Asajj Ventress
Nightsister · Assassin · Level 20
Identity
Ability scores
Saving throws
Skills
Weapons
| Name | Attack | Damage | Range |
|---|---|---|---|
| Lightsaber | +3 | 1d10 +4 Energy, Slashing+4d6 (when attacking while hidden) | 5 ft |
| ●Blaster Pistol | +7 | 1d10 Energy+4d6 (when attacking while hidden) | 50 ft |
| ●Unarmed Strike (Martial Arts I) | +8 | 1d4 +2 bludgeoning | — |
Languages
Inventory
- Half-Vest · 2 kg
- Blaster Pistol · 1 kg
- Computer Spike +1 · 1 kg
- Medpac I · 0.5 kg
- Lightsaber · 1 kg
- Lightsaber · 1 kg
- Darkweave Undersuit · 3 kg
- Medpac IV×4 · 0.8 kg
Backstory
She was not born to the dark. That came later, carried in on the smell of smoke and the silence where her Master's voice used to be. Asajj Ventress came up hard on the fringes of Nightsister territory on Dathomir, a world that the Republic's cartographers marked and promptly forgot. The clan that raised her was small, proud, and deeply attuned to the magicks threading through Dathomir's mists — a tradition older than the Jedi Order itself, older than the Republic's first Senate session, older than almost anything that called itself civilized. She learned to move before she learned to speak, learned to vanish into undergrowth and shadow before she understood why that skill mattered. The Force ran through her like a current through wet stone: not loudly, not brilliantly, but constantly and without mercy. A Jedi found her. His name does not need to be said here — what matters is that he was kind, and that kindness was the first real thing she had ever been given. He brought her into his orbit during a posting near the Outer Rim, filing no formal paperwork with the Jedi Council, keeping her close the way a man keeps a fire going in a cold room. She was not technically his Padawan. She was simply his, and she was his entirely. Under him, her raw gifts sharpened. She learned to read situations faster than she could articulate them — not through scholarship, the scrolls and theoretical texts never held her — but through instinct, through the body, through the precise economy of staying alive. Then Count Dooku came, and her Master burned, and nothing after that was the same. She did not witness the politics of it. She did not understand the machinations, the Sith philosophy, the deeper currents of what Dooku was building in the shadows of the Republic's late period. What she understood was absence. What she understood was that the man who had shown her she was worth something had been taken from her by a man who was still standing, still breathing, still elegantly composed. And so she did what grief does to people who were already dangerous before they were broken: she walked toward him instead of away. Dooku recognized the fury in her the way a smith recognizes good iron — not with warmth, but with professional interest. He made her an offer framed as purpose: her anger, properly directed, would become power. He did not tell Darth Sidious. That omission is not a kindness; it is a leash made of ignorance, and somewhere in the part of her that is still Nightsister-sharp and watchful, she knows it. She commands OOM-224's battalion now, directs droids across campaigns that serve Dooku's interests, wears her two lightsabers like arguments she is still making. What she wants — the thing she has not yet reached — is not revenge, exactly. Revenge implies closure. What she wants is to become something so formidable that her Master's death ceases to feel like proof that she was not enough to protect him. She is still reaching for that. She has not found it yet.
Roleplaying notes
- **Stealth Over Confrontation:** Asajj's Expert Stealth and Assassin training mean she almost always looks for the quiet approach first — if she has the option to vanish and reposition before a fight turns against her, she takes it without hesitation or pride. - **Grief Dressed as Contempt:** Her low Wisdom (-1) means she rarely recognizes her own emotional blind spots; she reads her lingering grief over her Master as cold pragmatism, and that misreading makes her unpredictable — she can be needlessly brutal in moments that don't strategically require it. - **The Lightsabers Come Last:** She keeps her lightsabers sheathed longer than the situation demands, defaulting to the blaster pistol or misdirection first — drawing the sabers is a signal that something has become personal, and she is conscious of broadcasting that. - **Droid Authority, People Skepticism:** She commands OOM-224's battalion with clipped efficiency and genuine tactical respect for the unit — she trusts the battalion more reliably than she trusts organic allies, and treats strangers with flat, measuring silence until they prove useful or threatening. - **Short, Declarative Speech:** Her CHA of 16 makes her naturally compelling, but she uses as few words as possible — no flourishes, no explanations unless she is actively deceiving someone, and her Paecian occasionally surfaces as a muttered aside when she is frustrated or thinking aloud.