Rakesh Skandrannon

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

Name: Rakesh Skandrannon

Alias: General Skandrannon / Unforgiven (“Nai’maithe” in Rilan)/ the Phantom Lord (all only on Rilia)

Race: Rilan

Age: 39

Height: 6’ 3”

Weight: 220 lbs

Appearance:

((click picture for original image and artist))

With the well defined bone structure of his face, platinum blond, almost silver, hair that extends to just below his shoulders (straight and neatly kept, often tied back loosely), and almond shaped eyes, Rakesh is often considered to be one of the best looking men in his family. This isn't saying much as most of his family aren't exactly what one would consider holovid star or model quality with all having rather sharp features; his features, though rather wolfish, are far smoother and less abrasive to the eyes than the rest of his kin. His rather apathetic view on life has set his eyes almost permanently to a lifeless shade of grey as opposed to their original golden hue. Tall and well muscled, Rakesh was one of the tallest in his extended family, his powerful build often belying the dexterity and grace of the man, though it fits his rather dark outlook on life in general, as well as being an asset in battles against those who have a grasp on the physical use of the force. His back is criss-crossed with scars from fairly consistent whippings while growing up in his father’s military camp. More than a few lightsaber burns, stab wounds, pierce marks from arrows, blasters, and slug throwers, as well as scars from regular melee combat mark his body, telling of years of combat. Quite a few tattoos are burned onto his body, ink coloring the branded flesh, permanent reminders of his deeds and his past, the two most blatant being the ones above and below his right eye. (list of all 39 tattoo-brands below)

He is rarely seen out of his dark green, black, and gold armor, which consists of a light and fairly flexible cuirass of leather studded with metal (chest armor), pauldrons (shoulder armor), and cannons (forearm armor). The combination of metals used to make the armor, along with the process in which they're tempered, becomes lightsaber resistant (NOT lightsaber PROOF...only resistant) much like beskar. It is mainly black leather, with the metal scaling covering the most vital areas. His clothing also tends to be dark green and black in color, his tunic being both colors, pants being dark green, cloak being black, and leather boots being black, coming to just below the knee and reinforced with the same metal as his upper body armor. Below his belt is wrapped a long, thin, strip of dark green cloth embroidered with black and gold Rilan writing. This ‘sash’ appears to have significant meaning to him as it rarely leaves his person and he takes exceptionally good care of it.

>>Bracers<<

>>Link to armor/human likeness (similar, but not exact, and no blindfold)<<

>>Typical clothing<<

In his secondary form, his skin tone is a golden sheen like those of his family, his eyes become more almond shaped and his features more angular, his deep green-black Aura, tinted with reds and gold, swirls visibly about him. Though he does not become any taller or more muscular, unlike most of the rilan race when they transform, his natural height and build are enough of a deterrent. His wings span to about four feet past his outstretched arm and are covered in black feathers that take on an iridescent green, purple, or blue sheen. *The color is seen in the black feathers not because of the pigment present but because of the physics of how light is reflected by a process called interference. Interference occurs when two light waves from the same source interact with each other. (like a mallard duck's head feathers *LINK)

Tattoos: 1st : assassin marking (right wrist, inside)

2nd : Skandrannon family Commander marking (left outer bicep)

3rd and 4th : Bottom tattoo – Morequai instructor marking. Top tattoo - Morequai General marking

5th : Village insignia (just the silver part. Right bicep, outside, marred later by Morequai)

Link 1 and Link 2 35 in total : each marking represents a battle he’s won, and is the symbol of the enemy he defeated. Some are Feanturi and some are Morequai. (small enough to run in two lines along his left outer tricep). The second link is the symbol for the former Morequai House “Algaterra” ((permission: Rugs)) and was brand # 15 to be received in this order.

Personality:

Quite often Rakesh is seen as aloof. While this is true enough, the cold and silent distance he puts between himself and others is not the sum of him, nor does it mean that he is unaware or uninterested in his surroundings. Quite the opposite, in fact, Rakesh is keenly aware of his surroundings and constantly takes a pro-active interest in them, though he often chooses to appear the opposite. Yes, he is cold…especially toward those he doesn’t know or particularly care about…but if the need, or desire, or situation, suits him he can prove to be anything but cold. He is, however, always calculating and extremely driven.

No topic is taboo with the man, and he rarely lies outright. He will keep secrets (he certainly has plenty of them), but he prefers to tell the truth…or most of it. To do otherwise doesn’t suit his interests as it only serves to raise the chances of entangling him in the lie at an inopportune moment. Cautious as a rule, he attempts to be as prepared as possible for any eventuality, erring on the side of “anyone can beat me” rather than “no one can beat me” and assumes that everyone he comes across has ulterior motives. On the reverse side of this, Rakesh also attempts to be as unorthodox as possible, preferring to keep others off balance by his unexpected actions or reactions. To emphasize this point, his thoughts are always closely guarded and his presence always kept as ‘uninteresting’ in the force as possible.

Speaking of expectations, he is well practiced in filling many expectations, be they true or false. If it suits him to fit into a mold, he will. Need him to be an easy going friend? He will work to conform, so long as it suits him. Need a knight in shining armor, riding to save the say on a fiery steed? Just short of the steed, he will fill the role, so long as it suits him. Of course, he’ll do these things in his own way…you may end up with a quiet ear to listen instead of the typical ‘easygoing friend’ and the ‘knight in slightly tarnished armor’ instead of your original concept, but that just goes along with his ‘thou shalt not lie…just don’t tell the whole truth’ motto.

On the other end of the spectrum, Rakesh tends to break quite a few molds when it comes to ‘dark jedi.’ For instance; would you expect a dark jedi to have, and stick to, a moral code that included honor? Or would you expect them to be the religious sort? Or perhaps sentimental? Much less all three? Of course, these are things that Rakesh would prefer not to let the world at large know about, or imply that he’s simply following these patterns in an attempt to elicit certain reactions from people…but that just isn’t the case. These are the sorts of things that set him apart.

Then there’s the criminal, the assassin, in him. More than a few times he’s made it known that he shouldn’t be crossed, and with good reason. While he is, by no means, a god…what he does, he does well. He will sit back and watch patiently, plan, set plans in motion, and (if he has his preference) he won’t ever have to get his hands dirty. That doesn’t mean, however, that he won’t get his hands dirty…and enjoy it in the process. Yes, Rakesh does have a sadistic side…the frightening part is that you can never quite tell what side of his plans you’re on: the side he’s agreeable with letting live, or the side that would be better off dead.

Should you ever get to the core of the man, and believe me that’s going to take a lot of luck, work, and more luck, he is the one person you’ll consider yourself lucky to have on your side if (or when) things go wrong…or even if they’re going right. Loyalty is one perk, council (bluntly honest council) is another, both of which tend to come in handy sooner or later. While he can be stubborn as a mule, it tends to be for good reasons and often with the best interests of the person in question at heart. He is, however, a deeply injured man…still attempting to cope with his grief and the subsequent anger. As mentioned before, he likes his secrets and allowing others close enough to him to learn the full truth of his past is something he would rather die than let happen.

Birth place: Rilia, Skandrannon Estates near Hithlume

Faction: Morequai (war lords of Rilia) similar to Dark Jedi

Rank: General (equivalent to DJ, Master) – Assassin

Lightsaber: dual sabers

Color:
Virlé: red-black (such a dark red it ALMOST doesn’t look red)
Añar: dark golden (not yellow exactly, but darker and with minimal glow)

Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho 5
Makashi 3
Niman/Jar’kai (Rilan version, called “Ikali,” is practically identical) –
>>Sub-form Backhanded 4
>>Sub-form Dual Wield 5

Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:

-- Drain Knowledge
-- Concealment

Telekinetic: 2
(only able to lift/move small objects, rather shakily)
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Telepathic: 8
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Body: 2
(only able to use the force to speed his movements and cushion landings, but nothing else)
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Sense: 7
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Protection: 6
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Healing: 1
(this doesn't count natural rilan ability)
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Destruction: 0

Attributes:

Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 7
Speed: 7 (8 in shifted form)
Leadership: 6

Unarmed: 6
Melee Weapons: 5
Ranged Weapons: 1

Force Attunement: -3

Bio:

High Expectations

It was a day of celebration when the fourth child of Auria and Kevlar Skandrannon was born, unfortunately for the baby boy much was expected of him from the start. It tends to happen in prominent families, the newer the generation, or younger the child, the more expectations they have to live up to...Rakesh's family was no different in that way....they were, however, different in the way that they were one of the "ruling" families on their planet. Rilia itself was war torn, devastated by wars and battles that had been going on for generations...wars caused, in part, by the babe's own family. The vast, and power hungry, clan had started out as a branch of the original royal family, nearly 2,000 years ago, and that branch had decided the planet was better off in their hands than the hands of the appointed leader. Now, millennia later, that branch had grown, expanded, divided the lands amongst themselves, pushed the former guardians of the planet and remnants of the former government into hiding, and ruled their territories with an iron fist, lived in the lap of luxury...and were deemed "the Morequai" (the Warlords) by the people of the planet, and they seemed to take to the name happily.

As might be expected, the boy wanted for nothing, save affection. Though he had been born into one of the more "kind"...or perhaps less cruel would be more accurate...families among the Morequai, they were not affectionate in any way. Most of the attention the boy received as a child was from his older brothers (Lexan and Jost) and sister (Hava), at least when they wished to have a living play thing, and...oddly enough...his father. Auria, his mother, was the beautiful social butterfly, not wishing to be tethered down by yet another child on her knee, especially not a boy. Kevlar, however, saw something in the child that he didn't see in his other three children.

Only a few days after his birth, the boy was given his Amare Illa, his true name. The ceremony, as per tradition, was held only with the members of his family. Typically, this would have been a blessing for the infant, however, due to the Rilan belief that the amare illa (true name) was a source of power over the individual (which in more cases than one it had proven to be , whether it be because of superstition or fact remains debatable), and given the nature of his family, the ceremony would turn to be more of a curse for the boy than a blessing. He was dubbed Azrael that day, and his use name was to be Rakesh…and, as per tradition, the family was instructed not to utter the amare illa around any others beside the boy himself, and those of their family or they might risk his life. But when had the Morequai ever listened to tradition?

The Flawed Child

Growing up in the Skandrannon household was not easy for the youngest child. Learning the basics of life was easy enough, certainly, he learned to walk and talk and feed himself like most other children do…the main difference, again, was that his ‘family’ took no interest in his learning and allowed the servants to teach him. Once he hit 3, however, the good times ended. His father started his training then, beginning the basics of his force, saber, and hand to hand combat. The lessons were grueling for one so young, and though he was receptive to the combat training, and seemed to excel in telepathic force abilities, he seemed to hold little to no affinity for the most basic physical force practices. This was devastating news to his father, and though he wished he could hide the ‘flaw’ from the rest of the Morequai it was of little use, and soon news of the ‘flawed’ Skandrannon son had spread through his family with devastating effects.

It wasn’t long until the various Chief Lords of the family (the boy’s uncles and even a cousin or two) started arriving to test the boy. Being only 3 ½, Rakesh had little understanding of what was going on or why everyone suddenly seemed so upset with him. After almost a month of the yelling, and the ‘testing,’ and the rough treatment, the little boy found himself crying less and less. The harsh words and yelling frightened him less and less. Soon enough the family decided that the boy was indeed flawed and that he was worth little more to the family than one of their regular soldiers…if that. Now that he was deemed a failure before he even really started his training, the boy couldn’t do any worse. This, however, affected the attention he received from his father…Kevlar seeming to shun the boy for his inability.

By his fourth birthday the boy was back to training. The way his father treated him…the way he didn’t seem to care about him any longer…the disappointed emotions he could feel from Kevlar…it tore the boy apart. What began to form, then, was a drive. This drive, this need, was the need to prove himself…to prove that he wasn’t a failure, and to show his father that he was still worthy of the attention he’d once been given. Rakesh was taken to train with the other boys in one of Kevlar’s troop camps. Because the boy was so flawed, he didn’t deserve the right to be trained by the other generals, much less the chiefs of the Morequai clans as was tradition for one of the family. Despite this, Kevlar could never fully turn his back on his own son, and the blond Skandrannon son was trained by the lower ranking officers of the camp. It was these men who first recognized Rakesh’s drive.

In the saber training classes the boy attended, he was focused beyond even the older children that trained with him. Spars that the boy took part in were often brutal to watch as he utilized every ounce of his will, weight, and height to gain whatever advantage he could over his sparring partner. Intrigued, their teachers would pit him against larger and older boys, boys who they knew had a distaste for the Skandrannons…just to see who might win. Needless to say, the young boy got more than his fair share of cuts, bruises, mild saber burns, and broken bones…but he refused to give up. He would show them all that he was just as worthy of his name and the respect he would have been given had he been born ‘normal.’ The determined boy set high standards for himself, pushing to master Shii-cho before the rest of his age group, working to move through the camp without being noticed by any, attempting to sneak in and out of others minds without their noticing to give him an edge in sparring sessions, studying to all hours of the night and every moment he had ‘free’ to memorize lessons or perfect what abilities he did have in the force.

Kevlar was constantly updated on his son’s progress, not that he ever let his eye wander too far from his faulty son anyway. He was…surprised…to see the boy’s progress, to say the least. The (by this time) six year old boy was kept busy with chores to keep the camp running…cooking, feeding and exercising the rosh and hounds, sharpening the blades of the melee weapons for the soldiers who used them, not to mention a plethora of other chores that piled up atop his regular training. Tasks were often time consuming, however, and set the boy up to fail further by forcing him to work over lesson times, or lesson times overlapped his chores, and so punishment was often a daily part of his life. More chores, a few lashes here and there, forbidden to eat a meal or two, physical exercise, a combination of the above…the punishments only fueled his drive further. The ridicule from the other children, the scornful looks from the adults, the punishments….he would make them stop. He would show them…all of them.

The Unforgiven

By ten the boy had learned that the best ways to stay out of trouble were to manipulate others around him and keep to himself. For a boy with his prowess in telepathy, and surrounded by those either without the force, or with low abilities in such things, it wasn’t difficult for him to ‘convince’ others that they should be the ones doing his chores while he studied or attended lessons. In those instances where he was unable to do such, another useful skill he nurtured was his speed. With keen vision from his father’s genes and his own natural speed, fueled further by the force, he was able to swiftly accomplish most tasks with relative ease, then hurry his way to lessons. It seemed, however, that at every turn the instructors found reason to punish him. It didn’t help that every time his relatives, the other lords of the Morequai or his cousins…even his own brother and sister…found reason to not only speak to the boy, but, after only minutes, put him down in as many ways as could be counted on both hands and feet…at least. These…less than pleasant…visits to the household were practically the only times the boy was allowed into the Skandrannon estate, save for the weekly lessons on manners, and he swiftly learned that it was always the better idea to be seen and not heard…though it was always the BEST idea to be neither seen OR heard. After all, he couldn’t be allowed to be improper to his relatives and put a further stain upon the Skandrannon name…if he didn’t show himself it was rude, but if he remained silent unless given a reason to speak, he was simply being polite.

Despite his best attempts to impress and please his relatives, it was made obvious to the boy that no matter how intelligent or ‘proper’ he was, he just wasn’t good enough. It made for a furious youth, with a barely checked temper that showed in the near constant reds and oranges in his eyes. Upon noting the constant coloring, one of his uncles, Hathor Orvus by name, informed Kevlar that his “wayward and dismally ungifted” son needed to be controlled more appropriately should he become a loose cannon and get it into his mind that he could speak to others in the Morequai as family or, Winds forbid, as actual equals. Kevlar was not at all pleased by being told such about his misshapen child…after all, it wasn’t his fault that he’d been born faulty…but he’d bit his tongue at the time and respectfully accepted the suggestion. Certainly Rakesh would be controlled…the boy had odd talents and a drive that was almost noteworthy….he could, if pushed hard enough and trained properly, become a good soldier or low class officer.

It was with this in mind that the boy was, indeed, controlled. Strict training was forced upon the boy, dragging him out of the regular lessons and pushing him into more advanced classes, given stricter instructors, forced into harsher training regimes, and he was lucky if his punishment was something as simple as physical training. More often than not it was a good (and unfair) spar with his weapons master or, if the crime was great enough, a solid whipping. A full meal was a luxury, most of the time the boy made due with what he could gulp down in five minutes or less, and then it was back to training. By the time he was 14, Rakesh had done enough physical training as punishment that the already swiftly growing boy not only had height in his favor, but bulk as well…and he used it. Shii-cho was nearly mastered by 15 and training with the other students was, for him, a time to vent his bitterness and aggression on those who had life far easier than his own…after all, a teen training with newly minted soldiers of seventeen to twenty tended to do that to a person. He was the whipping boy for them and their frustration, so when he was put into a situation where he was able to be the one dolling out the pain instead of receiving…he gladly took his opportunity.

It wasn’t until Rakesh began training in Ikali (Jar’kai) that the boy truly began to become a force to be reckoned with. At 14 he had started to learn the basics of the form, having gained another student’s practice saber while sparring and utilizing both weapons (with some difficulty) against the older boy…but he had shown promise, adapting swiftly to the new idea of using twin sabers. Kevlar had given the go ahead to begin the boy’s training in it the next day. The learning process was what it had always been…unkind. Hard staves, whips, sabers barely turned down enough to avoid serious damage…all of these were employed to give the boy enough pain to not make the same mistake twice if he could help it. As always, Rakesh threw himself into the training fully, but for some reason, he found wielding the two sabers was far easier than just one. It just felt more…natural…to him. It was odd, to both Rakesh himself, and his instructors, that he seemed to actually ENJOY training in this form.

Passing the age of fifteen, Rakesh had taken great leaps in the Ikali form and, much to his surprise, Kevlar seemed mildly pleased, often coming to check his progress. Seeing a glimmer of hope in restoring his place in his father’s house, the teen re-doubled his efforts. At 16 he was ahead of his peers in Shii-cho, so he began to put forth more effort into learning Ikali and his force abilities. It was difficult, however, learning force powers that were rare among the soldiers of his father. It wasn’t until he was sent on an errand to deliver a message from his father to an assassin in a near by town that he ever met anyone with skills remotely like his own.

Upon reaching the town, the seventeen year old wasted no time in hunting down the assassin he was carrying a message for. It would have been easier for the boy to simply stay still and let the man find him…not that it would have been difficult to do in his father’s livery. Rakesh, while having great potential in telepathy and sense, had never really been trained in them. Instead he had been left to his own devises in the force once his instructors had taught him as much as they could with his minimal powers in other areas. Because of this lack of solid training, the young man struggled to find the man he sought…after all, an assassin didn’t last long if he couldn’t escape detection. Jashir, however, had taken an interest in the boy the moment he’d felt him enter the town. The message was a secondary consideration for the assassin as he watched the boy struggle at finding the subject of his search…there was so much latent talent there and no instruction. It nearly disgusted the assassin to see such a waste. After a day of watching the boy flounder in his attempts, Jashir finally approached a very frustrated Rakesh as he brushed out the mane of his rosh for lack of something better to do…he refused to leave until he found the man he was looking for. After all, if he returned without having delivered the message, he would only prove to everyone that he was simply a failure…and he couldn’t have that.

“Well then, it seems you’ve found me Unforgiven.”

Those were the first words Rakesh heard from Jashir as he looked up to see the graying man standing in the doorway of the stable. Confused, the young man had questioned the shadowed figure…with the sun behind him, Rakesh was unable to see his face and his senses were shut down easily by the older and better trained man. Even as Jashir entered the stable the shadows seemed to cling to him as he found just the right places to move to, to stand, where they enveloped him comfortably. Instantly Rakesh knew this man could teach him what he needed to know to prove himself to his family. Jashir had only laughed at the boy’s questioning, seeming to understand the thoughts flitting about in Rakesh’s mind and shaking his head at them. Introducing himself as the assassin ‘Mornar,’ (Dark Fire) Rakesh promptly began digging through his pack for the message without so much as a word. Pulling it out, he held the envelope out for the man to take, eyes a vivid and curious green. Jashir simply waved the letter off, saying he had no need of it, and calling Rakesh ‘unforgiven’ once more. Confused once again by the mysterious assassin ‘Mornar’s’ words and actions, the young man questioned him once more, but received no answer other than “Lead the way to your father’s estate.”

Uncertain what to do, the young Skandrannon took a moment to think the situation over. It didn’t feel like a trap, his father had been the one attempting to contact the assassin so there seemed to be no reason to think the assassin might try to do his family harm, and surely if he’d wanted Rakesh dead it would have been done by now…with all major concerns seemingly out of the way, there was no reason NOT to lead the man back. He had attempted to hand the letter over and the man had refused it, so if he returned WITH the assassin, surely he wouldn’t be seen as a failure either. Nodding once to the man, he saddled his rosh and was pleased to see that the man had his own. Within the hour they were riding back to the Skandrannon estate.

The surprise of the soldiers was palpable as the two arrived the next day. Of anything his mentors and their underlings had expected, it certainly wasn’t for the boy to arrive WITH the assassin. From the stories they’d heard, the “dark fire” assassin never showed himself to anyone, much less arriving with a simple page boy…child of one of the Morheru or not. Rakesh simply ignored them…their stares of disbelief…at last he’d gotten their attention, and he wasn’t about to let them drag him down because he acted as surprised and pleased as he felt. There would be no whippings tonight, not for him anyway. Not much to his surprise, Jashir knew his way to the estate, leading the boy through the camp of soldiers, through the town his father was charged to “watch over” and govern…the nearest one of the four he was charged with, anyway. Rakesh, however, halted his progress at the gates of the estate, refusing to enter, eyes a deep orange and bordered with red. He, of all people, wasn’t allowed to enter the grounds uninvited…and it made him furious. Jashir had little trouble picking the thoughts right out of the young man’s mind. It didn’t happen without a struggle, however, and so it was that Rakesh first learned of the man’s talents in telepathy. The assassin practically ordered the young man to enter with him, and still he refused. Much to Rakesh’s horror, the man plucked his very name from his mind and used it against him. Glowering, the boy had no option but to spur his rosh forward and enter the grounds behind Jashir. It was bad enough that his family used his true name against him, but now this man had pulled it from his very mind! To say that the boy was furious would have been a vast understatement.

The next few hours were like a whirlwind to the teen, opening a vast amount of possibilities up before him, changing his life drastically…and permanently. Kevlar had already contacted Jashir prior to sending Rakesh out to find him. As things stood, the boy’s father had found some semblance of hope for his son to regain the honor that the other Morheru had robbed from him upon learning of his failures in force abilities. His leaps in learning Ikali, the diligence he shown in learning what abilities he could as well as regular schooling, the application of his natural abilities, the way he attempted to at least appease the other members of the Morequai clan…they had not gone unnoticed, and now Kevlar had a plan. He’d sent the boy out as a test of his will, and to see if Jashir took any interest in the boy. He’d sent out other pages in his livery before, but the assassin had waited them all out, constantly asking Kevlar what the purpose was in sending such ‘runts’ to find him. Lastly he’d sent Rakesh and, as hoped, Jashir had returned with him as agreed upon. The boy, the assassin said, was stubborn and persistent…almost to a fault…had great potential but wasn’t using it, and was, in general, an “obstinate little devil who, if polished up right, could make quite a few people ‘disappear’ rather nicely…but for now, he’s just a stubborn mule.”

The backhanded compliment was an offer in disguise.

Hopeful as Rakesh was that it was the offer he’d sensed, the boy stayed silent, keeping to the shadows of his preferred corner…as he was wont to do when family discussions were happening. His life wasn’t his own, after all, and while he refused to allow them to control him completely, for now he had little say in the matter. It wasn’t until the eyes of both his father and Jashir were upon him that he realized he was expected to answer. Wolfish features seemed to angle further as his eyes narrowed, and after a moment a feral smile formed.

“I’d prefer to make people ‘disappear’ than to stay a stubborn mule, good for nothing except hard labor, for the rest of my life.”

“Then let’s polish you up…Unforgiven.”

…And so the deal was made.

Making People ‘Disappear’

The interesting thing about being part of the Morequai clans…no matter if you were ‘family’ or not, someone always needed to ‘disappear.’ For as many people in the various small armies wanted to hire an assassin, there were incredibly few assassins…well, GOOD assassins anyway…and this meant that there was no lack of opportunities for Rakesh to learn to ply this new trade. The first order of business, however, was to find out just how skilled the boy was. Jashir, of course, felt the best way to do this was to fight the boy himself…after all, if he was to learn just what the boy was capable of, he would have to experience it for himself, and of course it would have to be public demonstration. Rakesh was hardly surprised when he was told about this and was certain a thorough trouncing was about to happen.

He was certainly correct...

The sparring ring (or perhaps it should have been called the punishment ring, since that was typically where those who had committed transgressions of some sort were taken to be beaten into submission in a ‘spar’ with a more experienced fighter) was surrounded by a crowd of those who had heard of the fight to come. Some were there to see the assassin fight, some were there to see how Rakesh fared, but most were there just to see a good beating. All weapons were made available to them, and nothing was to be held back…this was made expressly clear by Jashir…who then immediately vanished from sight. If force camouflage was a rare enough trait to the jedi and others outside of Rilia, it was nearly unheard of ON the planet. Twin red sabers flared to life as his senses burned outward through the space around him, but there was nothing. It was like the man had vanished completely…become nothing more than a ghost. The crunch of gravel behind him had him turning in a blur of motion, swift strikes blocked and shunted away as Jashir reappeared in his vision with a grin. Swift jabs with the unlit emitter of his saber and the pommel of his dagger sent the boy reeling backward for a moment before rolling away from the burning green blade of the now lit weapon. One red blade came sweeping toward the back of the assassin as the blond teen swiftly regained his feet. His strike had been danced around and Jashir’s green blade died out as the intangible blow from the assassin’s mind hammered against the boy’s mind and sent him reeling once more.

Rakesh wasn’t one to give up, even as he was battered around time and again…toyed with by the assassin, receiving humiliating blows, or downright dirty tricks that led to more than a few cuts, burns, and bruises. Time and again the boy would get up, try something new, learn from the last attack and attempt to defend against it with his limited abilities. Jashir was more than a little pleased with the way the boy reacted, learned swiftly and showed a tenacity that he’d not seen in quite some time…that didn’t mean that he was going to go easy on the boy though. He was the master, superior in skill and ability, and it was best the boy learn that now without a doubt…it would keep him from stepping out of line later, when it counted. The man was surprised, however, when the bright shield of force flamed up around the young man, blocking one of his blows. The black coloring of the boy’s eyes told him it was likely not a skill he’d learned, but rather one of necessity…for the most part Jashir was correct. Certainly Rakesh had been nursing his protection abilities, attempting to build them up on his own (protection wasn’t exactly something a lowly soldier needed to learn, after all…those skills were taught to his relatives, the ones who would amount to something and needed to be able to defend themselves), and so, while he knew how to use this particular ability, it had never been so strong as it was at that moment…fueled by his anger at being humiliated in such ways. It was a step in the right direction, and the graying assassin had seen all he needed to see. After nearly a half hour of this cat and mouse game and forced humiliation, Jashir vanished once more only to catch the boy with a boot to the ribs and a loud crack as Rakesh fell backward clutching his side in pain. Just like that it was over…or so Jashir had thought. Rarely did someone get up again after having their ribs cracked in such a way…much less one who had lost his sabers only moments before. Rakesh was an abnormality. He was up in a wave of dizzying pain and anger, his form blurring as he moved to collect a spear from the wooden rack of weapons that had been made available, then brandishing it at the assassin.

Surprised, Jashir had turned and unleashed another mental barrage against the boy, finding his mental barriers strengthened in his fury. Intrigue had flooded through the older man, dark features curling up into a wicked grin and letting up on that mental battering before he broke through those barriers…they were still weak, still unacceptable, but the sharp increase in their thickness had the man curious as to just what might happen…besides, those keen eyes caught the slight shimmer along the boy’s skin and he was so very curious as to if he could actually force the boy to shift into his true form. Clipping his saber to his belt, the man had retrieved a spear of his own and stood casually for a moment before poking it at the boy goadingly…taunting him silently. Again the man was fairly surprised…Kevlar’s son wasn’t half bad with a spear…nearly matched himself, actually, but Jashir could read the boy through the force like a book, allowing him to stay out of harm’s way time and again. It was only a matter of time before the pole of that spear struck solidly against the already cracked ribs of the youngest Skandrannon son, sending him to his knees panting from the pain and growing ever more furious as the laughter of the spectators rang in his ears.

Between the humiliation, the fury, and the pain, Rakesh’s skin burned, his back aching as if the very bones in his body were attempting to break through it. In reality…they were. Rilan bones are more dense and larger than most other races for a reason…that extra bone mass has a use…to form the bones of wings and the beginnings of muscle and feathers and new skin. His skin burned not from humiliation, but rather the tone of it…the very color and hue of it…was changing. The shift the young man was going through was common enough…most often brought on by extreme anger or fear and used to help keep the Rilan in question alive under extreme stress or danger. In this case, it was anger, rage, which fueled the transformation into his true form, the pain of it only redoubling the anger he felt. The shift to true form never really took long, happening within seconds, and as the bright glow that shimmered around the boy dimmed down, the roiling green and gold Aura around him dark and threaded through with bloody red, the young man pushed himself up once more. Black wings arched up over his shoulders, held carefully as the cracks in his ribs had affected the bones of the wings themselves during the shift. Nevertheless, the iridescent black feathers, the bulk of the youth himself (even though he’d not grown any further in muscle or structure), the lengthened hair that framed those feral features and the very fury that radiated out from him…it was enough to cause the crowd that had once been laughing and jeering to finally grow quiet. Jashir couldn’t have been more pleased with what had happened…neither could the shadowy figure watching from the edges of the ring.

Spear in hand, the boy practically vanished before the eyes of the spectators until the moment he slowed once more, launching out with a boot at Jashir’s chest. Startled, the assassin had needed to move swiftly to move away from the action…he hadn’t expected the boy to become FASTER. Obviously every Rilan gained a boost to SOME asset during their shift…some became minimally stronger, others had a minor increase to hearing or eyesight, others thought more clearly…more swiftly…certainly some became faster, but the boy had already been eerily swift…for him to become even MORE fast was unexpected. Jashir’s view darkened as he twisted away from the blow, his breathing muffled by warm feathers as the boy used those thick appendages to his advantage…to attempt to confuse his adversary and hide his own actions from view. It nearly worked. For an instant the assassin was baffled by the sudden darkening of his vision and the mass of soft feathers that brushed against his face, nearly causing him to miss the warnings in the force as his mind worked to puzzle out what had happened. Only at the last moment did he block the length of metal that was being driven down toward the ground between his feet so that it could be used to trip him up and send HIM sprawling. Another sharp blow to the mind from Jashir and Rakesh slowed…that was all that was needed for Jashir to bring his dagger up to press against the boy’s throat and end the match. It was a good thing too, sparing the young assassin-to-be more humiliation as his energy was being depleted more swiftly than before.

That was the thing about being in the Rilan ‘true form’…it used far more energy, force and otherwise, to hold it. The large and constant intake of the force was what gave the Rilan that extra boost in their assets and allowed them to rapidly grow the extra mass needed to flesh out those wings the rest of the way. It was dangerous to hold it over long periods of time for those who weren’t born that way, and even those who WERE born that way had medical conditions that tended to shorten their lifespan. Either way it went, the drain on the boy and the pain from the fractured bones and the beating he’d gotten was showing far more clearly now, and it was a blessing in disguise that Jashir had ended the fight when, and how, he had…allowing the boy to finally give up and let his form shift back.

After the spectacle of the fight, the crowd had swiftly dispersed in a wave of hushed whispers, soon to become rumors as Rakesh vanished from the camp a day later and the assassin, also, was nowhere to be found. Those rumors weren’t so far from the truth, most of them. Of course there were rumors that said the youngest Skandrannon had been killed by the assassin for daring to challenge him in such a way, or banished by his father for daring to show his temper in such a way, still others claimed the boy had run off in his humiliation and the assassin had been sent to find him and return him or kill him. These were hardly the truth, though they weren’t squashed by any involved in what actually HAD happened to the boy…if he was thought dead or banished it was better that way for all. No, most of the rumors involved young Rakesh being taken by the assassin…some said kidnapping was involved, some said the teen had become Mornar’s apprentice, but none were verified. No matter how you saw it, the youth had simply…vanished…and the assassin was also gone.

Obviously the rumor of Rakesh becoming Jashir’s apprentice was the truth…leaked by one of the servants who had overheard the conversation between the three men, and obviously that leak was “plugged” swiftly…the first man to “disappear” under Rakesh’s will and Jashir’s watchful eyes. It was one of the most difficult things Rakesh had ever had to do…killing one of the servants who had helped him grow when he had still lived in his father’s house, a man he had considered part of his extended family, but “killing family and extended family is now part of your job. You had better get used to it and harden your heart against it,” Jashir had instructed him as the two had slipped away during the night after disposing of the body in the pit of tarsilfeng war beasts the camp held. There would be no sign of the man by morning as the voracious appetites of the draconic beasts destroyed the evidence of his death. It was something that, while Rakesh never forgot it, he never truly got used to it either…not until much, MUCH later.

Becoming a trained assassin was far from easy, especially the way Jashir taught. The man taught by experience. There was no better way to learn what NOT to do than by possibly doing it and nearly getting yourself killed because of it, then getting a good long lecture afterward as you were being patched up. This happened, more often than not, in the first year that Rakesh traveled with the man as the seventeen year old learned the basics of stealth, poisons, and the easiest ways of killing people with his own, natural, talents. Those talents were also, finally, nurtured and expanded upon. Jashir had similar abilities in telepathy and sense, and while not an expert in protection, he could certainly teach the boy more than he’d been taught in his father’s camp. While the first year’s jobs were…basic…bland for Jashir’s typical tastes, they weren’t exactly EASY either. Many involved a great deal of stealth or a great amount of planning, helping the boy learn the most basic of techniques to the point where he would no longer need to think about them to perform them, could think and plan on the spot rather than in advance, analyze a situation swiftly and completely without having to pause and debate on course of action. These were civilians being killed, people who stepped out of line, but the Morequai didn’t want to make it obvious they’d had their hand in the death of the person…soldiers the captains didn’t approve of but didn’t want to alert their superiors to the fact that they had played a part in the death of one of their underlings. Business men attempting to climb the ladder of success the easy way by killing the people above them to put themselves in position to take the limelight. Those attempting to get off planet, to escape the iron grip the Morequai had on the planet. The two didn’t distinguish between classes…anyone could die if the proper money was behind it.

By eighteen Rakesh had proven himself ready to take on the more…creative…jobs. Jobs with small windows of opportunity, multiple killings, jobs with guards or traps involved, or jobs where a certain type of death had been requested. Constantly they were moving, and constantly Mornar pushed the boy to perform his assassinations with as much tact as possible…this often meant mentally breaking and killing the individual…something where no fingerprints could be left. Not that they weren’t often working for those in charge anyway, but if the boy was ever going to succeed in earning any place among his relatives he would need to be able to show them that he could do things the others couldn’t. It helped that the boy had taken to force concealment and camouflage like a fish took to swimming. He was still young, still molding and shaping his abilities, but considering the majority of the others abilities, he would be about as difficult for them to find as a grey hair on a blond. People didn’t expect a person to be hiding in plain sight, and that was exactly what Mornar had been teaching Unforgiven to do. Between the two, Mornar and the Unforgiven, people began “disappearing” far more easily than they used to. This type of life was far from what Rakesh had wanted, but at least it was a life…something out from under the glares and snide remarks of his relations. The only regrets he had were those of the deaths of children and women that he’d been given no choice but to perform. This life was about to change, however, as he passed his 20th birthday.

Mornar had gotten a message from Rakesh’s father (unbeknownst to the young man)…the Morequai had a request of the two…a final test of the Unforgiven before he might earn a place back among them. Kevlar had been pushing for the boy to return for years, but the others would not allow it until he had proven himself. Mornar had agreed that the young man was ready, he had confidence that the Skandrannon son would be able to pass any test given to him, and so the new target was set.

Trial of Blood

As his twentieth birthday arrived Mornar had them on the road. He’d been pushing his apprentice harder than typical the last few weeks and it showed in a broodingly silent young man as the two went along their way once more. Apparently there was to be another job…there was always another job after all…but few details had been shared. It wasn’t usual, but it WAS unappreciated. The trek south toward Ordril and the ruins of the southern temple had the young man nonplussed…he disliked the deserts of sun baked and cracked stone and caves the area there consisted of…it made for tough work in his experience. He wasn’t far off in this case either. The closer the two got to Ordril the more was revealed to the young man. Apparently their targets were members of the Feanturi, or the remains of the Feanturi, who still clung to their foolish hopes of salvation and the redemption of their planet from his relatives. The man and his wife were said to often visit the southern temple in search of documents or other artifacts that could be salvaged to help retain the dwindling memories of their identity as the former guardians of the world. The two had been a constant nuisance to the Morequai as the leaders of their small scavenging team, buzzards picking clean the bones of corpses long dead…ones that the Lords wished to remain undisturbed.

They had to be dealt with…

…swiftly…and silently.

There was only one catch…the small band had a well trained telepath among them. This one person had proven to be the thorn in the Morequai’s side when it came to disposing of the group…so they had turned, begrudgingly, to those who could…deal…with the problem. A group of five didn’t seem a problem to Rakesh, not with Jashir around, and so he’d simply shrugged at the information, processed it, and filed it away. Near on a week was spent camping in the crumbling vestige of the former government. It was the first, unbiased, look he’d had at anything of the Feanturi. He wasn’t impressed…not that he would admit anyway. It was just a shame that they hadn’t had the drive, the power and will to kill those who needed killing. Well, it worked out better for him this way anyway, he had decided, and returned his mind to the task at hand. Mornar took a surprisingly hands off approach, allowing his apprentice to devise and set the traps, to prepare the wreckage of the temple for the group. The young man was clever…rubble was moved, shifted, readjusted to look natural amongst the rest of the ruined building, but provide effective places to trigger cave-ins or dangerous illusions of semi-solid walls that came crashing down upon unsuspecting victims. Support beams that came crashing down to trap a leg or body until the one trapped could be dealt with. So simple and natural looking were the traps that if Mornar hadn’t overseen the laying out of them, even he may not have known they were there without looking thoroughly at each step he took. Rakesh knew he had to devise something that allowed him to attack the group without them knowing he was there...with limited telekinetic abilities he’d had to get creative...he could focus on one small stone, move it, and let the sudden loss of that single piece topple the rubble without ever being near them...mere accidents to the unwitting eye...the scavengers already knew such dangers lurked in the temples...he had simply played to their notions and knowledge.

Finally the group of Feanturi scavengers arrived, unaware of the concealed and camouflaged assassins hiding away in the tumbled ruin of the outer wall of the former temple. Hidden in two different places to keep from being easily noticed because of their auras, Rakesh couldn’t have known that Mornar had vanished from his position, leaving the young assassin alone to perform his duties…to succeed or fail, live or die, on his own. From his hidden position, Rakesh was able to peer through the broken wall and watch the group as they spread out and began their ritual of relic hunting. It didn’t take long for one of the five to come into range of a trap he’d set. Knowing where the key stone was that he wanted to remove, it was…slightly easier…to trigger the avalanche of debris, however, the concentration and energy it took him to actually perform the action taxed him. It didn’t matter though, the others flocked over, attempting to unbury their comrade. Only one remained on alert, watching for danger, just as he’d hoped. Once that first trap had triggered, their movements did the rest of the work for him. So busy and focused were they on trying to save their friend that they paid no attention to where they were stepping…an old electrical wire was tripped over and triggered yet another trap, the large beam sliding downward along the wires that had previously been holding it up and knocking two others to the ground pinning one in a rather gruesome fashion and dazing the other.

As he’d watched, Unforgiven had steadily been probing the one beneath the rubble through the force, that weaker mind crumbling easily and taking him off the “to die” list. Not only was he not the intended target, but not the telepath either…not that it mattered now the young man had rifled through his memories and found which ones he DID want before leaving him as little more than a base life form, incapable of higher thought or speech. It was already too late for the woman pinned to the ground by the beam, the broken metal support having pierced through her. It was one less he had to kill face to face…he hated killing women either way, but if he had to, better to do so from a distance or as humanely as possible. Her death certainly hadn’t been humane, but it was from a distance…it would have to do. The dazed one, struggling to get up off the ground, was his next victim. Like a good mechanic, he immediately set about peeling away the thin mental armor to get to the sections of the man’s mind that controlled his motor and speech functions, the basic components he needed to gain attention and help. Speech went first, clamped down on with vice-like pressure to stem the impulses and ability to call for help as one by one he cut off function to the limbs, numbing them to the man’s sense of touch and letting him collapse back to the ground. Not the telepath…that left him with the last two…the man he wanted and the woman. The man he knew was not the telepath, the Morequai had told them that much, and he didn’t know which woman was his wife…was it the one that had been killed by the fallen beam or the one that was left. Most likely the one that was left…opposites attracted and more often than not it seemed that those with dissimilar skills worked as partners. By that logic, a man weak in telepathy but strong in telekinesis would be better off with a partner…or a wife in this case…with skills in the area he was weak in and weak in the areas he was strong in. It was only a hunch, but it felt right.

The remaining two were alert by now…this had all been too coincidental, too set up…too perfect…there had to be someone else about. Morequai. They were both right, and wrong…Rakesh was no Morequai, not yet, but he most certainly was around. He could feel their thoughts probing the area, closer to him, and he couldn’t have them finding him. Sloughing their probes gently aside, away and onto something other than him, Rakesh moved swiftly. For years he’d known he was fast…it had been his saving grace in the training camp, he’d worked on it…honed it…during his time with Mornar, and now he was fast enough to be little more than a blur of wind with his camouflage and concealment pulled tightly around him. He was upon them faster than anticipated, those twin red sabers flaring to life only moments before they saw him. The hands of the man were sheered off with his cries of agony echoing off the rubble of the abandoned temple. The woman had her saber out by then, the silver flame of it blinding even in the glaring light of day. As the heat rose steadily off of the ground and old debris, the two played a deadly game of hide and seek. Rakesh, often being the one hiding and she being the one seeking, would dart out at her and light his sabers along the way to slash out at her, mocking her and taunting her as he sought a way into her mind. Eventually he found a half decent place to keep himself hidden and continued his mental attack. She was clever and well skilled, latching onto the probes he sent toward her and drawing closer to his mind in return. It was just fine with him…the more she attached herself to him, the easier it was for him to gain access to her mind, sliding his presence along those entangled probes like quicksilver to infiltrate her mind via her own, outstretched, consciousness.

She was surprised by the tactic, to say the least. In the times she’d run across Morequai, or their subordinates, never had she come across one that used telepathy like this…their primary focus had always seemed to be brute force…telekinetics, body, destruction…not the more subtle arts that she used. He’d caught her flat footed, and he’d gained entry. Though she struggled to fight him off, his barbs stuck, branching out and winding through her mind like a cool poison through her veins; locking down her motor functions, her speech ability, closing her mind off to any but him…even her sight seemed to blur and fade. He’d wrapped his mind around hers, slowly sifting his will within and thumbing through her thoughts and memories carefully…almost gently. Women were such delicate creatures, after all, and while he didn’t care that he terrified her, he didn’t wish to injure or cause her more pain than he had originally needed to so that he could get a foothold in her mind. Those pain receptors in her brain had been dulled…numbed…so she wouldn’t feel the pain from her injuries as he held her captive there, a darkly gentle presence encircling her and taking tastes of her life and emotions as if sampling a buffet. Only once he were certain that he’d gathered all the information he could from her did he grant her what she were begging for…a release. It wouldn’t be the release she wished for, but death WAS a release of sorts. It was too bad the Morequai wished to have their heads as proof…he would have rather have simply stopped her heart and leave her from further damage, but…such was not the case. The last thing she would hear was his voice in her mind…

--I am sorry…go with the Winds.--

To the sound of the angry and pained shouting of her husband, those crimson sabers burned to life once more, rising to her neck and, with a swift scissor-like movement, separated her head from her body. Stepping over her collapsed body, he returned to the man, still holding the stumps of his hands in pain and all but insane with grief. The man Rakesh could have cared less about, to be perfectly honest, and it showed as he slammed his boot against the man’s chest, knocking him back against the ground once more. His iron will slammed against the man shortly after, pummeling against his adversary to break past the, already negligible, defenses. Once inside everything was locked down…muscles, speech, even breathing as the Unforgiven unceremoniously ransacked the man’s mind. What he found shocked him to the core…

This man…this Feanturi…had once been a part of the Morequai families.

…and he had a son who had been taken off world by some strange Feanturi emulators called “Jedi.”

He was nearly sick with the knowledge...disgusted by how he could have turned his back on his own family to run off with some Feanturi woman and have a son…who he later willingly gave to off-worlders! Remiel…he would remember that name for the rest of his life, and if he ever met the man, he would be certain to show him the same kindness he was showing the father.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

With disdain, one saber ignited and sliced the man in half as Rakesh held him down with one boot on the chest. Disengaging his saber, Rakesh stood back and folded his arms as he waited for the man to die of shock or suffocation…which ever came first. He’d long since let go of the man’s mind, letting him shout all he wanted from the pain. He wouldn’t be able to reach anyone telepathically with so much pain, so there were no worries about reinforcements. When he was assured the man was dead, the head was lopped off and both collected as Mornar casually “happened” to reappear. To say the young assassin was nonplussed with his mentor’s vanishing act would have been an understatement.

The argument over that particular topic lingered through several days as the two rode into Ordril with their “prizes” and handed them over to the Lord in charge of the large southern city. Still Mornar never said a word about just what the ordeal was all about, but instead led his apprentice to the network of crystal caves in the mesa desert. That was the tip off for Rakesh. Jashir had made it quite clear early on that Rakesh would not be allowed to create his own sabers until the time he passed his final test…so unless his mentor had need of a new crystal (which was unlikely) or had changed his mind on the subject (which was even more unlikely than the first), he had passed his test and would now be sent to fashion his sabers. This was exactly the case. The young man would be given three days to find his crystals and create his sabers from the material of the old ones as well as the extra materials Mornar had brought. On the fourth day the older assassin would return and they would head back to Ordril…

Before the Dawn

Almost gratefully Rakesh took the extra parts and then took his leave from his mentor to journey into the hot, dusty, and dark cave network of the Mesa desert. The sweltering heat of the desert slowly gave way to the cool, pitch black of the interior of the caves as he wound his way along them, touching the stone of the wall every so often, pausing there and attempting to imbed his signature into the hard material so he could find his way back out again later. With only his sabers for light it was an eerie trek, the red glow shifting and molding the shadows into bloody specters to haunt the mind and play tricks on the eyes if one let them…but this was all part of the test…all part of the trial…and Rakesh would not be daunted by things that weren’t there. He kept his senses alert for danger, rather than his eyes, drawing ever closer to the humming…the pulsing energy…the siren call…of the crystals further in.

The majority of his journey was uneventful, placid even, as he let himself fall into an almost trance-like state the closer he came to the caves where the crystals grew…the light thrumming of his saber the only sound he heard beyond his own nearly silent breath and heartbeat. The world could have fallen away outside of those tunnels and he might not have known it as he finally reached the large caverns that glittered with the dim light of the crystals within. It was a profoundly moving experience for the young man…and the first moment of true peace he’d ever had in his life. The quiet click and buzz of the standard saber shutting down bothered him little as the light died away, leaving him seeing only by the soft glow of the many shards that glistened around the cave walls, floor, and ceiling…jutting out from stalagmite and stalactite, shimmering in small, clear, pools of water, and forming larger (unusable) crystals. Light footfalls carried him through the midnight room, pulled by the songs of the crystals…each one different, each one felt and sounded different…echoing against his senses, brushing against his consciousness, as if calling for him…requesting him to use that specific one for his tasks…but it wasn’t right…none of those were ‘right.’

It felt like he walked through that cave, and the next, for hours searching…perhaps it was hours, he couldn’t tell…when he felt it: a dark stirring against his mind and senses. It was something familiar, yet not…like he were feeling an echo of his own consciousness. Immediately he was drawn to it, the cluster of crystals shimmering with a deep red hue, like the petals of some exotic rose. Kneeling before it, his hand hovered above the cluster, eyes closed, for several long minutes before descending down upon one of the center most crystals and snapping it off carefully. He set to work then, not even bothering to move as he set about disassembling the first of the two standard lightsabers. The crystal that acted as the focusing lens for the saber sharpened the appearance and definition of the blade, allowing its wielder to easily track the blade and strike opponents properly. Mornar had put two of these crystals into the extra parts he’d given the young man, knowing they would be of more use to him than the typical focusing lenses the standard saber had. Unfortunately, this kind of crystal was also not found in the caves he’d left the boy in, and so he’d slipped two in for him to meditate over and utilize in his new weapons.

For hours he meditated over the two crystals he was going to be using in this saber, allowing the Winds to flow through him and energize the crystals until they were all by humming with power. It was not an easy task, being still for so long and focusing so completely on pushing energy into the two crystals. By the time he’d finished he felt drained and tired…the red crystal seemed to all but sap the life out of him and store it within itself. A useful thing to remember for later, perhaps, but for the moment it left him needing to focus on something simpler…unfortunately, he was on a time limit that didn’t seem to allow much of an opportunity to rest. Pressing on, the tenacious young man moved on, searching out the second crystal he would need. The crystals were oddly silent, however, none seeming to give in to him willingly…none calling him like before. Mildly frustrated and confused by this, he was glad to have the rest of the first saber to complete. Slowly the saber took form, the crystals fusing into their proper places, the wiring fitting together with the new power cell and emitter matrix, and finally the casing taking full form once more until the new saber lay settled comfortably in his hands. Standing, it was as if the entire cave (and all the crystals within) was holding its breath as he held the pommel before him and thumbed the activation switch.

Red so deep it was perilously close to black show through the darkness of the cave, the thrumming pulse of energy bringing a clamoring through the force as the other crystals seemed to pull at his senses with renewed vigor. Silently he eyed the new blade, the well defined blade of heat and energy seeming to pulse in time with his very heart and thoughts. Pleased with his work, the young man shut the saber down once more and clipped it to his belt, settling in to eat a bit and finally get some rest. The food was the easy part…resting, actually sleeping, was not…not with the crystals surrounding him tugging at his senses incessantly. For a few hours he managed to get some half decent sleep, until the constant tugging on the edges of his mind had him awake, up, and moving once more. With the clamoring the crystals were doing, however, it was going to be twice as difficult to find the correct one.

For hours on end, the young man moved from cluster to cluster, reaching out through the force with his senses to ‘listen’ to the crystals, touching them with his fingers, attempting to find the one he was searching for. For hours on end he was denied what he sought, each cluster of the colorful shards frustrating him further as time and again he experienced nothing similar to what he’d felt with the first one. Pausing, finally, and settling down beside a tall golden crystal and a small grouping of its smaller counterparts, Rakesh leaned back against the dusky, golden, formation and felt an odd sensation of calm sweep over him. Letting his head drop back against it as well, he allowed his hand to trail along the grouping of cloudy crystals nestled beside it, his senses following his fingertips. Like so many of the other crystals they all pulled at his attention, all clamored to be used…all, except one. He nearly missed it as his calloused fingertips passed over it, the ‘silence’ of the sparkling gem being the only thing that caught his attention as his senses passed along it as well. Opening his eyes, he gazed down at the small and unsuspecting crystal, settled calmly…serenely…in its place among its siblings, patiently waiting.

He found it…odd…however. This crystal didn’t remind him at all of himself; it didn’t FEEL like him…not like the other had. This one felt…poised…reconciled with its status, unlike all the others around it that were clinging to his senses and attempting to draw his attention in a thousand different directions. He, most certainly, was not pleased with his current standing in life. His poise was a façade of calm over the turbulent emotions that constantly worked their way though his eyes. It was strange…bizarre, even…but it felt correct; he had been drawn to this crystal, for whatever reason, and so he would use it. Carefully removing it from its fellows, he set about following the same process as he had with the first saber. As Rakesh pushed his energy and presence into the dusky golden crystal, he felt his mind clearing, calming and evening out, allowing him to simply sit and let the energy flow through him and into the crystals in his hands like calming waves. The more energy he put into the crystal, the more clear and calm his mind became…it was an odd sort of relief to him. Hours crawled by, practically unnoticed by the rilan as he worked at his task, the tools in his hands piecing the casing and electrical systems together easily before gently settling the crystals within and finishing the systems. Minor adjustments to the setting of the crystals and matrix with what little telekinesis he had before completely sealing off the casing once more, the dark pommel of his second saber laying completed in his lap and the crystals around him silent once more as he stood.

For a long moment he simply stood there, gazing at the newest of the two blades and wondering just what it might mean to him…to his life. Pushing away those thoughts, he thumbed the activation key and watched that dark golden blade coruscate in the darkness of the cave. The dim glow of it was reminiscent of late sunset along the hills outside his father’s estate and shimmering along the tall, bending, grasses of the open planes between Noreha and the forests only a few miles from where he grew up. Its quiet hum was just as placid and understated as the call of the crystal itself had been, the sound of honey bees in the spring or glow bugs floating through the air in the evenings. Again he eyed the blade itself critically, the definition given to it by the focusing crystal meeting his approval as he unclipped the blood-hued saber from his belt and ignited it as well. The two seemed to clash in their light and personalities, immediately battling each other and drawing at his will and attention like and angle and devil both attempting to drag his conscience toward their views. With an odd growl of approval, the young Skandrannon man seemed to harness the conflicting energies of his blades as he swept forward, the eerie strobes of light and blood flickering around his form as he all but danced amidst the hushed whispers of the crystals growing within the caves.

Never before had he felt a blade be such an integral part of him. Each sweep of each blade was but another breath for him. Every motion, every turn and movement of his wrist or arm, every step that brought those blazing weapons around and through the air in sanguine and flaxen arcs was just another heartbeat in his pulse. The previous blades…the standard ones…they felt like what they were: weapons. These…these were part of him. They were extensions of his body, his personality…they were him. Satisfied with the new creations, Rakesh clipped both hilts to his belt and headed back out of the caves. It was easier finding his way out of the caves than it had been going in. The residual energy he’d pressed into the stone helped guide him out of the pitch black tunnels and back into the dusty and dusky heat of the Mesa desert. Finding himself a fairly defensible place, the young man settled in to sleep a little and then meditate. The rest of the twilight and then evening passed in this way until the dawn of the third day broke, clear and cold.

A Branded Man

His breath was still creating fog in the air when the sound of hooves approaching echoed down the narrow canyon toward him. Quietly he waited inside the dark shadows of the cave's mouth, his presence concealed. Sure enough, the form of Mornar atop his blond rosh, followed by the dusky chestnut and black of his own, appeared around the bend in the canyon. Slowly he strode out of the shadows engulfing him allowing the older assassin to see his student, even if he couldn’t feel him. Rakesh was ever wary, even around his own mentor, rarely (if ever) allowing that concealment to fall from around him…and if he did, it was only enough to be felt at close range. In the mesa’s, however, there was a greater chance of running into one of the Feanturi upstarts that were still fighting their losing battle. If one happened across his path, he wanted to have the upper hand.

Despite the possibilities, the meeting went without incident and soon enough the two were back on their way to Ordril.

As usual, the large city was bustling with its daily activity, the tan and cream colored stone buildings rising up into the sky several stories high in clean lines and arches. The flowing and thin fabrics of brightly colored clothing denoted a day of festivity among the people of the city, and all around the two assassins simply cut, yet intricately designed, costuming was worn by men and women alike. A few of the richer citizens wore silks or elaborate clothing…clothing like what his family and the other Morequai ‘higher ups’ wore. After so long away from the beating heart of the Houses, Rakesh had little knowledge of what was going on, his mind dipping into the various passers-by to glean as much information as he could about the festivities. Apparently there was going to be a marriage the next day and the festivities had been going on for several days already. Morequai or not, the Rilan people took every opportunity they could get to celebrate, to ease the heavy burdens and sorrows of life and enjoy themselves…it was only doubled when the specific Morequai celebrating a marriage seemed to be more…lenient…than the others. Broaching the topic to Mornar, the older assassin simply grunted and led the way through the crowded streets, only stopping once he reached a dark shop near the center of the city and tying his rosh off on the post outside.

Narrowing his eyes, the young Skandrannon dismounted as well and tied his own off, letting the beast know he’d be back and following in after. The interior of the place was…more than a bit surprising to him; the décor was far more lavish than the unassuming outside suggested, the air filled with a mixture of incense, liquor, inks, dyes, and the scent of burnt skin. More than a bit startled, the eyes of the young man threaded through with a wary yellow as he blocked out the waves of pain that would wash against him every now and again from behind various curtained booths, or ignored the dark and challenging looks of the grim and grizzled clientele. As they reached the end of a dark corridor consisting of these booths and came up to an intricately scrolled wooden desk, it became apparent to the young man that there was one last thing for him to do…or rather, be done to HIM. A tattoo, a brand to be exact, was to be placed upon him…something to identify him as an official assassin for the Morequai. That yellow swiftly vanished at the thought, replaced by a pleased blue-green. Finally…FINALLY…he would be able to begin proving himself to the Morequai Clan Houses…the family that had shunned him for so long. Finally he was another step closer to regaining his own honor and rightful place among them.

As he was led into one of those many booths and sat down in the reclined seat inside, he braced himself for what was to come as his arm was strapped down tightly so that he couldn’t move it. A golden alcohol was given and downed to help ward off the pain and the quiet snap-hiss of the short tool was heard, the cool sea-green blade burning into the skin of his right wrist painfully, searing away the upper most layer of skin with excruciating detail for the image it was branding into him. The pain wasn’t over, however, even once the branding itself had ended. While they still had the young man captive, the ink was carefully added to the damaged skin, dyeing it black and completing the process as it was swiftly healed over just enough to hold the ink. With the wrist bandaged and wrapped, the youth was registered…logged in the thick tome that those within the building kept guarded away. A new, fully fledged, assassin emerged into the heat of southern Rilia only a few minutes afterward. Sensing the pain from his companion, his chestnut rosh (Huath), had questioningly nudged the injured arm as Rakesh had pulled himself up into the saddle. Honestly, the young man didn’t know how to reply to the curious emotions and thoughts of his steed. As they were lead toward the center of the city by Mornar, Rakesh finally replied with a simple series of images detailing what had happened. Seemingly rankled, Huath had snorted and tossed his head about, attempting to pull around to go back to where they’d just come from. Rakesh was far from upset with what had happened, and kept Huath on the trail that Mornar and Vivaria (his rosh) created through the streets. This marking, after all, was the young man’s ticket back into his family, and he was glad to finally have it, pain or no.

As they came to the center of the city, the vivid greens of the plants there were a stark contrast to the dulled tans and beiges of the rest of the city. This was the cultural center of the place, rimmed by the houses of the affluent, where the festivals and important public affairs took place. Small shops dotted the spaces between the well tended apartments and storied houses of the nobility or high-ranking military. The closer they pressed through the throng toward the square, the more grand the buildings became…a small museum, a theater, government buildings…and in the center of it all was the cool gathering area of the people, caught as glimpses between those buildings and over the heads of the pedestrians milling about, and toward, it. That, much to Rakesh and Huath’s surprise, wasn’t their destination it seemed. The two assassins stopped before a three story home instead. Upon closer inspection of the building, or rather the people IN it, the young Skandrannon could sense his father as well as his siblings and several other family members he distinctly (if unfortunately) remembered. Dismounting before Mornar could growl at him to do so, he led the two rosh around to the stable. In passing the house it wasn’t difficult to discover the source of the celebration inside and in the city…one of his cousins was getting married. Why the large celebration? The Morequai clans weren’t exactly known for doing things…small…then again, no rilan was known for having a small wedding celebration. Marriage was extremely important to his people, and he knew it. Having finished his duties with the rosh, the young assassin found himself feeling…nervous. This would be the first time in years that he had seen any of his family face to face and, while anxious to show them what he had become…that he had finally made something of himself, he wasn’t certain that the sudden appearance of him now (of all times) was a good time to reintroduce himself to them. Searching out his master (former master, he reminded himself), Rakesh was not surprised to find him already inside. With a belabored sigh, the young man approached the door to the house with yellow and orange netted eyes.

Only a few seconds after he knocked on the door, it opened…only to find it closing again in his face once more.

Not all of that Skandrannon pride had left the young noble during his years training, however; if anything that pride had only built into a strong self assurance and refusal to allow a situation like this very one to happen to him ever again. One foot slid into the doorframe before the door could shut, keeping it ajar and allowing him to press it open once more. The disgruntled woman on the other side poked her head around once more to find herself glared at even as she (almost timidly) attempted to turn the man away, but he’d have none of it. “You do not seem to realize, ma’am, that I am still a part of this family. Now let me in, or go find Mornar or Lord Skandrannon to verify my breeding…either way I will have in to this house.” The crimson seeping into his eyes and the icy, yet polite, tone of his voice belied the anger he felt at the servant’s attempts to turn him away. She’d stammered an apology and scampered off to go find one of the men he had suggested, leaving him there in the doorway to recompose himself. As he waited, his mood evened slowly as he attempted to brush some of the dust and dirt off of his traveling clothes and pulling his hair back into something a bit more…tidy. Again, in the circles of the Morequai, appearances (like weddings) were important…a fact he remembered all too well from his childhood and the lessons he’d received in his father’s home but had never been given the opportunity to finish.

It seemed that Mornar was playing invisible once again, however; the servant girl, having been unable to find the man, returned instead with Kevlar. With the door having only been left ajar to assure Rakesh that she would return, neither father or son saw the other until the door was opened once again. Rakesh, of course, had felt the man approach and so he wasn’t caught quite so flat footed as his father was. Nevertheless, both men stood for a long moment, just staring at each other. Why? Well the answer to that was quite simple: Rakesh was testing his father’s reactions and emotions through the force for signs of potential trouble, while Kevlar was simply astonished by the young man that stood before him. Certainly Mornar had warned him that his son had come with him, but he hadn’t expected THIS. Finally, with a laugh, Kevlar opened the door the rest of the way, extending a hand for his son to shake before leading him into the house.

There are sayings, even on Rilia, that equate to the meaning of “be careful what you wish for”…this one day would prove to be the beginning of a life full of situations that all pointed back to that one, simple, phrase. ..

In the Shadows

So long had it been since many of the Lords and their families had seen Rakesh that, of course, he had to be re-introduced. The task was not a pleasant one. Of course everyone KNEW him…especially by name…but that didn’t necessarily mean the recognition was a good one. Imagine it…not only did the young man have to be reintroduced to his own family…but was also consistently recognized with a phrase such as “oh yes! The ___ one!” the blank often filled with words such as ‘crippled,’ ‘defective,’ ‘flawed,’ and ‘useless’…adding insult to injury. Sprinkling salt on the wounds, most would then turn to him as if just noticing his presence and ask, bluntly, if he had finally made something of himself or found how to tap into his latent abilities. Needless to say, Rakesh found himself preferring the first question over the second as with the first he could at least answer “yes, I am now a fully trained assassin, thanks to Mornar,” and earn either a measure of respect or an amusingly surprised look (which was often accompanied by feelings or thoughts that vaguely equated to ‘crap, I had better watch my back and what I say to him from now on’). Much of the next few days went on in this way as the city geared up for the marriage and he was slowly (and very grudgingly) indoctrinated back into the folds of the Morequai.

Becoming one of them again wasn’t easy, however. They needed proof that he was capable, and even then their acceptance of Rakesh as one of their own was…dubious. After the marriage of his cousin, a full year of solitary assassinations was given to him for him to prove himself. Every time he finished a job, they had a new one to give him. This wasn’t to say that he resented the work, oh no…he relished the fact that with each job completed they found another one for him, it meant that he’d given them a reason to test him yet again…that he hadn’t failed. At first, like with Mornar, the assignments had been simple…not just simple, but simplistic compared to the levels of difficulty he was accustomed to. Steadily they grew more challenging, but nothing they threw at him was like his final test...having had to take out five trained Feanturi, and by himself (no thanks to Jashir’s disappearance). Finally, one day, the tests stopped. Concerned, he’d sent a messenger to the Skandrannon estates requesting another assignment. Several days passed and there was still no word. His telepathic requests were distinctly ignored, and even his attempt to pull his father (willing or no) into Silmorne had been fought and turned away. Finally fed up with the antics, he waited…

While not the typical path to take when one was angry (the first instinct tending to be to storm off to the source of the problem and confront it head on in a rage) Rakesh hadn’t been typical since birth. While the thought of his family shunning him once again ate away at him, Rakesh had far too much pride to go crawling back to see what was going on and request more assignments in person. The “please, sir, may I have some more?” ploy didn’t settle right with his personal honor code so, instead, he dug his heels in and took jobs from those who could pay. He would bide his time and make THEM seek HIM out. Sure enough, seek him out they did. It took a few weeks, but finally a messenger boy came from his father’s estate seeking him out. The amusement Rakesh found in this was subtle, but never ending. He’d been in one of the small villages near Hithlume when the boy had come looking. It didn’t take much to figure out where the squire was from, dressed in the livery of his father, but he decided to make them wait…just as he’d been made to wait. As Rakesh learned when he was in the very same situation as this teen, finding an assassin who doesn’t want to be found is almost impossible. Several times the boy came and went, poking around this village and those near by to find hide or hair of the assassin, but found nothing except rumors and hear-say. Finally Rakesh took some pity on the poor boy, seeing that he was obviously unwilling to leave without finding him…no doubt a severe lashing would have been his reward for returning ‘empty handed’, so, at the end of the week, he showed himself to the young squire and headed off, back toward his father’s estates. Funny how things had come in a full circle for him…right down to seeing the other side of his meeting with Mornar.

At just over 21 years of age, the young noble finally returned to the place he was born. Not much had changed, it seemed, as he rode up the road…the training camp of his youth on one side and the village his father presided over on the other and nestled between the wall of the estates and the cliffs that rested just behind it. Letting the boy to return to the camp, he made his way up to the estate alone and was, surprisingly (at least to him), allowed through the gates without a fuss. Leaving Huath with the stable attendants, he found his way into the estate proper, ushered in by one of the servants. The place was…more grand…than he remembered, filled with lush furniture and expensive items that were foreign to him now, after so much time on the road and away from all of this. Having been shown into one of the sitting rooms, Rakesh didn’t bother to sit…perhaps it was because he was uncomfortable in the midst of all of this wealth, or perhaps it was just because he had been riding for so long that it felt good to stand, perhaps it was a mixture of the two, but when his father arrived he found the young man walking about and eying the paintings on the walls stoically, as if he only vaguely remembered them. It was true enough, he felt as though everything he saw and remembered were from another life entirely. So absorbed was he that the young man only vaguely knew his father had arrived until Kevlar began speaking. It seemed that the reason for the lack of assignments, and subsequent recall to the estates, was that, after much ‘debate’ with the other Morequai house Lords, Rakesh was to be tested in his abilities to command a troops.

While the young man proved to be a decent commander of larger forces over the duration of trials and exercises, he excelled in smaller forces…squads of five to ten that were skilled in infiltration of enemy camps. Under his lead, the groups would sweep through a camp and mark at least half of it as dead before anyone realized they were there…and so, after finding a niche for his son to fill during these exercises, Kevlar oversaw his son’s next branding: the mark of leadership for the Skandrannon house, showing Rakesh was now, officially, a commander in his forces. It was a rank Rakesh had always hoped to receive, but one that almost everyone had told him wasn’t possible for him to attain. Finally he had a foot in the door…a real chance to regain his rightful place in the Morequai.

No Rest for the Wicked

The first order of business was for him to put together a group of warriors that worked well with his leadership style and abilities. It was…surprisingly difficult…to find people who excelled in stealthy work. As previously mentioned, the Morequai were not known for their subtlety, and so their soldiers were not typically trained in subtlety either. There were some, however, who had…not always been soldiers. Working as a soldier for the Morequai could also be a punishment for those whose criminal lives could be put to use. Conscription was common enough for the Morequai military forces and all sorts could be found in the camps, from thieves, killers and smugglers to craftsmen, animal breeders, and smithies who were found guilty of crimes (whether or not they committed them) and pushed into service to ply their trade. Despite that being the case, it wasn’t always easy to FIND the type of people you were looking for. It was fortunate that Rakesh was innately skilled in sense and telepathy; it made finding those men much less difficult. It took less than two months to find the men (and even a couple of women) that he was looking for. With a group of ten, comprised of thieves, minor assassins, and former street rats, the squad of cutthroats (later known as the Phantom Squad) was ready and very eager for assignments.

Considering the Feanturi forces were scattered and broken, there wasn’t always something to do, however. This allowed the next three years to pass in waves of alternating action and relative boredom. When word of a forming militia outside of Morequai control came, the Phantoms were called in to swiftly put them down. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, the small group was often set up to fail. From the start the “group of rejects” was deemed a failure…all the other Lords had to do was prove it. So they tried to do just that. Rakesh and his squad were sent to the farthest corners of Rilia without back up, pitted against larger or more dangerous forces, and told to put them down. There was only one problem with the Lord’s thinking…they didn’t count on the group thinking like assassins and thieves, infiltrating the camps at night, after several days of observation, and hitting the weak points of the camp silently, stealthily working their way inward. Silence was key, being the shadows, never being seen or heard until it was too late and the enemy was silenced. This was how they worked…getting in, striking silently, and getting out before anyone knew better…leaving nothing but a camp full of cooling carrion behind.

With each victory Rakesh added another brand to his arm…the symbol of each banner he brought back with him. With each victory he was able to watch the puzzled and displeased faces of the other Morequai with an infuriating sort of satisfaction about him. With each victory the Skandrannon son was able to prove them all wrong yet again…to show them that they had been wrong about him…they had ALL been wrong about him. What the Lords could never quite figure out, however, was how a group like the Phantoms could ever work cohesively…and that was one thing Rakesh always held over them, keeping that knowledge to himself. Time and again they tried to mimic him, train one of their own to be like him or form teams of swift and efficient killers from the dregs of society they pulled out of their ranks…but time and again they failed. “How did he manage it?” they wondered…the answer was simple: they worked as separate entities with a common goal. Each member was listened too, asked for advice, thoughts and observations, a plan was made, a goal and some rules set…then they were let free to do what they needed to do to accomplish the set goal. To him, each man was as important as the next and he was sure to let them know it. When one failed, they all failed…and they weren’t here to fail. If anything that bound them all together: they didn’t WANT to fail, they had already failed themselves or others in other ways, at other times…they weren’t about to do it again.

When the Phantoms weren’t busy, however, things could be…rather dull. Each member had their own lifestyle and habits, certainly, but over all they seemed to rather enjoy each other’s company. Hunts in the wilds were common with the group, the thrill of the hunt and the kill seeming to be another binding factor between them. There were…less savory…ways of passing the time as well. A favorite being to pick pocket each other without being noticed (all stolen items were eventually returned, be it willingly or by force), and then there was favorite pastime of trying to pick Rakesh’s pockets without being noticed. It was an on-going, and rather annoying to Rakesh at times, form of play that often ended up in bets being taken on if the person attempting it would succeed or not. 9 of 10 times it was decidedly “not.” This wasn’t to say that Rakesh wasn’t busier than his companions, however. As a reintegrated member of the Morequai houses, he spent a great deal of his ‘free time’ refreshing himself the ways of the nobles with his father and mother, though he preferred to keep his mother at arms length if at all possible. It didn’t take much to catch the young man back up to speed, and soon enough he was being dragged along with his father, brothers and sister to all manner of meetings.

While entitled to sit with the rest of the Lords and generals because of his blood relation, Rakesh opted to stay remain in the shadows with the others of his rank. He chose to listen, watch, and learn rather than give his opinions at this stage, filing certain topics away into his memory to speak to his father about later. That was how he got his thoughts voiced, after all, by using his father as a proxy…placing bits of information or personal thoughts into his ear privately and allowing Kevlar to mull them over and broach the topic next time around. Rakesh had always been in the shadows, even as a child he was seen and not heard, and now…working through his father to get his opinions heard was the most logical course of action. The Lords didn’t care to hear what he said, after all, and he knew it. He was no General, he was no Lord, he was only another warrior.

Toy Soldiers ((permission granted by Rugs for the Algaterras))

As his 25th year drew closer, the Phantoms were assigned yet another task. There was a gathering Feanturi force in the Noreha grasslands, they were told, near the old Algaterra House estates. The movement there had been sudden and unexpected, given the location, and so, with numbers swelling swiftly it needed to be put down lest the Feanturi attempt to fortify the estates and make a stand. Without a fuss they were off again, thankful for something to do despite the odds. Rarely had they needed to infiltrate a building, much less one this large, but something was nagging at Rakesh about the situation. He remembered his father telling him about Algaterra House’s fall from grace, how they’d harbored pro-Feanturi sentiments and all but turned their backs on the other Houses…their family. Rumor had been that they’d even given safe shelter to Feanturi passing through, but whether any of this was truly the case or not was uncertain. All the youngest Skandrannon knew for certain was that his father had fought against them, sending them into the afterlife or scattering to the four winds. What if, he wondered, the remnants of the house had gathered once again under the Feanturi? That would make the estates a strong foothold for the gathering forces…it was their home, and they would know it well. They would have the advantage.

As the Phantoms made their way toward the estates, Rakesh was swift to bring this to Kevlar’s attention, requesting another, more battle ready, group to be sent along as well to work as a diversion so his team could infiltrate and oust the heart of the operation. Word, however, swiftly spreads through the Morequai…even when it shouldn’t. News of the request reached the other Lords, and with that the rumor of the Phantoms being little more than cowards, incapable of completing ‘simple’ tasks, moved through the ranks of the other Houses like wildfire. Despite this, they sent three small forces…his siblings heading them. The three generals were…less than pleased…to be sent after their younger brother, and they let him know that when the three met in the plains outside Noreha City. Rakesh knew the likelihood the Phantoms could take out the entire force that had gathered was slim. He didn’t wish to put them into a situation they couldn’t escape from when, if he put his pride aside and requested help, they could be victorious. His pride just wasn’t worth THAT much to him. What would it do other than prove to the other Lords that he was an unfit leader and a fool? Not only that, but he would risk losing the men and women he’d fought, and bled, and lived with for these past years…men and women he trusted, more or less.

Lexan, Jost, and Hava could have cared less about what their younger brother thought or wanted. He had been fool enough to tie himself down to a small group of soldiers and developing an attachment to them, rather than widening his horizons and commanding a larger body of troops. All the soldiers were, to them anyway (and most Morequai commanders), were play things…toy soldiers that could be lost or damaged and replaced easily and cheaply. Only the officers were of any real worth. It was a lesson the ‘littling’ had to learn. For hours, those first two nights, the four argued over what should be done, but in the end it was the Generals that had the last word, and each of his siblings was having their mental ear bent by the Lords…not that the opinions differed much. It was Hava who gave the final order, having to use his true name to actually force the furious rilan to obey. That order didn’t keep him from giving Hava a black eye before he informed his squad that they would be leaving the next afternoon and attack that night, however.

It was a surprisingly grim night in the Phantom’s camp, despite the fact that it went on like every other night. Pocket picking was attempted, card games played, weapons cleaned and sharpened, preparations made and orders given…the group even made the trek into Noreha for the evening meal; still, there was a subtle tension among the group that was felt by all but never spoken about. Rakesh, however, had swallowed his anger and trepidation, keeping the easy and confident composure he typically held around them. It wouldn’t help the others for him to seem ill at ease before this mission, especially given their already disquiet emotions. Day followed night, and night followed day, and the Phantoms took up their positions around the edges of the Algaterra estate. It was too quiet, even for Rakesh…especially for Rakesh. The days he’d wasted arguing with his siblings had allowed the Feanturi time to dig in and prepare for the storm that wasn’t coming. It would mean that the small group of elites would be faced with anything and everything their enemy could concoct to defend themselves against a small army, doubled guards…alert and prepared ones…and a battleground they didn’t know. They couldn’t see inside the estate, after all, and the building had been abandoned for years (as far as they knew), so they only had the sketchy layout the Lords gave them, redone from memory. It was a nightmare for anyone with half a brain…and Rakesh had more than a half. It felt like…it WAS…a suicide mission at this point, and he had no choice but to obey the order he was given.

His anxiety only heightened the further they got. The walls were breeched without incident, the yard crossed easily, the windows of the building checked and opened without a single trap showing itself…not a guard had been seen…it was all too easy. Even as the group filtered into the building it appeared to be abandoned…more or less. There were signs of someone having been there, some of the dust in the building had been disturbed, leaving footprints, handprints, fingerprints, and spaces where objects had been removed visible in the thick layers of gray. The orders had been to split into pairs, so that everyone would have another to watch their back, but…now he was debating the intelligence of this idea. While they may cause more of a disturbance as a group, they would have more protection that way. Unfortunately, if they wanted to sweep the building as swiftly as possible, they would have to split off. Shaking it off he moved on with Allehi, one of the women of the group and someone he’d grown especially close to, up one of the halls and to the main entrance. With a soft click the door unlocked…someone had obviously used it recently as well, or it would have stuck slightly.

He and Allehi crept through the manner silently, setting charges to collapse the building, checking for traps, signs of life, or passages that may lead them to the elusive Feanturi that were supposed to have been here…that had been here only yesterday. As the others checked in, it seemed the ground floor and cellars were clear of any sign of traps or people. Every mind that touched his felt anxious, uncertain, disquiet…he couldn’t blame them, but he didn’t sense anyone around other than them. As he and the others made their way up the stairs to the upper two floors, he gave each member of the team a reassuring wave of emotion. He was watching out for them as best he could. They weren’t far into the search of the upper floors when he felt them. It was subtle at first, something that had him pausing and ‘listening’ to the disturbance, uncertain of just what it was he was feeling. It almost felt like the forces of his siblings, approaching from the outskirts of his senses before they were suddenly directly below them all.

…There was no way the others could have gotten into the manner without being heard or seen.

A warning rippled out to the others from him at that point, and a call to exit the building and regroup on him in the courtyard, but the Feanturi, led by the remaining Algaterras, were moving swiftly through the manner and up toward them. They had entered through passages built into the cellars that ran from the house to hidden exits in the surrounding grasslands. Having found out from one of their spies in the Morequai forces that the Phantoms were coming, and the skills of their leader, they had waited outside the reach of his senses for them to be in the building before moving swiftly in through the tunnels and up into the house to trap them at the top as others moved out the doors and ground floor windows to the courtyard and gardens inside the walls of the estate. It hadn’t taken long for the Feanturi to filter up to the upper floors through servants passages, the main stair, and hidden corridors only the family had known about.

This was how they killed the first pair of Phantom members, catching them by surprise as they passed by a seemingly seamless wall, blue and purple sabers slicing through the wood and into the men on the other side. In the chaos that followed the seven remaining members of the group and Rakesh struggled to stay a step ahead of being slaughtered, but it was difficult to do considering the greater numbers of their attackers. Only six made it out of the estate and into the grounds surrounding it alive as Rakesh and his team scrambled to set off the charges they had set along the way and escape before they went off. The Phantoms that had escaped were injured, barely making it away from the exploding building that killed, trapped, and buried the Feanturi within it, and sent the ones outside diving for cover. Rising from the debris that had been flung across the grounds, the six survivors took the opportunity to strike at their confused and scattered enemies, making the grounds of the Algaterra Estate a burning and dangerous battlefield.

All around him the blurred forms of clashing bodies and strobes of light melded together with his other senses. The smell of smoke and burning flesh reached his nose, the cries of pain and anger from friend and foe alike battered against his ears, pain and rage and fear from those around him coiled around his senses as the remains of his team not only fought to escape alive, but prove a point: Nothing would keep them down, and no one would get away with killing their companions. He moved, striking with saber, body, and following with telepathy, slamming against their pain weakened mental defenses to find access and rip them apart from the inside. Nothing was sacred, no one he came across was spared, there was no differentiation between men and women in this, no special treatment…no reprieve. The cold, calculating, and ruthlessly efficient image the Skandrannon put forth had the Feanturi he came across backpedaling, on edge and making mistakes in their fear…fueling the fire behind his eyes, a predator feeding on their fear.

On the edges of his hearing, the call for retreat was noticed and he whipped around in the direction of the cry even as the remaining Feanturi moved to run and try to live another day. He knew that face, the face of the one who had called for the escape…his father had been the one to give him that face. It was older, graying, careworn…the Algaterra who, by now, would have likely been the patriarch…would have been the Lord if they hadn’t foolishly switched their allegiances. The man had turned toward the wall as it exploded outward from one of their detonators, moving to leave…Rakesh wouldn’t have the man leaving so soon.

He wasn’t the only one moving to intercept.

Allehi had dragged herself up from under an enemy who had fallen, dead, atop her and had seen the Algaterra as well. Having seen her, the man turned only moments before she reached him and slipped beneath her strike. His silver saber angled up under her ribs on left side to cook through her lungs, barely missing her heart at the angle, and erupting through her back on the right side. Less than a heartbeat later, Rakesh appeared behind the man, slamming his crimson saber into the Algaterra’s side, both blades dieing out in time with the silver blade the man dropped. He was pulled roughly back from the woman, Rakesh filling the space between the two and allowing Allehi to slump forward against his back as those twin sabers burned to life once more and scissored through the waist of this blood traitor…adding insult to the dishonor of his death as the two halves fell away from each other.

With the remaining Feanturi escaping into the night, he had replaced his sabers on his belt and turned carefully to keep Allehi from falling. At that point she had still been alive, but her life wouldn’t last long. They both knew she wouldn’t survive and so he’d blocked the pain receptors in her mind, shielding her from the cold and agony she had been feeling. Still, he couldn’t bear to watch her struggle to breathe in these last moments, and so he did the only thing he could for her. Speaking quietly to calm her, he swiftly worked through her mind like a warm poison, finding the parts of her mind that controlled her heart, conscious thought, and other vital functions…pressing her into sleep, he would cut those ties and allow her to move on in peace. Lifting her up as he stood, he turned back toward the shambles of the courtyard and the others who were still alive...five, counting himself, though they were all injured…two of them severely.

It was time to go.

By the time they returned to his sibling’s camp outside of Noreha their numbers were down to four. It was a grim group that rode silently into the camp, many of the other soldiers there backing away from the group and the wrathful black eyes of their leader. The group was left alone, for the most part, as they built the pyres for their two friends and waited for sunset. Despite the calm and collected mask Rakesh wore throughout the day, the others knew better. That burning, black, eye color was the largest hint, even though his words and actions were as calm and even as ever. There were other tells, however, the detached tone of voice, the far away look he got from time to time, the stony silence that he worked under…even the funeral songs of their people were neglected by him, at least verbally. He simply couldn’t sing them, it made everything too real. This wasn’t to say that he didn’t ‘sing’ the songs in spirit and mind though; he would never, could never, deny his comrades…his friends and lover…the chance to join the Winds. The fire gave them the ability to reach the Winds in body, song gave them the ability to join the Winds in spirit. As the embers of the fires glowed and crackled, having completed their duty of ushering the fallen to the afterlife, and after the songs of passing had been sung, fading away into the quiet of the night, Rakesh turned his back on the few left behind and vanished into the darkness.

He didn’t travel far, appearing outside the lit meeting tent of his siblings. That rage was felt before he was ever heard or seen, his mind lashing out at theirs to sting, distract, and cause pain before he appeared inside the flap of the tent in a blur of motion, crimson, and golden light. Despite his entrance, Rakesh didn’t make a move against them. The glowering and wrathful Rilan loomed further into the tent, those lit saber humming a deadly threat that had the stunned siblings scrambling for their own weapons. Black wings filled the area around and behind him as he called them by true-name, ordering them to sit and listen well. Reluctantly they did as he lay before them his fury, the reasons behind it, and the consequences should they do such a thing again.

“Your men may be nothing more than toys to you,” he told them vehemently, “but the ones who died tonight because of your failures were not. My men are valuable, each one a key to open a different lock, each the solution to a different puzzle…each were thinking, breathing, living beings…not toy soldiers for you to play with and discard, not objects that could be replaced easily. Should any of you do something so careless again, I will slaughter each and every one of you. Mercilessly. Cruelly. Painfully. I will make you regret your actions and beg for a mercy that will never come before you die.”

With that he left them there, cowering in their seats, unsure if they wished to crawl into a dark hole or murder him for his threats. Each contacted Kevlar, but they were all too late…Rakesh had been one step ahead. Again.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Returning to the Skandrannon estate and receiving his new brand, Rakesh prepared himself to train six new soldiers up for the Phantoms. His father, however, had different plans for the 25 year old. Of course, he would still need to train new Phantoms, but Kevlar knew that his youngest son possessed knowledge that many of the other officers, trainers, and teachers that were found around his camps. He disliked what the other Lords had done (spearheaded by his eldest cousin, of course), and was slowly planning his own form of revenge…to do that, however, his men needed a bit of help from someone that had proven himself time and again to be just as deadly as any other of the Morequai Houses…someone who’s techniques were different and unmatched; someone like Rakesh. Little did his son know it, but he would have his revenge against the architects of over half his team’s deaths.

Of course, when Rakesh was ‘offered’ the new position as a teacher and trainer he obstinately refused to do any such thing. It hadn’t really been an offer, however, and so he was (once again) branded appropriately and sent off to find his new recruits to the Phantoms before beginning his duties as trainer. Displeased, but unwilling to go against his father’s orders, Rakesh wasted no time in finding the ones he needed for the Phantoms (it was easier to do now that he knew what he was looking for) and returned as instructed…after all, his father had always done what he believed to be best for him. Upon his return with the new Phantoms, Rakesh had his hands full. With a group of ten adolescents to train in every way (as well as six green soldiers), meetings, and mandatory ‘family functions’ (such as weddings, funerals, births/birthdays, and naming ceremonies) the young man found himself…overwhelmed.

While loathe to ask for assistance, he found the need to delegate some of the workload. The veteran members of the his team were more than able (and willing) to teach the new members everything they had learned, and while Rakesh disliked having to step back from the bulk of their training, he didn’t have much of a choice. At least they were in good hands. This allowed him the time necessary to beat some sense into the hormonal and temperamental adolescents that he was tasked with training. While he most certainly was not a kind teacher, Rakesh took his position seriously and passed on everything that he was able. Still remembering his own experiences in the military camps, the scornful remarks, the lashings, the nearly never ending pile of punishment chores and piles of studies tacked on regularly, he kept in mind the abilities of his students. Always aiming to push them to their limits, and past them, he wasn’t without some mercy. They were still learning, he kept reminding himself, and he had made many of the same mistakes, had thought and said many of the same things about his teachers and those around him.

Unlike the other trainers, Rakesh was a firm believer in hands on training. He regularly took his students out into the lands of Rilia to hunt and train away from the camp environment. It wouldn’t do them any good, he believed, to practice in only one environment until they became soldiers. The land differed, weather and temperature differed, plants and animals differed from region to region…keeping these retawans, these learners, sheltered would only harm them later on. Survival was taught by surviving, combat and force abilities were learned through hunting, katas and rudimentary force-ability practices, and training scenarios based off of his own experiences. Martial training wasn’t his only responsibility, however; education was not to take a back seat like it did in some of the other Morequai camps. Lessons were held both in, and out, of camp…just like everything else.

As the year progressed and the Phantoms were called away on other missions, Rakesh found that the training of his students not only constantly weighed on his mind, but was also an oddly enriching process that he found himself missing when he was away (much to his surprise). It wasn’t difficult, by now, for the original members of the Phantoms to notice the change, often poking fun at the man and earning growled (if completely bluffed) threats upon their sanity…which always had the newer members shifting uncomfortably and the ones threatened sent off howling with laughter. Nearing his 26th year, Rakesh arrived at his class’ sparring ring to find the Phantoms there, waiting, with the rest of the class. Baffled, he calmly raised one eyebrow at his team (earning more than a few snickers from the veterans) before they explained that they would be accompanying him and his class into the wilds. Why? The answer was relatively simple: not only were they curious (they being the three veterans), but Kevlar had sent a messenger to their secluded section of the camp informing them that it was his belief the class would learn more by having seasoned soldiers accompany them out for a few days. It…wasn’t quite what Rakesh would have desired, but it could have been worse.

It got worse.

The Feanturi still had their informant in Kevlar’s camp, and it didn’t take long for them to gather those willing to attack the group. Surprise was, for once, on their side and several of the Gorran lions from a near by tribe had also agreed to help. Poaching for their furs, claws and teeth was common under Morequai rule, after all; just as common as hunting and capturing them for pets or fighting beasts. Every Morequai killed was one less to hunt their people.

Several days passed as the group of learners and Phantoms hunted the lands, heading toward the forests of Hithlume. It was a lesson in how to keep up with trained elites as Rakesh led his team through the lands on foot, going through all the roughest terrain he could possibly find (for fun of course). One thing he had discovered about the phantoms (as a whole) was their love of a good challenge…and it was something he attempted to indulge them with every opportunity he had. Besides, it was something that the learners needed to get used to, being pushed harder, forced to keep up with those that were better than they were. For those at the top of the class, those setting the standards, training was a challenge but they weren’t being pushed…now they were. In the Hithlume forests, a whole new challenge was presented to the learners.

Rakesh had divided the class, and the Phantoms, in half…one veteran as the leader of each team, three of the greens went with them, and five learners to each side. Rakesh, obviously, didn’t participate and one of the other vets was kept out to allow there to be a balance. When night came the two teams were to take control of a ‘territory’ (laid out beforehand by Kesh and Valar, the other Phantom sitting out), using any and all means possible. Of course, actually killing the other team members was strictly forbidden.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

((dear lord, post three...))

It was…entertaining…to watch the two teams struggle against each other over the designated territory, until the feel of new and uninvited presences seeped into his awareness. Everyone halted their actions in the aftermath of the warning ripple that radiated out from the wolfish man. Like any protective and territorial predator, he had let whoever was out there know that he was aware of them. Swiftly the veteran Phantoms reacted to the emotional ripple, easily realizing that Rakesh rarely reacted in such a way. They herded the learners in toward their leader, the green members following the example of their superiors and gathering the teams back in as the auras of the large Gorrans slowly faded in through the darkness in blazes of color.

Through the branches of the trees, flitting images of light and sound could be noticed as the Feanturi moved into place. Rakesh didn’t even need to say a word, mentally or otherwise, for the Phantoms to know what the priority was…protect the learners. For several tense moments, Rakesh worked to latch his mind onto his victims, allowing one, then two of the Gorran drop soundlessly to the forest floor, the lights of their souls vanishing from them, before the others made their move. The forest lit itself with a near-chaotic light show of strobing colors as sabers and bodies moved and collided and worked their way around the area, attempting to gain access to the learners. Few got through the circle of Phantoms as they worked to mercilessly cut down any that came near, but they could not be everywhere at once. It was lucky for the retawans that Rakesh had pushed them daily, it allowed them to function more easily under this new stress and under these unfamiliar conditions.

More than a few times one or two of them would come up against a foe who took the upper hand too swiftly, saber or claws coming in to make the kill when a protective barrier of force energy would appear between them, giving Rakesh, or one of the other Phantoms, the moment needed to intercede and end the threat. It was one of these times, while he was focused on holding that barrier long enough for one of his men to get to the threatened student, that he was bowled over by a blurred mass of blue, flames, fur, teeth and claws. The Gorran was easily as longer than he was tall (about 7ft), and over half his height at the shoulder (standing about 4ft), with teeth and claws long and sharp as daggers. To add to the already imposing nature of the beast, it had set itself aflame, the previously bristling mane of fur running from between its ears and ending just before its hind quarters was flickering dangerously, along with the typically flaming end of its tail. To say that the creature was fearsome would have been an understatement.

At this range the lion was downright terrifying, even eliciting a healthy dose of fear from the typically unflappable rilan. As it made its intentions of ripping Rakesh to shreds quite clear, it was all he could do to keep from getting mauled. One of his sabers had been knocked from his hand, the other arm pinned by a heavy paw, and his leather armor was only lightly scaled with the lightsaber-resistant metal alloy that his people preferred…it was hardly claw or tooth resistant, but rather built for stealth and ease of movement. With the sheer size and power of the lion it was near impossible for Rakesh to fight him off with strength, relying on his ability to form protective barriers to keep himself from harm until he managed to call his saber back to his hand.

That alone was a task for the decidedly telekinetically inept Rilan, but like all other living beings, desperation and necessity proved powerful motivators. The pommel of his saber found its way to his hand, taxing him, but giving him the tool needed to push the large animal back with the threat of bodily harm or death. It allowed Rakesh back into his element, able to strike at the mind of the creature and subdue it with a combination of swift strikes meant to graze the skin and cause pain, weakening mental barriers and allowing him to better utilize his telepathy to press the beast into unconsciousness (willing or no) so that he could help drive off the rest of their assailants.

Drive them back they did, but it left the Phantoms and students present injured and exhausted. Anxious to return to the camp near his father’s estate, Rakesh pressed them to heal what they could and bind the Gorran that had attacked him. He was thankful that the forest city of Hithlume was not far from where they were, and sent two of his men to retrieve rosh from the city and a cart to haul the creature in. It took less than a full day for the two to return with the cart and the rosh, allowing the group to reach the city more swiftly than on foot and receive healing from the assassin’s guild on the outskirts of it, not willing to seek aid from Lexan. While his father Lorded over the territory as a whole, he had divided it up amongst the three older children, the eldest (Lexan) gaining control over the main city of western Rilia. No, instead he trusted the lives of his pupils and friends to the assassin’s guild. Perhaps an odd choice to one who didn’t understand the ways of the Morequai (as many of his students and the fairly untried Phantoms did not), but for those who did understand those intricacies, the choice was a sound one. The guild took care of its own, for the most part, because it was in the common interest…they were all outcasts, all looking to make a living doing what they knew how to do best, all without another place to turn. The Morequai were a solid force on the outside, but within they were little more than treacherous animals and insects, eating away at each other…degrading or backstabbing each other when no eyes were looking, and it didn’t matter who was hurt in the process. It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take…especially after the suicide mission he and the Phantoms had been sent on by his siblings not so very long ago.

The Gorran had been carefully kept sleeping by Rakesh until they reached the guild and had been able to cage the beast. Of course, that meant the sleeping sentient had woken and started a ruckus within a half hour of being locked in. The assassin had been there, however, prepared to take control of the situation and ‘question’ the beast. Needless to say the Gorran, who he found to be named Murraish, was less than pleased…not that Rakesh much cared if he was pleased or not. The next day found the large sentient tranquilized and put into a transport cage and taken back to the Skandrannon Estate.

Gorran and Man

News of the attack had reached Kevlar’s ears by the time Rakesh and the rest of his entourage arrived back at the estate. The young man had sent one of the swiftest riders in the guild ahead to tell some of the story to the Skandrannon patriarch and have a holding cell prepared for their impromptu…guest. Furious at the situation, Kevlar had been more than relieved that the group had arrived back fairly safely and alive, as well as more than a bit impressed at the capture of the Gorran, Murraish. Over the next long weeks, Rakesh had his hands full once more with the daily trials of teaching and the added attempts to pry information out of Murraish. Some wondered why he didn’t simply pry into the beast’s mind and pull the information out as to how the attack had come about, certainly he could have done so, but people still didn’t understand how he worked. There was nothing to gained by doing such a thing.

Yes he would have the information, but he would be losing a possible asset in the Gorran. After all, if it was kept alive, he would possibly have a bargaining chip and a means to other useful information…if he simply tore the information from the mind, the creature would be less than useful. There was also the fact that the beast had garnered some respect from the youngest Skandrannon. It had fought bravely, fought for what it had believed in, and it still fought against him in any way possible to keep him from getting the information he sought. It was quite the durable being, and finally he started to understand why the others of his ‘extended family’ actively attempted to hunt and capture the creatures to break them and use them as sport fighters, or get them as cubs and raise them to be guardians and war beasts.

As the weeks drew on Rakesh found himself gaining more than simple information. While, yes, he slowly pieced together the information he sought…the fact that the Feanturi had known exactly where he would be going, when and with whom (until the Phantoms put unexpectedly joined him anyway), and so they’d had to have known from an inside source…he had also begun piecing together bits of the being’s past and how it had lived before. Pieces of it’s personality came into clearer perspective and slowly he began to understand something of the Gorran. In the reverse, Murraish had grudgingly accepted the rilan’s skill as a fighter and killer…though he refused to acknowledge Rakesh as a ‘warrior’. As time passed, however, and both male’s thinking began to shift to better understand the history, life, and personality of the other, the fiery creature began to wonder if his captor was simply a victim of circumstance, and those circumstances had been what had molded him into the beast he was now, rather than the other way around.

While the information gathered from Murraish alerted Kevlar and the other Morequai to the possible spies in their ranks, Murraish had little idea of who they might be, or where. He had never known and had never wished to know, so that left him in a tricky position. For the most part, Kevlar and Rakesh’s older siblings saw little more use in the Gorran, and felt it best to put the beast to death…they couldn’t have another danger running around, after all, but Rakesh was more than a bit hesitant to do such a thing. While he had convinced himself and others (for the most part) that he still saw use in the beast being alive (and to some degree it was true), the fact remained that he wanted to kill Murraish about as much as the Gorran wished to die. Pondering the possibilities, he knew there wasn’t really a way around it…short of keeping the large male caged for the rest of his natural life, there was no logical way to allow him to live…and he informed the Gorran of this.

There was one thing, though, that Rakesh could do for the Gorran.

It hadn’t settled right with him that he should simply kill such a noble creature while it was unable to defend itself, unable to have something of an honorable death, and so he’d had one of the closest fighting arenas used for these creatures prepared. If he was going to have to kill Murraish, he would at least give the creature a fighting chance…a chance to defend itself. Not that it would be able to get away should it win; the arena was caged in, built to withstand the force of the lion like predators trying to escape back to freedom should they consider it. Confused by being tranquilized for a move, Murraish would wake later in a new cell, an armed and armored Rakesh waiting near by. No answers would be had from the man, but the appearance of him was enough to tell Murraish that he wasn’t simply going to be put down like any other animal. Rakesh had only stayed long enough to be sure that the Gorran was waking properly from the sedation before going on his way to make sure the arena was fully prepared and that his men knew what to do should something…unfortunate…happen.

This event hadn’t been meant to be public, and by most standards it wasn’t, but somehow several of the other Lords and their attending generals had arrived to ‘check on the arena’. Rakesh was furious, though he wasn’t entirely certain which reason he was more angry about. It was obvious that they were there to see blood, but whose blood they were there to see was…questionable. While they said they were quite interested in attending the death of the dangerous predator, he got the distinct feeling that they weren’t meaning Murraish. His siblings, while acting the innocent little twerps they liked to believe themselves to be, had an air of mischief about them that put Rakesh even further on edge. Perhaps it was the bad blood that was already between them, or perhaps it was the Winds warning him they had been the ones to let slip the reason the family and the Phantoms were here, but either way it found the distinct color of blood seeping into his eyes even before he had finished his final preparations. There was nothing he could do about their presence now, so all he could do was attempt to be certain his siblings didn’t have any other surprises waiting for him.

Luckily they didn’t. Murraish had realized soon enough what was going on, once he’d been let free of the cage and into the holding area behind it. The scent of old blood and the air outside hinted at little else, and he found himself more than a little anxious to fight the man who had captured him. It was this thinking in the larger beast that would prove to be the most trouble for Rakesh, making the battle that much more difficult with his inability to use the force in a more physical manner. The fact that he was able to create barriers, however, proved to be his saving grace as time and again Murraish would rebound off of them, allowing the twin blades of Rakesh to counter attack. As the fight lengthened, Murraish finally began to notice the absence of telepathic attacks, something that could have ended the fight swiftly and easily enough. A growled ‘why’ was given, the answer surprising the flaming creature to no end; “because I wished to give you a fair fight and an honorable death, and that would deny you both.” That moment of stunned silence from Murraish had been all Rakesh needed to speed in and stab his golden saber into the massive chest of the Gorran. Twice as stunned by the sudden motion and the pain that followed, the lion didn’t even think to attack in return, instead groaning heavily and wavering on his feet. Let it not be said that Rakesh was without some modicum of compassion. Instead of simply allowing the sentient to die painfully, he powered down his sabers and allowed one hand to settle against that large skull and shut down the pain, pressing down with his palm to get the beast to lay down before he fell and urging his body to sleep.

While his father and the other Phantoms may have understood and approved, the other Morequai watching most certainly were not…

Finding Beauty

Life went on not so horribly different from the routine he’d fallen into before his encounter with the Gorran; he taught, was sent away with the other Phantoms to perform various tasks, was dragged along to different meetings with his father and siblings…and then there were the occasional parties. If he was honest, and he was exceedingly honest with his father about this, he hated having to attend these social gatherings. Always the one to be isolated and questioned about his ‘progress in overcoming his handicap,’ Rakesh typically found himself seeking refuge in the darkest or most obscure corners of Ithil Palace, often using his camouflage to hide himself physically as well as molding his presence down to something negligible. Had it not been for his ability to find excellent hiding places and tendency to haunt shadowy corners, it was certain that someone would have seen him sooner or later…after all, one may be able to disguise or make their signature uninteresting to others, make them pass him over, but auras could not be hidden from rilan eyes easily.

Despite his son’s displeasure, and constant reminders of just what lengths he would go to in order to avoid detection from his ‘family,’ Kevlar never allowed the boy to shirk his duties. After all, these were the best times to try and gain the favor of some of the others, as well as find a wife; he was swift to remind his son that not all those who attended were blood relatives. Ladies in waiting attended, merchants associated with the Morequai houses attended and with them their families…their daughters. Kevlar wasn’t getting any younger, after all, and he would like to see one of his children married, be able to meet his grandchildren one day, and none of the other three were in any mind frame to attract anyone or anything that wasn’t trouble. This last argument always seemed to garner his stubborn son’s attention and grudging acceptance of his fate. In fact, it was this very argument that got Rakesh to attend the very gala that would change his life once again.

The palace, once the home of the Contess and her staff, was now the primary meeting hall of the Morequai Houses and their associates. It was in these marble halls that the gala, a celebration for the expected birth of a new child into the houses, was to take place. The marriage of these two, his cousins (more or less), had been one that had been celebrated by all the people of Ordril…and the one he’d attended only a few years prior. Like many soon-to-be grandparents, the Lord of the house had made it expressly clear that he and his wife wished to celebrate this event in the most lavish way possible…they were ecstatic about the coming child and they simply had to let that bubble over onto everyone else. Not only that, but the expecting couple had to choose grandparents, and what better way to show off the candidates than at a party? At least, that was their thinking…Rakesh could have cared less.

As expected, he stood back and allowed the milling ‘mirjhai’ that were his relations have their ‘fun.’ This didn’t keep him from being hunted down by the brightly dressed women wanting to dance with him, however. Nor did it keep the strutting and posturing males attending from hunting him down and trying to goad him into a proverbial ‘flex off’ to prove their dominance. In the midst of his attempts to avoid…everything…he did have one, rather intriguing, run-in. At all of 5’7” (rather short for the majority of women in attendance), the feisty raven haired woman had been most displeased to find Rakesh in her path as she too attempted to avoid everyone and everything except the expecting couple. They were her friends, after all, and they were the sole reason she’d agreed to come. With a flurry of peeved cursing and irritated orange eyes the woman attempted to remove the man from her path with a verbal battering ram. Rakesh, however, couldn’t help but grin and fold his arms, stubbornly refusing to budge until he had a name to go with the insults being thrown at him. It soon became painfully obvious to the, very miffed, woman that there would be no getting around it…if she wanted past him, she would have to give him some name.

So she lied.

It was unfortunate for her that the one person she had lied to that day also happened to be the one person she couldn’t get a lie past. With amused green eyes, he told her as much and chuckled lightly at the wave of consternation he felt from her as she attempted to hide her embarrassment at being caught. Oh yes, he liked this one…she was different than the others, she was special. Rakesh made sure to double that embarrassment as he bowed to her and apologized for not having introduced himself, giving her his name. Flustered, she couldn’t think of anything else to do than to admit that her name was Maiara Anaru and that she really must be going now. Having the information he sought, he politely moved aside to allow her to pass by him…this time. Rakesh had a goal now, and while he wouldn’t stalk her as he felt some of the others in the crowd were, he would not simply allow her to slip away so easily either…not that he hadn’t made enough of an impression to keep Maiara thinking about him and his actions already. She simply wasn’t certain if she liked the fact that he had, or not.

As time dragged on, Rakesh found himself goaded into dancing with some of the ostentatious women attending by his father…or more precisely, his mother through his father. There was a system to it, one he knew all too well…Auria would chat with a group of women and mentally sort out the ones she felt worthy of courting her children, this would be followed by either A) pointing them out to her children for them to go after on their own, or B) (most often used for Rakesh) point them out to Kevlar for him to convince her children. Kevlar would then approach him calmly and strike up a conversation (typically about how the evening was going), and would lead it to the point where he could ask if anyone had caught his eye as of yet. Most of the time the answer would be a resounding, and rather harsh, “no”…from this point Kevlar would do all in his power to get his youngest child to pick one of the women Auria had pointed out to him earlier and spend at least a little time with her. More often than not this would be the length of one dance and then he’d be back to lurking in the background. This time, however, Rakesh decided to change the routine…after all, his father held weight in the Morequai, and the 26 year old had learned well, by now, that such weight got results. If he wanted time to speak with Maiara he would have to get clever, otherwise she would avoid him (like all the others) the entire evening.

The third time the patriarch started this tried and true routine, Rakesh played his part…as usual…making small talk and letting his father lead the conversation in the direction they both knew it was going. No sooner had the word “so” come out of Kevlar’s mouth to form that final question than Rakesh cut him off. “You know, father, I happened across a rather unique woman this evening…” he mentioned, off handedly, and knew Kevlar was hooked before he could even finish the rest of the statement. While both men seemed quite calm outwardly, the older Rilan was as thrilled as his son was amused. Things had been set into motion, however, and with a bit of timing, some subtle hints to the others seeking her attention that equated to ‘don’t even think about it’, and a bit of string pulling, Rakesh finally managed to get the woman to settle in one place long enough to coerce her into a dance…just one dance. She had made it expressly clear that there would be no more than the one.

That one turned into two…

The two into three…

Those dances became a walk in the gardens outside…

That walk became a courtship over several months…

Finally, that courtship became an engagement and that engagement led to the trials for marriage.

For the Rilan, marriage is never taken lightly…never something done on a whim…it is a life long bond, and to ensure the pair are well matched and ready for this commitment the Rilan people had come up with a ritual of three trials for each potential pairing to face. While each set of trials differed slightly, they always came in threes: one to test the ability of the pair to work together/compromise, one to test the willingness of each to sacrifice something (be it material or in habit), and one to test just how willing each person was to put the other before themselves. Preparation was always needed, but the biggest trick of these trials was the fact that the only way for the couple in question to be prepared was to know just how far they were willing to go, just what they were willing to do, to pass these tests. Of course, it didn’t matter so much if you passed the trials themselves…they weren’t meant to actually kill people and safeties were (almost) always put in place…but rather, if you put everything you had into overcoming the obstacles set before you. If both partners could do that, the trials would be passed.

It wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

Rakesh and Maiara both knew the trials were coming, neither had any idea what they were facing, but both were determined to pass them. Nothing could stand in their way if they stood together…that was their one and only plan. Approaching 27, Rakesh had a good feel for what he was capable of, and he knew Maiara was a resilient woman (she had to be to put up with him, after all), and so he knew she would be alright, so it stood to reason that they didn’t need any further plan than the one they had. While in the long run he was correct, the protective and possessive nature of the man, as well as the fiery and stubborn personality of Maiara would not make things as simple as they hoped.

Trials of Bonding

The first of the trials was, perhaps, the easiest…at least for the librarian’s daughter. Sacrifices, the two were told, were part of any relationship and between the two sets of parents ideas of just what they could give up had been devised and decided upon. Maiara, with her fiery and free spirit, didn’t often sit idly inside the house or…anywhere…but that was what she was asked to do: follow the life and patterns of Rakesh’s mother. It was something that he apologized to her for from the very beginning, though he may have had more than one reason to do that. She knew that he held no love for his mother, but she didn’t realize the depth of his…distaste…for her. Rakesh, on the other hand, was one that stumped them time and again…what did one take from a man who lived off of little by choice? It wasn’t as if even his own family knew him well, and so they chose the only thing they could think to forbid for him and actually be able to keep him from using…

…His lightsabers.

While Maiara disliked sacrificing her freedom, Rakesh was loath to give up his lightsabers. She didn’t understand just how fully they were part of him, the full meaning when he said they were extensions of himself. Grudgingly he gave them up to his father with the adamant demand that they not be out of his possession for any purpose at any time unless it was to return them to his hands and his hands alone. Two weeks they had to live like this, Maiara beginning to see more and more why Rakesh disliked his mother, finding her more than a little vain and one dimensional. If it wasn’t nearly perfect it was worthless. Rakesh, on the other hand, adapted. While he despised having to do his jobs without his sabers, he was capable. Through his years of training he was better than average at unarmed combat from his time with Mornar and was about as good at melee combat as any of the other trained soldiers. He took this trial as an opportunity to test himself and his students in these areas. All lightsabers in his class were forsaken and any typical melee weapon was used in sparring, allowing him to better see who lagged behind in training. Other days all weapons were banned and only hand to hand used for sparring, allowing him to push their limits and abilities in the unarmed forms. The difficult part wasn’t teaching the students, however, but rather continuing his duties with the Phantoms.

While they were content to poke fun at him for not only wanting to be tied down, but also allowing them to take his sabers because of it, he was in a rather sour mood when he found out they had been ordered to wipe out a small camp of Feanturi supporters near the Mesa desert. While the camp itself was easy to overtake, they hadn’t expected to be confronted by a Hiir serpent. The 10 to 15 foot long serpents were far from sentient, but they were certainly a handful with their deadly fangs and scales dense enough to turn away a lightsaber for at least a little while. It took them the better part of an hour to put the serpent down, the Phantom’s sabers being turned away time and again until Rakesh managed to slip the end of a discarded spear beneath one of the larger scales and pry it up enough to slice into the skin below. Working at it this way he managed to create a few openings for the others to take advantage of before the giant snake finally turned on him fully, aiming to (stupidly) swallow him whole. That single motion ended the serpent as the longer reach of the pole arm, now slightly bent from its work on the scales, was shoved upward into the softer roof of the serpent’s mouth and into its brain. Forced to move swiftly to keep from being crushed by the falling Hiir, Rakesh wasn’t entirely certain if he was pleased with the fact that they’d survived the encounter (and he’d done so without his sabers) or extremely miffed that he’d had to.

Not missing the opportunity to harvest the scales of the serpent, the Phantoms returned early the next morning to find a relieved looking Maiara who finally found herself free from the clutches of her soon to be mother-in-law. She was swiftly followed by his father, who returned his (sorely missed) sabers…and informed him that the next trial, or rather the combination of the last two trials, would be held in only a few days. It had taken quite a bit of preparation, but the course was set now, and with the end in sight he was more determined than ever to see this through. Maiara, still not quite aware of the workings of the Morequai, especially when it came to Rakesh, was pleased that they could skip having two more separate trials and only have one. She just didn’t understand how vile his family could be, but Rakesh did, and he was preparing himself for the worst as the days passed.

Come the end of the week the two found themselves taken to the arena where Rakesh had fought and killed Murraish. They were separated and told to make their way through the course as swiftly as possible. Maiara got off easy, dealing with smaller creatures and puzzles befitting her knowledge, while Rakesh was given some of the most dangerous beasts to subdue or avoid and obstacle courses that could have fairly easily killed anyone not highly trained…and even some who had been, after all, most of the others in the other Houses didn’t care if the ‘runt’ lived or died, this was just fun for them. Unfortunately, Maiara reached the center first. The Morherui (the Lords of the houses) had been counting on that exact thing, and the guards waiting in the center captured the woman, subduing her and caging her before letting out the Murkil drake for Rakesh to deal with. While being in the cage kept the woman a bit more safe, it didn’t mean that the drake couldn’t still claw at her or spit its flammable mixture of chemicals at her ((ala bombardier beetle -link-)).

Drawn to her frightened cries, the man finally reached the center, drawing the attention of the drake with his sudden appearance. The mottled bronze and stone grey beast turned its large head on the newcomer, staring the man down. Even from the edges of the area Rakesh could feel the drake’s ire at being captured and held against its will. The attack was swift as the beast, its wings bound so it was unable to fly, charged him with swift and powerful bounds. It took several attempts, each closer than the last, but finally the drake managed to pin Rakesh to the ground with bruising (bordering on bone breaking) force. Knowing that if he didn’t survive the murkil would end up harming, if not killing, Maiara before the guards could get control of the beast, he did the only thing he could do to keep her safe…give her the means of getting herself out of the cage. Barely able to keep the beast from ripping him to shreds by using every ounce of ability he had in protection and telepathy, he snapped his wrist in the direction of her cage, letting the red saber in that hand fly in her direction in hopes she would be able to get hold of it. She was, but she knew that it left him with a handicap that could kill him…not that he wasn’t already in a position that kept him in immediate danger of being eaten alive. She wasn’t able to use the force for more than menial and rudimentary tasks, however, so she’d been unable to help or free herself otherwise. Cutting herself out with the saber, Maiara was given the ability to run or help the man as he slowly managed to extricate himself from the grip of the drake. All it took was getting his arm free for him to finally drive the thing away enough to scramble back and get to his feet. Unfortunately the amount of energy it had taken to keep himself from being crushed or mauled had him slower than normal as the beast rounded on Maiara instead, her choice to stay and try to distract the beast to allow Rakesh time to gain his feet putting her in danger again.

With the drake turned toward his new goal, Rakesh was left with only a few options…he took the first one that came to mind. Sprinting forward he’d jump onto the back of the creature, working to try and pin its wings with his legs as he slammed his will into it’s once more time. With a groan, and tired of the continued telepathic battering, the murkil lay down, submitting to the man. For a long moment Rakesh remained still, uncertain if the beast would try anything else, but when he didn’t the man sighed slightly. “Don’t harm her and I will see that you go free of this place…do you understand?” The groan from the beast was accompanied by a feeling of comprehension and Rakesh cautiously climbed off of the drake’s back, ready to defend or attack again should it change its mind. When it didn’t, he’d lay a hand on its head and nod to it, telling it to return to the holding area it had been in before and he would come back for it. The crowd that had gathered in the arena had watched with baited breath as the motion below had stilled to nothing, all three still alive. The Lords and their generals could only gape, dumbfounded, as the realized what had just happened…what they had just done. In fact, the only ones who didn’t seem dumbfounded by the scene below were Kevlar, and the Phantoms (who just happened to be the ones to break the silence with cheers and hoots, much to Rakesh’s chagrin).

Now with both sabers back in his possession, the murkil subdued, and Maiara safe the two moved swiftly through the next half of the maze. It wasn’t easy, finding compromises, tolerating her hard headed desire to take the lead as she followed the puzzle’s clues carved in the walls that had been put up rather than allowing him to act as the buffer for whatever else might be thrown at them. The puzzle traps set before them took both their knowledge to complete, and there were times where they would argue quietly among themselves before settling on an solution, but at long last they reached the other end of the maze, whole and safe enough.

Hard to Concentrate

In the whirl of activity that followed their passing the trials of bonding, Rakesh made good his word to the murkil, along with meeting Mornar once again. The man rarely appeared for trivial matters, but (as he said) this was hardly a trivial matter. As many times as the two had literally been at each other’s throats over disagreements, for as many times as Mornar had beaten the younger man into a ‘bow to your M’hael’ stance, for as many times as the older man had pushed his student to his breaking point and beyond, the two still had that bond which so often formed between master and apprentice. This was an important step in his former student’s life and he wasn’t going to miss it. With things falling into place, his newest set of armor was created from the Hiir scales he’d salvaged from the creature with assistance from the local armorer. It was intended to not only be functional in heavy combat, but to be designed well enough to also function as ceremonial armor.

The wedding was everything Maiara could have hoped for, and more. The weather was perfect, with a cool breeze floating through the forest that brought with it the scent of warm flowers and pine, the happiness from the two permeated the entire gathering area it seemed. He found her to be the most beautiful being in the entire world…likely the entire galaxy…and he found himself (for once) hardly able to focus on anything else around him. It was a nerve wracking ceremony, a large step (and an even larger change) in his life, but the twining of their voices in the marriage song would resound in his mind and heart for years to come, accompanied by the image of her joyful green, purple and golden eyes that imprinted itself into his very soul. For once life felt like it was settling into place for him.

As the ceremony ended and the festivities began, the twenty-seven year old Rakesh realized that nothing seemed to bother him…not the half hidden attempts to goad him into anger, not the subtle glares from across the hall, not the thoughts from other family members of how he still amounted to nothing, not the frigid emotions from two of his siblings or the complaining of his mother…nothing. With Maiara close by his side through most of the evening, Rakesh began to realize that he didn’t care about their acceptance of him…he didn’t need them, didn’t need to prove himself to them, he was content with what he had. As the evening wore on he mentioned this revelation to Mornar, who simply smiled and nodded, patting him on the back a bit. “It seems like you’ll need a new name, my friend. I believe you’ve outgrown ‘Unforgiven’ at last.” This came as a bit of a surprise to the younger man, but he took it in stride, shrugging slightly and smirking (as he so often did). It didn’t matter to him, really, if he chose a different assassins name or not…but just in case, he would think it over. “Maybe I’ll take yours, M’hael.” That earned a laugh, but it settled between them as a silent possibility.

This wasn’t the only surprise for the evening, however.

Jost and Melian had come with their daughter, Ariana, who was now almost 2 years old. Of course, it wasn’t a surprise to see them…Melian was a friend of Maiara’s and Jost was his cousin…the two had been married in Ordril and the celebration for Araian’s birth had been where the happy new couple had met for the first time. What was a surprise, however, was the question they approached the two with that evening. The little girl, attached to her mother’s leg and shy as a butterfly, nearly stole the stoic assassin’s heart as much as Maiara had, though he was careful to keep the feeling well buried. It wouldn’t do to have him fawning over a little girl; after all, he still had his pride to keep. She seemed extremely interested in him, however, constantly poking at him with her senses as only an untrained littling would. His attention shifted, however, when Jost asked if the two would be her guardians…just in case anything happened to them. Even given his ability in telepathy, Rakesh was not expecting that question.

The answer would be the same, however…they agreed readily, despite the little girl technically being blind.

It was a good thing they did, as well. Later that year the two were found dead…assassinated. Ariana had been left alone, not a hair on her head touched, and was found whimpering in her room on the day her parents were discovered. This was how the newly married couple found themselves parents before they ever expected to be, not that it seemed to be a problem. The little girl had stolen Rakesh’s heart before the first day was over. While he couldn’t, or perhaps he simply wouldn’t, admit it…he felt the strong desire to protect the little wisp of a girl because of the fact that she was, technically, blind. He knew what his relatives had done to him, how they’d treated him, and he refused to allow her to suffer a similar fate, and so life continued.

”A Man’s Home is His Kor Vothé”

Twenty-eight years. Long and trying years, full of all manner of hardships, trials, and frustrations but as he rode back from the long fought battle with his cousin against a rebellious group of Feanturi vigilantes he was happy. He was returning home to his family (small as it was) and his new class of students (stubborn as they were). The battle had been difficult, had taken energy in more ways that one…research, planning, scouting, more contact with his extended family than he cared to have, and then there had been the fight itself. The Feanturi, and the villages aiding them, had been well prepared, decently trained, decently armed and armored…it had proved to be a difficult fight, and the worst part had been that he and the Phantoms had been made to fight openly instead of through their typical subterfuge. Certainly they’d been capable enough, had all come through well enough, but it had irked him and he was more than happy to be home. He was surprised, however, to find that he had a visitor. His father, to be exact.

As he’d come up the steps to the home he’d been greeted by an excited three year old attacking his legs and clinging until she was picked up, and a very happy looking wife, followed by the aging Kevlar. His father, as always, had come for a reason…because, of course, Morequai never just visited each other without an agenda. Rakesh had, apparently, been the topic of much debate among the Lords of late and it had recently been decided that he was to be promoted at last. The rank of General would be his, he would be given a section of land (and all the villages in it) to govern and join the ranks of his family once and for all. It would happen two weeks from then, and he would take up his new residence in Met’til kor vothé, the main village of those lands.

So it was that two weeks later, Rakesh was branded with the symbol of his lands and the mark of the Generals. The ceremony following his branding was held the day after in Met’til, where he was presented to the people of the land and surrounding three villages and given the banner that would be his. It was an odd sensation for him, receiving something he’d worked so hard for but had never expected to get…then decided he was content with that. Odder still was the fact that the people there looked so down trodden. He didn’t comprehend why. Certainly life was not easy for people like these…the farmers and herders in this rocky land…but this felt different than the typical ‘hard times’ feel he got from many. Then again, he had never spent much time in one place, certainly not enough to understand what might have caused this amount of negative emotion.

Once the small family was (more or less) settled into their new home, Rakesh swiftly started his new routine by riding through the village. It was something the people of Met’til had never seen before from their previous lord, and if they had seen him out, it was typically to collect taxes or when something was wrong. For the first few months it was like this…Rakesh would go out riding through the land to the different villages, or walking through Met’til, and be met with a combination of distrust, wariness and silent hostility. It wasn’t until the winter, and a particularly bad storm season, that Kesh and the people of his lands started understanding each other a bit better.

The rain had made work in the fields difficult, the fog and snow had claimed more than a few of the animal’s lives as they misstepped or froze, children and adults both were sick…times were difficult, but he refused to allow the people suffer more than they had to. Medicine was sent for, he worked in the fields with them, oversaw the storage house reorganizations in the different villages to allow some room for the herd animals during the night for those who didn’t have shelters for them…in return he began learning that his eldest brother hadn’t given a damn about the people under his care. The knowledge frustrated him to no end and the villagers seemed to notice.

Come harvest season community barns were being raised for the animals, people from the other villages were called in to help harvest the crops for each village in turn, taxes were taken and (much to their surprise) utilized in ways they could see. The school houses and storage houses repaired the first season, smithies and craftsmen brought in, training grounds built…slowly life returned to the villages around the kor vothé (the strong stone, the ‘fortress’) of Met’til. Life was never easy for the little villages or Met’til, but Rakesh wouldn’t have had it any other way. He’d always persevered…thrived, even…in difficulty and he found the new challenges he was faced with enjoyable.

The years passed, skirmishes and missions and meetings came and went, the villages flourished and the people were fairly happy with their lot. Ariana was a constant joy to him, her open and caring nature endearing her to many of the adults of Met’til, but when he turned 30 his world changed drastically once more…Maiara was pregnant. Happy as he was, he couldn’t have been more frightened in his entire life than he was on the day she told him. Ariana had been one thing, she was already toddling around and talking a bit when she came into their home…to know that his child would be coming into the world had him uncertain of if he should be more ecstatic, or afraid.

Inviting Kevlar over, Rakesh was told that he should return to the Estate anyway, and to bring Maiara and Ariana with him. Surprised, and a bit confused, he obliged. The day they spent was long and fairly tedious for the man, but he was waiting for the right moment to break the news to his father and mother…but Kevlar had an inkling that something was up, especially the way his son hovered close to Maiara more than normal. Finally taking his son out for a ride without the women, he managed to pry the information from his typically tight-lipped progeny. Surprised, he knew he’d made the correct choice, and he said so…much to the confusion of his youngest child.

“I’ve come to the realization that Lexan, Jost and Hava are lacking the skills required for a very specific job…but that you seem to fit the requirements.” Of course, this had Rakesh curious as to just what ‘job’ it was that needed filling, and why Kevlar believed him to be the best fit for it. His mind immediately jumped to the conclusion that it would be some sort of infiltration, or perhaps a simple assassination. How wrong he was. As he questioned his father about the ‘job’ (running under this assumption), Rakesh was caught completely flat footed by what his father had in mind. “I’ve decided, Rakesh, that you are to be heir to the Lordship of our house.”

So surprised was he, that for a moment all thought was lost to him. In fact, nearly everything was lost on him within the span of a few short moments, his typically stoic grey-gold eyes burning a bright, surprised, yellow. He couldn’t understand why he would be chosen instead of going with the more typical right of birth, which would let the responsibility fall on Lexan. What did he know, what was he capable of, that they weren’t? Other than his obvious telepathic abilities, anyway. The answer he received was…odd. Apparently he had drive, common sense, and the willingness and desire to help the people that his siblings didn’t share. After the Algaterra disaster (which still made him feel murderous every time he saw them), he couldn’t say he disagreed with his father’s observation. It would mean more training, more time and effort, but he would do what was required of him. At least then maybe he could keep the three wretches on leashes and minimize the damage they did.

After all, every time they did something foolish to drive a wedge between them and the people, the more likely those people were to go running to the Feanturi…in turn, that would turn to rebellion against them, more fighting, more time away from his growing family and his home, and he wouldn’t have that. It was unacceptable. Unfortunately things were never so simple in life. His father was still well and alive and one of the younger Lords…there would be years left of his rule over the house, and while he was happy enough for this, he was certain it would bring trouble in the end. He highly doubted his siblings (much less any of the other Lords or Generals) would be happy after learning of the decision, and he had already been having dreams…dreams of fire and anger and sorrow. He just couldn’t yet make heads or tails of them.

Needless to say that the next meeting held with the Lords and Generals was…just about what he expected. The room had been filled with a silent sort of tension, the men and women there like a pack of jair hounds after learning the new information: docile and tame enough on the surface, but little more than feral animals underneath. He was reminded, much to his chagrin, of the N’jair assassins who took up that likeness perfectly…the difference was, the N’jair at least let it be known that they were murderous and self-serving scum. A few of the Lords and Generals spoke openly against the idea, but it never flared into an open argument, despite the animosity lingering in the air…it was Kevlar’s folly, after all, and if it led to the dissolving or purging of the Skandrannon House, that would also be on his head in the afterlife. Of course, Rakesh disliked the fact that none of them seemed to believe he was capable (much less worthy) of such a task, but he found himself caring less about that than the nearly mutinous feelings he was receiving from this siblings.

By the time he got to the edge of his lands he was feeling tired and ready to bite…not that this sort of mood could ever last long when he rode through the green lands surrounding his villages. The rocky, and glade dotted, hills were cool and welcoming, painted with purple heather here and there and smelled of green plants. Elyin village was nestled between the hills, quiet and charming. Norya village settled itself in the glades atop (and surrounding) another in the distance to the west, rustic and pretty as a painting. Hithuen village lay sprawled calmly along the more softly rolling lands closer to the Skandrannon Estate further north, the lush grass and heather allowing the herds there to grow healthy and happy like its people. Then there was kor vothé, Met’til, overlooking the entire land from the side of one of the foothills of the Hithlume Mountains. With glades dotting the base of the large hill and the sides of the others, the low stone walls of the cozy little homes and farms, and the kor vothé built of solid stone sitting and watching over all, it had was (to him anyway) unlike any other place on the planet. No matter what happened, no matter what mood he might be in, Rakesh didn’t believe it was possible for him to make it all the way through his lands and still feel upset in any way.

As the years had passed, his eyes had changed much with his mood…from when he was young and angry and the reds and oranges were prevalent, to his years with Mornar and then the Phantoms when they had settled more into their natural golden color tinted heavily with greys or oranges depending on his mood and the situation. These years, however, spent with Maiara and Ariana, caring for these villages and the people in them...his coming to the conclusion that he didn’t care what the other Morequai thought of him and his abilities (or lack thereof), and then culminating with the birth of Shalín, his daughter, those eyes had settled into a happy green.

How could they have been any other hue?

For as terrified as he was during the birth and during the days after, he was completely taken with the tiny child. It seemed to amuse Maiara to no end, however, that the poor man always seemed so afraid to hold the little girl. He had been bred for battle and killing…for destruction…not to cradle something so fragile, of course he was afraid! The last thing he wanted to do was risk harming her! With a bit of encouragement, from both Maiara and some of the fathers in the villages, he settled into the role and began overcoming his fear…and he was happier for it. With her birth, however, his dreams became progressively worse. Something was lingering just below the surface, but he couldn’t put his finger on what…he just hoped it was his fairly typical paranoia, but he doubted it.

Paradise Lost

Summer.

He was 32. Shalín (who was just over a year old) and Ariana (who was almost seven) were joys, the older girl beginning to show talents in unexpected way…like ‘healing’ withering plants. Maiara was more beautiful than ever in his eyes as she cared for their child. The people of his lands were happy. The fields were being harvested, the herds being shaved for their coats or slaughtered for food and other products. Feanturi movements had been minimal, but after some of the skirmishes with them that was hardly unexpected…it simply meant that he was able to spend more time at home or with his father learning further about how the lordship worked.

Things seemed right, at last, to him…but nothing good ever seemed to stay that way for long in his life.

There had been rumors of Feanturi activity on the boarders of Hava and Lexan’s adjoining lands and the fact that several of the small scout parties sent out by both had vanished without a word had Kevlar and Rakesh both concerned. The Phantoms were needed yet again, and so they were sent. For several days the squad searched the lands but the Feanturi had learned to keep their tracks minimal long ago. There were tells, however, and eventually they got ‘close’ enough along the trail to catch clear signs of them…and then finally, one night, full sight of the camp. The unease and wariness that seeped through the Winds was natural for Feanturi, and so Rakesh couldn’t have known there was something amiss. After watching them for another day he acted on the information he had, and the orders he’d been given should he find a possible Feanturi camp, the Phantoms attacked.

Not a person was left alive.

The camp was searched, only a partially shredded and burned banner from one of the other houses was found.

They had to be Feanturi or deserters…most likely Feanturi.

Lexan and Hava were notified, grudgingly, and then they returned to Kevlar…but the damage had been done. Lexan had been waiting for this news and immediately contacted the Lord of Onhiril House. It had been one of his captains (and his nephew) that Rakesh had killed, after all…well, not really…he had killed the captain, but the burned bodies of his and Hava’s men out in the fields wouldn’t tell him that, nor would the buried Onhiril captain out in the forest. “You see,” Lexan had told the Lord, “He had insisted he go out with some of my and Hava’s men in plain clothes to see if they could discover the supposed Feanturi problem on their own. They took along a folded and hidden banner of your house, just in case Rakesh came across them!” Of course, after hearing that, the Lord was furious…Lexan, however, couldn’t have been more pleased.

That fury from Onhiril, and the feigned anger of Lexan and Hava, was brought to Kevlar without any hesitation…and word was spread about through the Morequai fold of Rakesh’s betrayal. Already unpopular, especially after his being named heir, the Lords and their families unified against the youngest Skandrannon son after being given a good enough reason to do so. If he was reckless and unpredictable enough that this could happen to one camp of men, who’s to say it wouldn’t happen again with others? They were careful to keep this thinking, and the meeting that swiftly followed because of it, from Rakesh’s awareness…but retribution would be swift enough in coming…and his dreams were now far more frighteningly clear.

Unwilling to wait for the axe to fall, Rakesh acted on his dreams. If they were foundationless fears he would be lucky, but something had been itching at his mind, even before the fire in his nightmares became more clearly defined. Betrayal, envy, loathing…his siblings hadn’t forgotten his words to them after the Algaterra mission, and the fact that he had been named heir only added to the grudge they held against him. He had a bad feeling that they were going to be the cause of some trouble very soon, and so he left to find a place in one of his villages to hide his family in until he could move them to someplace more safe, or settle whatever trouble there might be. To Norya he went, to a man named Belias and his wife who he had helped before and was on good terms with. They were more than willing to take in the three he wished to shelter, all he had to do was get them there…and that he had no trouble arranging. Or he wouldn’t have, if the Lords, their Generals, and Mornar hadn’t gotten to Met’til before he had.

Catching up to them on the road, he was almost afraid he was too late, but the fact that the town lay in quiet unease instead of a flurry of activity due to a fire had him keeping his calm far more easily. That didn’t last for long, however. They had come with a purpose…he was to be punished severely for his actions against the Onhiril captain and the small camp of Lexan and Hava’s men that were with him. Rakesh attempted to argue against them, to tell them what had happened and the only things that had been found, to explain that the captain in question hadn’t been among those that had died, but he was silenced by his father’s use of his true name and the look of utter disappointment in his eyes. There would be no changing the punishment…but what that punishment was going to be, it still hadn’t been made clear.

Forcing Rakesh to lead them up to his home, the man was finally told. As Mornar dismounted his rosh, he gave his former apprentice an almost apologetic look as the younger man was told to do the same. The Phantoms would be disbanded, he would no longer preside over the lands he had been given and the symbol he wore for them would be marred, his house would be burned and, in retribution for the death of his nephew, the Onhiril Lord had demanded that Rakesh be made to kill his own family. Too in shock to do more than bristle angrily, the dieing scream of the Kesh’s rosh had Maiara hurrying outside and brought the whole plan into effect. Even as he told her to run, his name was used against him once more. Attempting to resist he could feel his world falling apart around him even as his wife ran inside to get Shalín. If he somehow managed to resist long enough to let them get away, the Lords would kill them…likely after torturing them. Pulling out his sabers he moved to strike out at the nearest rosh and the general atop it, but was met only with another order and a combined wave of persuasion. Between the two even he stood little chance…and he found himself turning to go inside as if he were in a dream even as he warned Ariana, wherever she might have been, to stay far away from him and the house through the Winds.

How he wished he were in a dream…wished that this was simply another nightmare. Even as he came up behind Maiara, he had tears in his eyes. Turning her around, he could sense the terror, see it in her eyes, and he wished that she would move more swiftly than him. Shalín was the first to die, her young life easy enough to end gently as he worked through her mind. The dagger that buried itself in his chest only just missed his heart and lung…but why? Why hadn’t she killed him? He knew she could feel him prying into her mind, even as he struggled to keep himself from damaging her physically…why didn’t she kill him and save herself?! He didn’t understand…he couldn’t understand. Comprehension was beyond him at this point. Even as he begged her to forgive him, to kill him, to at least fight back, she simply let go and allowed him to work through her mind like poison. As her presence faded and she grew heavy as her body gave out, he could only sink down with her. He couldn’t tell her enough how much he loved her, or apologize enough, but she somehow seemed to still love him and forgive him. Again he didn’t understand…he could never forgive himself for this, how could she?

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

((...I'm so sorry sparrow. Last post I swear))

As he held her in his arms even after she had died, he felt a part of himself break.

Shattered.

When he didn’t return after ten minutes, Mornar was sent in to find out what had happened. Not two steps were taken toward the door before he appeared again, bleeding from the stab wound and looking as if he hadn’t a piece of his soul left in him. Taking pity on his student, the assassin set fire to the house himself as a satisfied Lexan and Hava took hold of their youngest sibling and roughly led him to the square and the confused, frightened and angry people of Met’til were gathering to see what was going on. The sight of Ariana being taken up by Onhiril’s lord was the last straw and he struggled against the hold his siblings had on him, but there wasn’t much fight left in him. Rakesh was warned that if he struggled further Ariana would pay for his actions as the rest of his family had. Immediately he had stilled, allowing them to recite the full punishment to the people before forcing him to his knees and using one of their sabers to burn a line through the brand he’d gotten to show his rule over these lands. As Lexan and Hava let go once again, Rakesh only moved enough to sit back on his heels.

Finally…finally it seemed they had broken him.

Jost wasn’t certain if that was a good thing.

Kevlar doubted it was.

Mornar knew it wasn’t.

The Hand of Sorrow

The next few years passed as if he were in a fog. With the Phantoms disbanded, Rakesh was little more than an assassin once again…a lapdog of the Morequai, kept on a short leash. Where he was sent, death was certain to follow…sometimes only a person, sometimes several, sometimes many…but he seemed to have lost the ability, the will, to care. As long as he did what he was told Ariana would be safe, that was all that mattered…that was the only thing that drove him. It was something that those who had known him hated to see, and constantly attempted to pull him out of, but how do you help someone who’s been through so much? That was a question they weren’t easily able to answer, so they simply attempted to keep him sane.

The news of bodies left dead in obvious, and sometimes gruesome, ways spread like wildfire through the territories that they were found. Women and children were not spared, often falling victim to similar fates…even when they weren’t meant to be harmed at all. After all, in Rakesh’s mind, he’d already killed true innocents…these strangers were of no importance to him. Occasionally he even enjoyed the work through that fog of numbed emotions. Some of his targets had beautiful wives, lovely daughters, sturdy sons…the sleeping monster in him found some measure of pleasure in forcing the target(s) to watch him kill their children or other loved ones before their very eyes. At least they weren’t forced to murder them with their own hands. No, Rakesh was quite capable of doing that for them.

As he slipped and slid down that dangerous slope, he became more enthralled with the science of twisting women to his will. It was both sad and amusing to him how, with a few words and (if necessary) the right amount of persuasion, he could get most of them to do what he wanted…depending on the situation, of course. It wasn’t fool proof, but given his previous experiences with women of the Morequai court and how fickle and needy they were, most common women were exceptionally easy to manipulate. Then, of course, he took that ‘science’ to work with him. Obviously not quite so simple, but he enjoyed the task more and more…especially since it got such a rise out of his targets. It required far more mental manipulation, but the weak minded ones did his bidding rather easily. It was the ones that struggled that he enjoyed most, however. Their minds and emotions were always more enticing when their fear washed against him. In the end they rarely did what he wished and he was forced to kill them outright, but it got the righteous fury, or sniveling pleading out of his targets that he wanted to hear. Certainly it took him a bit longer than it should have…put him at more risk of being caught…but he didn’t particularly care either.

…Not even when the Morequai lords berated him and threatened to kill him…No, the only time he really cared, really started listening, were the times that they threatened Ariana. Kevlar was far from pleased the more he heard about his son’s exploits from the other lords. His youngest son was heading straight for worse trouble if something wasn’t done soon. Not only would he have the Morequai to answer to, but the Sul’an guild as well. Neither of which were foes you wanted to trifle with, so he turned once more to his friend and Rakesh’s former teacher.

Again Mornar was forced to play mentor, talking to (and beating up) his student in turns to get him to see some sense…unfortunately, Rakesh wasn’t the most responsive student this time around. Most days he had little emotional response to what Mornar said or did. Outside of ‘work’ for the Morequai, he kept his opinions to himself, remained reserved, avoided contact with others, spoke when spoken to and not much more. Even walks with his former mentor were kept short and silent on the younger man’s end. Spars were similar most days…until finally, Mornar decided he’d had enough. Playing nice wasn’t cutting it, so he dug in and started to rip open old wounds, working to break through Rakesh’s guard and use physical pain to emphasize his point.

Slowly, over the next few weeks, the anger started to arise once again. It was better than no emotion at all…anger could be worked with, worked through, but not feeling anything? No one could function properly if they didn’t feel some sort of emotion outside of those short periods when he was completing an assassination. Finally, Mornar decided to go to Kevlar…something had to be done or there would be absolutely nothing left of the man. Much to his chagrin, Kevlar had to agree, and during the conversation between the two Mornar relayed the facts from Rakesh’s point of view and his own guesses as to what had happened with the supposed slaughter of the Onhiril captain. As much as the Skandrannon Lord wished his friend’s words didn’t have the ring of truth, they nagged at his mind, telling him that he had likely made a very big mistake in believing his two eldest children and the Onhiril lord over his favorite son. The damage couldn’t be undone, however, nothing could bring the dead back to life. Fortunately, there was one part of Rakesh’s former life that wasn’t dead.

Ariana.

It took a lot of convincing, and some skilled lying, to get Onhiril to even consider allowing Rakesh to see the girl, much less actually allowing it. He did allow it, however. It had to have been the best, and worst, decision the Lords had made…allowing him to see the girl. It brought something back to life in the man, perhaps several somethings, but one thing was certain…he didn’t allow it to show then (not much anyway), but he was furious. The little flower he remembered was thin, quiet, constantly afraid; her eyes had been covered with a coarse strip of cloth simply because she was ‘blind.’ The Lord Onhiril spoke to her harshly, belittled her, purposefully said things to hurt her…and Rakesh knew. Oh yes, he knew…and Mornar knew he did…and Kevlar knew he did. An excuse was swiftly found to usher the Lord from the room.

Better not to risk something ‘unfortunate’ happening.

During the short time they had together, Rakesh did all he could to assure Ariana that he hadn’t wanted this to happen. He could feel that she was upset, had been led to believe that part of this had been her fault, and that he hadn’t wanted her around him any longer…and it built up the fire that licked at his insides even as he tried to assure her that it wasn’t the case. Everything they wouldn’t say, everything they would say that would be lies, everything he felt about her, that he saw in her…he told her, tried to get her to believe on her own. No tricks. He wasn’t sure how, but somehow he would make this right again…they only had each other left, and he wouldn’t just stand by and let things continue the way they had been. Not any more.

Clever girl that she was, she seemed to believe him…or at least wanted to believe him. That had to count for something, and he wouldn’t let her down. Somehow he would find a way to get her back, even if it required smuggling her away from the planet or killing every person that stood in his way. He would have preferred the latter, were it not for the fact that it would likely kill him in the process. Rakesh didn’t have time to ponder this, however, as she presented him with something…very odd. The little mirjhai she held out to him was one that had become attached to her after she rescued it from becoming lunch for a particularly hungry (and mean, she recalled) cat. Hriff, as she’d dubbed him (he liked making that sound, after all), had been her friend for the past year or two, but he constantly stole things and sometimes it got her into trouble. She didn’t want to get rid of him, but she didn’t want the Lord (or the staff at the Lord’s estate) to hurt him or kill him either…and since it seemed her uncle needed a friend, she thought that it might be best if he took Hriff instead.

What else could he do but accept the little draconic lizard?

In the two years after the visit with Ariana, Rakesh began to feel some semblance of himself return and a bit of that dismal fog seemed to lift from around him. That wasn’t necessarily a good thing. With his mind focusing on the truth of the situation around him, and the condition of Ariana, he began testing himself…and them. His fire certainly returned, and he questioned his orders once again. The assassinations were done swiftly, smoothly, cleanly, in record time…and often before they were ever expected to be done. Each time he would return from one, he made no attempt to hide the fact that he, not them, was the true predator...and a very capable one. One that, if they were intelligent, they should never turn their backs on. Occasionally guards, soldiers, or (if he was feeling daring) captains would vanish, or die mysteriously of heart attacks or suicide. Once again Rakesh refused to back down when his siblings or the other Generals attempted to intimidate him or ‘put him in his place’…even leading to an outright brawl with Lexan, who was finally forced to put his younger brother down by drawing a saber.

It was nothing overly conspicuous, but it had the Lords wary of the gun they’d unwittingly loaded and primed. Something had to be done before the lost full control of the man. They had to dangle yet another carrot and get him out from under their feet at the same time…hopefully get rid of him permanently. Some wished to call for his death outright, while others (Kevlar in particular) wished to simply give him Ariana back and appease the beast that was waiting, biding it’s time. And so the split occurred. Give Rakesh the girl and nothing would stop him from calling in favors from the Sul’aan assassins and unleashing fury upon them all…don’t give him the girl and risk the same thing, or worse. Give him the girl and possibly subdue the man’s temper and get him back under control…don’t give him the girl and continue using her as a bargaining chip to hopefully get him back under control.

Or they could just kill him and get it over with, and that, to many of them, was beginning to look like the best option.

Carry On My Wayward Son

Kevlar, in a last ditch effort to save his son’s life, asked that they at least seek council from the man who had trained Rakesh for a good many years. That, at least, seemed to get a positive (or what counted as positive) feedback from the Lords. When the aging assassin was called he was certainly of the same mind set of Kevlar…let the man live…but he knew Rakesh, and he had more than a few guesses about his siblings. Giving Rakesh Ariana would only set up another disaster, both for his former student and for the Morequai…especially if someone (he didn’t name names) decided they wanted revenge on the younger man and decided that Ariana would be the best way to go about getting it. However, keeping her away from him with nothing but short term goals wouldn’t do either…it would only frustrate and anger him further and then he would take action. Chances were that action would not end well for the Lords.

“Send him away, if you want him out of your way. Give him a task that will likely be unachievable, but will seem as though it has the potential of being accomplished…and use her as a reward.”

“And what seemingly impossible task would we send him on?”

“Send him after the prophesized Contess…this Talau Firians woman. For all we know their line died out thousands of years back. It’s a big galaxy out there, Herui, even if she does exist it may take him his full lifetime to find her if the Blinding doesn’t kill him first. Use Ariana as your prize should he succeed and I promise you that he will go. He will go grudgingly, but he will go and then the rest of the galaxy will be forced to deal with this man-possessed instead of you. Just please, for love of the Winds, don’t kill him.”

It seemed logical enough. It seemed safe enough. The fact that Mornar had suggested it, then gone so far as to promise that he would go, meant that it was more than likely to work. They were convinced. So, after speaking with his old mentor, Rakesh did indeed grudgingly leave Rilia feeling more exiled than anything else. It was the truth, more or less, and he knew it…but he was hell bent on his task now. He would find this woman and return with her…then there would be hell to pay.

RP Sample:

Almost pensively he watched the milling crowd of beings in the small café and the street outside its windows from behind slate grey eyes. So many odd shapes and colors and sizes of sentients in even more styles and colors of clothing. While the clothing may not have been so difficult to acclimate himself to, the sheer variety of the ‘people’ both disgusted and entranced him. Upon first discovering this plethora of life with his own eyes rather than just books or the popular media, he had been a bit…culture shocked. Of course, he’d been very careful to keep that fact hidden, but it didn’t change the facts. Turning his attention away from the masses and onto the…food…that had been served to him, he suppressed a grimace. Another inhale had the scents around him assaulting his nose again. The state of this polluted planet was disgusting. As bustling as it was with life, the planet itself was dead and that soured him to being here, but he had been doing research…a lot of it…too much of it, it felt like…and this place seemed to be the central hub of the jedi.

It had seemed the best place to start, considering that (at one point) the Feanturi and Jedi had exchanged ideas. If there were any progeny of the ancient Contess still lurking about the galaxy that weren’t too watered down, chances were they could have ended up here. The problem was getting in. He’d taken a leisurely stroll along some of the interconnected buildings not horribly far off from their temple and taken the place in. It was practically bristling…something he found odd for supposed peace keepers. Ah well, he supposed even peace keepers were warriors at heart…the Feanturi were proof enough of that.

Even as he picked at the food before him, he found yet another reason to dislike being away from Rilia. Some part of him wondered just what was in this concoction, but the more intelligent part of him decided it was likely best that he didn’t know. So much for trying new things. M’hael, let it be said now that you are not always the person to listen to when cultural advice is concerned. It wasn’t as if he had a choice, however. What he had from Rilia needed to last. He had no delusions that he was going to be out in the galaxy for a while. Grey eyes wandered with his senses as he picked at his food once more, feeling less hungry by the moment, and not necessarily because he was feeling full. A small chirruping sound from his belt pulled his mind away from the plate of…minor mystery…and to the little tan head that poked out from his largest belt pouch.

--You must be joking, Hriff…this can’t possibly smell appetizing, even to your skewed sense of smell.-- Apparently it did, however, since the diminutive drake pushed the pouch open and clambered half out of it, sniffing in the direction of the table top. Looking away from his tiny companion, Rakesh gave a sigh and cut a bit of the meat (and the unfortunate ‘sauce’ covering it) away from the rest of the portion before holding it out for the little creature below the table. It was immediately, and greedily, snapped up. A happy puff of smoke and another chirrup and the little creature made no attempt to hide the fact that he very much wanted more. Only half grudgingly did Rakesh grant him more…after all, he wasn’t keen on eating what was left (though he would simply so he didn’t end up hungry later), so he may as well give the little mirjhai what he wanted. It would keep the food from being wasted anyway.

As he handed his little friend another bit of the meat, Rakesh’s attention was drawn to a new arrival in the café. A woman by appearance, though he wasn’t quite certain if the red, white, and black personage was what he would consider appealing or not. She had the feel of someone who could use the Winds’ power, however, and that might lead him in the direction he wished to go. Another testament to patience and dedication. When he’d first stepped foot in this place he had wondered why he would be guided here as he had been, even the scent of the greasy food here had nearly driven him off, but there she was…a person who looked, and felt, distinctly jedi. It was a good thing he made a constant habit of keeping his presence pressed down to something that easily blended in with the mass of beings who had too little an ability to feel the Winds to be given a second glance by the order of do-gooders. Now, how to get close to her and begin his work?

A short, yet sharp, nip at his finger had him glaring down at Hriff in irritation, the little being tilting his head cutely and blinking up at him as patches of his scales and skin streaked with an apologetic steel blue. --If you want to apologize, make yourself useful.-- That head tilted a bit more at the thought from his partner, but a moment later he was clambering out and onto Kesh’s lap, flicking his tail and rustling his wings expectantly. --Good.--

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

OMGOMGOMG! HE'S FINALLY DONE!

[sparrow]

Where be personality section?

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

O.o ohwtf?! *searches in word*

I....*gape*.....*groan*....dear lord.....it'll be up and everything shifted shortly

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

personality....

....added.....

Icanbedonenowplz?

[sparrow]

Okay, a few things before I start...

First, since I'm doing this in pieces and commenting as I read, I may at times ask a question that is answered further down in the bio, in which case just point me to the right section.

Second, while I've skimmed the Rilan app, I might have questions about them.

Third, when you make changes, could you also mark them in your reply post. If it saves me from having to reread the entire thing more times than necessary, I can approve this quicker.

Now that that's out of the way...

First Rilan question: What's the deal with the shifted/secondary form? As far as I can tell, they look like normal humans most of the time, and then they shift and their faces change and wings pop out. How does this shift take place? Do they snap their fingers and it happens? Or is it a long involved process where they have to eat a lot first and then spend a week in pain and new bone and muscles structures form and take shape? Or something in between? Seems like a pretty clear case of shapeshifting...

((okay, looks like you give an example later. Definitely looks like shapeshifting...))

Most of the attention the boy received as a child was from his older brothers (Lexan and Jost) and sister (Hava)

I thought you said he was the third child. Or is he really the fourth?

put him down in as many ways as could be counted on both hands and feet…at least.

Coulda just said twenty-one.

Having mastered Shii-cho in his 16th year

The Shii-cho mastery happening at around age 22 applies to all characters. This applies to Vreem, Jace, Visari, and yes, Rakesh.

Speaking of training, for someone deemed such a failure by just about everyone, they sure spend a lot of time and resources in training him.

And I thought I used a lot of ellipses...

with limited telepathic abilities he’d had to get creative...he could focus on one small stone

The word you're looking for is telekinetic.

Speaking of the assassination, seeing as you spend some time saying how much of a threat the telepath is, how come she doesn't sense Rakesh when he's doing that whole mental domination from a distance thing?

Once inside everything was locked down…muscles, speech, even breathing as the Unforgiven unceremoniously ransacked the man’s mind. What he found shocked him to the core…

This man…this Feanturi…had once been a part of the Morequai families.

…and he had a son who had been taken off world by some strange Feanturi emulators called “Jedi.”

Did he just use drain knowledge? And he's not even Knight level yet.

Anyways, first post read. Time for bed. The fact that I haven't really said that much so far is a good thing.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

Jan 25, 2011 6:39:18 GMT -5 sparrow said:

Okay, a few things before I start...

First, since I'm doing this in pieces and commenting as I read, I may at times ask a question that is answered further down in the bio, in which case just point me to the right section.

I know the bit

Second, while I've skimmed the Rilan app, I might have questions about them.

I'll do what I can to answer them, I have a lot still unwritten on the app (either one) that I have in my head.

Third, when you make changes, could you also mark them in your reply post. If it saves me from having to reread the entire thing more times than necessary, I can approve this quicker.

will do

Now that that's out of the way...

First Rilan question: What's the deal with the shifted/secondary form? As far as I can tell, they look like normal humans most of the time, and then they shift and their faces change and wings pop out. How does this shift take place? Do they snap their fingers and it happens? Or is it a long involved process where they have to eat a lot first and then spend a week in pain and new bone and muscles structures form and take shape? Or something in between? Seems like a pretty clear case of shapeshifting...

((okay, looks like you give an example later. Definitely looks like shapeshifting...))

1) Rilan have been accepted since Prime, and again on here....both times, I believe, by Jenno himself.

2) Rilan can NOT shift into anything other than that ONE form. They do not gain mass, or lose mass. They do not suddenly become unrecognizable as who they are every other day of the week. They cannot suddenly go "I feel like being a box today" and become a Box-O-Rilan.

3) Not all Rilan can shift on a whim. Most never learn how, and even if they do learn, most never WANT to. It's painful, energy taxing, and meant as a last ditch effort for survival. To everyone who has asked me about making a Rilan character I tell them this: The Shift is a sort of natural defense mechanism...sort of like animals have. When they're in extreme danger, animals either puff up to look bigger, go into a hardened shell, curl up into a protective ball, reveal claws...ect...to try and get them out of that dangerous situation. Rilan are no different in that way. The Shifted form was (once) their original form (hence the name 'true form') but now it is a sort of defense mechanism to help give them a 'leg up', so to speak, in surviving.

Now, with that said...

Yes, SOME Rilan learn to be able to control when it happens. For those who do, it can be dangerous and (as is the case for Rakesh, though I think I only mentioned the disease briefly) can sometimes lead to a shortened life span if done too much. It will always be energy taxing to do, and because it's painful (who really WANTS wings ripping out of your back?) most who learn choose not to do force it. To control it takes focus and a LOT of will-power, one must also be at least a force sensitive. MOST Rilan will not learn it. A FEW Rilan are born unable to shift either way, most of these would have some form of disability.

If you need more information, ask, but it shouldn't be a problem.

Most of the attention the boy received as a child was from his older brothers (Lexan and Jost) and sister (Hava)

I thought you said he was the third child. Or is he really the fourth?

Yeah that was a typo. He's the fourth. Tis fixed now.

Coulda just said twenty-one.

Could have, but didn't. Not going to either.

The Shii-cho mastery happening at around age 22 applies to all characters. This applies to Vreem, Jace, Visari, and yes, Rakesh.

"At 16 he was ahead of his peers in Shii-cho, so he began to put forth more effort into learning Ikali and his force abilities."

Speaking of training, for someone deemed such a failure by just about everyone, they sure spend a lot of time and resources in training him.

Everyone EXCEPT his father. That will become more clear as the story goes on, but since the beginning Kevlar was the one that believe in Kesh. Kesh is trained in his father's camp, so what dad says goes. Think of it as Kevlar giving his son a chance to prove himself without anyone else really catching on.

And I thought I used a lot of ellipses...

*shrug*

The word you're looking for is telekinetic.

Stupid typos, thanks.

Speaking of the assassination, seeing as you spend some time saying how much of a threat the telepath is, how come she doesn't sense Rakesh when he's doing that whole mental domination from a distance thing?

Telepath yes. Sense, I didn't mention. It wasn't her mind that he was attacking, and unless she has good sense it's a sort of '6 to one, half a dozen to the other' kind of deal.

Once inside everything was locked down…muscles, speech, even breathing as the Unforgiven unceremoniously ransacked the man’s mind. What he found shocked him to the core…

This man…this Feanturi…had once been a part of the Morequai families.

…and he had a son who had been taken off world by some strange Feanturi emulators called “Jedi.”

Did he just use drain knowledge? And he's not even Knight level yet.

No, that wasn't the intent. He didn't take the knowledge and it wasn't so buried that someone of only decent skill could get to it. He simply didn't care if what he did hurt the man in the process of looking for it. Perhaps that's your interpretation of the drain knowledge skill, but not mine. To me drain knowledge has always been taking everything they come across that they find useful, literally pulling them from the mind. I sort of liken it to robbing a house (much as i hate to mention the occurrence lately)...what kesh is doing is breaking and entering: getting in, looking around, upturning everything, and 'seeing' or 'reading' things, then leaving and taking nothing with him. Drain Knowledge would be breaking and entering...plus literally taking everything you want. Both can be equally damaging, the difference would be if the person actually keeps the memories or not.

Anyways, first post read. Time for bed. The fact that I haven't really said that much so far is a good thing.

[sparrow]

Jan 25, 2011 6:39:18 GMT -5 sparrow said:

No, that wasn't the intent. He didn't take the knowledge and it wasn't so buried that someone of only decent skill could get to it. He simply didn't care if what he did hurt the man in the process of looking for it. Perhaps that's your interpretation of the drain knowledge skill, but not mine. To me drain knowledge has always been taking everything they come across that they find useful, literally pulling them from the mind. I sort of liken it to robbing a house (much as i hate to mention the occurrence lately)...what kesh is doing is breaking and entering: getting in, looking around, upturning everything, and 'seeing' or 'reading' things, then leaving and taking nothing with him. Drain Knowledge would be breaking and entering...plus literally taking everything you want. Both can be equally damaging, the difference would be if the person actually keeps the memories or not.

Umm... no. Drain Knowledge doesn't involve removing information from someone so that they no longer have it. This is pretty apparent looking at some of the canon incidents of Drain Knowledge use. For example, when Reven used the skill on that Ratakan dude to learn their language, the Ratakan didn't suddenly forget how to speak. When Jerec used Drain Knowledge on Rahn, the latter didn't suddenly forget that Morgan Katarn knew where the valley of the Jedi was. In these cases, Revan and Jerec were able to extract specific pieces of information instead of getting a flood of everything because they were both very skilled in the art.

The main difference between drain knowledge and vanilla telepathy is that normal telepathy allows one to sense what another's thoughts, what they're currently thinking. To reach into their memory you need drain knowledge. If we use your robbing a house analogy, with telepathy you can climb over the garden fence and mess around with the lawn and the garden gnomes. But to get inside the house you need drain knowledge. It's on a whole different layer.

His breath was still creating fog in the air when the sound of hooves approaching echoed down the narrow canyon toward him. Quietly he waited outside, his presence concealed and the light bent around him, allowing his form to fade away without a shadow. Sure enough, the form of Mornar atop his blond rosh, followed by the dusky chestnut and black of his own, appeared around the bend in the canyon. Slowly that camouflage faded away, the light around him returning to its normal path and allowing the older assassin to see his student, even if he couldn’t feel him. Rakesh was ever wary, even around his own mentor, rarely (if ever) allowing that concealment to fall from around him…and if he did, it was only enough to be felt at close range. In the mesa’s, however, there was a greater chance of running into one of the Feanturi upstarts that were still fighting their losing battle. If one happened across his path, he wanted to have the upper hand.

He begins his assassin training at around age 17, and constructs his sabers at 20. Somehow in those three years Kesh has learned two specialized skills, Camouflage and Stealth. And that's in additional to all the other assassin stuff he's been studying. Too much, too fast.

Another Rilan question: Are all Rilans force users? Having read up to the Phantom part the bio, it seems that the only two weapons that have been used so far are lightsabers and explosive charges. Is the entire race a race of pseudo-jedis?

Hmm... I'm still trying to figure out what I think about the Phantoms/Algaterra storyline. On one hand it's a pretty cool story. On the other, it seems that every character involved other than Rakesh and his phantoms gets hit hard by the Incompetence Ball, like the Algaterras who prepare a clever ambush and reduce Kesh's forces to half strength, and then get routed immediately afterwards. Or the siblings, who seem to be only motivated by the desire to spite Kesh, instead of say, advancing the war effort or gaining personal glory by routing the enemy after "rescuing" Kesh from certain defeat, or even "arriving too late to save him." Okay, I understand that the point of this is to paint the Morequai as a bunch of manipulative backstabbers, but it seems a bit heavy-handed at times. Anyways, still thinking about this part...

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

Feb 6, 2011 6:57:28 GMT -5 sparrow said:

Umm... no. Drain Knowledge doesn't involve removing information from someone so that they no longer have it. This is pretty apparent looking at some of the canon incidents of Drain Knowledge use. For example, when Reven used the skill on that Ratakan dude to learn their language, the Ratakan didn't suddenly forget how to speak. When Jerec used Drain Knowledge on Rahn, the latter didn't suddenly forget that Morgan Katarn knew where the valley of the Jedi was. In these cases, Revan and Jerec were able to extract specific pieces of information instead of getting a flood of everything because they were both very skilled in the art.

The main difference between drain knowledge and vanilla telepathy is that normal telepathy allows one to sense what another's thoughts, what they're currently thinking. To reach into their memory you need drain knowledge. If we use your robbing a house analogy, with telepathy you can climb over the garden fence and mess around with the lawn and the garden gnomes. But to get inside the house you need drain knowledge. It's on a whole different layer.

Well considering I don't tend to read oodles of SW fic. or the wookiee for fun, it's simple to not know canon incidents. I study it as I come up on it. So then yes, unintentionally, I did give him that early on. He would have it anyway later on since he's obviously meant to be more than proficient in the art and has been doing as much as possible up until (and through) his training as possible to hone those skills.

His breath was still creating fog in the air when the sound of hooves approaching echoed down the narrow canyon toward him. Quietly he waited outside, his presence concealed and the light bent around him, allowing his form to fade away without a shadow. Sure enough, the form of Mornar atop his blond rosh, followed by the dusky chestnut and black of his own, appeared around the bend in the canyon. Slowly that camouflage faded away, the light around him returning to its normal path and allowing the older assassin to see his student, even if he couldn’t feel him. Rakesh was ever wary, even around his own mentor, rarely (if ever) allowing that concealment to fall from around him…and if he did, it was only enough to be felt at close range. In the mesa’s, however, there was a greater chance of running into one of the Feanturi upstarts that were still fighting their losing battle. If one happened across his path, he wanted to have the upper hand.

He begins his assassin training at around age 17, and constructs his sabers at 20. Somehow in those three years Kesh has learned two specialized skills, Camouflage and Stealth. And that's in additional to all the other assassin stuff he's been studying. Too much, too fast.

Honestly, I'd forgotten that I'd written camouflage into his bio. When I use him in IM he's never had it, only relying on his concealment, so I can edit that out. Let me know if it crops up anywhere else. I'll just have him skulk in the darkness of the cave for a bit

Another Rilan question: Are all Rilans force users? Having read up to the Phantom part the bio, it seems that the only two weapons that have been used so far are lightsabers and explosive charges. Is the entire race a race of pseudo-jedis?

No, not all Rilan are force users. A majority of them are force sensitives at least, many are trained in it to some degree (especially those in the military forces when possible) but no, not all use sabers. At one point in his bio, Kesh -does- use a spear because he, like the others in the camp he was trained in originally, were taught to use the weapons at least a bit. Sev, one of Lat's rilan, actually isn't force sensitive at all and works for the republic army...he uses a slug thrower rifle that his father used on Rilia...so the do have slug throwing weapons there as well...and cross-bows and daggers and axes, ect, ect...just cause you don't see them, doesn't mean they aren't there. In trying to keep this bio as short as possible (because yes, it could have been longer) I've only tried to highlight the major points of his life...many of those involve the nastier more 'pseudo-jedi' aspects of Rilia.

Hmm... I'm still trying to figure out what I think about the Phantoms/Algaterra storyline. On one hand it's a pretty cool story. On the other, it seems that every character involved other than Rakesh and his phantoms gets hit hard by the Incompetence Ball, like the Algaterras who prepare a clever ambush and reduce Kesh's forces to half strength, and then get routed immediately afterwards. Or the siblings, who seem to be only motivated by the desire to spite Kesh, instead of say, advancing the war effort or gaining personal glory by routing the enemy after "rescuing" Kesh from certain defeat, or even "arriving too late to save him." Okay, I understand that the point of this is to paint the Morequai as a bunch of manipulative backstabbers, but it seems a bit heavy-handed at times. Anyways, still thinking about this part...

This was done with Rugs' okay, and it had to keep in line with Kvothe's family history, Rakesh and his phantoms were just a means to an end. I stated that it was done with Rugs' blessing in the bio so there should really be no question. As for Kesh's siblings...heh...they're bastards. No nice way to put it. For just about any other family (or extended family) member they would have gone to 'help' (if grudgingly so)...but Rakesh they would just -love- to see squirm, hurt, bleed, mourn, suffer miserable defeats, and eventually die a painful death...preferably at their behest...but since they're still semi-loyal to daddy dearest, they figure the next best thing is sending him off to what they were certain would be a miserable death at the hands of the Morequai, and no one would be the wiser about what really happened. Unfortunately, that obviously backfired on them.

that one section changed to:

His breath was still creating fog in the air when the sound of hooves approaching echoed down the narrow canyon toward him. Quietly he waited inside the dark shadows of the cave's mouth, his presence concealed. Sure enough, the form of Mornar atop his blond rosh, followed by the dusky chestnut and black of his own, appeared around the bend in the canyon. Slowly he strode out of the shadows engulfing him allowing the older assassin to see his student, even if he couldn’t feel him. Rakesh was ever wary, even around his own mentor, rarely (if ever) allowing that concealment to fall from around him…and if he did, it was only enough to be felt at close range. In the mesa’s, however, there was a greater chance of running into one of the Feanturi upstarts that were still fighting their losing battle. If one happened across his path, he wanted to have the upper hand.

also considering some rephrasing of his armor to better fit what I actually ended up giving him, since he has two sets of armor now: a light armor and a heavy armor....just...so little space left

[sparrow]

Well considering I don't tend to read oodles of SW fic. or the wookiee for fun, it's simple to not know canon incidents. I study it as I come up on it.

I don't either. But it's always good practice to look something up before talking about it.

Honestly, I'd forgotten that I'd written camouflage into his bio. When I use him in IM he's never had it, only relying on his concealment, so I can edit that out. Let me know if it crops up anywhere else. I'll just have him skulk in the darkness of the cave for a bit

It appears here, during the ball where he first meets his wife.

Had it not been for his ability to bend that light around him, it was certain that someone would have seen him sooner or later…

This was done with Rugs' okay, and it had to keep in line with Kvothe's family history, Rakesh and his phantoms were just a means to an end. I stated that it was done with Rugs' blessing in the bio so there should really be no question.

Well, I guess the point I was trying to get at but didn't actually in the last post is that despite the battle being referred to later as a "disaster," the fact is that Kesh won a resounding victory, despite being heavily outnumbered, despite having fell into a trap and being ambushed, and despite being betrayed by his allies. It marks at trend throughout the bio where the sense is that Kesh is always right and everybody else is always wrong (unless they're listening to Kesh, or his allies).

And that sorta segues into another point. This is the dark jedi section, and as I was reading the bio, I kept wondering why this character was in this section. Kesh is always good and honorable, shows mercy towards his enemies, is a loving family man, and exhibits none of the scheming and backstabbing traits of apparently every other Morequai. The only "evil" things that he does in the entire tale are using Drain knowledge once on some guy he ambushed, and killing his family (but he was being telepathically influenced at the time, and lacked free will).

I'm not saying that every dark jedi needs to be of the puppy-eating variety, but when it comes to tagonists, these characters are all firmly on the ant side. There's a certain something separating dark jedi from gray jedi, and I'm not sure if this bio has it.

You wrote in Kesh's personality that he has "sadistic" and "criminal" tendencies, yet these traits don't seem to show up in his bio at all. In fact, several times you emphasize how merciful and respectful Kesh is, and even though he occasionally makes big threats and mean speeches, it's because he's calling out his evil, incompetent siblings and demonstrating how much more awesome and honorable he is.

Don't get me wrong though, overall this is a good bio with an interesting, if overly long, story. I don't really have any specific comments on the last two past since it was actually a pretty good read. Most of the issues are more of the general overarching feeling variety.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

Okay, easy enough edit on the camo...thanks for finding that O.o

Had it not been for his ability to find excellent hiding places and tendency to haunt shadowy corners, it was certain that someone would have seen him sooner or later

**

As for why he's here and not in Grey jedi is, honestly, he's fickle....very. Any time I've used him, he can either be the mentor type or a much more sadistic type of man. I know it doesn't come across well in the bio (even I wasn't sure how to put it in more and didn't want it to drag on further than it had already or I'd have gone more in depth about his past after his family died) but he really isn't above trying to put the fear of God into people, torturing them (and liking it), or killing anyone and everyone who gets in his way if at all possible...he simply has his own honor/moral code, something that developed while away from his family with Mornar and the assassin's guild. Quite honestly, if he'd been born into any other circumstances, he would likely have been a good candidate for the Feanturi or (if another race/born off planet) the jedi or mythics. He wasn't, however, so traits from both his own personality, his youth, and his family have made him on the cusp of dark jedi and grey. The real deciding factor to put him here and not anywhere else was that he's desperate to get back to Rilia and get Ariana back. In that, he's willing to do anything, and anyone who gets in his way he'd rather use, kill or torture (perhaps a bit of all three), and anything else necessary to get back there. It simply felt more 'dark jedi' than grey. (side note: he showed mercy to one woman and a lion...the lion was an exception, and he has a soft spot for women...he doesn't like to kill them -most of the time- so he tries to make their deaths quick/painless as possible...again, most of the time.)

Well, I guess the point I was trying to get at but didn't actually in the last post is that despite the battle being referred to later as a "disaster," the fact is that Kesh won a resounding victory, despite being heavily outnumbered, despite having fell into a trap and being ambushed, and despite being betrayed by his allies. It marks at trend throughout the bio where the sense is that Kesh is always right and everybody else is always wrong (unless they're listening to Kesh, or his allies).

It was a disaster, despite the victory...at least to him and the Morequai (both for different reasons)

Kesh -- they killed most of his men...that alone was a disaster to him, never mind the other circumstances that made his skin crawl
Morequai -- two fold, depending on their stance: 1) the whole thing was botched, both because of the Generals (Kesh's siblings) didn't do their part, and because the feanturi got away --and/or-- 2) because Rakesh and his little group weren't killed in the process.

The whole "kesh is right, everyone else is wrong" thing wasn't intentional, believe me...but there's one thing I've got to say about the character: the older he gets, the more careful he is to have a back up plan for everything and tries to think of all possible outcomes (favorable or not). Because of this he seems to always have a strategy in place to get himself out of bad positions or gives him some idea of what -might- happen. However, get him angry/riled up enough (a tall order) and he's bound to slip up. (that doesn't mean that he doesn't believe he's always right, though lol)

[sparrow]

he really isn't above trying to put the fear of God into people, torturing them (and liking it), or killing anyone and everyone who gets in his way if at all possible

Except with the exception of one event in his teen years (which you say is when he hasn't completely formed his "honor code" yet), none of these appears in the bio. On the other hand, the bio goes out of its way to show the opposite side of Kesh. I understand the argument that he would get darker after leaving Rilia, but right now he isn't dark at all. His sadistic tendencies seem to be close to [url=http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/InformedAbility[/url]Informed Ability[/url] territory. We get plenty on how he's an honorable goody two shoes, but there's no counterpoint.

I know you don't want to add more events to the bio, and you don't have to. Many of the events currently in the bio can conceivably be altered in such a way where he comes across as a bit less heroic and made more antiheroic (or even villainous). For example, with the whole lion thing...

Let it not be said that Rakesh was without some modicum of compassion. Instead of simply allowing the sentient to die painfully, he powered down his sabers and allowed one hand to settle against that large skull and shut down the pain, pressing down with his palm to get the beast to lay down before he fell and urging his body to sleep.

It's stuff like this that makes it hard to believe that Kesh has a sadistic side, as the whole point of this passage is to show that he doesn't, that he's a compassionate soul. Or what about his motivations for even fighting the lion in the first place? It could be because he wants to give the lion a chance to die in combat because Kesh is so honorable. Or it could because Kesh wants to show off his strength to everyone else and make a statement that he isn't one to be messed with. It could even be both.

In addition, the part after his family dies would be the perfect place to show a bit of Kesh's ruthless and sadistic side. It might make the part where all the other Morequai are scared of Kesh taking action against all of them a bit easier to swallow.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

I've been considering your request a lot the past few days (much to my chagrin) and I'm going to have to draw a line here.

I know you don't want to add more events to the bio, and you don't have to. Many of the events currently in the bio can conceivably be altered in such a way where he comes across as a bit less heroic and made more antiheroic (or even villainous). For example, with the whole lion thing...

I doubt you understand how massive an undertaking that in itself would be, sparrow. 'Rewording' would lead to 'rewriting' for me and as it is I'm literally at the max characters for each post, not to mention I don't -want- to reword it.

Just because his bio doesn't fit the standard 'dark jedi' mold doesn't mean he -isn't- one and I'm not willing to change it so that he does fit the mold. My intent in writing him was never to be "omfgIwanttokilleverythingunderthesunIhavesomuchhate!" but to have a dynamic character who was dark, but also had the ability to have some kind of personality/tendency to do things that DJ don't normally do. I was, quite simply, tired of cookie cutters (Sick to death of them), but still wanted the ability to be as evil as I wanted with the man. Grey simply wouldn't cut it there.

The lion thing? done with intent and purpose...not only did he not desire to kill the beast horribly, but he wanted to piss off the people who were making him do so publicly for sport. Also...scared to death? No...I've never said they were scared to death of him...simply wary of him because their people started missing. When his family first dies he's in shock at the fact of what he'd just done (most anyone would be) and then after that, he was docile (toward the morequai anyway) because they had leverage over him (namely Ariana) and he was more afraid that they'd do something to her than they were of him going against all of them. They basically wanted an excuse to get him to continue doing what they wanted him to do and they got it in her...so he did. He didn't start openly acting out again (even if it was only against their military men and none of the direct leaders) until he saw Ariana again and talked to her. After that it was a matter of "okay do we let this dude and the assassins he knows possibly try to kill us or do we give him the girl or do we kill him and get it over with?" All that was stated in the bio itself. Only reason Kesh didn't -actually- end up dead was because Kevlar talked them into sending him away. If they were -really- terrified of him, they wouldn't have allowed that, but killed Kesh anyway and tied up that loose end.

So no, Sparrow, I'm sorry, I'm not willing to make any more changes unless they're actual faults and not artistic choice.

[sparrow]

There was one thing, though, that Rakesh could do for the Gorran.

It hadn’t settled right with him that he should simply kill such a noble creature while it was unable to defend itself, unable to have something of an honorable death, and so he’d had one of the closest fighting arenas used for these creatures prepared. If he was going to have to kill Murraish, he would at least give the creature a fighting chance…a chance to defend itself.

he wanted to piss off the people who were making him do so publicly for sport.

Yeah, they were really forcing him to do it.

But that's not the point. And it's not about breaking the standard dark jedi "mold," whatever that is.

What's the actual fault here, you ask? Each section requires certain things out of their characters. A civilian can't be a mafia boss. A military character needs to actually be part of a military. A Jedi can't be a murderer. And a Dark Jedi can't be someone who is good and righteous all the time.

There are many Gray Jedi characters who are good, and some that are bad. I'd try to name some, but I figure you know them better than I do. But a Jedi can't be someone who is only potentially good, and a Dark Jedi isn't someone who is only potentially bad. They have to actually be those things.

That's all I'm asking for, really. Kick the Dog. Demonstrate his ruthless side a little bit. Show a splotch on his otherwise shining armor. Because if he can't demonstrate some darkness in four posts, then maybe he really is Gray.

Four posts. Do something dark. That's it.

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

well....you'll have to wait a while. I don't have much time to put into posting/reviewing my own section, let alone reread -everything- and figure what to tweek (or add, which is likely what i'll end up doing) so......don't hold your breath for a swift reply. I may just end up putting him into GJ since i have the room/ability to do so (only aun in there and she's about youngling level). Depends really on what goes on IRL and if I want to change him at all

[Talau the Ever-Lurking]

okay sparrow, don't know if i'll be doing more or not, but i added a few paras to the final post of the bio under 'hand of sorrow'

[sparrow]

That'll do.

<Approved>

Though as a little reminder...

Maybe I should put this in the notes...

Lightsaber: dual sabers

Color:
Virlé: red-black (such a dark red it ALMOST doesn’t look red)
Añar: dark golden (not yellow exactly, but darker and with minimal glow)

Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho 5
Makashi 3
Niman/Jar’kai (Rilan version, called “Ikali,” is practically identical) –
>>Sub-form Backhanded 4
>>Sub-form Dual Wield 5

Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:

-- Drain Knowledge
-- Concealment

Telekinetic: 2
(only able to lift/move small objects, rather shakily)
------------------------------------------
Telepathic: 8
------------------------------------------
Body: 2
(only able to use the force to speed his movements and cushion landings, but nothing else)
-------------------------------------------
Sense: 7
-------------------------------------------
Protection: 6
-------------------------------------------
Healing: 1
(this doesn't count natural rilan ability)
--------------------------------------------
Destruction: 0

Attributes:

Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 7
Speed: 7 (8 in shifted form)
Leadership: 6

Unarmed: 6
Melee Weapons: 5
Ranged Weapons: 1

Force Attunement: -3