Basic Information:

• Name:  Kylia Tille

• Alias:  None

• Species:  Human

• Gender:  Female

• Age:  32

Affiliation & Status:

• Affiliation:  Eternal Alliance (formerly Eternal Empire) 

• Title:  Alliance Emissary

• Rank:  Field Command Strategist

• Force Sensitive:  No

Origin & Residence:

• Homeworld:  Zakuul

• Current Residence:  Odessen

Physical Stats:

• Height:  1.73 meters (5'8")

• Weight:  67 kg (148 lbs)

• Build/Body Type:  Athletic, compact, with an undercurrent of street-tough resilience

• Eye Color: Light blue

• Hair Color: Light auburn-blonde, styled in smooth waves or vintage curls when off-duty 

• Skin Color:  Fair
  
  

Distinctive Features:

• Distinctive Characteristics:  Steady, assessing stare; quick reflexes; wry half-smile when relaxed

• Scars/Tattoos/Markings:  Small scar on right temple (old street fight); faint plasma burn on left forearm (from a fire rescue at age 20); no tattoos

• Other Notable Features:  Uniforms always worn with practical efficiency, rarely adorned; keeps a battered old locket (her mother’s) tucked under her collar; hands show faint calluses from weapons and emergency work

Personality Profile:

• Openness to Experience:  Moderate (practical, trusts instincts, questions authority)

• Conscientiousness:  High (reliable, dutiful, holds herself accountable)

• Extroversion:  Low-Moderate (quiet confidence, prefers action to speeches) 

• Agreeableness:  Moderate (loyal, empathetic, but unafraid to challenge)

• Neuroticism:  Moderate (carries past losses, restless under pressure) 

Additional Traits:

• Strengths:  Decisive leader, resourceful, brave under fire, fiercely loyal to loved ones

• Flaws:  Distrusts bureaucracy, stubborn, slow to forgive betrayal

• Likes:  Rooftop sunsets, frontline work, small victories, honest conversation

• Dislikes:  Corruption, empty protocol, being powerless to help

• Disposition:  Steadfast, quietly defiant, protective

Command Structure:

• Superior:  Eternal Alliance Field Council

• Subordinates:  Mixed patrol teams, refugee coordination units
  
  

Personal Connections:

• Significant Other:  None

• Notable Friends:  Raeya Tille (cousin, closest confidant and operational partner), Indo Zal (Alliance intel, trusted ally)

• Pets/Companions:  None
  
  

Family:

• Mother:  Lesha Tille (medic, deceased)

• Father:  Darven Tille (Overwatch Captain, retired, alive on Zakuul)

• Siblings:  None (Raeya Tille; cousin - like a sister)

Skills & Abilities:

• Signature Abilities/Force Powers:  None (Force-insensitive), exceptional tactical instincts

• Combat Specialties:  Urban security, crowd control, situational command

• Languages Spoken:  Galactic Basic, Zakuulan, limited Huttese

• Notable Achievements:  Intercepted Spire sabotage plot; coordinated multi-faction evacuation on Odessen

• Other Skills:  Crisis logistics, field diplomacy, encrypted comms management

Equipment & Gear:

• Primary Weapon(s):  Standard Overwatch blaster pistol, collapsible stun baton

• Notable Equipment/Gear:  Alliance mission tablet, encrypted datapad, undercity tracker beacon (personal modification)

• Armor/Outfit:  Alliance field uniform (modified), former Overwatch officer coat (retained, worn during diplomatic duties)

• Personal Items:  Worn wristband from Raeya, service badge of her mother’s med-kit

• Mount/Vehicle:  Czerka issue scout shuttle (retrofit, unmarked hull) 

Roleplay Hooks:

• Quirks & Habits:  Keeps log entries; checks exits instinctively; silent hand signals with Raeya

• Rumors & Reputation:  Former Zakuulan loyalist; “ghost of the Spire”; trusted by Jedi and Sith alike

• Open Connections:  Raeya (cousin/confidant); ex-Overwatch allies or enemies; survivors from District 52

Story Seeds:

• Current Goals:  Maintain fragile peace; protect Raeya; secure safe routes for refugees

• Hidden Agendas or Secrets:  Still monitors Zakuulan intel; harbors survivor guilt from escape

• Fears/Weaknesses:  Losing Raeya; haunted by inaction; wary of forming new bonds

• Story Arcs:  Rebuilding trust across factions; clash with old command; forging a new home on Odessen

• Background:  
  
  

Kylia Tille was born in the shadowed brilliance of Zakuul, shaped by both the privileges of Spire citizenship and the scars of personal loss. Raised between a loyalist father and a healer mother, her early years taught her that survival often demanded both strength and compassion. After her mother’s death, Kylia carved her own path—first as a cadet bristling against authority, then as a security officer navigating the widening fractures within the Eternal Empire. Her bond with cousin Raeya became her compass, anchoring her through crisis, exile, and uneasy alliances. Whether leading from the frontlines or operating in the margins of diplomacy, Kylia grew into a leader defined not by command or conquest, but by quiet integrity, loyalty, and the courage to choose trust—even in a broken galaxy. 

• Timeline/Chronology:

  • 3658 BBY | 5 BTC | Age 0 | Born on Zakuul 

  • 3640 BBY | 13 ATC | Age 18 | Enters Sentinel Academy; forms dual patrol thread with Kylia 

  • 3638 BBY | 15 ATC | Age 20 | Responds to Spire bombings; prevents secondary explosion 

  • 3632 BBY | 21 ATC | Age 26 | Promoted to Field Officer; rescues civilians during fire incident 

  • 3630 BBY | 23 ATC | Age 28 | Becomes Overwatch Supervisor; maintains order during Sith inspection

  • 3629 BBY | 24 ATC | Age 29 | Escapes Zakuul with Raeya during Festival purge 

  • 3627 BBY | 26 ATC | Age 31 | Joins Alliance formally; leads field coordination on Dantooine 

  • 3626 BBY | 27 ATC | Age 32 | Appointed Alliance Emissary; helps hold Odessen Summit together 

Roleplayer Info:

• Contact Preference:  In-game (Kylia Tille - Imp Side)

• Timezone:  EST (UTC-5)

• Activity & Availability:  Weekdays (afternoon) & weekends (during day)
  
  

Roleplay Preference & Boundaries:

• Roleplay Style:  Prefer 1:1 or small group roleplay, mostly in-game.

• Triggers & Boundaries:  No god mode.

• Plotting & Collaboration:  Open to long-term plots but prefer things to develop more on the fly/spontaneously. 

• Other Notes:  Preferred session length: 1–3 hours.

🟥 Episode I – Silent Systems
3643 BBY | Age 10 | Galactic Cold War | Zakuul, Mid-Tier Civic Ward | Civilian

🪐 Galactic Context:

In the tense quiet following the Treaty of Coruscant, Republic and Imperial forces ready for inevitable conflict—but not here. In Zakuul, far from galactic stagecraft, power moves without banners: encoded in architecture, embedded in civic rhythms. For Kylia Tille, the war beyond the stars is noise. The only battles worth fighting are the ones no one sees. 

📘 Narrative:

✧ In Kylia Tille’s household, silence didn’t mean absence—it meant attention. Her father, Darven Tille, a retired Overwatch Captain, taught her to read the weight behind a nod, the warning inside stillness. Her mother, Lesha, a triage medic in Zakuul’s civic response network, raised her to recognize what would fail before it broke. Dinner conversations weren’t warm—they were functional: transit disruption logs, sensor calibration protocols, injury spread projections. Kylia didn’t play with toys; she color-coded civic sublayer maps and rebalanced shuttle schedules to minimize footfall strain. She didn’t ask for praise. She recorded efficiencies like they were lullabies. Her parents didn’t enforce obedience—they modeled competence. And from that, Kylia learned an early truth: sentiment is noise. Structure speaks more clearly. Zakuul didn’t teach her control. It taught her how to listen for it.

✧ That listening became obsession. When pedestrian routing delays exceeded their tolerance thresholds, she tracked which sectors adjusted first. When civic power relays staggered by 2.4 seconds across the promenade grid, she flagged which zones bore the instability—and which were conveniently spared. Two weeks later, a silent patch was rolled out. Exactly what she’d predicted. She never said a word. Her father had taught her that control didn’t always wear a badge; her mother had shown her that intervention came before recognition. Her throat tightened the night she saw her flagged anomaly rerouted—unacknowledged, but real. She almost told them what she’d done. Instead, she logged it: “system response correction—source uncredited.” That was enough. But part of her still wondered: Did they know—and say nothing on purpose?

✧ Her cousin Raeya visited weekly, more sister than guest. Where Kylia mapped behavior in systems, Raeya tracked it in people. They would sit along the civic tramway, logging footstep frequency and posture drift near patrol nodes. Kylia logged the numbers. Raeya described the feelings. “That one’s pretending not to notice the guards,” Raeya murmured once. “His steps speed up, but his shoulders stay still. That’s fear.” Kylia added a metric to her overlay: emotional compensation ratio. Their quiet study of the city was more than curiosity—it was calibration. Together, they understood what Zakuul refused to admit: order wasn’t peace. Suppression wasn’t safety. And systems could look perfect—right until the silence cracked.

✧ One afternoon, during a civic ceremony honoring tram-line expansions, a minor routing node failed. The detour was brief. The crowd disruption minimal. The panic—avoidable. Kylia had flagged the node’s irregular echo pings two days earlier. She stood near the control console, jaw tight, as technicians fumbled through reinitialization codes. Lesha passed her, breath ragged, tending to a civilian who had fallen in the crowd surge. Darven, standing at the Overwatch post nearby, didn’t speak. He only nodded—once. That evening, Kylia submitted her analysis packet through a generic public feedback form. Two days later, the city archived the incident without citation. But the node was replaced. Kylia made no note of pride. Just a line in her ledger: “Resolved anomaly—preventable. Authority silent.”

✧ By the end of that cycle, she had constructed seven overlays of civic subroutines, each color-coded for reliability drift. Her personal archive tracked 62 deviation patterns the public didn’t even know existed. She used no illegal access—just open terminals, open data, and the closed attentiveness of someone who noticed. Darven once saw her reviewing guard cycle inefficiencies over morning stimcaf. “That’s Overwatch work,” he said. “It’s everyone’s work,” she replied, “if they care what breaks.” Lesha smiled quietly, and Kylia swallowed the sudden warmth that rose in her chest. She almost said thank you. Instead, she added three new tags to her failure index: unacknowledged insight, silent approval, acceptable risk. She didn’t want a title. She wanted a system that didn’t require one. And she believed, even then, that stability meant vigilance—not applause.

📓 Personal Log: “Foundation in Silence” | Zakuul, 3643 BBY

"Everyone thinks the system keeps people safe. That’s only true if someone’s watching it before anything breaks. Father taught me to read the gaps. Mother taught me to act before pain arrives. Raeya sees what people carry—I see what systems ignore. Together, we’ll find what the Spire refuses to log. The relay didn’t fail because it was flawed. It failed because no one cared until it collapsed. But I cared. That’s the line between obedience and vigilance—and I intend to stay on the right side of it."

🟥 Episode II – Precision Over Protest
3636 BBY | Age 17 | Fall of Ziost Era | Zakuul, The Spire, Academy District | Spire Sentinel Cadet

🪐 Galactic Context
In the aftermath of Ziost’s annihilation by Vitiate’s lingering presence, fear simmers beneath the Republic-Imperial ceasefire. Though Zakuul remains outwardly untouched, its systems grow more alert—more brittle. The Spire Sentinel Academy accelerates training cycles under civic doctrine, preparing for threats its citizens aren’t allowed to name. For Kylia Tille, entry into this institution is not a beginning—it’s an extension of what she already understands.

📘 Narrative

✧ Kylia Tille did not enter the Spire Sentinel Academy to learn how systems worked. She came to confirm how they were maintained. Her childhood knowledge of protocol and public infrastructure placed her well ahead of her peers—her intake test ranked her in the upper five percent of operational diagnostics before formal instruction began. Instructors noted her composure under pressure, but questioned her lack of urgency during physical drills. Kylia didn’t need adrenaline. She needed accuracy. When a dormitory routing interface failed during orientation, she rebuilt its command path in twenty minutes without assistance. The tech overseer said nothing. But the system updated quietly that night—patch notes uncredited, just as expected. She filed a silent entry in her private archive: “First correction rendered. System accepted truth without permission.” Her throat clenched briefly as the screen flickered confirmation. She almost smiled—then swallowed it.

✧ While cadets drilled in crowd containment and simulation response, Kylia gravitated toward less visible modules: civic arbitration theory, surveillance drift analytics, public trust flow modeling. She requested access to incident review logs two years ahead of her cohort. Instead of being denied, she was invited to assist a junior operations analyst. That analyst—Lieutenant Corrin Vos—later admitted she’d corrected his metrics three times without saying a word. “You don’t need volume,” he told her once. “You need sight.” Kylia accepted the praise without reaction, but the words nested under her skin longer than she liked. She respected logic, not compliments. But part of her wondered if sight was enough when systems preferred blindness. Her hands trembled slightly during a tribunal review sim, but her voice remained measured. “Don’t just observe policy,” she told the panel. “Observe why people stop trusting it.” Silence followed. She didn’t flinch.

✧ Her bond with Raeya deepened within the academy’s rigid walls. Though assigned to different squadrons, they were granted a shared analysis thread after outperforming a patrol simulation in opposite sectors. Kylia flagged erratic sentiment flows based on complaint timing; Raeya confirmed civilian anxiety on-site through posture tension and clipped speech. Their reports began mirroring each other—one in code, one in tone. They never planned it. They simply aligned. During a festival patrol, a merchant dispute threatened to escalate when a supply grid shorted mid-transaction. Kylia bypassed the glitch using a policy clause memorized from transit law case studies. Raeya stepped forward, translated the act into plain speech, and resolved the tension without raising her voice. Afterward, a senior officer reprimanded them: “You corrected the problem too visibly. Now others will expect transparency.” Kylia logged the line. Raeya underlined it in her notes. Neither forgot it. Later that night, Kylia quietly submitted a reroute protocol based on the incident, adjusted to reduce false transaction triggers. Raeya reviewed the language before submission—making sure it wouldn’t raise alarms. Two weeks later, the new clause was folded into civic commerce routing. No mention. No credit. Just corrected.

✧ The warning sat heavy for days. Kylia reviewed the officer’s performance history and discovered three prior suppressions of system variance flags. It wasn’t a pattern. It was a habit. She almost filed a formal inquiry. Instead, she recreated the simulation with adjusted parameters, submitting it as a “training improvement module.” The underlying error remained the same—but the visibility of the correction was reduced. The module passed with commendation. Kylia received an anonymous commend in the weekly log cluster. Her jaw tightened when she read it. She didn’t want backdoor praise. She wanted the system to stop punishing visibility. But she understood now: sometimes, you changed the system not by defying it—but by slipping corrections through the seams it refused to notice. Raeya called it “subtle sabotage.” Kylia called it “calibrated leverage.” Neither was wrong.

✧ By year’s end, she was reviewing case files three ranks above her clearance, under quiet authorization. Her instructors didn’t question it—they’d stopped questioning her long ago. She had rewritten two internal tracking frameworks and created a diagnostic overlay for crowd response zones now used in official drills. Her name was never on the credits. She didn’t care. She was no longer seeking permission. She was building proof. Proof that order wasn’t strength unless it could evolve. Proof that authority wasn’t earned through volume, but through repetition that could not be denied. At night, she and Raeya would review patrol logs over silent caf—both knowing the system would never ask them to lead, but would quietly build itself around them anyway. Their names weren’t in any log. But two joint overlays had been absorbed into the patrol doctrine. One detected friction before it flared. The other rerouted response before panic took hold. Neither girl mentioned it. But they both knew what they were building—even if no one else said it yet: the system’s invisible firewall.

📓 Personal Log: “Precision Over Protest” | Zakuul, 3636 BBY

"I didn’t enter the Academy to be seen. I came to become fluent in how silence is enforced. Systems reward obedience, not correction—unless the correction is invisible. That’s fine. I don’t need authority. I need adaptability. Raeya and I bypassed a failure today, and they told us not to repeat it—because truth was too transparent. But I’ve learned the pattern: offer the fix quietly, and eventually the structure adopts it. Let others chase influence through visibility. I’ll keep rewriting the terms—one protocol at a time. And together, we’ll make sure the system forgets nothing—not fear, not failure, not us."

🟥 Episode III – Anatomy of Prevention
3635 BBY | Age 18 | Rise of the Eternal Empire | Zakuul, The Spire, Academy District | Overwatch Junior Officer

🪐 Galactic Context
Galactic Context Zakuul's silence shatters as Arcann returns from the Outer Rim cloaked in conquest. His Eternal Fleet begins a swift, devastating campaign—razing Sith strongholds, blockading Republic routes, and forcing the galaxy into sudden submission. For those within Zakuul's walls, the war begins not with fanfare, but with an echo—data spikes, rerouted protocols, and a whisper of fear buried beneath the system’s smooth surface. Kylia Tille feels that tremor before the city names it.

📘 Narrative

✧ Kylia Tille wakes to a systems alert—not from the Sentinel network, but from her private deviation tracker. Her overlays show logistical bleed in troop mobilization routes, inconsistent with civic protocols. Her breath tightens. She almost escalates it beyond her level before swallowing the instinct. She tags it as a "probable wartime initiation." No one had declared war, but the Fleet’s shadow was already threading through her city. She scrubs the alert from public logs, rerouting it to a private archive. She knows what she saw. Her hands still on the interface longer than needed. Silence weighed heavy on her.

✧ At midday drills, training simulations pivot from civic unrest to wartime coordination. Kylia watches cadets react—not to the new tactics, but to the shift in tone. Their breathing is shallow. Her own jaw clenches as she logs failure latency across units. She almost raises a flag about psychological readiness—then swallows it. Instead, she builds a new metric cluster: Preemptive Sentiment Disruption Index. Behind every data point, she sees a story her instructors won’t name. That night, Raeya cross-references her delay matrices with observed breath suppression patterns—“You measured fear in pauses,” she says. “But I saw it in how they avoided looking at each other.” Kylia adjusts her metric parameters. The result: clearer thresholds. She doesn’t submit it. But two nights later, the simulation framework updates. No credit. Just function.

✧ Raeya intercepts her in the hallway, offering a single phrase: "Korriban fell." No report, no broadcast—just those two words. Kylia's throat constricts. She already knew. The timestamped fleet drift confirmed it. But hearing it aloud sharpens the edges. She almost says, "We should leave," but swallows it, shifting instead to, "We need to reframe the fallout maps." Together they reroute the lower-tier crowd control overlays to allow for mass movement. Raeya identifies sectors least likely to comply under stress; Kylia reprograms corridor signal logic accordingly. They don't speak of fear, only friction. And in that unspoken space, war becomes real not through fire—but through protocol.

✧ During her analysis shift, a false-positive triggers in the atrium grid—a sign of potential sabotage. Kylia cross-references signal drift and catches a buried signature routed through obsolete civic diagnostics. Her breath slows. She almost triggers lockdown before swallowing the alarm. She isolates the fault, sends Raeya a coded trace marker, and redirects pedestrian flow manually. The atrium remains quiet. No one notices. But in her private log, she writes: "Eternal access confirmed—probing phase underway." She closes the terminal with shaking fingers. The system updated itself again—without asking why.

✧ The week ends with a debrief where instructors praise "adaptive silence" in cadet response. Kylia nods, but her hands are cold. She almost speaks when they reference stability. Instead, she uploads an anonymized overlay showing timing drift in public reassurance campaigns. Her analysis concludes: "Measured calm is not peace." No one responds. But a day later, a new training module appears in the civic archives—uncredited. At night, she and Raeya test their resilience model—Kylia’s grid logic paired with Raeya’s posture stress profiles—against three archived panic events. It outperforms baseline protocols by thirteen percent. The next morning, Overwatch updates its early-response drills with embedded timing tags. No attribution. Just adoption. Raeya calls it quiet recognition. Kylia logs it as system convergence—human and machine, finally calibrated.

📓 Personal Log: "Anatomy of Prevention" | Zakuul, 3635 BBY

"War doesn’t start with fire. It starts with irregular signal drift. It starts when cadets hesitate and instructors pivot simulations. It starts when your overlay tags the enemy before your command does. Today, Raeya told me Korriban burned. But I already knew. I felt it in the protocols. I saw it in the numbers. We’re not observers anymore. We’re the first firewall. And that means silence is no longer safety—it’s exposure, if you’re not ready. I intend to be ready. And this time, I'm not alone in it."

🟥 Episode IV – Coming Soon
3632 BBY | Age 21 | Coming Soon | Coming Soon | Coming Soon

🪐 Galactic Context:

Coming Soon

📘 Narrative:

✧ Coming Soon

📓 Personal Log: “Coming Soon” | Coming Soon, 3632 BBY

Coming Soon 

🟥 Episode V – Coming Soon
3630 BBY | Age 23 | Coming Soon | Coming Soon | Coming Soon

🪐 Galactic Context:

Coming Soon

📘 Narrative:

✧ Coming Soon

📓 Personal Log: "Coming Soon” | Coming Soon, 3630 BBY

Coming Soon

🟥 Episode VI – Coming Soon
3629 BBY | Age 24 | Coming Soon | Coming Soon | Coming Soon

🪐 Galactic Context:

Coming Soon

📘 Narrative:

✧ Coming Soon

📓 Personal Log: "Coming Soon” | Coming Soon, 3629 BBY

Coming Soon

🟥 Episode VII – Coming Soon
3627 BBY | Age 26 | Coming Soon | Coming Soon | Coming Soon

🪐 Galactic Context:

Coming Soon

📘 Narrative:

✧ Coming Soon

📓 Personal Log: “Coming Soon” | Coming Soon, 3627 BBY

Coming Soon

🟥 Episode VIII – Coming Soon
3624 BBY | Age 29 | Coming Soon | Coming Soon | Coming Soon

🪐 Galactic Context:

Coming Soon

📘 Narrative:

✧ Coming Soon

📓 Personal Log: “Coming Soon” | Coming Soon, 3624 BBY

Coming Soon

🟥 Episode IX – Coming Soon
3621 BBY | Age 32 | Coming Soon | Coming Soon | Coming Soon

🪐 Galactic Context:

Coming Soon

📘 Narrative:

✧ Coming Soon

📓 Personal Log: “Coming Soon” | Coming Soon, 3621 BBY

Coming Soon