hot and high in the sky, they would sit in large tribal encampments hitching primitive tents to defend against the scorching suns.

This is when the slavers would strike, blasting the armed Tusken menfolk while swiftly capturing the women and children in their tents. Such exotic and strange aliens could sell nicely to the odd fetishists of high society. A shock collar can be an efficient tool of submission for even the most prideful. This would continue for months on end. Villages would be razed. Tusken warrior parties returning to the scorched remains of their brothers and the disappearance of their [/i]kurantt[i]. 

Scattered and separated, the Tusken could not do much. It was as if the Builders had come again, taking away their peoples once more, beyond the grasps of the Dune Mother. One Tusken would rise above the others however. Urr’argh Ak-Shaffi, the Star Wanderer, the Chieftain of the Dunes, the Beyond. In one night, he united the peoples as no other had before.

A storyteller, revered for his wisdom. A wanderer, cast out from the tribes. An outsider, one who has been beyond the grasp of the Dune Mother. An enigmatic, strange example of his primitive species. What a fascinating specimen. He would lead his people against a superior foe with expert knowledge of his foes. He knew how to fight the slaver for he had been the slaver, taken away years before as a pet of a slaving party. Returning to his people through unknown means, he would be revered as a fantastic warrior and great strategist.

Urr’argh wielded the raiding mind of the Tusken and the advanced knowledge of outsiders as his weapons. With zeal, he used poisons, natural chemicals, brutal melee weapons and slugthrowers to bite back against the invaders. Ambushes, feigned retreats, IEDs, artificial sinkholes, spike traps, bantha charges. All were utilised against the slaver enemy. But primitive tactics could not stand against the metal hulls of starships. Technology would win the day. Ambushes would be spotted by advanced scanners, IEDs triggered by unfeeling recon droids, bantha charges laid waste to by concentrated blaster fire.

Every victory was celebrated but every defeat was a crushing loss, a tribe defeated and scattered. Failure was imminent, the bonds of servitude closing itself upon the Tusken people, like their[/i] Kumugah[i] predecessors before them. As though the uncaring Dune Mother had left them, Urr’argh would be captured once more during the fiercest battle of the Tatooine Wars.

The slaving of the Tusken people, the greatest war the primitive species had ever seen, would take a mere year. A blip in the annals of history. Another species forgotten among countless others. And Urr’argh, Chieftain of the Dune Sea, the Wanderer, would be cast out once more from the Dune Mother. Into the uncaring, shattered galaxy.[/i]

- Unknown Historian 191 ABY[/hider]