Post by Jazen on Nov 4, 2010 1:51:19 GMT -5
Faction: Republic Military
Department: Navy
Rank: Lt. Commander
Name: Tyros Elrune
Race: Rilan
Age: 34
Height: 5'10
Weight: 211 lbs
Birth place: Rilia
Appearance:
I do not own this image in any way
Tyros is a decently tall man, standing at just short of six feet when fully upright. His hair is as black as night, with tinges of auburn here and there. He keeps it perfectly aligned with the base of his neck and just below his ears on the sides while his bangs hang down to just above his eyes, perfectly aligned with his eyebrows, just like the rest of his hair. Mostly, his keeps his hair well groomed but not slick and tidy, unless it is required of him while on duty. In that case, he flattens the hair on the top of his head and pushes the sides back, while letting his bangs hang down as normal.
At first glance, Tyros doesn't appear to be that big in terms of statue. However, his body is far from unfit. Years of fighting on Rilia coupled with his years in the military have given Tyros a physically fit body, and his weight is just about right for someone of his size and age. Like all Rilan, Tyros looks a few years younger than he is, a result of their extended lifespan. His body itself also carries a few minor scars, the only one that really stands out being the blaster burn on his upper right shoulder.
Tyros's eyes were normally a dark green, but because he is mostly in a solemn mood, his eyes are almost always a dull gray. His other emotions till arise though, and his eyes change color to match them. When he is amused, they take on a combination of green and blue; when his mood is better, they take on a green hue. When he feels sad, his eyes become an azure blue, while his eyes take on a dark purple when he is showing care for others. When he's being courageous, purple and green blend in his eyes. Tyros is rarely angry, but in the past, his eyes would turn a combination of orange and red. Finally, like many other Rilan, his eyes turn shades of yellow when he is fearful of something, although that also is fairly rare. Even the spectrum of silver plays into his eyes, when he is confused by something or curious about it. The deeper the color his eyes turn, the greater he's feeling the emotion.
Most of the time, Tyros can be seen in the standard republic uniform; with a black undershirt, shin high boots, dark gloves and utility belt to fill out his appearance. He wears the hat only when he attends social events or when he has to groom his hair back, since it doesn't mix well with the normal way he wears his hair. He keeps it on him when he leaves the ship in case he does need to wear it though. When hes not on duty, he usually wears a long sleeved shirt and tight fitting pants of usually paler tones, with a vest that covers his chest area and shoulders. Finally, when practicing at his swordsmanship or with the Force, Tyros he wears loose fitting pants and a training vest for easy movement and comfort.
Tyros's true form is, to the unknowing, a stunning thing to behold. To other Rilan's it may seem only average but its appearance and the feelings it radiates is angelic to other species. Like all Rilan's, great, heavenly wings burst forth from his back, a combination of deep crimson and forest green. His complexion brightens, his skin taking on a silvery tone as his facial features sharpen out.
Personality:
The first thing anybody notices about Tyros is how quiet he can be. Whether he's on duty or off, Tyros tends to keep to his own thoughts unless spoken to directly or feels the need to say something. And when he does choose to break this veil of silence, his words are often direct and to the point, even if that truth isn't what someone wants to hear. He's not afraid to speak his mind when the need arises and more than once, he's been on the receiving end of a nasty glare after he speaks. The reverse is also true in this regard as well; Tyros's blunt words have sometimes saved someone from making a choice they might later regret. His tone is never harsh, and he is generally well-spoken with his words, stinging right to the point with a blunted tip.
The next thing anyone who knows Tyros would say is that he always seem to be in a solemn mood. Most of the time, his face is locked into a permanent gaze that doesn't seem to be paying attention to anything at all, much like how one looks when they are day dreaming. But make no mistake, Tyros is aware of everything around him, sometimes even more so than most. And this mood is by no means the mood he is always in, as there are many times when his aura is uplifting, even though he may not be smiling from ear to ear at the time. He's not above making small jokes, although even he admits his are often stale or hard to understand. Those that have been with him for a prolonged period of time will easily be able to tell which mood he is in, even if to all those around him it looks to be the same. In fact, if he's been around a select group of people for a prolonged period of time, his mood tends to brighten, again, just short of a grin from ear to ear.
Tyros is not without his faults, however, and the greatest fault would be his inability to put his absolute trust in anyone. Twice in his life he has put that much faith into someone and twice he has had that trust shattered in an instant. Because of this, he is extremely cautious towards putting that much faith in anyone, even those he spends his free time with. Ultimately, Tyros takes the same approach to giving his trust as he does to giving his respect; it has to be earned. Still, he will put his faith in someone's ability to do their job if he believes they are capable of it and is able to work alongside others relatively easily, although the first little while can be trying on both sides.
Tyros is strongly loyal to his duty and to those who are either under his charge or his allies on the field. He may have trouble with trusting others, but that problem stems only from him. Those that have worked with him will tell you that if you had to have someone watching your back, Tyros would be ideal for it. He has no shortage of courage, and will never ask someone to do something he himself isn't willing to do, which makes him easy to look up to and follow. His voice never waivers when he has to give commands and many who know him know that if he breaks his silence to say it, that he believes in the words he speaks without question. Never a wasted word, so to speak.
When he's off duty, he prefers to do one of three things; practice his swordsmanship, train himself in the art of the Force or to read about the history of a planet or just read in general. While he does like to be alone to work on these, Tyros does occasionally join others for training, maybe even a night on the town if they are at port. He also makes it a personal mission to know at least one thing about everyone he works with or is acquitted with, a personal hobby that even he doesn't understand. Know your allies and you know what they are capable of when the time comes, he thinks may be the reasoning behind it.
Skills: Fighter Training, Swordsmanship, Basic Gunnery, Advanced Navigation, Officer Training, Singing
Attributes:
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
Telekinetic: 4
Telepathic: 6
Body: 4
Sense: 5
Protection: 3
Healing: 5
Destruction: N/A
Physical Strength: 5
Intelligence: 7
Speed: 6
Leadership: 6
Unarmed: 6
Melee Weapons: 7
Ranged Weapons: 6
Alignment: +2
Bio:
Before this story can begin, the clock must go back in time, about twenty thousand years into the past to be exact, where the the civil war between the Feanturi and Morequai was in its first thralls. The war had been going on for twenty long years, years filled with much death and despair. The Feanturi were losing badly, their numbers dwindled down to only a handful of knights and priestesses. The Contess, aware that the possibility of defeat was a very real factor made the decision that they needed to plan for the worse and their future. It was this plan that lead her to do what was more than likely the hardest thing she had to do; give up her child to one of her bodyguards and send them away. And away they would stay unless they received a message from her with the proper code words to return.
This was Tyros's ancestor, Kivaz Elrune. Along with his wife, Brinna his children, Hrill and Neena, the Eldar Skandrannon and a Priestess for education, Kivaz fled the planet with the Contess's daughter Yuli in his charge. It was his duty to protect the child, to raise her as if she was his own, so that should the Contess lose, her line would continue. And lose she did, although they only knew that they never received any messages from her and as such, stayed away. With any luck, one day her descendant might return to Rilia and free the planet from the Morequai, forever. This, of course, would not occur for many years, as the Feanturi were few and they needed time to restore themselves. The remaining Feanturi scattered and went into hiding, secretly starting to restore their numbers. Luckily, the Morequai War Lords, believing they had conquered the Feanturi, turned on each other, vying for power over the ragged remains of the planet.
Years after the loss of the Contess, a smuggler ship was paid to get a young man onto the planet. This young man was the second son of Kivaz. When he had heard that only many of the remaining Feanturi had been left behind to fend for themselves, he had disobeyed his father and made the journey back home. It didn't take him long to join with the secret groups set up by fellow Feanturi, and in a few short years, was a father himself. Since he knew his father and the rest of his family would not be returning, he told his wife that he was the last of his line; his wife was luckily understanding and thus the surname Elrune was carried on. Like his father had done with him, the man started training his son in the ways of knighthood while aiding others in the training of the next generation.
It was from this family that Tyros was descended, on the boy's side of the family. His ancestors all followed the same tradition, training their sons in the ways of knighthood, the daughters as priestesses. Always the men were told that they were descended from one of the Contess's most loyal guards and that should a Contess ever rise again, that they would be called upon to shield her, as their ancestor had done. The Elrune's moved constantly, as the children wed lovers from other cities and moved to be with their new family. For twenty thousand years this continued, the tradition fading a little, but never forgotten, remembered in the songs they sung.
And thus the clock arrives at the past of only thirty-four years ago. The story now switches to two young Rilan lovers, Jaa Elrune and Tyria Moibyras. It was a day of joy as the two were joined beneath the stars, in front of their friends and fellow villagers. The winds carried the songs the two sang to each other, promises to love and care for each made not only to each other, but to the Great Tree so that they would always honor them. What followed was as any would expect; after a party held in their honor, the couple spent their night together, as they had done time and time before. But this time something new happened, a wonderful event that they had prayed in song to The Winds for; a new life was born inside Tyria. That life was Tyros, a bright spark in The Winds.
And one year later, that spark turned into a beautiful, wailing baby. By the time of his birth, Jaa and Tyria had moved to back east near Noreha, where Tyria's village was located. Jaa was from a more northern village, where his family had been situated. When they had first met, it had been at Tyria's village and when he asked her to marry him, she had expressed how she wished to return to the east when they were wed. Jaa had consented to that without even a shred of doubt and therefore, the east was where they would make their home. As the newborn baby cooed in his mother's arms, his dark green eyes staring up at his parents, they spoke about what to name him. They quickly decided, and in union at that, that his given name would be that of Tyria's great grandfather, a proud warrior who had fallen before his time. And thus Tyros Elrune was born.
Days after his birth, after they had moved back to Tyria's village, they took their child to see a Priestess to obtain his true name. An important part of Rilan culture and society, the naming ceremony would discover the child's true name, the name that if known by the wrong person, could be disastrous for the owner of that name. The priestess of the village was the Eldar's wife, and a good friend of Tyria's, so she was ready for them when they arrived. Jaa and Tyria watched on as she performed the naming ritual, becoming one with Silmorne as she searched for it. After much searching, the priestess returned and returned the child to his parents, whispering his true name to them for safe keeping till he was older. That name was Gaheris and with a sigh of relief, Tyria proudly named her child Tyros. Tyros's true name would remain a secret to all but the priestess, Jaa and Tyria, until such a time that Tyros could be trusted with the name himself.
With that out of the way, Tyros's life went exactly like you'd expect a baby's life to be. His first year was spent cradled in his mother's arms or in his crib, his life a simple routine of eat, sleep and cry, although he rarely cried so long as his parents were nearby. They settled in a home that lay on her families land, so that they could help attend to the Rosh ranch her family owned. Because Tyria spent most of the first years of Tyros's life watching over him, Jaa took over the duty of running the ranch and caring for the Rosh. He wasn't bad at it either, having spent time while courting Tyria learning about how the Rosh were handled and cared for. The Rosh Tyria's family raised were among the finest in the east, well breed, strong and sought by many. This didn't mean Jaa alienated his child though, as any free time he had was spent watching his son slowly grow before his eyes.
But the caring of the Rosh would not matter for many years to come for Tyros. He was but a baby and his only concern, even though his brain wasn't developed enough to realize it, was doing what babies do best. First he learned to crawl, only a year into his life. Next followed his first words, a mere six months after he started to crawl. The words were nothing more than gibberish for the most part until he finally said momma and dada, two words he said often and with only the joy a baby can give. Seven months later, he was stumbling around on his tiny and stubby legs. And to his parents joy, their son was already able to touch them in the Force when they gave him a mental stroke, although this was most likely by reflex rather than intentional. He was a curious wanderer too, wobbling off whenever his parents took their eyes off him to whatever caught his attention. On more than one occasion, he was found sleeping soundly near the Rosh stables, with the Rosh calm as a windless day. Both Jaa and Tyria took this as a sign that their son would be a great Rosh breeder as well as his duty to be trained as a knight.
When he was old enough, Tyros was sent to the villages local school, so that he could learn about his home world and other matters that every good man or woman needed to know. Being the bright and likable boy that he was, it didn't take long for him to gather a small circle of friends to play with. The most important one's turned out to be the first friends he made, twins by the name of Dain and Cath. Dain was a strong willed and outspoken boy, while Cath was a timid and quiet girl. The two of them were the children of the villages Eldar, and who's mother was the priestess who found Tyros's true name. They welcomed Tyros to the class and it was beside them that he was seated. By the end of the first day of class, they had become fast friends.
And thus Tyros's life entered a period of peace and happiness, a time that spanned till he was the age of fourteen. During that time, Tyros's life followed a routine that remained constant almost as often as it could change. Tradition was a large part of his life, prayer and devotion to one's family being two things both his mother and father The first consistency was that Tyros spent any time that wasn't occupied by another task with Dain, Cath and many of the other friends they had. They spent days playing games, or singing the songs that were as important to the Rilan culture as breathing was to any species. Tyros's favorite game was the one where they pretended they were the knights and priestesses of old, protecting the Contess from the wicked Morequai like in the stories his parents told him. And whenever they sang, Tyros always sang of the noble Feanturi and their bravest warriors. Of all the people Tyros sang with, he found he was at his happiest when he sang with Cath, who's voice perfectly contemplated his own. A spark was formed then that would persist for years to come.
Shortly after his seventh birthday, three more things were added to Tyros's daily life routine. The first was his mother teaching him about The Winds, or the Force as non-Rilan called it. She told him that most if not every Rilan was gifted with the ability to tap into this Force from birth, but only through practice and proper training could one achieve a greater connection with it. She herself was gifted in the use of the Force and she knew just by looking at him that he too was strong in it. She told him of its uses, of how it brought one closer to life than any physical connection could possibly dream of. But she also warned him of the dangers that this gift could bring, another thing that only through proper instruction could be avoided. So everyday, after returning home from school and playing with his friends, Tyros would spent several hours with his mother learning about this Force, practicing the simple uses of it at first, then more complicated tasks as he got better at it.
The two other additions to his routine were, respectively, duties that his father's side of the family had continued for generations and a duty recently acquired when Jaa married into Tyria's family, As Jaa's father had done with him and his grandfather and so forth had done with their young sons, Jaa was to train his son in the ways of the knights of the old. It was a family tradition to raise the men of his lineage this way, while the women were raised to be priestesses. Jaa explained to Tyros later on, when he was just short of ten, that this was a preparation in case the Contess of the stories he loved so much was reborn. They were descended from one of her original bodyguards and should she be born to lead them in Tyros's time, he needed to be ready to rejoin her and fulfill the duty his ancestor had fulfilled. This was their "destiny", though in the meantime, they were free to pursue whatever goals and dreams they so chose. So from that time onward, Tyros began his instruction in how to be one of those knights he had so often pretended to be.
The last thing added to his routine was getting up early to help his father attend to the Rosh. As his parents had predicted, Tyros seemed to have a gift with animals, something that only grew as his mother's lessons with him gave him a further understanding of how to use the Force to reach out to the world around him. He helped to groom them and feed then and whenever he was able, he would ride them around the fields to test their strength. Riding always brought a smile to his face, and he often daydreamed of flying through the stars while he was out on these long rides. When he was older, he would often bring his friends to join him on these rides, with Dain and Cath being his constant companions on long races through the plains. And as said before, this is what his life was like until his fourteen birthday.
When Tyros turned fourteen, his mother and father decided it was time to let him know his true name. However, before they could give it to him, they explained to him at great length what his true name was and the dangers that came with it. Only the most trusted could know this name, for those who knew it would have complete power over him if they wanted. For now, only they and the priestess who had given him the name knew it, but in the future, he might give that name to a friend or a lover. Once Tyros promised to do just that, they revealed to him his name and spoke no more of it.
By now, Tyros and Cath had become much more than friends. Though still young, the two of them were deeply in love with one another, a secret they both vowed to keep till they were older. After Tyros was given his real name, Cath shocked him by revealing her's to him. Yleria; the name rolled off his tongue as he said it and when he told her his, the feeling was mutual. It was the ultimate bond a Rilan could have and it showed beyond a shadow of a doubt how much they cared for one another. The only one who actually knew of their deep connection was Dain, who Tyros considered as close to him as a brother. He confided in him about just about everything, but when he was asked by Dain if he could reveal his true name, Tyros was reluctant, saying that if Dain gave him his, he would give Dain his. Dain declined at the time, making some excuse that he hadn't been given his yet. He would as soon as he was.
But any chance of him giving that name right away was soon crushed. For his true name wasn't the only secret his parents had been keeping from him. The village that they lived in had, for the past three years, been aiding a local group of Feanturi who were battling against the local Morequai warlord. While the War Lord hadn't been as cruel or violent as some of his fellows, he demanded the finest Rosh for his soldiers and any that refused him were listed as criminals for refusing to assist in his war effort. They then either had to serve in his army or be buried under the fields they worked on. In response to this, the village complied with his orders; or so they made him believe. In truth, they had given their best horses to the Feanturi group opposing him, as well as food, weapons and other various supplies. The War Lord was still getting fine horses, their pride wouldn't allow them to give anything less, but when pit against the ones the Feanturi got, the Rosh of the War Lord would lose.
On the night they planned to tell him of this, for the next generation to follow the ways of the first, chaos struck. Someone had sold out the village; the War Lord and his soldiers descended on the village as night fell, his anger crying for blood. They rode into town, rounding up any and all that they could find into the town's center. This included the Eldar, his wife and Tyros's parents. Upon his great Rosh steed, which was black as night, the War Lord demanded to know why they had aided his enemies and which of them would bow down and beg for forgiveness. The only answer he got was the silence of the masses. They all knew what that meant for their future, but not one of them was afraid. They waited for the cold knife that was death to put them down. Luckily, the Feanturi they had been aiding had been watching their allies closely, and they suddenly struck. Chaos enveloped the village as Feanturi and Morequai fought, though the Feanturi were outnumbered three to one. The villages scattered or fought back and soon enough the town was enveloped in flame and battle.
In the fields just outside the village, Tyros, Dain, Cath and a number of the villages other children saw their village burning from afar and rushed towards it. By the time they had arrived, however, the battle was over, the Feanturi and any villagers who had survived having retreated from the remaining Morequai forces. The War Lord, who had been injured in the fighting, barked at his soldiers to escort him home, his thirst for blood quenched for now. Tyros and the others waited for them to leave before moving into the village to look for their loved ones. Cries echoed through the dead village as children found their parents or siblings, or friends that had not been so lucky. Tyros looked high and low through the bodies, trying not to retch. To his sorrowful joy, he did not find them. But he did find Cath and Dain's mother. That night, a grand fire burned in the town center as the children honored the funeral rites of their culture. Morequai, Feanturi and their fellow villagers alike lay together and returned to ash, for before Silmorne any soul could be reborn.
Drawn by the fire, the remaining Feanturi and the escaped villagers returned to find the source of the flames. Now tears of joy flowed as parents were reunited with their children. Those who had lost their parents were not forgotten either, as the surviving villagers welcomed the orphaned into their families so that they would be loved. Tyros's parents, however, were not with them. The Feanturi offered them all solace and a place to live in, a small chip in a debt they knew would be hard to pay. With one last look at his village, Tyros followed the others into the unknown, praying to the Winds that his parents were safe and that he would fun into them again.
Life among the Feanturi was not much different than his normal life, at least in some aspects. The survivors of the village were taken to a hidden village that was located underground, just north of Noreha. It was here that Tyros's new life was to begin. Since he was soon to be fifteen, Tyros was considered when he asked to be part of the soldiers, although he would actually have to wait till he turned sixteen to finally get the chance to prove himself. In the year and a half till then, Tyros did whatever he could to aid them. Being well trained in the care of the Rosh, a good portion of his time was spent attending to them. Like before, he groomed them, feed them, treated their wounds and cared for them while they were sick.
When he wasn't doing that, Tyros stuck to the lessons his parents had been teaching him. He furthered his studies into the knights of the past and how to be properly trained as one. Luckily, many of the male Feanturi in the camp had been raised to be knights as well, so what he didn't yet know he was able to learn from them. Dain too was aiming to become a knight, so they often took part in these training sessions with each other. Being the friends that thye were, they always aimed to be better than the other, which spurred them to become stronger as fast as they could. Another portion of the day was also set aside to practice his force abilities, which were developing at an amazing rate, particularly in the reading of minds and Force Sense. This was the time he spent with Cath, who was much more gifted than he was in the ways of the Force, having been training to be a priestess. She even started teaching him how to heal with the power of the Force alone. His time with her was when he felt the most at peace.In truth, it was because of her that he had managed to stem the anger he had felt that day at the Morequai, and the reason he had not gone after them alone for vengeance. She completed him and he completed her.
After turning sixteen, Tyros, Dain and others from the village were tested to see who was worthy of joining their actual ranks. Each of them was tested by different members of the village in the areas of physical ability, mental ability and their strength in the Force. Tyros and Dain found no problems passing these tests, although they admitted that the tests were as tough as they said they would be. Tyros was a little lacking in terms of physical strength(not enough to fail the test mind you), but mentally and in the Force, he was extremely gifted. After everyone had been tested, the village leaders chose which of them had passed the said tests. Tyros and Dain both did, the best of them in fact and from that moment on, he was part of the fight.
For the next two years, Tyros's life became a well-oiled machine. He would go on raids or missions with his fellow Feanturi whenever they were called upon, which was quite often. These missions usually fell into either hit and run tactics against an oppressing Morequai warlord, or humanitarian missions, where they assisted those who were being oppressed. The variety in these missions was perfect for his training, as they had him tackle challenges in every way. With his body when they fought, his mind when they needed to plot an ambush and with the Force when violence wasn't the answer. When he wasn't running to and fro, Tyros spent most of his time with Cath or Dain, continuing the training regiments they had set out when they had first arrived.
On the eve of his eighteenth birthday, Tyros and the Feanturi learned of an upcoming battle between two warlords, one of which was the one responsible for the attack on Tyros's village. The Warlord, who had gained a large amount of power since the attack; was planning to invade the territory of another. Almost all of his forces were going to be sent down to combat the other Warlord's army, which was defending its borders rather than wanting to conquer more. However, the warlord himself would not be going, because although his thirst for power and blood had grown, so had his paranoia. He feared losing what he had worked so hard to gain, so instead he sent his eldest son to lead his soldiers. His younger son would remain home to govern the small number of troops that remained and to hassle the local villages for supplies and money. The Feanturi saw their shot and knew that they would have only one chance to act on it. Dain and several others were sent out to scout a possible location for an ambush of the lord's son, after which they would make a strike at the lord's home itself. But fate is cruel sometimes and as Tyros was about to find out, it could be harsher than any flesh and blood being could ever be.
After a few days had passed with no word or sign of Dain and the scout party, Tyros, along with a small unit of soldiers, were sent in their place, hopefully to find out what had happened to them as well as finish their task. When they arrived, they found the bodies of several of the men that had gone out, carrying wounds of both blaster and blade. Of Dain there was no sign, which both filled Tyros with dread and relief. Before they could set to returning, the sounds of battle caught their attention. Riding to its source, they found a small group of Morequai "playing" with a woman traveler and her husband. The man was beaten and bleeding, while the group was starting to undress the woman, their intent obvious. Wasting no time at all, Tyros and the others rushed the group with weapons at the ready. Caught off guard, the group was quickly overpowered, with only one of the group able to draw his weapon and fight back. It was this man that Tyros attacked and after a short but intense sword battle, he dropped the man on the end of his sword. They would later learn that the man they had just slain was the son of the Morequai Warlord, the one who had been left to govern his father's home army.
Taking care to burn the bodies, the group returned to their village to report what had happened. They arrived just in time to see their home burning, bodies in the streets and an average sized Morequai force leaving the chaos with a line of prisoners in tow. To Tyros's dismay, one of those prisoners was Cath. And the one leading her away was the Morequai lord who had attacked his home...and Dain at his side. Anger surged in Tyros as he watched the man he had called his best friend leading his lover off to what could easily be certain death. As much as he wanted to pursue right there, Tyros knew that he needed to understand the situation first. They regrouped with the survivors of the attack, which as luck would have it, was most of the village. A good portion of the villages newer recruits and a fair amount of the older members had been lost. However, they had enough strength left to at least to save their captured comrades. It was then that Tyros had learned Dain had lead the attack himself, having been captured and forced into giving the Morequai the information they wanted. They had broken him and now he was as dark as the men who had followed him.
The Feanturi moved under cover of darkness to the where the Morequai had made camp, in the shadows of an old ruined monastery. The majority of the group had moved on, only an elite honor guard and a small host of new warriors left behind. They waited till the late night to make their move, slipping past sleeping soldiers towards the captives, dealing with only those who were awake or presented an obstacle. Everything would have gone smoothly had Dain not suddenly shouted. He had been awake, watching his sister and trying to explain how things would work out when they had arrived and within seconds, the entire camp was alive with fighting. The advantage was to the Feanturi though, for many of them were veterans and the element of surprised had weakened the Morequai forces. But the battle around him was not Tyros's concern; his aim was to find Cath and confront his friend.
He found his now former friend attempting to do what any deluded being would have; fleeing the scene while trying convince his sister it was the right thing. Through brush and forest he tracked them, Dain's movements as easy to follow as an out of control Rosh. Broken branch and shuffling trees were soon the only things he could hear as the battle faded behind him, his senses tuned only to those lifelines Cath sent to him in the Winds. The trail eventually led him to the empty halls of a church, its dark steps looming before him in the moonlight. A His sword in hand, he was swift up those massive stone steps, his fleet feet baring registering on the rock. He hovered near the entrance for a moment, looking for something, anything, that was out of place that might suggest this was a trap. But he found nothing, save for the ever increasing fear and anger seeping from within. He still wasn't sure about making a hasty entrance, until a womanly scream pierced the silence around him, its source being only one possible person. Like a leaf suddenly caught in a raging wind, he rushed inside, running through polished hallway to the church's center. Conscious as he was of the world around him still, his attention had been grabbed by that scream and god save anything that prevented him from reaching its source.
He found Dain and Cath where he expected, both at the far end of the church's main hall. Dain was a hurricane of hate, anger, pain, love and despair, the emotions caught up together in a violent mixture within his heaving frame. He wore armor Tyros had never seen him wear before, complete with shoulder and forearm guards(pauldrons and cannons), a thick metal plate draped over his chest, steel boots covering up to his knees.The whole ensemble was colored a deathly gray, streaked with lines and fittings of gold. Cath, still dressed in her nightly wears, was sprawled on the floor, clutching a bleeding wound on her cheek, tears in her eyes. Another red line ran down the side of her gown, a third on the opposite thigh. And as Tyros got closer, he could see the result of their sudden escapade through the woods on her exposed body; red welts and lines dotted her form, while her feet were bloody and swollen from having to run barefoot. The sight made Tyros cringe, both in worry for his love and in disgust at Dain for treating his blood so cruelly. His grip on the sword in his hand tightened to the point that it hurt his hand but by then, Tyros no longer cared. Still, despite his anger, he would not kill his friend yet; not without knowing why he had done what he did and not without seeing if there was a way to redeem him. If he was even worth redeeming.
There were many questions that needed answers; why Dain had betrayed them, why he had lead the enemy to their camp where only the woman and children would have been, why he had taken Cath. But all Tyros wanted to know was what had made his friend seem so dark and twisted as those they vowed to stop, that day while their village burned. Apparently, however, Tyros was no longer deemed fit to know why Dain did what he did. The raging being before him lashed out Tyros and those he had once called friend and family. He blamed his mother and father for daring to repel against their dark overlords in the first place, costing them their lives and leaving him alone. He blamed the Feanturi for being weak, for waiting until it was logically too late to protect everyone so it would make them appear even more the heroes. Then he cursed the Feanturi for ignoring his skills, always putting others before him when he was clearly the better choice. Rage and venom hissed out with his words, his aura turning cold and black to Tyros, who felt himself stumble under the intensity of his friend's hate. When Tyros tried once again to plead with him, Dain rebutted his *best* friend and even his sister as being the worst of them all. He was better than Tyros, stronger and smarter, more handsome and appealing. Yet Tyros always gained the affection and respect of others. Tyros was the being who stood in the light while he was left to cower in the shadow of his being. He hated that. He hated even more that Tyros dared to say he trusted him, yet never told him everything. Like his true name, for example. And his sister, who had always been his supporter and there for him, now sided with the very beings who mocked and disrespected him. He was going to take her away from Tyros, take all that Tyros had gained that he had not and destroy it. And then he would take his place within the Morequai and become the great lord he was destined to be.
No words could form in Tyros's mouth anymore. A quiet, cold rage rose in him, boiling and aching to take over. Tyros bit it down, held onto the small shimmer of light he felt peeking from his friend now and then. He was simply drowning in his angst; he could still be...could still be reasoned with. He had to. There had to be a way. Cath, sensing his internal struggle about what to do, tried to reason with her power hungry brother, pleading with him to see the truth behind the lies he was spouting. Blinded as rage and power as he was, Dain took the comment completely the wrong way; he only heard his sister claiming that he was a liar. With a harsh whisper of her true name, he silenced her and drew a knife from his belt. And with the most twisted look of both pain and pleasure on his face, he began to speak what he wanted her to do.
Tyros heard the first word, read the rest of Dain's plan with the Winds....and his blood turned black. That was it. All the logic and the small hope Tyros had for his friend was gone. Memories of their past; of the headstrong boy who had befriended him, of the loyal friend who stood beside him for everything as they grew up, of their vow to avenge his fallen parents and of the caring brother to who would surely be Tyros's wife.....were simply gone. The dark flood of anger he had been containing broke free of the dam that restricted it as his hope faded, crashing throughout his entire body and demanding it to fight. A blood curdling roar erupted from Tyros as he launched himself up those stairs to the center pavilion, sword gleaming in the light that filtered through holes in the building. Drawn to the sound of his angry foe, Dain drew his own blade clear of its scabbard as he faced his former friend. Steel meeting steel echoed throughout the empty halls as their blades meet, both their eyes stained black and red with rage.
Dain, driven mad with delusions of power and grandeur, believed he knew how Tyros fought. They had sparred plenty of times before, their strengths and weaknesses always addressed between the two, along with advice on how to improve them. He thought that this was merely a stepping stone on his way to ultimate power. Tyros, as angry as he was, knew better. This was not a sparring match between friends anymore. This was a battle to death between two beings on either side of the line. There would be no timeouts, no stopping when the other fell and admitted defeat, no laughter and praises. And everything you thought you knew about your foe drastically changed when the terms of a battle changed; a man trying to kill you is a lot stronger than a man toying with you. And they would both find this out first hand as their swords rang out again and again. Still, knowing something about your foe was better than knowing nothing at all and both of them played to their strengths to strike at their foes weak points.
Tyros was swift and nimble; his sword rarely connected for more than an instant before the fleet footed Rilan would retreat outside Dain's range, constantly moving to keep the slightly larger Rilan off balance. He threw rocks, vines, old relics and dust alike with the Force at Dain, knowing the rage driven Rilan was poor at such things. This was his dance of death; nip away at a bigger foe until they were at the point where you could safety fight them on even ground. All the power in the world failed you when your target did not allow that power to strike him. And power was where the bigger Rilan excelled; his sword chipped chunks in the surrounding stone as his blade fell and swung with heavy strokes. Tyros was always moving around those cumbersome blows, but the wide flails and quick recovery from them made it hard to gain a proper opening. The armor he wore made it even harder to strike a mortal wound; as violent as Dain was, he always made sure those angles were covered or twisted his body to let Tyros's strike skim off the stubborn plates. It was effectively a stalemate for the moment, with each jockeying to gain the foothold they would need to win over the other. Tyros knew that he could down Dain with a few stabs in the right places, but one hit from Dain's power fueled sword would be the end of him.
That's when the tide turned, albeit the turn was in the favor of Dain. His massive swing finally caught Tyros's sword, sending it careening into a wall. Dain laughed with victory, but it wasn't over yet. Quicker than ever before, fueled by rage and adrenaline, Tyros dropped to the ground to dodge the return swing before leaping the over the blade onto a pedestal. His feet had barely touched when he shot himself from the pedestal to plow into Dain, sending them both rolling along the floor. Panting, they were both back up in an instant, blades replaced by fists as the two men wailed on each other, darkening their skin with bruises and lining it with blood red streaks. A heavy tackle by Dain sent them both rolling again before they skidded to a stop on the hard floor, blades flying back to their owners. The cat and mouse strike game began anew but this time, Tyros came out the winner. As Dain swung his sword around hard, Tyros ducked the blade by falling flat back, thrusting his blade up as his arm came around. The blade swiped Dain's hand, forcing him to react in pain, his sword continuing on to smash against a nearby wall. Dain quickly produced a second sword and fought with his off hand as he cradled his injured one. And that was when Tyros noted a serious disadvantage that he had overlooked. Dain, despite all the energy he was exerting, was still as violent and powerful as when they started; Tyros, on the other hand, was slowing. It had always been known that Dain, being the bigger and more stubborn of the two, would last longer overall in a fight. Tyros had hoped to cripple him before he reached his exhaustion point. But with each strike of their swords, Tyros felt himself growing weaker. His arms were numb from the shaking his sword underwent every time it blocked a blow, his constant moving made his legs feel like jelly. And as Dain suddenly became a master with his left hand, Tyros saw the wicked smirk across his twisted face; he had been tricked.
But Tyros still had a card to play, even if he didn't know how to use it. He had planned for its use, hoped that his rage at his friend would bring it forth; but still there was nothing. Until Dain himself unknowingly cast the final straw that triggered it. Knocking Tyros back with a powerful backhand, Dain rushed in as he stumbled from the hit, his blade coming to pierce Tyros as he fought back the wave of dizziness the blow had caused. That's when Cath struck...or tried to anyway. She ran at her brother with the broken remains of his first sword, aiming to lodge it in his back or his shoulder to prevent his movement. Heavy metal met skin as Dain rounded on his sister, hitting her hard with the steel of his cannon guards. And the blade in his hand came to a head above him, clearly ready to swing down and finish the groaning woman. Tyros, watching from too far a distance to stop Dain, cried out in anger and desperation for him to stop, for something to make him stop. And thus the Winds provided. Pain ravaged his body suddenly, his insides feeling like a great mass had suddenly grown within him and wanted out. And out it came. Giant wings erupted from his back, their dark form littered with a dark green overlay and deep crimson feathers. His skin seemed to devour the moonlight that was cast upon it as it took on a silvery hue, making him shine in the light as his facial features became more defined. His aura wrapped around him, its crimson and gold light sliding over his frame like a protective barrier against the darkness before him. His eyes narrowed at Dain, the sword just beginning to fall(the transformation was faster than he had expected.) Those giant wings flapped hard as Tyros shot himself forward and before Dain could stop his falling sword to adjust for the incoming threat, Tyros slammed into him, sending the armored warrior skidding into a pillar.
Tyros watched him for a moment, watched to see if he would rise. When he did not, Tyros turned to assist Cath. He stumbled for a moment as his body felt the exhaustion the transformation brought over him, but his eyes remained on his beloved. That's when the arm wrapped around his neck, pulled him to the ground with a heavy thud and Dain's blade came to rest upon Tyros's neck. Dain, bleeding from his head and his left arm at a sickening angle, stared down at his friend with a look of both utter joy at his victory and dismay on his face. Tyros struggled to rise, but his body still ached from the fight, still struggled to regain the strength his true form had taken in order to be released. Dain mocked him as he lay there, saying that once and for all, he had proved that he was truly the better. And much to the larger Rilan amazement, Tyros agreed. Dain had to get Tyros to repeat what he just said, as the words seemed to be lost the first time to him. With a choke as blood collected in his mouth, Tyros admitted Dain had been right. Dain had been the smarter of them, the stronger both physically and mentally; had it not been for Dain, Tyros would have fallen long ago. He had spoke many times with those who advanced him and not Dain, saying that Dain deserved the same respect he was getting No, he deserved more. But they never agreed, for they always felt something was wrong with him, something that unless conquered would only hurt him if he was advanced. And what Tyros saw before him now was what they feared. The power had turned him into exactly what had killed his family; a cold blooded monster. Dain, still trying to grasp the concept that Tyros had tried to get him advanced(he had found no lies when he probed Tyros) fumbled. He stumbled for something to blame Tyros for, then centered on if he truly was his friend and trusted him as he had said before, then he would have revealed his true name to him.
It was at this point that the War Lord chose to show his vile face. He slithered from the shadows, a twisted smile across his face that would haunt Tyros's dreams for years to come. The older Rilan clapped and laughed at the situation he had come across; two friends now turned enemies and fighting to the bitter end. Oh yes, he had arrived much earlier when the battle began, silently watching the spectacle with barely suppressed glee. Tyros and Dain, as focused as they were on each other, had not noticed him lurking in the darkness. It wouldn't have made much difference; the lord might have been a paranoid fool but he was still a powerful warrior who was adept at making his presence unknown. Stalking from his viewing spot, the lord critized Dain for allowing himself to be distracted by the woman. Or more so, that he had not slain the woman faster. The lord then turned his attention to Tyros, who's form had shifted back to normal while he lay upon the ground. He applauded the grand show Tyros had given him, but also cursed him for being part of those blasted Feanturi. He could have been a great warrior under the lord's command; instead, he was going to become the waste upon his boot.
With a laugh, the lord then turned his attention on the recovering Cath. Dain and Tyros both tensed as the man stalked around her, rubbing his chin as he pondered the woman. With a swift kick to her gut, Cath rolled onto her back gasping for air, which allowed the lord to inspect her form much more clearly. After a moment, the man spit upon the ground, picked Cath up by her hair and dragged her to her feet, licking his lips. The defiant look in her eyes only spurred his thoughts on and with a laugh, he dropped her back to the ground before turning to Dain once again. He told him that his son had always been looking for a wife that was as tough as she was beautiful; Cath was the perfect choice. Dain spoke against this; yes he'd wanted to keep his sister alive, but he hadn't intended on him marrying into the Morequai. The lord silenced him with a curse of his true name; Dain's choices did not matter in the face of the Lord's wants. Anf right now, the lord wanted the woman...and for the man on the floor to die. And as an act of trust, the lord didn't use Dain's true name to command him this time. When Dain turned to look at Tyros, the lord pulled out a blaster and ushered Dain on. And then he made it very clear that while he hadn't used his true name, should Dain disobey his orders, his sister would be the first to pay.
Dain, still tempted by his rage and power lust, turned to Tyros, who had managed to get back to his knees. Panting from his exhaustion, Tyros was barely able to lift his head to look his former friend in the eye. Dain stood before him for a moment before raising his sword high, ready to deliver the finishing blow. With a sigh, Dain told him once again that he should have trusted him more and that to simply let this blade fall. That was, if he truly loved Cath. And as the blade came down, Tyros did the one thing he felt he had to do before he died. He told Dain that he was right again and whispered to him his true name. But he didn't just say his true name, he also sent through the winds why; he wanted Dain to have the power to keep Tyros from acting in order to ensure that Cath lived. And he trusted Dain to do everything he could to protect her. This sentiment stalled Dain's blade inches from Tyros's neck, as the act managed to find the small crack in his darkness. He remembered all those times Tyros had praised him, had deferred to him for advice and used it to make sure their plans succeeded..their plans. Tyros had never told anyone it was all his ideas before, he recalled.....Tyros always gave the credit to Dain first and him second. Lost and confused, Dain's blade dropped to his side, loosely hanging there like Dain's jaw was in disbelief.
Obviously the lord was not pleased with this. He howled at Dain to attack him, to finish him, to end his pitiful life. He threatend to use his real name to make him to do it if Dain was too weak, threatened to end the life of his sister again and again. When Dain still did not stir, the lord bit back the urge to use his real name. He promised Dain he would make him regret this choice later; if he could not do the dirty deed himself, the lord would give him an example of how to get the job done. Turning to Tyros, he leveled the blaster at his chest and started to tug the trigger. And then he howled out in pain. Cath, who had slowly been pulling the shattered remains of Dain's blade to her, had finally managed to bring the shard to her hands and lodged them deep within the lord's leg. Furious, the lord swung back, knocking Cath flying from a heavy hit with the barrel of his blaster. Rage seeping from his mouth in hisses and foam, the trained the blaster on Cath.
Whatever swirl of darkness Dain had fallen in, all the cursing and the rage and the jealously he had felt, one thing had truly remained of his old self. His love for his sister. With a giant roar, Dain brought his blade to bear on the lord, who spun to face him faster than you would expect an injured man would be able to do. Before Dain could get close enough to strike with his sword, a blaster bolt caught him in his stomach, then another glanced off the side of his neck. The combination of the two brought Dain's momentum to a stunning halt, stumbling to a stop, panting as he tried to breathe through his damaged windpipe. Believing Dain to be dealt with, the lord turned back to Cath, who needed to be smacked back again as she hammered on the wound she had caused, screaming for her brother. And that was the lord's final mistake. The second the bolt had caught Dain's stomach, he knew what his fate was to be....and had planned in an instant what needed to be done. He knew he was dying and that nothing would be able to save him; so he made use of that fact. With a chuckle, he tossed his sword behind him and pushed himself forward at the lord. The lord twisted his head to look at Dain, who could barely stumble towards him and laugh. Until he saw massive wings appear behind Dain's form. Until Dain's body suddenly surged forward as something slammed into it from behind. Until the blade that Dain had tossed came through Dain's blaster wound to impale the lord through his twisted heart. And until he saw Tyros's flaming red eyes glare at him from behind Dain, little lines of water sliding down his face. The lord didn't even get a chance to curse before Tyros twisted that blade and snapped the part that was lodged in the lord from the rest of the sword.
Dain's funeral was the next day, one among many. After the warlord had fallen, the remaining Morequai had retreated, most likely to join up with the lord's son, who was returning from defeat at the fellow warlords hand. But those concerns no longer mattered to Tyros. He and Cath were mourning the lost of a friend and a brother, who had lost his way only to find it his death. But something else was lingering on Tyros's mind. After the lord had collapsed to the ground dead, he had turned to assist his dying friend. Both he and Cath called upon their powers of healing upon his wounds, but they knew, as much as Dain did, that it was far too late. He begged for forgiveness, pleaded with Cath to not blame herself for his fall or Tyros for that final act. It had been Dain's idea......and Tyros tearfully admited it was one of his best. His friend would have laughed had his windpipe not been damaged, so he sent his amusement through the winds. And then he put his hand to Tyros's face.
A vision, one so strong it almost blacked Tyros out from the intensity of it, hammered into his psyche. Images blurred through his mind, many of them in random surges, no consistency at all. Until it reached a certain point, where a clearer image suddenly took form. It showed him, on a ship he did not know, with people that he did not know littered around them. The one at the center was the most blurred, but something told Tyros it was a woman. Others were placed in spots around them, picking at consoles or calling out replies to the woman. Cath had been in it too, standing at Tyros's side, a small child at her side, in her arms and a teenager that looked much like Tyros's mother and father combined standing behind her. Tyros realized that this was a vision of his future; and he felt compiled to follow it. He knew the uniform in the vision; the insignia was of the Republic and thus, he resolved to join them and make that future come true. Cath wept when she heard his choice but promised him that she would wait for him, just as he promised he would return to her. A week passed to allow Tyros time to heal for his wounds, a week filled with goodbyes, promises and a lovely final night with Cath. The next day after that, he was smuggled onto a ship departing from Celebran to the stars, where it would head off to Rodia. From there, Tyros would have to figure out on his own how to get to Coruscant. As he watched his homeworld fade behind him, Tyros turned his mind away from the past and onto the future; the next leg of his journey was about to begin.
Department: Navy
Rank: Lt. Commander
Name: Tyros Elrune
Race: Rilan
Age: 34
Height: 5'10
Weight: 211 lbs
Birth place: Rilia
Appearance:
I do not own this image in any way
Tyros is a decently tall man, standing at just short of six feet when fully upright. His hair is as black as night, with tinges of auburn here and there. He keeps it perfectly aligned with the base of his neck and just below his ears on the sides while his bangs hang down to just above his eyes, perfectly aligned with his eyebrows, just like the rest of his hair. Mostly, his keeps his hair well groomed but not slick and tidy, unless it is required of him while on duty. In that case, he flattens the hair on the top of his head and pushes the sides back, while letting his bangs hang down as normal.
At first glance, Tyros doesn't appear to be that big in terms of statue. However, his body is far from unfit. Years of fighting on Rilia coupled with his years in the military have given Tyros a physically fit body, and his weight is just about right for someone of his size and age. Like all Rilan, Tyros looks a few years younger than he is, a result of their extended lifespan. His body itself also carries a few minor scars, the only one that really stands out being the blaster burn on his upper right shoulder.
Tyros's eyes were normally a dark green, but because he is mostly in a solemn mood, his eyes are almost always a dull gray. His other emotions till arise though, and his eyes change color to match them. When he is amused, they take on a combination of green and blue; when his mood is better, they take on a green hue. When he feels sad, his eyes become an azure blue, while his eyes take on a dark purple when he is showing care for others. When he's being courageous, purple and green blend in his eyes. Tyros is rarely angry, but in the past, his eyes would turn a combination of orange and red. Finally, like many other Rilan, his eyes turn shades of yellow when he is fearful of something, although that also is fairly rare. Even the spectrum of silver plays into his eyes, when he is confused by something or curious about it. The deeper the color his eyes turn, the greater he's feeling the emotion.
Most of the time, Tyros can be seen in the standard republic uniform; with a black undershirt, shin high boots, dark gloves and utility belt to fill out his appearance. He wears the hat only when he attends social events or when he has to groom his hair back, since it doesn't mix well with the normal way he wears his hair. He keeps it on him when he leaves the ship in case he does need to wear it though. When hes not on duty, he usually wears a long sleeved shirt and tight fitting pants of usually paler tones, with a vest that covers his chest area and shoulders. Finally, when practicing at his swordsmanship or with the Force, Tyros he wears loose fitting pants and a training vest for easy movement and comfort.
Tyros's true form is, to the unknowing, a stunning thing to behold. To other Rilan's it may seem only average but its appearance and the feelings it radiates is angelic to other species. Like all Rilan's, great, heavenly wings burst forth from his back, a combination of deep crimson and forest green. His complexion brightens, his skin taking on a silvery tone as his facial features sharpen out.
Personality:
The first thing anybody notices about Tyros is how quiet he can be. Whether he's on duty or off, Tyros tends to keep to his own thoughts unless spoken to directly or feels the need to say something. And when he does choose to break this veil of silence, his words are often direct and to the point, even if that truth isn't what someone wants to hear. He's not afraid to speak his mind when the need arises and more than once, he's been on the receiving end of a nasty glare after he speaks. The reverse is also true in this regard as well; Tyros's blunt words have sometimes saved someone from making a choice they might later regret. His tone is never harsh, and he is generally well-spoken with his words, stinging right to the point with a blunted tip.
The next thing anyone who knows Tyros would say is that he always seem to be in a solemn mood. Most of the time, his face is locked into a permanent gaze that doesn't seem to be paying attention to anything at all, much like how one looks when they are day dreaming. But make no mistake, Tyros is aware of everything around him, sometimes even more so than most. And this mood is by no means the mood he is always in, as there are many times when his aura is uplifting, even though he may not be smiling from ear to ear at the time. He's not above making small jokes, although even he admits his are often stale or hard to understand. Those that have been with him for a prolonged period of time will easily be able to tell which mood he is in, even if to all those around him it looks to be the same. In fact, if he's been around a select group of people for a prolonged period of time, his mood tends to brighten, again, just short of a grin from ear to ear.
Tyros is not without his faults, however, and the greatest fault would be his inability to put his absolute trust in anyone. Twice in his life he has put that much faith into someone and twice he has had that trust shattered in an instant. Because of this, he is extremely cautious towards putting that much faith in anyone, even those he spends his free time with. Ultimately, Tyros takes the same approach to giving his trust as he does to giving his respect; it has to be earned. Still, he will put his faith in someone's ability to do their job if he believes they are capable of it and is able to work alongside others relatively easily, although the first little while can be trying on both sides.
Tyros is strongly loyal to his duty and to those who are either under his charge or his allies on the field. He may have trouble with trusting others, but that problem stems only from him. Those that have worked with him will tell you that if you had to have someone watching your back, Tyros would be ideal for it. He has no shortage of courage, and will never ask someone to do something he himself isn't willing to do, which makes him easy to look up to and follow. His voice never waivers when he has to give commands and many who know him know that if he breaks his silence to say it, that he believes in the words he speaks without question. Never a wasted word, so to speak.
When he's off duty, he prefers to do one of three things; practice his swordsmanship, train himself in the art of the Force or to read about the history of a planet or just read in general. While he does like to be alone to work on these, Tyros does occasionally join others for training, maybe even a night on the town if they are at port. He also makes it a personal mission to know at least one thing about everyone he works with or is acquitted with, a personal hobby that even he doesn't understand. Know your allies and you know what they are capable of when the time comes, he thinks may be the reasoning behind it.
Skills: Fighter Training, Swordsmanship, Basic Gunnery, Advanced Navigation, Officer Training, Singing
Attributes:
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
Telekinetic: 4
Telepathic: 6
Body: 4
Sense: 5
Protection: 3
Healing: 5
Destruction: N/A
Physical Strength: 5
Intelligence: 7
Speed: 6
Leadership: 6
Unarmed: 6
Melee Weapons: 7
Ranged Weapons: 6
Alignment: +2
Bio:
A Lineage Continues (Birth)
[/center]Before this story can begin, the clock must go back in time, about twenty thousand years into the past to be exact, where the the civil war between the Feanturi and Morequai was in its first thralls. The war had been going on for twenty long years, years filled with much death and despair. The Feanturi were losing badly, their numbers dwindled down to only a handful of knights and priestesses. The Contess, aware that the possibility of defeat was a very real factor made the decision that they needed to plan for the worse and their future. It was this plan that lead her to do what was more than likely the hardest thing she had to do; give up her child to one of her bodyguards and send them away. And away they would stay unless they received a message from her with the proper code words to return.
This was Tyros's ancestor, Kivaz Elrune. Along with his wife, Brinna his children, Hrill and Neena, the Eldar Skandrannon and a Priestess for education, Kivaz fled the planet with the Contess's daughter Yuli in his charge. It was his duty to protect the child, to raise her as if she was his own, so that should the Contess lose, her line would continue. And lose she did, although they only knew that they never received any messages from her and as such, stayed away. With any luck, one day her descendant might return to Rilia and free the planet from the Morequai, forever. This, of course, would not occur for many years, as the Feanturi were few and they needed time to restore themselves. The remaining Feanturi scattered and went into hiding, secretly starting to restore their numbers. Luckily, the Morequai War Lords, believing they had conquered the Feanturi, turned on each other, vying for power over the ragged remains of the planet.
Years after the loss of the Contess, a smuggler ship was paid to get a young man onto the planet. This young man was the second son of Kivaz. When he had heard that only many of the remaining Feanturi had been left behind to fend for themselves, he had disobeyed his father and made the journey back home. It didn't take him long to join with the secret groups set up by fellow Feanturi, and in a few short years, was a father himself. Since he knew his father and the rest of his family would not be returning, he told his wife that he was the last of his line; his wife was luckily understanding and thus the surname Elrune was carried on. Like his father had done with him, the man started training his son in the ways of knighthood while aiding others in the training of the next generation.
It was from this family that Tyros was descended, on the boy's side of the family. His ancestors all followed the same tradition, training their sons in the ways of knighthood, the daughters as priestesses. Always the men were told that they were descended from one of the Contess's most loyal guards and that should a Contess ever rise again, that they would be called upon to shield her, as their ancestor had done. The Elrune's moved constantly, as the children wed lovers from other cities and moved to be with their new family. For twenty thousand years this continued, the tradition fading a little, but never forgotten, remembered in the songs they sung.
And thus the clock arrives at the past of only thirty-four years ago. The story now switches to two young Rilan lovers, Jaa Elrune and Tyria Moibyras. It was a day of joy as the two were joined beneath the stars, in front of their friends and fellow villagers. The winds carried the songs the two sang to each other, promises to love and care for each made not only to each other, but to the Great Tree so that they would always honor them. What followed was as any would expect; after a party held in their honor, the couple spent their night together, as they had done time and time before. But this time something new happened, a wonderful event that they had prayed in song to The Winds for; a new life was born inside Tyria. That life was Tyros, a bright spark in The Winds.
And one year later, that spark turned into a beautiful, wailing baby. By the time of his birth, Jaa and Tyria had moved to back east near Noreha, where Tyria's village was located. Jaa was from a more northern village, where his family had been situated. When they had first met, it had been at Tyria's village and when he asked her to marry him, she had expressed how she wished to return to the east when they were wed. Jaa had consented to that without even a shred of doubt and therefore, the east was where they would make their home. As the newborn baby cooed in his mother's arms, his dark green eyes staring up at his parents, they spoke about what to name him. They quickly decided, and in union at that, that his given name would be that of Tyria's great grandfather, a proud warrior who had fallen before his time. And thus Tyros Elrune was born.
Home, Home on the Range( Age 1- Age 13)
Days after his birth, after they had moved back to Tyria's village, they took their child to see a Priestess to obtain his true name. An important part of Rilan culture and society, the naming ceremony would discover the child's true name, the name that if known by the wrong person, could be disastrous for the owner of that name. The priestess of the village was the Eldar's wife, and a good friend of Tyria's, so she was ready for them when they arrived. Jaa and Tyria watched on as she performed the naming ritual, becoming one with Silmorne as she searched for it. After much searching, the priestess returned and returned the child to his parents, whispering his true name to them for safe keeping till he was older. That name was Gaheris and with a sigh of relief, Tyria proudly named her child Tyros. Tyros's true name would remain a secret to all but the priestess, Jaa and Tyria, until such a time that Tyros could be trusted with the name himself.
With that out of the way, Tyros's life went exactly like you'd expect a baby's life to be. His first year was spent cradled in his mother's arms or in his crib, his life a simple routine of eat, sleep and cry, although he rarely cried so long as his parents were nearby. They settled in a home that lay on her families land, so that they could help attend to the Rosh ranch her family owned. Because Tyria spent most of the first years of Tyros's life watching over him, Jaa took over the duty of running the ranch and caring for the Rosh. He wasn't bad at it either, having spent time while courting Tyria learning about how the Rosh were handled and cared for. The Rosh Tyria's family raised were among the finest in the east, well breed, strong and sought by many. This didn't mean Jaa alienated his child though, as any free time he had was spent watching his son slowly grow before his eyes.
But the caring of the Rosh would not matter for many years to come for Tyros. He was but a baby and his only concern, even though his brain wasn't developed enough to realize it, was doing what babies do best. First he learned to crawl, only a year into his life. Next followed his first words, a mere six months after he started to crawl. The words were nothing more than gibberish for the most part until he finally said momma and dada, two words he said often and with only the joy a baby can give. Seven months later, he was stumbling around on his tiny and stubby legs. And to his parents joy, their son was already able to touch them in the Force when they gave him a mental stroke, although this was most likely by reflex rather than intentional. He was a curious wanderer too, wobbling off whenever his parents took their eyes off him to whatever caught his attention. On more than one occasion, he was found sleeping soundly near the Rosh stables, with the Rosh calm as a windless day. Both Jaa and Tyria took this as a sign that their son would be a great Rosh breeder as well as his duty to be trained as a knight.
When he was old enough, Tyros was sent to the villages local school, so that he could learn about his home world and other matters that every good man or woman needed to know. Being the bright and likable boy that he was, it didn't take long for him to gather a small circle of friends to play with. The most important one's turned out to be the first friends he made, twins by the name of Dain and Cath. Dain was a strong willed and outspoken boy, while Cath was a timid and quiet girl. The two of them were the children of the villages Eldar, and who's mother was the priestess who found Tyros's true name. They welcomed Tyros to the class and it was beside them that he was seated. By the end of the first day of class, they had become fast friends.
And thus Tyros's life entered a period of peace and happiness, a time that spanned till he was the age of fourteen. During that time, Tyros's life followed a routine that remained constant almost as often as it could change. Tradition was a large part of his life, prayer and devotion to one's family being two things both his mother and father The first consistency was that Tyros spent any time that wasn't occupied by another task with Dain, Cath and many of the other friends they had. They spent days playing games, or singing the songs that were as important to the Rilan culture as breathing was to any species. Tyros's favorite game was the one where they pretended they were the knights and priestesses of old, protecting the Contess from the wicked Morequai like in the stories his parents told him. And whenever they sang, Tyros always sang of the noble Feanturi and their bravest warriors. Of all the people Tyros sang with, he found he was at his happiest when he sang with Cath, who's voice perfectly contemplated his own. A spark was formed then that would persist for years to come.
Shortly after his seventh birthday, three more things were added to Tyros's daily life routine. The first was his mother teaching him about The Winds, or the Force as non-Rilan called it. She told him that most if not every Rilan was gifted with the ability to tap into this Force from birth, but only through practice and proper training could one achieve a greater connection with it. She herself was gifted in the use of the Force and she knew just by looking at him that he too was strong in it. She told him of its uses, of how it brought one closer to life than any physical connection could possibly dream of. But she also warned him of the dangers that this gift could bring, another thing that only through proper instruction could be avoided. So everyday, after returning home from school and playing with his friends, Tyros would spent several hours with his mother learning about this Force, practicing the simple uses of it at first, then more complicated tasks as he got better at it.
The two other additions to his routine were, respectively, duties that his father's side of the family had continued for generations and a duty recently acquired when Jaa married into Tyria's family, As Jaa's father had done with him and his grandfather and so forth had done with their young sons, Jaa was to train his son in the ways of the knights of the old. It was a family tradition to raise the men of his lineage this way, while the women were raised to be priestesses. Jaa explained to Tyros later on, when he was just short of ten, that this was a preparation in case the Contess of the stories he loved so much was reborn. They were descended from one of her original bodyguards and should she be born to lead them in Tyros's time, he needed to be ready to rejoin her and fulfill the duty his ancestor had fulfilled. This was their "destiny", though in the meantime, they were free to pursue whatever goals and dreams they so chose. So from that time onward, Tyros began his instruction in how to be one of those knights he had so often pretended to be.
The last thing added to his routine was getting up early to help his father attend to the Rosh. As his parents had predicted, Tyros seemed to have a gift with animals, something that only grew as his mother's lessons with him gave him a further understanding of how to use the Force to reach out to the world around him. He helped to groom them and feed then and whenever he was able, he would ride them around the fields to test their strength. Riding always brought a smile to his face, and he often daydreamed of flying through the stars while he was out on these long rides. When he was older, he would often bring his friends to join him on these rides, with Dain and Cath being his constant companions on long races through the plains. And as said before, this is what his life was like until his fourteen birthday.
One Bad Step, A Hundred Holes to Fall Into. (Age 14)
When Tyros turned fourteen, his mother and father decided it was time to let him know his true name. However, before they could give it to him, they explained to him at great length what his true name was and the dangers that came with it. Only the most trusted could know this name, for those who knew it would have complete power over him if they wanted. For now, only they and the priestess who had given him the name knew it, but in the future, he might give that name to a friend or a lover. Once Tyros promised to do just that, they revealed to him his name and spoke no more of it.
By now, Tyros and Cath had become much more than friends. Though still young, the two of them were deeply in love with one another, a secret they both vowed to keep till they were older. After Tyros was given his real name, Cath shocked him by revealing her's to him. Yleria; the name rolled off his tongue as he said it and when he told her his, the feeling was mutual. It was the ultimate bond a Rilan could have and it showed beyond a shadow of a doubt how much they cared for one another. The only one who actually knew of their deep connection was Dain, who Tyros considered as close to him as a brother. He confided in him about just about everything, but when he was asked by Dain if he could reveal his true name, Tyros was reluctant, saying that if Dain gave him his, he would give Dain his. Dain declined at the time, making some excuse that he hadn't been given his yet. He would as soon as he was.
But any chance of him giving that name right away was soon crushed. For his true name wasn't the only secret his parents had been keeping from him. The village that they lived in had, for the past three years, been aiding a local group of Feanturi who were battling against the local Morequai warlord. While the War Lord hadn't been as cruel or violent as some of his fellows, he demanded the finest Rosh for his soldiers and any that refused him were listed as criminals for refusing to assist in his war effort. They then either had to serve in his army or be buried under the fields they worked on. In response to this, the village complied with his orders; or so they made him believe. In truth, they had given their best horses to the Feanturi group opposing him, as well as food, weapons and other various supplies. The War Lord was still getting fine horses, their pride wouldn't allow them to give anything less, but when pit against the ones the Feanturi got, the Rosh of the War Lord would lose.
On the night they planned to tell him of this, for the next generation to follow the ways of the first, chaos struck. Someone had sold out the village; the War Lord and his soldiers descended on the village as night fell, his anger crying for blood. They rode into town, rounding up any and all that they could find into the town's center. This included the Eldar, his wife and Tyros's parents. Upon his great Rosh steed, which was black as night, the War Lord demanded to know why they had aided his enemies and which of them would bow down and beg for forgiveness. The only answer he got was the silence of the masses. They all knew what that meant for their future, but not one of them was afraid. They waited for the cold knife that was death to put them down. Luckily, the Feanturi they had been aiding had been watching their allies closely, and they suddenly struck. Chaos enveloped the village as Feanturi and Morequai fought, though the Feanturi were outnumbered three to one. The villages scattered or fought back and soon enough the town was enveloped in flame and battle.
In the fields just outside the village, Tyros, Dain, Cath and a number of the villages other children saw their village burning from afar and rushed towards it. By the time they had arrived, however, the battle was over, the Feanturi and any villagers who had survived having retreated from the remaining Morequai forces. The War Lord, who had been injured in the fighting, barked at his soldiers to escort him home, his thirst for blood quenched for now. Tyros and the others waited for them to leave before moving into the village to look for their loved ones. Cries echoed through the dead village as children found their parents or siblings, or friends that had not been so lucky. Tyros looked high and low through the bodies, trying not to retch. To his sorrowful joy, he did not find them. But he did find Cath and Dain's mother. That night, a grand fire burned in the town center as the children honored the funeral rites of their culture. Morequai, Feanturi and their fellow villagers alike lay together and returned to ash, for before Silmorne any soul could be reborn.
Drawn by the fire, the remaining Feanturi and the escaped villagers returned to find the source of the flames. Now tears of joy flowed as parents were reunited with their children. Those who had lost their parents were not forgotten either, as the surviving villagers welcomed the orphaned into their families so that they would be loved. Tyros's parents, however, were not with them. The Feanturi offered them all solace and a place to live in, a small chip in a debt they knew would be hard to pay. With one last look at his village, Tyros followed the others into the unknown, praying to the Winds that his parents were safe and that he would fun into them again.
Welcome to Guerrilla Warfare 101 (Age 15- Age 19 Early)
[/center]Life among the Feanturi was not much different than his normal life, at least in some aspects. The survivors of the village were taken to a hidden village that was located underground, just north of Noreha. It was here that Tyros's new life was to begin. Since he was soon to be fifteen, Tyros was considered when he asked to be part of the soldiers, although he would actually have to wait till he turned sixteen to finally get the chance to prove himself. In the year and a half till then, Tyros did whatever he could to aid them. Being well trained in the care of the Rosh, a good portion of his time was spent attending to them. Like before, he groomed them, feed them, treated their wounds and cared for them while they were sick.
When he wasn't doing that, Tyros stuck to the lessons his parents had been teaching him. He furthered his studies into the knights of the past and how to be properly trained as one. Luckily, many of the male Feanturi in the camp had been raised to be knights as well, so what he didn't yet know he was able to learn from them. Dain too was aiming to become a knight, so they often took part in these training sessions with each other. Being the friends that thye were, they always aimed to be better than the other, which spurred them to become stronger as fast as they could. Another portion of the day was also set aside to practice his force abilities, which were developing at an amazing rate, particularly in the reading of minds and Force Sense. This was the time he spent with Cath, who was much more gifted than he was in the ways of the Force, having been training to be a priestess. She even started teaching him how to heal with the power of the Force alone. His time with her was when he felt the most at peace.In truth, it was because of her that he had managed to stem the anger he had felt that day at the Morequai, and the reason he had not gone after them alone for vengeance. She completed him and he completed her.
After turning sixteen, Tyros, Dain and others from the village were tested to see who was worthy of joining their actual ranks. Each of them was tested by different members of the village in the areas of physical ability, mental ability and their strength in the Force. Tyros and Dain found no problems passing these tests, although they admitted that the tests were as tough as they said they would be. Tyros was a little lacking in terms of physical strength(not enough to fail the test mind you), but mentally and in the Force, he was extremely gifted. After everyone had been tested, the village leaders chose which of them had passed the said tests. Tyros and Dain both did, the best of them in fact and from that moment on, he was part of the fight.
For the next two years, Tyros's life became a well-oiled machine. He would go on raids or missions with his fellow Feanturi whenever they were called upon, which was quite often. These missions usually fell into either hit and run tactics against an oppressing Morequai warlord, or humanitarian missions, where they assisted those who were being oppressed. The variety in these missions was perfect for his training, as they had him tackle challenges in every way. With his body when they fought, his mind when they needed to plot an ambush and with the Force when violence wasn't the answer. When he wasn't running to and fro, Tyros spent most of his time with Cath or Dain, continuing the training regiments they had set out when they had first arrived.
On the eve of his eighteenth birthday, Tyros and the Feanturi learned of an upcoming battle between two warlords, one of which was the one responsible for the attack on Tyros's village. The Warlord, who had gained a large amount of power since the attack; was planning to invade the territory of another. Almost all of his forces were going to be sent down to combat the other Warlord's army, which was defending its borders rather than wanting to conquer more. However, the warlord himself would not be going, because although his thirst for power and blood had grown, so had his paranoia. He feared losing what he had worked so hard to gain, so instead he sent his eldest son to lead his soldiers. His younger son would remain home to govern the small number of troops that remained and to hassle the local villages for supplies and money. The Feanturi saw their shot and knew that they would have only one chance to act on it. Dain and several others were sent out to scout a possible location for an ambush of the lord's son, after which they would make a strike at the lord's home itself. But fate is cruel sometimes and as Tyros was about to find out, it could be harsher than any flesh and blood being could ever be.
Sometimes Goodbye is a Second Chance. (Age 19(Late)- Age 20)
[/center]After a few days had passed with no word or sign of Dain and the scout party, Tyros, along with a small unit of soldiers, were sent in their place, hopefully to find out what had happened to them as well as finish their task. When they arrived, they found the bodies of several of the men that had gone out, carrying wounds of both blaster and blade. Of Dain there was no sign, which both filled Tyros with dread and relief. Before they could set to returning, the sounds of battle caught their attention. Riding to its source, they found a small group of Morequai "playing" with a woman traveler and her husband. The man was beaten and bleeding, while the group was starting to undress the woman, their intent obvious. Wasting no time at all, Tyros and the others rushed the group with weapons at the ready. Caught off guard, the group was quickly overpowered, with only one of the group able to draw his weapon and fight back. It was this man that Tyros attacked and after a short but intense sword battle, he dropped the man on the end of his sword. They would later learn that the man they had just slain was the son of the Morequai Warlord, the one who had been left to govern his father's home army.
Taking care to burn the bodies, the group returned to their village to report what had happened. They arrived just in time to see their home burning, bodies in the streets and an average sized Morequai force leaving the chaos with a line of prisoners in tow. To Tyros's dismay, one of those prisoners was Cath. And the one leading her away was the Morequai lord who had attacked his home...and Dain at his side. Anger surged in Tyros as he watched the man he had called his best friend leading his lover off to what could easily be certain death. As much as he wanted to pursue right there, Tyros knew that he needed to understand the situation first. They regrouped with the survivors of the attack, which as luck would have it, was most of the village. A good portion of the villages newer recruits and a fair amount of the older members had been lost. However, they had enough strength left to at least to save their captured comrades. It was then that Tyros had learned Dain had lead the attack himself, having been captured and forced into giving the Morequai the information they wanted. They had broken him and now he was as dark as the men who had followed him.
The Feanturi moved under cover of darkness to the where the Morequai had made camp, in the shadows of an old ruined monastery. The majority of the group had moved on, only an elite honor guard and a small host of new warriors left behind. They waited till the late night to make their move, slipping past sleeping soldiers towards the captives, dealing with only those who were awake or presented an obstacle. Everything would have gone smoothly had Dain not suddenly shouted. He had been awake, watching his sister and trying to explain how things would work out when they had arrived and within seconds, the entire camp was alive with fighting. The advantage was to the Feanturi though, for many of them were veterans and the element of surprised had weakened the Morequai forces. But the battle around him was not Tyros's concern; his aim was to find Cath and confront his friend.
He found his now former friend attempting to do what any deluded being would have; fleeing the scene while trying convince his sister it was the right thing. Through brush and forest he tracked them, Dain's movements as easy to follow as an out of control Rosh. Broken branch and shuffling trees were soon the only things he could hear as the battle faded behind him, his senses tuned only to those lifelines Cath sent to him in the Winds. The trail eventually led him to the empty halls of a church, its dark steps looming before him in the moonlight. A His sword in hand, he was swift up those massive stone steps, his fleet feet baring registering on the rock. He hovered near the entrance for a moment, looking for something, anything, that was out of place that might suggest this was a trap. But he found nothing, save for the ever increasing fear and anger seeping from within. He still wasn't sure about making a hasty entrance, until a womanly scream pierced the silence around him, its source being only one possible person. Like a leaf suddenly caught in a raging wind, he rushed inside, running through polished hallway to the church's center. Conscious as he was of the world around him still, his attention had been grabbed by that scream and god save anything that prevented him from reaching its source.
He found Dain and Cath where he expected, both at the far end of the church's main hall. Dain was a hurricane of hate, anger, pain, love and despair, the emotions caught up together in a violent mixture within his heaving frame. He wore armor Tyros had never seen him wear before, complete with shoulder and forearm guards(pauldrons and cannons), a thick metal plate draped over his chest, steel boots covering up to his knees.The whole ensemble was colored a deathly gray, streaked with lines and fittings of gold. Cath, still dressed in her nightly wears, was sprawled on the floor, clutching a bleeding wound on her cheek, tears in her eyes. Another red line ran down the side of her gown, a third on the opposite thigh. And as Tyros got closer, he could see the result of their sudden escapade through the woods on her exposed body; red welts and lines dotted her form, while her feet were bloody and swollen from having to run barefoot. The sight made Tyros cringe, both in worry for his love and in disgust at Dain for treating his blood so cruelly. His grip on the sword in his hand tightened to the point that it hurt his hand but by then, Tyros no longer cared. Still, despite his anger, he would not kill his friend yet; not without knowing why he had done what he did and not without seeing if there was a way to redeem him. If he was even worth redeeming.
There were many questions that needed answers; why Dain had betrayed them, why he had lead the enemy to their camp where only the woman and children would have been, why he had taken Cath. But all Tyros wanted to know was what had made his friend seem so dark and twisted as those they vowed to stop, that day while their village burned. Apparently, however, Tyros was no longer deemed fit to know why Dain did what he did. The raging being before him lashed out Tyros and those he had once called friend and family. He blamed his mother and father for daring to repel against their dark overlords in the first place, costing them their lives and leaving him alone. He blamed the Feanturi for being weak, for waiting until it was logically too late to protect everyone so it would make them appear even more the heroes. Then he cursed the Feanturi for ignoring his skills, always putting others before him when he was clearly the better choice. Rage and venom hissed out with his words, his aura turning cold and black to Tyros, who felt himself stumble under the intensity of his friend's hate. When Tyros tried once again to plead with him, Dain rebutted his *best* friend and even his sister as being the worst of them all. He was better than Tyros, stronger and smarter, more handsome and appealing. Yet Tyros always gained the affection and respect of others. Tyros was the being who stood in the light while he was left to cower in the shadow of his being. He hated that. He hated even more that Tyros dared to say he trusted him, yet never told him everything. Like his true name, for example. And his sister, who had always been his supporter and there for him, now sided with the very beings who mocked and disrespected him. He was going to take her away from Tyros, take all that Tyros had gained that he had not and destroy it. And then he would take his place within the Morequai and become the great lord he was destined to be.
No words could form in Tyros's mouth anymore. A quiet, cold rage rose in him, boiling and aching to take over. Tyros bit it down, held onto the small shimmer of light he felt peeking from his friend now and then. He was simply drowning in his angst; he could still be...could still be reasoned with. He had to. There had to be a way. Cath, sensing his internal struggle about what to do, tried to reason with her power hungry brother, pleading with him to see the truth behind the lies he was spouting. Blinded as rage and power as he was, Dain took the comment completely the wrong way; he only heard his sister claiming that he was a liar. With a harsh whisper of her true name, he silenced her and drew a knife from his belt. And with the most twisted look of both pain and pleasure on his face, he began to speak what he wanted her to do.
Tyros heard the first word, read the rest of Dain's plan with the Winds....and his blood turned black. That was it. All the logic and the small hope Tyros had for his friend was gone. Memories of their past; of the headstrong boy who had befriended him, of the loyal friend who stood beside him for everything as they grew up, of their vow to avenge his fallen parents and of the caring brother to who would surely be Tyros's wife.....were simply gone. The dark flood of anger he had been containing broke free of the dam that restricted it as his hope faded, crashing throughout his entire body and demanding it to fight. A blood curdling roar erupted from Tyros as he launched himself up those stairs to the center pavilion, sword gleaming in the light that filtered through holes in the building. Drawn to the sound of his angry foe, Dain drew his own blade clear of its scabbard as he faced his former friend. Steel meeting steel echoed throughout the empty halls as their blades meet, both their eyes stained black and red with rage.
Dain, driven mad with delusions of power and grandeur, believed he knew how Tyros fought. They had sparred plenty of times before, their strengths and weaknesses always addressed between the two, along with advice on how to improve them. He thought that this was merely a stepping stone on his way to ultimate power. Tyros, as angry as he was, knew better. This was not a sparring match between friends anymore. This was a battle to death between two beings on either side of the line. There would be no timeouts, no stopping when the other fell and admitted defeat, no laughter and praises. And everything you thought you knew about your foe drastically changed when the terms of a battle changed; a man trying to kill you is a lot stronger than a man toying with you. And they would both find this out first hand as their swords rang out again and again. Still, knowing something about your foe was better than knowing nothing at all and both of them played to their strengths to strike at their foes weak points.
Tyros was swift and nimble; his sword rarely connected for more than an instant before the fleet footed Rilan would retreat outside Dain's range, constantly moving to keep the slightly larger Rilan off balance. He threw rocks, vines, old relics and dust alike with the Force at Dain, knowing the rage driven Rilan was poor at such things. This was his dance of death; nip away at a bigger foe until they were at the point where you could safety fight them on even ground. All the power in the world failed you when your target did not allow that power to strike him. And power was where the bigger Rilan excelled; his sword chipped chunks in the surrounding stone as his blade fell and swung with heavy strokes. Tyros was always moving around those cumbersome blows, but the wide flails and quick recovery from them made it hard to gain a proper opening. The armor he wore made it even harder to strike a mortal wound; as violent as Dain was, he always made sure those angles were covered or twisted his body to let Tyros's strike skim off the stubborn plates. It was effectively a stalemate for the moment, with each jockeying to gain the foothold they would need to win over the other. Tyros knew that he could down Dain with a few stabs in the right places, but one hit from Dain's power fueled sword would be the end of him.
That's when the tide turned, albeit the turn was in the favor of Dain. His massive swing finally caught Tyros's sword, sending it careening into a wall. Dain laughed with victory, but it wasn't over yet. Quicker than ever before, fueled by rage and adrenaline, Tyros dropped to the ground to dodge the return swing before leaping the over the blade onto a pedestal. His feet had barely touched when he shot himself from the pedestal to plow into Dain, sending them both rolling along the floor. Panting, they were both back up in an instant, blades replaced by fists as the two men wailed on each other, darkening their skin with bruises and lining it with blood red streaks. A heavy tackle by Dain sent them both rolling again before they skidded to a stop on the hard floor, blades flying back to their owners. The cat and mouse strike game began anew but this time, Tyros came out the winner. As Dain swung his sword around hard, Tyros ducked the blade by falling flat back, thrusting his blade up as his arm came around. The blade swiped Dain's hand, forcing him to react in pain, his sword continuing on to smash against a nearby wall. Dain quickly produced a second sword and fought with his off hand as he cradled his injured one. And that was when Tyros noted a serious disadvantage that he had overlooked. Dain, despite all the energy he was exerting, was still as violent and powerful as when they started; Tyros, on the other hand, was slowing. It had always been known that Dain, being the bigger and more stubborn of the two, would last longer overall in a fight. Tyros had hoped to cripple him before he reached his exhaustion point. But with each strike of their swords, Tyros felt himself growing weaker. His arms were numb from the shaking his sword underwent every time it blocked a blow, his constant moving made his legs feel like jelly. And as Dain suddenly became a master with his left hand, Tyros saw the wicked smirk across his twisted face; he had been tricked.
But Tyros still had a card to play, even if he didn't know how to use it. He had planned for its use, hoped that his rage at his friend would bring it forth; but still there was nothing. Until Dain himself unknowingly cast the final straw that triggered it. Knocking Tyros back with a powerful backhand, Dain rushed in as he stumbled from the hit, his blade coming to pierce Tyros as he fought back the wave of dizziness the blow had caused. That's when Cath struck...or tried to anyway. She ran at her brother with the broken remains of his first sword, aiming to lodge it in his back or his shoulder to prevent his movement. Heavy metal met skin as Dain rounded on his sister, hitting her hard with the steel of his cannon guards. And the blade in his hand came to a head above him, clearly ready to swing down and finish the groaning woman. Tyros, watching from too far a distance to stop Dain, cried out in anger and desperation for him to stop, for something to make him stop. And thus the Winds provided. Pain ravaged his body suddenly, his insides feeling like a great mass had suddenly grown within him and wanted out. And out it came. Giant wings erupted from his back, their dark form littered with a dark green overlay and deep crimson feathers. His skin seemed to devour the moonlight that was cast upon it as it took on a silvery hue, making him shine in the light as his facial features became more defined. His aura wrapped around him, its crimson and gold light sliding over his frame like a protective barrier against the darkness before him. His eyes narrowed at Dain, the sword just beginning to fall(the transformation was faster than he had expected.) Those giant wings flapped hard as Tyros shot himself forward and before Dain could stop his falling sword to adjust for the incoming threat, Tyros slammed into him, sending the armored warrior skidding into a pillar.
Tyros watched him for a moment, watched to see if he would rise. When he did not, Tyros turned to assist Cath. He stumbled for a moment as his body felt the exhaustion the transformation brought over him, but his eyes remained on his beloved. That's when the arm wrapped around his neck, pulled him to the ground with a heavy thud and Dain's blade came to rest upon Tyros's neck. Dain, bleeding from his head and his left arm at a sickening angle, stared down at his friend with a look of both utter joy at his victory and dismay on his face. Tyros struggled to rise, but his body still ached from the fight, still struggled to regain the strength his true form had taken in order to be released. Dain mocked him as he lay there, saying that once and for all, he had proved that he was truly the better. And much to the larger Rilan amazement, Tyros agreed. Dain had to get Tyros to repeat what he just said, as the words seemed to be lost the first time to him. With a choke as blood collected in his mouth, Tyros admitted Dain had been right. Dain had been the smarter of them, the stronger both physically and mentally; had it not been for Dain, Tyros would have fallen long ago. He had spoke many times with those who advanced him and not Dain, saying that Dain deserved the same respect he was getting No, he deserved more. But they never agreed, for they always felt something was wrong with him, something that unless conquered would only hurt him if he was advanced. And what Tyros saw before him now was what they feared. The power had turned him into exactly what had killed his family; a cold blooded monster. Dain, still trying to grasp the concept that Tyros had tried to get him advanced(he had found no lies when he probed Tyros) fumbled. He stumbled for something to blame Tyros for, then centered on if he truly was his friend and trusted him as he had said before, then he would have revealed his true name to him.
It was at this point that the War Lord chose to show his vile face. He slithered from the shadows, a twisted smile across his face that would haunt Tyros's dreams for years to come. The older Rilan clapped and laughed at the situation he had come across; two friends now turned enemies and fighting to the bitter end. Oh yes, he had arrived much earlier when the battle began, silently watching the spectacle with barely suppressed glee. Tyros and Dain, as focused as they were on each other, had not noticed him lurking in the darkness. It wouldn't have made much difference; the lord might have been a paranoid fool but he was still a powerful warrior who was adept at making his presence unknown. Stalking from his viewing spot, the lord critized Dain for allowing himself to be distracted by the woman. Or more so, that he had not slain the woman faster. The lord then turned his attention to Tyros, who's form had shifted back to normal while he lay upon the ground. He applauded the grand show Tyros had given him, but also cursed him for being part of those blasted Feanturi. He could have been a great warrior under the lord's command; instead, he was going to become the waste upon his boot.
With a laugh, the lord then turned his attention on the recovering Cath. Dain and Tyros both tensed as the man stalked around her, rubbing his chin as he pondered the woman. With a swift kick to her gut, Cath rolled onto her back gasping for air, which allowed the lord to inspect her form much more clearly. After a moment, the man spit upon the ground, picked Cath up by her hair and dragged her to her feet, licking his lips. The defiant look in her eyes only spurred his thoughts on and with a laugh, he dropped her back to the ground before turning to Dain once again. He told him that his son had always been looking for a wife that was as tough as she was beautiful; Cath was the perfect choice. Dain spoke against this; yes he'd wanted to keep his sister alive, but he hadn't intended on him marrying into the Morequai. The lord silenced him with a curse of his true name; Dain's choices did not matter in the face of the Lord's wants. Anf right now, the lord wanted the woman...and for the man on the floor to die. And as an act of trust, the lord didn't use Dain's true name to command him this time. When Dain turned to look at Tyros, the lord pulled out a blaster and ushered Dain on. And then he made it very clear that while he hadn't used his true name, should Dain disobey his orders, his sister would be the first to pay.
Dain, still tempted by his rage and power lust, turned to Tyros, who had managed to get back to his knees. Panting from his exhaustion, Tyros was barely able to lift his head to look his former friend in the eye. Dain stood before him for a moment before raising his sword high, ready to deliver the finishing blow. With a sigh, Dain told him once again that he should have trusted him more and that to simply let this blade fall. That was, if he truly loved Cath. And as the blade came down, Tyros did the one thing he felt he had to do before he died. He told Dain that he was right again and whispered to him his true name. But he didn't just say his true name, he also sent through the winds why; he wanted Dain to have the power to keep Tyros from acting in order to ensure that Cath lived. And he trusted Dain to do everything he could to protect her. This sentiment stalled Dain's blade inches from Tyros's neck, as the act managed to find the small crack in his darkness. He remembered all those times Tyros had praised him, had deferred to him for advice and used it to make sure their plans succeeded..their plans. Tyros had never told anyone it was all his ideas before, he recalled.....Tyros always gave the credit to Dain first and him second. Lost and confused, Dain's blade dropped to his side, loosely hanging there like Dain's jaw was in disbelief.
Obviously the lord was not pleased with this. He howled at Dain to attack him, to finish him, to end his pitiful life. He threatend to use his real name to make him to do it if Dain was too weak, threatened to end the life of his sister again and again. When Dain still did not stir, the lord bit back the urge to use his real name. He promised Dain he would make him regret this choice later; if he could not do the dirty deed himself, the lord would give him an example of how to get the job done. Turning to Tyros, he leveled the blaster at his chest and started to tug the trigger. And then he howled out in pain. Cath, who had slowly been pulling the shattered remains of Dain's blade to her, had finally managed to bring the shard to her hands and lodged them deep within the lord's leg. Furious, the lord swung back, knocking Cath flying from a heavy hit with the barrel of his blaster. Rage seeping from his mouth in hisses and foam, the trained the blaster on Cath.
Whatever swirl of darkness Dain had fallen in, all the cursing and the rage and the jealously he had felt, one thing had truly remained of his old self. His love for his sister. With a giant roar, Dain brought his blade to bear on the lord, who spun to face him faster than you would expect an injured man would be able to do. Before Dain could get close enough to strike with his sword, a blaster bolt caught him in his stomach, then another glanced off the side of his neck. The combination of the two brought Dain's momentum to a stunning halt, stumbling to a stop, panting as he tried to breathe through his damaged windpipe. Believing Dain to be dealt with, the lord turned back to Cath, who needed to be smacked back again as she hammered on the wound she had caused, screaming for her brother. And that was the lord's final mistake. The second the bolt had caught Dain's stomach, he knew what his fate was to be....and had planned in an instant what needed to be done. He knew he was dying and that nothing would be able to save him; so he made use of that fact. With a chuckle, he tossed his sword behind him and pushed himself forward at the lord. The lord twisted his head to look at Dain, who could barely stumble towards him and laugh. Until he saw massive wings appear behind Dain's form. Until Dain's body suddenly surged forward as something slammed into it from behind. Until the blade that Dain had tossed came through Dain's blaster wound to impale the lord through his twisted heart. And until he saw Tyros's flaming red eyes glare at him from behind Dain, little lines of water sliding down his face. The lord didn't even get a chance to curse before Tyros twisted that blade and snapped the part that was lodged in the lord from the rest of the sword.
Dain's funeral was the next day, one among many. After the warlord had fallen, the remaining Morequai had retreated, most likely to join up with the lord's son, who was returning from defeat at the fellow warlords hand. But those concerns no longer mattered to Tyros. He and Cath were mourning the lost of a friend and a brother, who had lost his way only to find it his death. But something else was lingering on Tyros's mind. After the lord had collapsed to the ground dead, he had turned to assist his dying friend. Both he and Cath called upon their powers of healing upon his wounds, but they knew, as much as Dain did, that it was far too late. He begged for forgiveness, pleaded with Cath to not blame herself for his fall or Tyros for that final act. It had been Dain's idea......and Tyros tearfully admited it was one of his best. His friend would have laughed had his windpipe not been damaged, so he sent his amusement through the winds. And then he put his hand to Tyros's face.
A vision, one so strong it almost blacked Tyros out from the intensity of it, hammered into his psyche. Images blurred through his mind, many of them in random surges, no consistency at all. Until it reached a certain point, where a clearer image suddenly took form. It showed him, on a ship he did not know, with people that he did not know littered around them. The one at the center was the most blurred, but something told Tyros it was a woman. Others were placed in spots around them, picking at consoles or calling out replies to the woman. Cath had been in it too, standing at Tyros's side, a small child at her side, in her arms and a teenager that looked much like Tyros's mother and father combined standing behind her. Tyros realized that this was a vision of his future; and he felt compiled to follow it. He knew the uniform in the vision; the insignia was of the Republic and thus, he resolved to join them and make that future come true. Cath wept when she heard his choice but promised him that she would wait for him, just as he promised he would return to her. A week passed to allow Tyros time to heal for his wounds, a week filled with goodbyes, promises and a lovely final night with Cath. The next day after that, he was smuggled onto a ship departing from Celebran to the stars, where it would head off to Rodia. From there, Tyros would have to figure out on his own how to get to Coruscant. As he watched his homeworld fade behind him, Tyros turned his mind away from the past and onto the future; the next leg of his journey was about to begin.
