Zors Huung

Identity

Ability scores

Saving throws

Skills

Weapons

Force powers

• Mind Trick
• Lightsaber Throw

Languages

Inventory

• Padawan Robes · 3 kg
• Training Lightsaber · 1 kg
• Medpac I · 0.5 kg
• Syntherope · 2.5 kg

Backstory

Dorin breathes poison. Every Kel Dor who leaves it must wear a mask, and Zors Huung had worn his so long he sometimes forgot that the galaxy beyond his homeworld was not built for him. The Order had found him young enough that the Temple on Coruscant became his world instead — the cool recycled air in the training halls, the low hum of the ancient stones, the smell of someone else's civilization pressed against his face every waking hour. He did not resent it. He simply learned that existing in the galaxy as a Kel Dor required a kind of constant, quiet endurance that his human and Zabrak classmates never thought about. He was not the brightest youngling in his clan. He struggled with the theoretical texts, with the long chains of Jedi philosophy that his peers seemed to absorb effortlessly. What he had instead was something slower and more honest — a sensitivity to the people around him, a watchfulness that his instructors called perception and that Zors himself thought of simply as paying attention. When he sat in meditation and reached outward through the Force, he did not feel concepts or patterns. He felt *people.* Their distress. Their fear. Their need. That sensitivity is what cost him. In his final year as a youngling, during a supervised field exercise on the edge of the Outer Rim, his clan encountered a group of displaced settlers — refugees from some minor territorial conflict no one in the Temple had thought significant enough to brief them on. Most of the younglings held formation as instructed. Zors heard a child crying on the far side of a collapsed structure and moved before anyone gave the order. He reached the child. He also triggered a secondary collapse that injured two of his clanmates. No one died. The child was fine. His instructors were not. He was passed over for Padawan selection at the end of that year. He spent twelve months in the Temple without a Master. Not punished, precisely. Just waiting. Practicing the dual-blade forms he had stumbled into almost accidentally, because movement gave him something to do with the shame. His technique grew stranger and faster and more his own — and more obviously unfinished. A senior instructor watched him spar one afternoon and told him flatly that two blades would not save him from his real problem. Zors asked what his real problem was. The instructor said: *you trust your instincts more than your training, and your instincts are not yet wise enough to deserve it.* He did not argue. He wrote it down. He is still carrying it. When a Master finally chose him — drawn, apparently, by that same watchfulness that had caused the incident — Zors constructed his second lightsaber as permitted, and said nothing about how long he had been waiting. What he wants now is simpler than glory and harder to achieve: he wants to become the kind of Jedi who could have handled that moment correctly. Who could have saved the child *and* held the line. He does not know yet if that Jedi exists. He is on his first real mission, following his Master through a situation that is already more complicated than either of them expected, and he is trying very hard to think before he moves. He has not entirely succeeded. Zors's Master is tracking a Force-sensitive criminal who has been selling stolen Republic military equipment to the Hutts. The trail leads them to Nar Shaddaa. Zors isn't there because he's ready to fight a dangerous enemy. He's there to observe and learn. Unfortunately, the investigation goes wrong, and Zors ends up separated from his Master. Now this inexperienced Padawan has to navigate Nar Shaddaa with nothing but his two lightsabers, his limited Force abilities, and whatever allies he can find.

Roleplaying notes

- **Perception Over Instinct:** Zors's Wisdom +1 and expert proficiency in Use the Force mean he *senses* situations before he understands them — play him as the first to notice something feels wrong, but the last to articulate why. He picks up on emotional undercurrents and body language before he can name what he's seeing. - **The Mask as Social Barrier:** Kel Dor faces are unreadable to most species, and Zors's naturally flat Charisma (+0) compounds this — he is not cold, but he often *reads* cold. He may overcorrect by being unexpectedly direct when he does speak, because he cannot rely on a smile or a softened expression to carry the meaning. - **The Two-Blade Habit:** Zors frequently adjusts the weight of his second lightsaber on his belt during tense conversations — a physical tell that he is fighting the urge to act. His Master recognizes the gesture; enemies won't, yet. - **Protective Compression:** Zors is warm with those he trusts and professionally courteous with strangers, but the moment he perceives a threat to an innocent — even a bystander, even someone he met thirty seconds ago — his demeanor collapses into focused urgency. Allies should expect him to move without warning. - **Sparse, Deliberate Speech:** Zors speaks less than most, not from arrogance but because he is always running a small translation — Kel Dor instinct into Galactic Basic — and he prefers silence to saying something imprecise. When he does commit to a sentence, he means all of it.