Post by Trinsik on Oct 27, 2009 17:45:27 GMT -5
Name: Trinsik (trin-zic; 'trin' for short) Revere (re-veer)
Race: Human
Age: 27
Height: 6'1''
Weight: 177lb
Appearance: His clothing is modest, touched by a dab of eccentricity. Unassuming blue-gray cloth—hugging his chest and waist but looser along the limbs—covers the majority of his form. Thin leather gloves and boots of a similar, albeit darker shade, protect his hands and feet. His lightsaber and blaster are holstered in a standard-issue utility belt. The materials of his vestments look quite cheap—and worn. Like a war veteran's body, his robes boast a range of stitches and battle scars. All his clothing bears this resemblance. The only oddity about his attire is the maroon handkerchief he ties around his neck, much like a 20th century cowboy might; though his reasons for doing so are most certainly different.
Without much in the way of force powers, Trin needed to train harder, physically, to keep up with his Jedi peers. As such, he's very fit, and works out daily to stay that way. The man's face, while somber, holds something of a naive charm. His hair is a dull dark brown and hangs just past his ears, often swept aside from his eyes, which are a near-obsidian shade of brown. A straight scar digs through the bridge of his upper nose, and a few permanent, subtle dents hide behind the hair of his forehead. Many other scars litter his body, the most prominent being a crescent-shaped mark covering much of his abdomen—as though he'd been caught in the maw of some giant best..
He has a habit of speaking his mind and making funny faces; though, not necessarily at the same time.
Birth place: Bakura
Faction: Jedi Order
Rank: Jedi Knight - Guardian
Bio:
Pre-Order Years
Age 0 - 5
Trinsik was born a farmer, the third generation of human frontiersmen who had settled in the pastoral planet of Bakura. In rural tradition, children were seen as extra backs to bear the work load, and little more than extra mouths to feed until they were old enough to work. Trin was born fourth, the youngest. By a decade.
His generation was marked by oddballs. While his parents, grandparents and all their relatives had continued the tradition of farming, his siblings weren't so keen on the mundane. The eldest sons became spacers—planet surveyors, to be specific, expressing their love for the natural world. His eldest sister would become something even more odd, but the goodbyes on her 18th birthday would be the last time he heard from her for many years. Trin's imagination was impressive, even for a child; by the age of five, he'd heard enough of his brothers' adventures (ripe with gusto and monstrous aliens) to know he wanted to be a spacer one day, just like them. He always carried a carved, wooden blaster between farm chores. The weapon was more than adequate for spacing imaginary aliens.
Imagine his surprise when he encountered a real alien! On an excursion to Bakura to investigate rumors of force crystal deposits, Souri Tiin, an Iktotchi Jedi Knight, along with his young Miralukan Padawan, were ambushed by high-pitched, boyish blaster fire--
No, he wasn't going to ask the parents to discipline their rambunctious child. Iktotchi were renowned for their foresight into the future. Souri had received a vision a month before, in visiting his homeworld, of an adversary whose fierceness in combat matched his compassion. A vague image... marked by the sound of markedly odd blaster fire. He knew the boy had the potential to be something great, even if his force sensitivity was low—pitiably low, in fact, compared to the Iktotchi's Miralukan Padawan, who urged her master to reconsider taking the child to Coruscant. Not only was the force weak in this one, but he was nearly past the cut-off age for Younglings. The human would be at severe disadvantage. Souri reminded the girl of her own disadvantages, and she was silenced.
Trin's parents, obviously surprised by their son's visitors, reluctantly agreed to the boy's departure. They were well-off enough now to hire extra help on the farm. Their son was fated for the stars, like their other children. He departed a week later, never to return.
The Studious Youngling
Age 5 - 13
Trinsik's lust for a life of excitement quickly gave way to anxiety within his new home. It's easier to adopt infant younglings into the order for a number of reasons—one being that they would soon forget about their parents. Trin didn't. He became homesick and lonely. Not only that, he had little experience with other children growing up, and none at all with alien species. Suddenly he was living in a strange place, surrounded by weird-looking creatures and without his blaster. He did poorly in class. Downright abysmal in force and lightsaber practice. After several months, word of the boy's failures caught the ear of Souri. Worried for the boy, the Jedi Knight sent his Padawan to help the boy get adjusted.
Trin didn't notice the girl's cold attitude. He was too excited. A blaster, a real blaster? And a newer model! The one back home... His thoughts dispersed. He wasn't supposed to think of home. The dull firing of plasma wasn't recognized until he passed through a set of heavy double doors into the temple's firing range. The boy was speechless. But he did jump up and down excitedly.
Mayanna crossed her arms, ignoring the reaction. “Master Tiin says you're to be allowed to practice here under my supervision once a week. But only if your training improves—and only then. Do you understand?”
To the Padawan's surprise, Trinsik offered not but a fervent nod, and was off to study.[/ul]
It's amazing what one can accomplish with the right motivation. And that's just what the boy's sudden improvements were—amazing. While his force abilities remained below-average, his determination impressed his teachers; forgoing what little recreation younglings were allowed, he would find a quiet room and meditate on The Force, or practice his Shii-Cho. Perhaps his most astonishing improvement came in regular schooling. Where one's force abilities didn't matter so much as one's power of thought, he shined, soaking up knowledge and developing a curiosity for what lay behind the superficial; forces at work beyond what our eyes could see. His love of guns was no secret, and he pursued the topic beyond what little was taught in class.
All the while he looked forward to that one day of the week, slowly building an appreciation for his new life and developing strengths.
To the Corps – Almost
Age 13
Two hours of self-imposed fitness training in the morning, just before dawn. Supplementary lightsaber practice after morning classes. Force (ugh!) training afterwards—and a lengthy jog around the temple grounds with a few friends. Lunch. More classes. Shii-Cho sparring. A few wonderful hours in the shooting range by himself (he'd eventually grown proficient enough to do so without supervision), and then studying until the moon waned in the sky.
Despite all his personal training, Trin was an average student. Granted, he absolutely shined in his studies, displaying remarkable intellect, and his blaster marksmanship rivaled some of the top Padawans... But his force-dependent skills, frankly, sucked. His Shii-Cho progressed slowly as the Youngling couldn't sense his blade's position as well as other students. With poor aptitude in both essential Jedi combat abilities, and no master by twelve years old, it seemed he was destined for the Corps. Probably the Agricultural Corps. A farmer.
He grew despondent. Years of hard-headed determination and confidence should have been rewarded by someone, anyone, taking notice of his abilities. He thought he could overcome any hardship. All he needed to do was work ten times harder than everyone else, something he was willing to do. But he wouldn't be a Jedi Knight. Eventually the Youngling's mind was eased. He would continue his training wherever he went—prove to the others, and himself, that he could be strong in his own way. The AgriCorps weren't so bad. And even there he'd be using his abilities to help others. On the day of his 13th birthday, he made a resolution.
The door to his room opened. A cloaked young woman entered; red bandanna covering her eyes, behind dark disheveled bangs. Trin gasped. He hadn't seen Mayanna in years.
The Youngling hid his smile. “I didn't think to see you again. A Jedi Knight, now—too bad we'll never be peers. I'm off to the Corps.”
Mayanna stood with her arms crossed. “You're resolved to go?
“Yes,” he answered after a moment. “I'm at peace.”
“Good. Gather your things—we're to leave on a mission immediately.”
Trinsik's face scrunched. “A mission?”
“I'm to be your master. Come, lest I find my better judgment and change my mind.”[/ul]
Mayanna had, in fact, put a request in two years prior to be the Younglings's master. His training would be difficult and specific, as hers had been. She would carefully sculpt him into a Jedi Knight, as Sourri had done for her.
Halfway to Knighthood
Age 13 - 21
Between mission assignments from the council, Master and Padawan trained. Mayanna knew her student's weaknesses. They had spent one day a week together for nearly a decade. Trin expressed his frustrations, she listened, slowly realizing their similarities. Was this why Master Tiin had taken such interest in the human? Had he sensed what lay in Mayanna herself? Wise of him, then, to send her to the boy's side at so young an age.
Her first task would be bringing out The Force in him. Specifically, his attunement with it; to feel its touch on all creatures and objects. But Trin didn't put his heart into this as he did studying or working out. It was a major weakness, he knew, and so he avoided its use. So, his Miralukan mentor removed her bandanna and tied it over his eyes. He was not to remove it unless instructed by her. Even on missions. Now he'd be forced to use his other senses—including, most importantly, The Force. Of course this was hazardous to the Padawan's health and appearance (his face was often distorted by the welts of recent collisions—he received a concussion when running into a low-lying hangar door), but slowly, his senses did improve. This was all to Mayanna's relief and constant amusement.
Lightsaber practice was slowly reintroduced to the Padawan. He had received a blaster with which to defend himself on missions (and continue his mastery) even if the missions were rarely dangerous. He also carried a practice lightsaber, more for show and, as the weapon's name suggests, practice, than actual combat, wherein it would be useless. With his force senses improving, Trin finally mastered Shii-Cho and learned the basics of a few other forms, building a foundation for Niman. Mayanna was aware of the extensive, additional force training (including more mundane social aspects inherent in the Jedi line of work, like diplomacy) Trinsik would need. It was for that reason she had him focus on Niman, a balanced, flexible style. The Miraluka herself would sometimes wield two sabers—a standard length and shorter shoto—and passed the knowledge of Jar-kai to her student. He would eventually develop a curious, unique style blending Niman, the fundamentals of Jar-kai, and an off-hand blaster. But not before constructing his weapons.
In addition to constructing his own lightsaber, his Master provided the funds for the Padawan to construct his own blaster. With a firm understanding of the engineering behind both, and a keen mind, he assembled both without incident. Blindfolded. Having developed force-sight through constant training and bumps to the head, he could now see as his master did. Through the force.
Trin wouldn't know it, but by twenty-one, he'd already completed one of his trials—that of Skill. In terms of prowess, Ro's progress in lightsaber combat was excellent. But what impressed Mayanna wasn't the boy's understanding and replication of the techniques she showed him, but his creative adaptation in battle. He had developed, through a blending of Niman and Jar-kai, the ability to wield both a blaster and saber in melee combat. He was strong enough to parry most blows with one hand. Wielding his lightsaber with the balanced Niman, he could fire upon foes with his blaster—or even use it as a cudgel in close combat. Such development convinced the Miraluka her student had passed his Trail of Skill. The Padawan's next trial would occur a year later.
Mayanna and Trinsik were returning from a recent council assignment. They'd spent three days arguing a truce between rival mercenary companies in the mid rim, both regularly employed by the Republic during the Mandalorian Wars, but inactive in this time of relative peace. They'd taken to spilling blood over who would receive the few new contracts. With a little detective work it seemed one group was primarily responsible for the dissent—and within their ranks, a conniving second-in-command and his men. With a little persuasion (and just a bit of The Force) the trouble-maker and his few followers were kicked out and a peaceful resolution discovered. Unfortunately, the men who'd left weren't keen on letting the catalyst for their expulsion escape unpunished.
Passing over the planet Togoria's orbit, two bleeps appeared on their radar—fighters! The Jedi haled to the approaching vessels, as they appeared to belong to one of the mercenary groups, but it soon became clear who the pilots were and what they sought. Two blasts rocked the ship—tearing apart their thrusters—and at once they were swallowed up by Togoria's gravitational field, plummeting towards the planet's surface.
Mayanna stood. “We've landed on Togoria but the ship's damaged beyond repair. I've contacted the council; two knights are on dispatch nearby and should be arriving within half a day's time.” She paused. “What are you looking at?”
“Do you know how much a ship like this costs?” Trinsik half-laughed, staring beyond his Master at the side of their ship—or lack thereof. “Togoria's mostly fields and hills and you managed to peel off half our ship across probably the planet's only cliff! Quite a fea—yaow!” The Miraluka rapped her saber handle on his head for good measure.
Then she halted. “Do you sense that?”
“I do now,” he answered, rubbing his head. “Something's getting closer. Something big.”[/ul]
All creatures on Togoria had been preyed upon by one beast during one time or another. Now that two Jedi had joined the food chain, it was there turn. The small vessel jolted at a sudden, immense impact, and Trinsik was propelled out the hole he had joked about moments earlier.
He bounced off a stone wall. They'd apparently landed in a grassy valley and cliffs loomed on either side. Squinting in the sunlight, still disorientated from the crash, Trin focused on a shadow in the sky. It looked like a bird—just your average-sized fowl. But it grow larger, and continued to do so. By the time he'd stumbled to his feet, a reptilian the size of their ship was navigating the valley towards him. If he had been raised on stories of fire-breathing dragons, he'd have noted the resemblance as uncanny.
A shout shook him from his shock, and The Force pulled him away as the gigantic Liphon swept past his feet, knocking the ship with it. Mayanna knelt to help her student up, but the creature had landed and was upon them. Its snake-like neck entered the vessel snapping. The Master, sabers drawn, fended off the maw with her own attack, slicing through tough scales and shaving its left side. The creature reared and made one last bite—at the still dazed Trinsik. It caught him 'round the chest and he was pulled out. His lightsaber still lay in the ship's hull.
Trin beat the reptile's head frantically as it took off—controlling his breathing best he could as its bite tightened, breaking his ribs. Jagged teeth puncturing his lungs. He reached for his side and produced his hand-made blaster, shooting the Liphon's face, to no avail. The scales were too tough. He screamed and flailed in defiance. The end? After all he'd worked for, this?! Trinsik spat across the creature's face, cursing as his blood ran low. Then he saw it—exposed flesh on the other side of its face, remnants of his Master's attacks. Extending his arm, ripping it against teeth as he did, the Padawan blasted the red flesh. The monster jerked, spun its head, and finally spit out its meal
Trinsik fell. His chances of flying through the force were about as good as him spontaneously sprouting wings. Probably less so. He hit the ground on a slope, tumbling into the underbrush where he was temporarily graced with unconsciousness. The Liphon circled overhead searching for its meal before losing interest and leaving. When Trinsik woke, there wasn't a part of him that didn't hurt. But then, he couldn't feel much; his legs and arms were numb and unmovable. Worst of all, he could barely breath. For an hour or so it was all he could do to control his breathing. Soon it felt like he wasn't breathing at all... as though all he needed was The Force to sustain him. Pain eventually overwhelmed him and he blacked out again, to the sound of rustling.
It just so happened that the Liphon wasn't the only one to take notice of the downed craft. A group of nomadic Togorian males had traveled to investigate the crash, as otherworlders were not welcome on the planet, and generally sent packing upon their arrival (accidental or otherwise). Watching the ensuing fight—and very much impressed by it—the felines found Mayanna and quickly set out towards where Trinsik had fallen. It was his Master who found him, lying hidden in the undergrowth, within an inch of his life. They traveled to the nomad's camp, where the hardy Padawan's condition stabilized. The knights sent by the council arrived that night and he was fit to leave three days later.
When told this would count as his Trial of Flesh, Trinsik retorted that his Master needn't crash their ship, let him almost get eaten, and leave him to bleed to death for the next trials, of which there were still two more. (He'd actually hoped his years of blindness and head injuries would suffice for this portion of the trials—but supposed this would look better on his resume for council member.)
Knighthood and Beyond
Age 21-23
Trin and his master continued their service to the Jedi Order, traveling across the galaxy on a various missions. Eradication of hostile sentients, investigations, diplomacy—a little bit of everything. The Padawan became a fine example of how hard work and determination could produce the greatest of results. His confidence grew, as did his compassion. Lingering among these feelings were ones close to his heart towards Mayanna. The Miraluka would catch his lingering glance, occasionally, understanding the human's developing fondness. She was not immune to these feelings herself. But she knew where they led, and it wasn't towards the path of light.
Shortly after his twenty-third birthday, the Padawan and master were sent to investigate the fate of a downed republic freighter on the planet of Nivek. Here would be his third trial.
Mayanna didn't need to tell her Padawan to keep his guard up; no doubt he sensed them already, stalking towards the Jedi pair. The freighter lay nearby. It had crashed at the base of a tree many times its width and age, crumpling, while the ancient plant stood intact. On closer inspection many of the damages looked to be recent—very much so—as though something were trying to blast and pry the ship open. Fortunately, they'd failed; using the access codes they'd received from the council, Trinsik and Myanna entered the vessel in search of survivors.
There were none. Both pilots had been crushed, along with the cockpit, on impact. The cargo, however, was largely intact, and consisted of a large number of blasters and explosives. Trin excitedly examined the models. Mayanna drew her lightsaber. A blast rocked the ship. From outside, Shadowmen crawled from the darkness; their numbers writhing trails of red in the Force spectrum. There would be no fighting so many. They would need a distraction.
The Shadowmen continued their barrage, intent on scavenging whatever lay inside the ship and killing both interlopers. Suddenly, the ship's door opened and two blurs exited—just as a permacrete detonator ripped through the spaceship, creating a chain reaction of explosions that rocked the clearing. The Most of the Shadowmen were blown back, while others cowered and screeched, blinded.
The Jedi were not quick enough to escape the blast. Trin found himself skidding through the grass, toppling through the underbrush. Unscathed, he rose, blaster in hand. Mayanna was nowhere in sight. He concentrated, breathing slowly despite the heat and screams of the Shadowmen. Finally, he noticed a limp outline through the blurs of force that were trees and shrubs. She was unconcious. A moment later, carrying her on his back, the Padawan dashed through the jungle for their ship, fighting off the disorientated, monstrous Shadowmen of the jungle, boarding his ship, and escaping.
The Third Trial. Courage. His fourth and final would come the next day.
Trinsik lay in his room. He contemplated the mission on Nivek, and his knighting. Mayanna had come awakened on their way back to Coruscant, mentioning he had passed his final test. Finally, the Padawan would become a Jedi Knight. But he felt unresolved. Something in him had not been quelled. Aware of his strengths, his limits, the young man couldn't say if he was strong enough to resist the temptation on his mind. If not, would he be able to resist the dark side? At that moment, the room's door opened.
“Oh,” the Padawan leaned back, “I was quite comfortable, I assure you.”
The two laughed.[/ul]
Reassured of his willpower, Trinsik felt not but joy as his braid was cut and he fully joined the order as a Jedi Knight Guardian. For the next few years he underwent a number of successful, dangerous missions, improving his unique, effective fighting style. Eventually, his training allowed for greater force enhancement of his lightsaber skill and physical abilities. He was truly a force to be reckoned with within the order. Mayanna was not immediately promoted to Master, but rather, remained a knight of the order, often paired with her student-turned-peer on assignments from the council.
Lightsaber: Single Phase
Color: Green
Blaster: Customized Heavy Blaster (cortosis-weave)
Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho: 5
Makashi: N/A
Soresu: N/A
Ataru: N/A
Shien / Djem So: N/A
>>Sub-form Backhanded: N/A
Niman: 5
>>Sub-form Jar-kai, or Dual Wield: 3
Juyo: N/A
Double Bladed Combat: N/A
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
-Force Speed, Force Jump, Force Breath
-Force Sight, Force Sense
Telekinetic: 1
Telepathic: 1
Body: 5
Sense: 7
Protection: 1
Healing: 1
Destruction: 0
Specialized Skills:
-Blaster Engineering and Repair (Especially Pistols)
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 8
Speed: 6
Leadership: 3
Unarmed: 6
Melee Weapons: 3
Ranged Weapons: 8
Force Attunement: +3
RP Sample:
Trinsik knocked on the bartop, only daring to do so with gloves on. The Rodian barkeep obliged, a yellow liquid-filled glass—the Jedi's third that night—sliding into his grip. It was lifted for a quick affirming taste. It's just no use, oh Juma Juice, you set me loose, oh Juma Juma Juuuuma Juice, he hummed to himself, resting his chin in one hand. Man, I haven't heard that jingle in forever. I wonder if they still play it? Juma Juma Juuuumaaaa...
He might have had one too many. Or two. This was some mighty strong Juma. And what could he do but drink and wait? Mangsk was known to frequent this cesspool of a cantina. The mercenary captain had shot down the ship of Trinsik and his former master—nearly killing the two in the ensuing crash and run-in with local wildlife (from which Trin still bore scars, large ones). In the years since then, Mangsk could be traced to more nefarious activity than the most energetic Exchange rapscallion. The Order had finally seen it fit to send someone to apprehend the man.
Trinsik had offered to be that someone.
The cantina door swept open and three men walked in. Larger guys, fit, armed to their teeth, especially one in particular. He wore Durasteel armor on his chest. Mangsk. The Jedi knew all this without turning around. He finished his drink, without a second thought, and faced the men, who were gathering to sit at a table.
“Mangsk Beldram,” he called, in a deep voice.
All three men turned with scowls. Black-bearded Mangsk narrowed his eyes at the stranger—then suddenly widened them in recognition. He reached for his gun.
The Jedi's hand lay close to his own holstered sidearm. “I wouldn't—”
The mercenary captain drew his gun. His men followed.
“Best stop now—”
They aimed. The Jedi's arm flashed. The Force coursed through his veins. He snatched his gun from its holster—spinning it deftly as it rose—blasting the hands of all three men. Another shot smacked into Mangsk's Durasteel-lined chest, sending him sprawling back over a table and onto his head. The other two fled, gripping their injured hands. Trinsik twirled his sidearm back to its holster. Then he sat back down and knocked on the bartop.
It's just no use, oh Juma Juice...
(Contrary to my example I'm all about taking damage and the limits of characters. I just really needed something fun to write, lol)
