Zhav'vorsa

Zhav'vorsa was a Dathomirian Warlord and leader of the Howling Blade Clan who was affiliated with the Sith Empire around 154 ABY. He had the privilege of administering the Emperor's greatest lesson, learning to lose, to the then broken Lord, Darth Coatlec. He beat Coatlec into submission, forced him to admit inferiority, kiss his boots, and even admit his attraction and sexual experience with

## Physical description

### Gender

Male

his mother.

## Biography

Vezhven Zhav'vorsa was born into the Whispering Woods Clan on Dathomir. The bastard son of a Nightsister and a human slave, Zhav was brought up on the principles of the *Book of Shadow*, and taught to hate the teaching of Allya and the *Book of Law*. His mother raised him to be proficient in the ways of the Force, though he did not utilize the magick as she did; he found at a young age he preferred to use the Force enhance his physical attributes and assist him in physical combat.

Throughout his youth, his mother taught him the traditions and the ways of the Dathomiri Nightsisters and Brothers. She taught him reverence for the mighty beasts, the apex predators of the world, the Rancor. The clan believed that the souls of these great beasts were sacred and treated with reverence. When a Rancor would die, a ritualistic ceremony was held to honor the passing, and every part of the beast was used for the betterment of the Clan. The skin was turned to leather, and used for clothing, the bones for weapons, tools, even jewelry. No part of the Rancor would go unused, as it was seen as disrespect. Along with revering the beasts, the Clan would also domesticate and ride the giants as a means for transportation. The ability to train, to domesticate the beasts was something Zhav’vorsa took to quickly, using his connection with the Force to aide him in a faster breaking, and stronger bond with the animal.

When he was a teen, his mother saw his potential, but did not wish to wait for him to utilize it. She chose for him to perform a ritual among the other Sisters. While he was uncertain of the implications, she assured her son the ritual would only serve to make him physically stronger, more imposing, and more dangerous to those who would oppose their Clan. So, it was in an ancient ceremony heavily rooted in the dark side that his mother, and a full coven of spellcasters, bound together, channeling spirit ichor and the rawest hatred to make Zhav’vorsa even larger, even stronger. Subjected to the dark magicks of The Left-Handed God and the Mother of the Fanged God, he was granted greater height and size and fearsome physical power: he gained even more brutality, an unmatched ferocity, fearlessness, and a heightened physical potential.

Following the ritual, Zhav’vorsa had a bloodlust that was insatiable. He carved through the immediate lands decimating any who would oppose him; his path of destruction was not contained just to enemies, but spacers, traders, and travelers, too. Following the ritual, he had lost himself. The bloody path he carved left a very sore spot among the other Clans and Tribes on Dathomir, even within his own. The Clan Mother put forth a vote to remove Zhav from the clan, banishing him to the reaches of the planet. The vote was unanimous among the Council of Twelve Elders, which included his own mother. The judgement was swift, and he was ostracized from the Whispering Woods Clan. He had never felt so betrayed, cast out for something that *they* had made him, even by his own blood. His heart seethed with anger, with hatred, but he could not act. He would not…

He spent months wandering the planet with only his broadsword and his Rancor. During the exile from his native Clan, his bloodlust subsided. He was able to channel it in battle, to harness it, but was not drawn to mindlessly kill. In his travels across the vast planet, he turned his focus from a thirst for blood to a thirst for knowledge. There was more to the Force, to the magick, even, that his mother hadn’t taught him; rituals, traditions, etc. He’d heard whisperings of a merchant that had a scroll of dark and untold power, this was something that interested him greatly. He sought out the black market merchant, and traded for the scroll. On the scroll were writings, runes, instructions on how to craft a Sith sword based on the ancient Sith principles. Many of the inscribed words were foreign to him, but he knew someone that could translate it…his mother.

Zhav'vorsa traveled for weeks to get back to his home Clan, to his mother, but he knew he would not be welcomed. He snuck in to the village and found his mother, pleading with her to help him understand the languages, the runes. She reluctantly agreed to translate the scroll, with the condition that he must leave and not return, as they would kill him if they found him. He agreed, and she translated the words for him, outlining each of the steps that were needed to craft this ancient, powerful sword. She explained that his own broadsword would be used as the basis for the transformation, and there were multiple rituals that had to be performed. The first of these rituals included dipping the blade into the blood of a dozen hated enemies. The other steps came clearly to him, his mother’s words resonating in his mind. He noted each of her instructions in their native tongue as she explained, keeping his own record, so as not to misconstrue the instructions for the rituals.

Once the scroll was translated, and the ritual made clear, Zhav thanked his mother, unsheathed his blade, and struck her down. After collecting her blood, her left her chamber and searched the Temple of Whispers. Within, he would find and kill each of the remaining Council of Twelve Elders, collecting their blood for his ritual. He carved through the Temple, through the Village, killing any who opposed him, but offering safety to those who would pledge themselves to him. Those that joined him were those that were also cast-down, some were even bastards, like him. He pledged to those that followed him they would never be cast out, or ostracized, but treated fairly in a new brotherhood, a new clan.

After leaving the Whispering Woods Clan in shambles, taking those warriors that pledged to him, he set out to craft his blade. With the blood of a dozen of his hated enemies, he doused the blade and retreated to meditate on the death, the killings, for days. During this intense meditative state, the blade was infused with his anger. He scoured caves, tombs of forgotten Clan Temples and gathered Force-sensitive crystals, gems, and other crucial elements. Using the crystals, he sharpened the blade, and within the pommel he placed a Force-sensitive gem. The hilt was wrapped in the shroud of a long-dead Nightsister that had soaked up the malignant energies of the deceased.

Zhav'vorsa found himself getting impatient at times, even lost in the instructions he scribbled in his native tongue. The process was not quick. It did not happen in a span of days, or weeks. Instead, it took months and months. The time spent was taxing. While he was crafting this weapon, his bastard clan was out recruiting more for his cause, building a brotherhood. To him, crafting this weapon was essential to leading his new clan, to showing his power.

The process was personal, ritualistic, and difficult. At times, he struggled to learn the alchemy within the scroll, to “*cast a shape*” of the metal and transmute it with the Dark Side, the magick, as necessary. Sith Alchemy is different, he learned, from the conventional Dark Side usage and Dathomirian magicks. But finally, after nearly five months of hard work and meditation, he had crafted a mighty sword worthy of the Ancient Sith. The sword was one of a kind, the edges were sharpened to the width of an atom, and the blade was capable of cutting *almost* anything. With an eerie glow of Dark Side energy and Dathomiri magick, the blade was adorned with an ancient skull, fanged mouth agape, with a sickly glow in the eyes. A chain and hook hung from the spiked pommel, and the deadly, poisonous blade was carved with notches. When swung, the notches caused the sword to “howl”, singing its own battle cry, just as the Warlord did. The sound would keen over the battlefield, some described it as a slight Force Scream, uncomfortable and slightly debilitating to those that have heard it, magically strengthened and imbued with otherworldly power. Thus, the blade earned its name, *Howl of the Damned*. The blade had all the characteristics of a traditional Sith weapon, including the ability to block a lightsaber blade, the traditional weapons of the Jedi and Sith, as well the ability to deflect blaster bolts. Along with this, the blade was imbued with the ability to *absorb* the bolts, and other energy attacks, such as Force Lightning; the absorbed attacks would be stored within the Force-sensitive crystal in the pommel, infusing the weapon with a power to be unleashed at Zhav’s choosing.

On the battlefield, the blade became infamous, as did Zhav'vorsa’s brutality. Armed with his fearsome weapon, he and his brotherhood tore through the rival clans, sparring those who offered them shelter, women, food, and other spoils. He proclaimed his brotherhood The Howling Blade Clan, a fearsome collection of bastards and warriors alike that would not be opposed. They would go forth together, ravaging those that would stand against them on their planet, and dream of the day they would leave to conquer more. While still on Dathomir, they sought to expand their ranks, ruling the Clans with an iron fist. The Howling Blade Clan would take only the strongest warrior, ride only the fiercest Rancor, and slay all that stood in their path.