Plar'ael'bryska (Laraesbrys)
Chiss · Scoundrel · Level 1
Identity
Ability scores
Saving throws
Skills
Weapons
| Name | Attack | Damage | Range |
|---|---|---|---|
| ●Blaster Pistol | +4 | 1d10 Energy | 50 ft |
| ●Unarmed Strike | +1 | 1 -1 bludgeoning | — |
Languages
Inventory
- Half-Vest · 2 kg
- Blaster Pistol · 1 kg
- Computer Spike +1 · 1 kg
- Medpac I · 0.5 kg
Backstory
Plar'ael'bryska was not supposed to be on Nar Shaddaa. That was the first thing she told herself when the freighter ramp sealed behind her and the smell of recycled atmosphere hit her face like a warm fist. She was supposed to be on the *Steadfast Margin*, a Chiss Ascendancy courier vessel running a clean route between Copero and a minor trade station in the Outer Rim. She was supposed to be fourteen hours into a supervised navigational apprenticeship, earning the kind of structured, documented experience that would eventually place her inside a real Expansionary Defense Fleet posting. That was the plan. Plans, she had come to understand, were something the Empire enjoyed destroying without explanation. The *Steadfast Margin* had been boarded at the edge of the Braxant Run. An Imperial customs corvette, unannounced, unscheduled. Routine inspection, the officer had said. Nothing about it was routine. The Ascendancy's relationship with the newly formed Empire was cordial in public documentation and deeply uncertain in practice, and when the troopers found the courier codes in the captain's lockbox — codes that weren't illegal but that the Empire hadn't approved — the ship and its crew became a political inconvenience. The captain was taken. Two crew members were taken. Plar'ael was seventeen, a trainee, and small enough that she fit inside the secondary coolant conduit that ran beneath the cargo floor. She stayed there for four hours. She counted them. When the corvette disengaged and the two remaining crew members decided to dump the route plan and run, they ran to Nar Shaddaa, because Nar Shaddaa was where you went when you needed to disappear. They abandoned ship within the week, folding into the moon's anonymous rot, and Plar'ael found herself holding a blaster pistol she'd lifted from a bunk locker, wearing a half-vest that didn't fit her properly across the shoulders, and carrying a computer spike that the engineer had pressed into her hands before he vanished, saying only that it opened things and that she should use it carefully. She was not physically imposing. She knew this plainly, without self-pity. On Csilla she had always been outpaced in the physical drills, her frame lean where the instructors wanted solid. What she had instead was eyes that catalogued everything and a face that showed nothing, and on Nar Shaddaa those turned out to be worth considerably more than she expected. She started moving cargo manifests for a Rodian broker named Tessek-Vorn, not the cargo itself, just the paperwork — falsified destinations, scrubbed transponder histories. She was good at reading systems and better at lying about what they contained. What she could not do was make people like her. The warmth that smoothed negotiations, the easy manner that turned strangers into allies — that register simply wasn't in her. She watched others use it and understood it intellectually the way she understood a mechanism she had never touched. She still needed it. The broker who could get her a legitimate transit pass, the kind that would let her reach Chiss space without triggering an Imperial flag, operated entirely on personal trust, on favors and handshakes and shared meals. She had none of that currency. The captain was still out there somewhere. She did not let herself think about that too directly. But she also did not stop thinking about it. She wanted the pass. She wanted the route home. And somewhere beneath that, quieter and harder to name, she wanted to understand what the Empire had decided she was worth — and to make that assessment cost them something. She was still working on how.
Roleplaying notes
- **Expert Deception:** Plar'ael's most dangerous tool is her stillness — when she lies, she does not perform it, she simply states it; play her deceptions as flat, factual, unremarkable, which makes them harder to read and more unsettling than obvious charm. - **Low Strength, High DEX:** She avoids any situation that becomes physical on someone else's terms; when a confrontation escalates toward force, she takes a step back, angles toward an exit, and recalculates — she has been outmatched before and she knows exactly what that feels like. - **Chiss Discipline:** Plar'ael tracks details obsessively — ship registry numbers, faces at the bar, the weight of a conversation — because her species' navigation tradition and her own survival have taught her that missed patterns are what get you taken; have her note specific environmental details aloud to allies. - **Relationship Style:** She extends functional loyalty before emotional trust; she will do the job, cover your exit, and share information — but she will not tell you why, and she will not ask about your feelings, because on Nar Shaddaa those conversations are a distraction that gets people killed. - **Speech Pattern:** She speaks in precise, slightly formal Galactic Basic with Cheunh syntax bleeding through under stress — short declarative sentences, almost no contractions, and a habit of asking clarifying questions rather than making assumptions, because ambiguity has already cost her enough.