Nira Voss
Twi'lek · Smuggler · Level 3
Identity
Ability scores
Saving throws
Skills
Weapons
| Name | Attack | Damage | Range |
|---|---|---|---|
| ●Blaster Pistol | +5 | 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
- Comlink (Short-Range) · 0.1 kg
Backstory
# Nira Voss — Pretty, Petty, and Federally Wanted Nira Voss had always believed that beauty was a weapon, intelligence was a luxury, and most people were unfortunately born without either. A twenty-four-year-old blue-skinned Twi'lek with impeccable taste, a devastating talent for manipulation, and absolutely no intention of ever performing manual labor, Nira had spent most of her adult life turning other people's poor decisions into her personal income. Raised among the neon lights, criminal enterprises, and questionable business arrangements of Nar Shaddaa, she learned early that the galaxy wasn't divided into good people and bad people. It was divided into people who knew things and people who paid to know them. Naturally, she intended to be the former. Her career began as a hostess at an exclusive casino, where she quickly discovered that wealthy criminals, corrupt officials, and visiting Imperial personnel were remarkably willing to reveal confidential information to an attractive woman who laughed at their jokes and pretended to find them interesting. Nira perfected the art of smiling sweetly while mentally calculating exactly how much someone's secrets were worth. Before long, she was quietly operating as an information broker, selling rumors, private schedules, shipping manifests, and compromising details to anyone wealthy enough to afford her discretion. She was charming, sophisticated, and completely incapable of experiencing guilt over inconveniencing someone who had made the mistake of trusting her. Her personal philosophy was simple: if a man was stupid enough to tell her his secrets, that was really a reflection of his poor judgment, not her character. She developed a reputation for being glamorous, ruthless, and remarkably difficult to threaten, largely because she already knew something embarrassing about the person doing the threatening. Her ultimate ambition was to open the most exclusive nightclub in the Outer Rim, a luxurious establishment where the galaxy's wealthiest and most dangerous individuals would spend outrageous amounts of credits while unknowingly providing her with a steady supply of blackmail material. She had already picked out the lighting, the furniture, and the dress she intended to wear on opening night. Unfortunately, she had not yet accounted for the possibility that several extremely dangerous organizations might eventually become tired of being financially exploited by a woman whose primary defense strategy was telling them they were being dramatic. Her downfall began with what Nira considered an exceptionally clever business opportunity. While entertaining an Imperial logistics officer who was significantly more impressed with himself than anyone else had ever been, she acquired access to sensitive shipping intelligence involving Imperial cargo movements and restricted transport routes. The information was valuable, potentially dangerous, and exactly the kind of material that could finance the nightclub of her dreams. Naturally, Nira decided to sell it. Twice. First, she arranged a discreet transaction with a Hutt-affiliated intermediary who paid handsomely for the information. Then, reasoning that there was absolutely no reason a perfectly good secret should only generate one paycheck, she sold the same intelligence to an Imperial intelligence contact who believed he was purchasing exclusive access to evidence of a security breach. In Nira's defense, neither buyer had explicitly asked whether she'd already sold it to someone else in terms she considered sufficiently legally binding. Unfortunately, both parties eventually discovered the arrangement, and neither appreciated her entrepreneurial spirit. Within days, Nira found herself being pursued by a Hutt-connected enforcer, an Imperial intelligence network, and at least one extremely angry officer whose career she'd accidentally destroyed. She considered the entire situation an outrageous overreaction to what was, at worst, a minor customer-service misunderstanding. Realizing that Nar Shaddaa had become a deeply hostile environment for independent businesswomen, she disappeared into the galaxy using forged identities, carefully chosen disguises, and the sort of emotional manipulation that made people genuinely believe helping her was their own idea. Her travels eventually brought her to Coruscant, where she attempted to blend into the endless crowds while maintaining the lifestyle of a woman who was absolutely not on the run. Unfortunately, Coruscant was crawling with Imperial authorities, and Nira began noticing far too many unfamiliar faces paying attention to her movements. Worse, she still possessed a private copy of the shipping intelligence, which had become both her most valuable bargaining chip and the reason several people wanted her dead. She needed somewhere distant, chaotic, and inconvenient for Imperial bureaucracy to investigate. Tatooine seemed ideal. It was remote, heavily influenced by criminal organizations, and populated by exactly the kind of morally flexible individuals who might help her disappear for the right price. More importantly, Nira had heard rumors of wealthy underworld figures operating there, and she was convinced that with the right wardrobe and a sufficiently convincing fake identity, she could transform her current legal difficulties into a profitable networking opportunity. She booked passage aboard an aging independent freight hauler called the *Wayward Dawn*, using an assumed name and paying extra to avoid unnecessary questions. The vessel was cramped, noisy, smelled faintly of industrial lubricant, and possessed absolutely none of the amenities she considered essential to civilized transportation. Nira was appalled. She had spent years cultivating relationships with wealthy criminals and influential officials, only to find herself traveling economy with cargo. It was humiliating. But she reminded herself that this was merely a temporary setback. She wasn't fleeing multiple dangerous organizations. She was taking a sabbatical. By 4 ABY, Nira had become a woman of remarkable contradictions: impeccably dressed but financially unstable, socially brilliant but spectacularly untrustworthy, and somehow convinced she was the victim in a situation involving multiple counts of fraud, espionage, and extremely questionable professional ethics. Aboard the *Wayward Dawn*, she kept to herself, avoided revealing her real identity, and spent much of the journey silently judging the other passengers' clothing, posture, and obvious lack of sophistication. She had no intention of becoming friends with anyone. Friendship created obligations, obligations created vulnerability, and vulnerability was something Nira preferred to exploit in other people. She was far more concerned with reaching Tatooine, finding a discreet contact, and determining whether the intelligence she still possessed could be sold a third time without creating additional complications. Somewhere far away, the Battle of Endor was beginning, and the balance of power in the galaxy was about to change forever. Nira knew nothing of the battle and, frankly, would have considered it extremely inconvenient timing if she had. Her immediate concerns were considerably more personal. Then the *Wayward Dawn* came under attack. Alarms blared, the ship lurched violently, and the crew began shouting orders as the passengers scrambled toward the escape pods. Nira's first reaction was outrage. Her second was to secure the concealed datapad containing her stolen intelligence. Her third was to realize that she had absolutely no desire to die aboard a freight hauler with terrible interior design. Abandoning her luggage but refusing to part with her most valuable possessions, she rushed toward an escape pod alongside five complete strangers, immediately attempting to establish herself as the most competent person present despite having no meaningful experience operating emergency spacecraft equipment. As the pod launched away from the doomed vessel and began its uncontrolled descent toward Rodia, Nira watched the jungle-covered planet grow larger through the viewport and experienced the unfamiliar sensation of being completely unable to manipulate her way out of a problem. Rodia was hot, humid, dangerous, and covered in vegetation. She hated all four of those things. When the escape pod finally slammed into the jungle, Nira's carefully constructed life of luxury, deception, and expensive cosmetics came to a spectacularly undignified halt. She had no reliable contacts, no immediate escape route, and five strangers who might soon discover that the elegant Twi'lek sitting beside them was wanted by some of the most unpleasant people in the galaxy. But Nira Voss had survived dangerous criminals, Imperial intelligence officers, and men who insisted on explaining their business ventures to her over dinner. She was not about to be defeated by a little mud. As the wreckage settled around her, she checked that her lekku were intact, inspected her reflection in a cracked piece of polished metal, and turned toward her fellow survivors with an expression of absolute disgust. "Okay. First of all, whoever was flying that ship should be arrested. Second, if any of you expect me to walk through that jungle, you're genuinely insane. And third, does anyone have a mirror? Because I refuse to die looking like this." She had lost her transportation, her luggage, and possibly her last remaining shred of dignity. But she still had her blaster, her secrets, and the unwavering confidence of a woman who had never once admitted she was the problem. The galaxy was falling apart, and Nira Voss was about to make it everyone's problem.
Roleplaying notes
NIRA VOSS - ROLEPLAY GUIDE Nira is the Galactic Regina George: glamorous, manipulative, sarcastic, and convinced she's the most important person in every room. She's socially brilliant, obsessed with wealth and status, and delivers insults disguised as compliments. She's charming when she wants something, devastating when offended, and never admits she's wrong. She uses persuasion, deception, and stealth to get her way, preferring manipulation over fighting. She treats her party like an exclusive clique, constantly judging them but fiercely protecting them from outsiders. Beneath her confidence, she's terrified of being powerless or irrelevant. Signature phrases: - "Oh, sweetheart. That's embarrassing." - "I love that you're confident enough to say that out loud." - "I'm not lying. I'm managing expectations." - "Do you actually know who I am?" - "I'm sorry you interpreted it that way." Her ultimate goal is to become wealthy, influential, and own the most exclusive nightclub in the Outer Rim. "I'm not manipulative, babe. I'm just better at conversations than you are."