Post by justusdantes on Feb 28, 2008 23:16:53 GMT -5
Name: Justus Dantes
Alias: (Sith): Darth Phasma
(Jedi): Jedi Knight Niqolie Starwind
Race: Human
Age: 24
Height: 6'1"
Weight:191 lbs
Appearance: Only a handful have ever seen his true face, for he constantly wears a mask that resembles that of the Mandalorian helmet’s face plate. Yet underneath his dark robes and various masks and face coverings, he has deep green eyes and short dark hair. His features are soft, and make him appear caring. There are no marks on his face, but his body is riddled with scars. He wears a dark set of hardened durasteel Mandalorian made armor under a set of black robes.
Birth place: Corellia
Faction: Dark Jedi
Rank: Sith assassin
Bio: Born to a woman of almost no income on Corellia, he would constantly look to the stars and wonder of his father. His mother spoke of him in such high regards as being a Mandalorian warrior who knew no fear. The stories had given him passion to study all that is Mandalore. Struggling on the planet of Corellia to fit in with people he did not deem worthy of his company (For he considered himself a Mandalorian). Studying the ways of the Mandalorians, he became disenchanted with his mother, and the fact that his father had not come to raise him when he reached the age of three. In fact, he had never come back at all for him. This made him angry, and he started to plot vengeance against his own father. On this thirteenth birthday, he broke into his mother’s security safe, and discovered the helmet and armor of a mandalorian. Believing it to be his fathers, he donned the armor and decided that it would be his duty to fulfill his verd'goten (Rite of passage into adulthood). Sneaking away with all the money he could gather from his mother, a life time savings worth of credits, he stowed away onto an outbound ship.
He had decided that the destination would be to his heritage home world, Mandalore, where he would find his father and get his revenge. He felt it was the only true way to become a man. His hiding skills were undoubtedly some of the best that a boy his age could have learned. Yet as well as they were by standards of the boy, onboard the ship he was noticed. He was noticed not because of he made a noise or that he was even was slightly visible, but because his presence left a strong sense of anger into the force. When the pilot of the ship took notice, he confronted the boy. The boy was terrified of the man, whose presence was both dark and sinister. Yet the man had nothing but kindness in his face. It was at this point that the man realized that the boy was scared not of himself, but because the boy was sensitive to the force and could feel the dark side energy the man radiated. The man revealed himself to be a Dark Lord.
By the time the boy had been discovered, the ship was in the depths of space. The man told the boy to stand. The boy did as was commanded, yet it shocked the man to see the boy clad in an over sized set Mandalorian crafted armor. The man, cunning and always an opportunist decided that the boy may have his uses. Though it was not his intent to have anything but a servant. The man held the boy a prisoner a year, keeping him in a cell and continuously beat him. The man demanded the boy gave into his will, and if he did so, the beatings would stop. The boy, believing firmly in his Mando roots, refused to do this. This made the man curious how far he could push the boy before breaking him.
The torture was immense, painful both mentally and physically. The man twisted the boys mind and body to its limits and beyond. Yet the torture stopped being a way to break the boy and ended up becoming more of a way to mold the boy. This was an unseen outcome, but the boy had started to rely upon the force to survive. Neither the Man nor the boy had seen this outcome, nor did either understand how the boy was doing this. One thing was clear to the Man though, a boy that could withstand torture for a complete year would be more than worthy of training.
The easiest part of the training was making the boy see the power in the dark side. The boy loved it, and would love the way that it run its course through his entire body. The boy often found himself sitting alone at night in the dark, just relishing in his anger and hatred. For the man who was teaching him it, for his father for leaving him, for his mother for letting his father leave. He hated them, he hated Corellia for not being Mandalore and he hated the Mandalorians for not coming to find him. He hated them all, and his hate become stronger and stronger.
The training became more intense, as the man refused the boy food or water until he could no longer sense the boy in the force. He refused the boy sun light or sleep before the boy could disappear from the force and become a shade, a shadow of himself. This nearly cost the boy his life, leading him to near starvation. Yet he used his pain, his hunger, his ever growing hate for the man who was training him to over come and to vanish from the force together. He pulled his force presence in on himself making his presence seem small in the Force, and was able to retain it there. This was the first step to him become a shadow.
Yet at this development, the man decided that if the boy could endure a torture like this and over come it, it was time to teach him the ways of the Saber. Yet again the Man refused the boy any nourishment except the minimal. Yet on top of that, he refused the boy a light saber of his own. Instead he insisted that the boy first learn the ways of a vibro-dagger. The man himself used other weapons, to make sure that the odds were always in his own favor. The frustration and anger just continued to boil in the boy as he was fruitless in his assaults. They Man had said to the boy, if he landed a single hit that this training would be over. It took six months for the boy to come close to a hit, and this was on limited water, and even more limited food. The boy was now a shell of his former self, depending completely on the man.
This is exactly what the man had wanted all along, he now could mold the boy without hesitation or resistance. The boy had learned that the only way to best the man would be to follow his orders and allow the man to finally train the boy to the most extremes.
They focused strongly on light saber combat, the man teaching the boy how to deliver a killing blow without a second of hesitation. This didn’t come difficult to the boy, who had been prepared to kill since he had left his home as what he considered a child. The fact of the matter is that the boy had enjoyed learning to turn his rage and anger into a killing art, as he learned different styles with his light saber. Even when the man would leave the boy, the boy would train and train with his saber, skipping days of sleep to focus on the lessons and peace his saber could give him. It was this saber that he finally trusted, for it was his and he could do whatever he wanted with it. His only distaste of it, was that the man who he now called master, had told it that the saber once belonged to a Jedi Knight, hence its green blade.
Yet he loved his Saber, he loved that it had grown to be an extension of his own arm. Thus when his master had told him that he must now build a saber of his own; the boy was filled with pain and sadness. Upon feeling this, his master was actually pleased. He informed the boy that he would not have to give up his first light saber, and instead would learn how to wield two of them. This filled the boy with a passion that his Master had desired, wanting the boy to give into his emotions. The boy now had been filled with a fire, a passion to make a new friend. That friend was his new light saber. To the boy’s surprise, his master had even given him a crystal for the new light saber in which was the same crimson red that his master’s saber.
After the creation of the boys saber, he was more resolved in his training than ever. He became skilled in the art of his sabers, and this development had pleased his Master. Once his master felt that the boy had gained a good set of skills, the master decided that it was time for the boy to wield the force as he does his light saber.
The boy became enchanted with the ideas of being able to throw and control the force as he had been doing. He found himself striving for something he had not found himself striving for before. He was now trying to best his master, and prove to himself that he was his Masters equal or better. He knew he was younger, and that he could be faster. He knew he was stronger, and the force could guide his closest friends, his light sabers.
At the leaps and bounds the boy was making with his skills, his master decided that it was time to train the boy for a mission that would be a life time worth of devotion. That mission would be to be an assassin of the Sith. For the first time in their relationship, the Master told the boy his plans for the making the boy into a Sith Assassin. Another thing for the first time in their relationship happened. The boy smiled. Now at the age of seventeen, he had not smiled in years.
With knowledge of his future assignment, the boy showed even more determination in his quest to seek the skills necessary to accomplish this job. The skills came to the boy quick, and the Master had no problems in teaching the boy how to use the skills. Yet the next part of the boys training was to teach him the mannerism of the Jedi. The pure idea of this made the boy spit. He despised the ideas of the Jedi, and hated everything about them. The thought of learning how they acted and would do things in a certain situation disgusted him. How could they truly expect him of all people to follow the ways of the Jedi.
Yet his Master implored him to see the meaning behind this. It was not to punish him but to make him a ghost among the Jedi. It was so the boy would be able to walk among them, be part of them. He would be able to learn their secrets, tell the Sith their secrets. He believed he would be able to assassinate Jedi, to take his revenge on them for their beliefs.
So at this, the one who was once a boy was now made into a man, a man who knew nothing of love or compassion. He had instead become a man who knew only emptiness and pain. A man who lived in a world that he was not known. He was a man that was no longer a man and had become an ideal. He was an ideal of the Sith, and in being an ideal, he had found his place. He had found his calling. His hate was now part of who he was, and it would drive him to exterminate everyone in the galaxy. One slit throat at a time. It would be through his own power, his own strength that he would finally fulfill his verd'goten.
Every brokar (Beat) of his heart would be to achieve this. The man who was once the boy belived he had become what the Mandalorians called would call a'denla, adenn, kandosii, mirdala, and most of all he had become darasuum (vengeful,merciless, ruthless, clever, and eternal). The man once a boy would use the dark side to make himself a legend, something people would fear. The man would find his strength within the force, and use it to destroy all those who opposed him. He was no longer an 'ad' (Son), he no longer had a buir (mother). His aliit (clan) was the Sith, his soul was dha (Dark/evil). The Man who was once a boy knew the other mando would call him a dar'jetii (Fallen Jedi), Siit (Sith) or dar'manda (One who has lost his Mandalorian ways. No heart or soul), but the man knew better. He knew in his ka'rta (heart) that he would always be a Mando'ad (Child of Mandalore). He would prove it, he would destroy the galaxy to prove it. He would put the old Mando'ad saying to the test.
Gar aruetyc jetiise lise nau'ur ca ti jetii'kade, a'a'denla Siite hibira atiniir darasuum." (You traitorous Jedi can light up the night with your lightsabers, but the vengeful Sith learn to endure forever.)
So the man, who was once the boy, had become vengeful. He would endure forever. The man who was once the boy would become a ghost, a shade, a shadow. Only one name fit him, Phasma. The ghost assassin of the Sith.
Lightsaber: Dual (two singles)
Color: (Sith) Dark Red, Forest Green
Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho – (Moderate)
Makashi - (Moderate)
Soresu (skilled)
Ataru – (Moderate)
Shien – (skilled)
Niman (Moderate)
- Sub-form Jar-kai (Highly Proficient)
- Sub-form Backhanded (Highly Proficient)
Juyo – (skilled)
Double Bladed Lightsaber Combat – (very little training)
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
Sense (Youngling and up)
-----------
1 2 3 (4) 5
Telekinesis (Youngling and up)
-----------
1 2 3 4 (5)
Force Leap (Youngling and up)
-----------
1 2 3 (4) 5
Force Speed (Padawan and up)
---------
1 2 3 (4)
Healing (Padawan and up)
---------
(1) 2 3 4
>>Healing Trance (Knight and up)
-------
(1) 2 3
Farsight (Padawan and up)
---------
1 (2) 3 4
Beast Language (Padawan and up)
---------
(1) 2 3 4
Affect Mind/Mind Trick (Knight and up)
-------
1 2 (3)
Force Camoflage (Knight and up)
-------
1 2 (3)
Telepathy (Knight and up)
-------
(1) 2 3
Malacia (Consular, Guardian, and Sentinel and up)
----
1 (2)
Sever Force (Knight and up 'Killing Blow only')
-------
(1) 2 3
Force Lightning (Consular, Guardian, and Sentinel and up)
----
1 (2)
Attributes: (Be reasonable)
Physical Strength
--------------------------
1 2 3 4 5 (6) 7 8 9 10
Intelligence
------------------
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 (9) 10
Speed
-------------
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 (9) 10
Unarmed
-----------------------
1 2 3 4 (5) 6 7 8 9 10
Melee Weapons
-----------------------
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 (10)
Ranged Weapons
-----------------
1 2 3 4 5 6 (7) 8 9 10
Leadership
----------------
(-1) 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Force attunement (Have you been following the light path or the dark path?)
-------------------------
(-2) -1 0 1 2 3 4 5
Sample Rp:
It was a small mediation chamber in which he was kneeling in. There was an ambient light that surrounded the room, but even that was tinted dark blue, and was almost drowned out by the black void that the room was painted in. He had been in this room for three days now, lacking food or water. He found that when he fasted, his answers became clear to him. Answers; which was exactly what he needed now. He had not moved now in over fourteen hours, in knees folded under him as he leaned forward on them. His eyes fixed on his two friends, his light sabers.
He had heard many people giving names to their sabers, but he had no desire to. To name them would be to give them something that he truly did not have himself. To name them would be to give them an identity, and they were not to be identified other than being extensions of his arm. It was hard enough that he had to keep his red bladed friend secret while he was under cover as a Jedi. Not to mention the pain it caused him when he had to leave them both alone so he could ‘mingle’ with the regular people. Just the thought of having to do that drove his meditation into a frenzy of rage.
In his rage, the room shook. It caused his possessions that had been hanging on the wall to fall. There was his Mandalorian armor that he had grown his life in. That armor that he still felt he had not earned. The armor that belonged to the man who had fathered him and that he would have to hunt down in order to become a true Mandalorian.
With it fell his dark robes, the robes he had lived half his life in. He loved them, for if his light sabers were his friends, his robe was his home. He could even wear his dark robe when he posed as a Jedi, and no one thought any different of him. That was his home, that was where he belonged.
The final one of his possessions to fall was his mask. The mask that voided his identity and life. The mask that he had learnt to wear when he was being tortured. That mask represented everything he was. It was his other persona. It was his hate. It was his soul. He knew that mask, but he had no idea of his own face. His face was unfamiliar to him. It wasn’t his. He needed the mask, and the mask needed him. They were one in the same, they made up the sith Assassin that was now meditating in his chamber alone.
Right now he could not dwell things of that nature, nor the hate he felt for the Jedi. No, now he had to deliver on his promise to his master, a man that Justus knew no name for other than Master. It went both ways, as his master did not know his apprentice’s name, nor did his master have a desire to know it at the same time. For his master to know his name would be for his master to recognize him as a living being. Justus was not stupid enough to believe that his master thought him anything but a weapon. As Justus knew that to know his master’s name would grant Justus power over his master. It was a power that Justus could and would use against his Master if give the chance.
“Hell” he thought to himself, breaking his moment of silence for a moment to open his eyes and peer forward into the darkened room. “I even call myself by that name in my head, Justus. How disgusting that I still use the name given to me by that sleeper of a mother I had. I must remember that when I gain the strength to shed the tyranny of my Master to hunt her down and slit her throat. I shall enjoy watching the blood leave her throat. Watching those crimson rubies run from that wound. I will leave my friends behind for it, for they are not meant to be wasted on trash like her. No, she deserves a Vibro-blade at best.”
Finally tilting his head up from its previously perched place, he peered into the view port with his dark jade eyes. He wanted to see the outside, he wanted to see something to hate on the outside world. To view something that wasn’t locked inside his head. “Open view port” he whispered just loud enough for the computer to respond. His voice, though filled with pain, was soft and calm.
The view port opened, showing the blackness of space. The view port showing the void space that stretched on endlessly. Justus let his eyes wander between the flickering stars. In his mind he cursed them all, wanted to see them all blink out so that space would mirror the way he felt. Void, lifeless, and empty. The thought of seeing all those stars go out at the same time sent a sort of joy into his heart. The same joy he felt as he watched a victim bleed out their life blood. The same joy he had when he would watch a dying man struggle to breathe his last breath. It caused Justus same euphoric joy that came at the sound of a death rattle. He licked his lips at the thought.
That is what he needed; he had finally figured it out. He had come to the realization of what he needed to do in order to find peace. He must slaughter everyone he can. He must spread fear and hatred. Justus would find these Sith members his master had told him of, and he would help them fulfill their ambitions.
This brought a smile to his lips. Curving those cupid bow lips into a look of pure malice, reaching down to his chest he pulled lose a cord. The cord ripped away, and the dark shirt he was wearing fell to the floor around him, covered in his own blood. As it fell, the small spikes that had lain inside of it became visible. His body was dripping his own blood as the wounds from the shirt poured red. He looked down at them, how his blood appeared black in this ambient light. He reached his hand down and let his fingers slowly run through the streaks of blood. Taking a good amount of it, he runs it along his lips. His tongue darts out against his fingers, tasting the sweet copper of his own blood. What is left on his fingers he runs along his lips, coating them in a blanket of his own sweet, dark blood. His eyes move back to the view point as he just smiles that evil smile, his eyes turning cold and calculating.
“The taste of my blood compares nothing to the taste of those who do not share the passion of the Sith. My friends demand to taste their blood, and fear not my friends. My beautiful glowing friends, we will suckle the blood of our enemies. Together we will my loyal friends. We shall do splendor, won’t we?” His words echo in the room, as just continues to stare out the view port. Soon, he would get to his destination. Then the fun will truly start.
Alias: (Sith): Darth Phasma
(Jedi): Jedi Knight Niqolie Starwind
Race: Human
Age: 24
Height: 6'1"
Weight:191 lbs
Appearance: Only a handful have ever seen his true face, for he constantly wears a mask that resembles that of the Mandalorian helmet’s face plate. Yet underneath his dark robes and various masks and face coverings, he has deep green eyes and short dark hair. His features are soft, and make him appear caring. There are no marks on his face, but his body is riddled with scars. He wears a dark set of hardened durasteel Mandalorian made armor under a set of black robes.
Birth place: Corellia
Faction: Dark Jedi
Rank: Sith assassin
Bio: Born to a woman of almost no income on Corellia, he would constantly look to the stars and wonder of his father. His mother spoke of him in such high regards as being a Mandalorian warrior who knew no fear. The stories had given him passion to study all that is Mandalore. Struggling on the planet of Corellia to fit in with people he did not deem worthy of his company (For he considered himself a Mandalorian). Studying the ways of the Mandalorians, he became disenchanted with his mother, and the fact that his father had not come to raise him when he reached the age of three. In fact, he had never come back at all for him. This made him angry, and he started to plot vengeance against his own father. On this thirteenth birthday, he broke into his mother’s security safe, and discovered the helmet and armor of a mandalorian. Believing it to be his fathers, he donned the armor and decided that it would be his duty to fulfill his verd'goten (Rite of passage into adulthood). Sneaking away with all the money he could gather from his mother, a life time savings worth of credits, he stowed away onto an outbound ship.
He had decided that the destination would be to his heritage home world, Mandalore, where he would find his father and get his revenge. He felt it was the only true way to become a man. His hiding skills were undoubtedly some of the best that a boy his age could have learned. Yet as well as they were by standards of the boy, onboard the ship he was noticed. He was noticed not because of he made a noise or that he was even was slightly visible, but because his presence left a strong sense of anger into the force. When the pilot of the ship took notice, he confronted the boy. The boy was terrified of the man, whose presence was both dark and sinister. Yet the man had nothing but kindness in his face. It was at this point that the man realized that the boy was scared not of himself, but because the boy was sensitive to the force and could feel the dark side energy the man radiated. The man revealed himself to be a Dark Lord.
By the time the boy had been discovered, the ship was in the depths of space. The man told the boy to stand. The boy did as was commanded, yet it shocked the man to see the boy clad in an over sized set Mandalorian crafted armor. The man, cunning and always an opportunist decided that the boy may have his uses. Though it was not his intent to have anything but a servant. The man held the boy a prisoner a year, keeping him in a cell and continuously beat him. The man demanded the boy gave into his will, and if he did so, the beatings would stop. The boy, believing firmly in his Mando roots, refused to do this. This made the man curious how far he could push the boy before breaking him.
The torture was immense, painful both mentally and physically. The man twisted the boys mind and body to its limits and beyond. Yet the torture stopped being a way to break the boy and ended up becoming more of a way to mold the boy. This was an unseen outcome, but the boy had started to rely upon the force to survive. Neither the Man nor the boy had seen this outcome, nor did either understand how the boy was doing this. One thing was clear to the Man though, a boy that could withstand torture for a complete year would be more than worthy of training.
The easiest part of the training was making the boy see the power in the dark side. The boy loved it, and would love the way that it run its course through his entire body. The boy often found himself sitting alone at night in the dark, just relishing in his anger and hatred. For the man who was teaching him it, for his father for leaving him, for his mother for letting his father leave. He hated them, he hated Corellia for not being Mandalore and he hated the Mandalorians for not coming to find him. He hated them all, and his hate become stronger and stronger.
The training became more intense, as the man refused the boy food or water until he could no longer sense the boy in the force. He refused the boy sun light or sleep before the boy could disappear from the force and become a shade, a shadow of himself. This nearly cost the boy his life, leading him to near starvation. Yet he used his pain, his hunger, his ever growing hate for the man who was training him to over come and to vanish from the force together. He pulled his force presence in on himself making his presence seem small in the Force, and was able to retain it there. This was the first step to him become a shadow.
Yet at this development, the man decided that if the boy could endure a torture like this and over come it, it was time to teach him the ways of the Saber. Yet again the Man refused the boy any nourishment except the minimal. Yet on top of that, he refused the boy a light saber of his own. Instead he insisted that the boy first learn the ways of a vibro-dagger. The man himself used other weapons, to make sure that the odds were always in his own favor. The frustration and anger just continued to boil in the boy as he was fruitless in his assaults. They Man had said to the boy, if he landed a single hit that this training would be over. It took six months for the boy to come close to a hit, and this was on limited water, and even more limited food. The boy was now a shell of his former self, depending completely on the man.
This is exactly what the man had wanted all along, he now could mold the boy without hesitation or resistance. The boy had learned that the only way to best the man would be to follow his orders and allow the man to finally train the boy to the most extremes.
They focused strongly on light saber combat, the man teaching the boy how to deliver a killing blow without a second of hesitation. This didn’t come difficult to the boy, who had been prepared to kill since he had left his home as what he considered a child. The fact of the matter is that the boy had enjoyed learning to turn his rage and anger into a killing art, as he learned different styles with his light saber. Even when the man would leave the boy, the boy would train and train with his saber, skipping days of sleep to focus on the lessons and peace his saber could give him. It was this saber that he finally trusted, for it was his and he could do whatever he wanted with it. His only distaste of it, was that the man who he now called master, had told it that the saber once belonged to a Jedi Knight, hence its green blade.
Yet he loved his Saber, he loved that it had grown to be an extension of his own arm. Thus when his master had told him that he must now build a saber of his own; the boy was filled with pain and sadness. Upon feeling this, his master was actually pleased. He informed the boy that he would not have to give up his first light saber, and instead would learn how to wield two of them. This filled the boy with a passion that his Master had desired, wanting the boy to give into his emotions. The boy now had been filled with a fire, a passion to make a new friend. That friend was his new light saber. To the boy’s surprise, his master had even given him a crystal for the new light saber in which was the same crimson red that his master’s saber.
After the creation of the boys saber, he was more resolved in his training than ever. He became skilled in the art of his sabers, and this development had pleased his Master. Once his master felt that the boy had gained a good set of skills, the master decided that it was time for the boy to wield the force as he does his light saber.
The boy became enchanted with the ideas of being able to throw and control the force as he had been doing. He found himself striving for something he had not found himself striving for before. He was now trying to best his master, and prove to himself that he was his Masters equal or better. He knew he was younger, and that he could be faster. He knew he was stronger, and the force could guide his closest friends, his light sabers.
At the leaps and bounds the boy was making with his skills, his master decided that it was time to train the boy for a mission that would be a life time worth of devotion. That mission would be to be an assassin of the Sith. For the first time in their relationship, the Master told the boy his plans for the making the boy into a Sith Assassin. Another thing for the first time in their relationship happened. The boy smiled. Now at the age of seventeen, he had not smiled in years.
With knowledge of his future assignment, the boy showed even more determination in his quest to seek the skills necessary to accomplish this job. The skills came to the boy quick, and the Master had no problems in teaching the boy how to use the skills. Yet the next part of the boys training was to teach him the mannerism of the Jedi. The pure idea of this made the boy spit. He despised the ideas of the Jedi, and hated everything about them. The thought of learning how they acted and would do things in a certain situation disgusted him. How could they truly expect him of all people to follow the ways of the Jedi.
Yet his Master implored him to see the meaning behind this. It was not to punish him but to make him a ghost among the Jedi. It was so the boy would be able to walk among them, be part of them. He would be able to learn their secrets, tell the Sith their secrets. He believed he would be able to assassinate Jedi, to take his revenge on them for their beliefs.
So at this, the one who was once a boy was now made into a man, a man who knew nothing of love or compassion. He had instead become a man who knew only emptiness and pain. A man who lived in a world that he was not known. He was a man that was no longer a man and had become an ideal. He was an ideal of the Sith, and in being an ideal, he had found his place. He had found his calling. His hate was now part of who he was, and it would drive him to exterminate everyone in the galaxy. One slit throat at a time. It would be through his own power, his own strength that he would finally fulfill his verd'goten.
Every brokar (Beat) of his heart would be to achieve this. The man who was once the boy belived he had become what the Mandalorians called would call a'denla, adenn, kandosii, mirdala, and most of all he had become darasuum (vengeful,merciless, ruthless, clever, and eternal). The man once a boy would use the dark side to make himself a legend, something people would fear. The man would find his strength within the force, and use it to destroy all those who opposed him. He was no longer an 'ad' (Son), he no longer had a buir (mother). His aliit (clan) was the Sith, his soul was dha (Dark/evil). The Man who was once a boy knew the other mando would call him a dar'jetii (Fallen Jedi), Siit (Sith) or dar'manda (One who has lost his Mandalorian ways. No heart or soul), but the man knew better. He knew in his ka'rta (heart) that he would always be a Mando'ad (Child of Mandalore). He would prove it, he would destroy the galaxy to prove it. He would put the old Mando'ad saying to the test.
Gar aruetyc jetiise lise nau'ur ca ti jetii'kade, a'a'denla Siite hibira atiniir darasuum." (You traitorous Jedi can light up the night with your lightsabers, but the vengeful Sith learn to endure forever.)
So the man, who was once the boy, had become vengeful. He would endure forever. The man who was once the boy would become a ghost, a shade, a shadow. Only one name fit him, Phasma. The ghost assassin of the Sith.
Lightsaber: Dual (two singles)
Color: (Sith) Dark Red, Forest Green
Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho – (Moderate)
Makashi - (Moderate)
Soresu (skilled)
Ataru – (Moderate)
Shien – (skilled)
Niman (Moderate)
- Sub-form Jar-kai (Highly Proficient)
- Sub-form Backhanded (Highly Proficient)
Juyo – (skilled)
Double Bladed Lightsaber Combat – (very little training)
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
Sense (Youngling and up)
-----------
1 2 3 (4) 5
Telekinesis (Youngling and up)
-----------
1 2 3 4 (5)
Force Leap (Youngling and up)
-----------
1 2 3 (4) 5
Force Speed (Padawan and up)
---------
1 2 3 (4)
Healing (Padawan and up)
---------
(1) 2 3 4
>>Healing Trance (Knight and up)
-------
(1) 2 3
Farsight (Padawan and up)
---------
1 (2) 3 4
Beast Language (Padawan and up)
---------
(1) 2 3 4
Affect Mind/Mind Trick (Knight and up)
-------
1 2 (3)
Force Camoflage (Knight and up)
-------
1 2 (3)
Telepathy (Knight and up)
-------
(1) 2 3
Malacia (Consular, Guardian, and Sentinel and up)
----
1 (2)
Sever Force (Knight and up 'Killing Blow only')
-------
(1) 2 3
Force Lightning (Consular, Guardian, and Sentinel and up)
----
1 (2)
Attributes: (Be reasonable)
Physical Strength
--------------------------
1 2 3 4 5 (6) 7 8 9 10
Intelligence
------------------
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 (9) 10
Speed
-------------
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 (9) 10
Unarmed
-----------------------
1 2 3 4 (5) 6 7 8 9 10
Melee Weapons
-----------------------
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 (10)
Ranged Weapons
-----------------
1 2 3 4 5 6 (7) 8 9 10
Leadership
----------------
(-1) 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Force attunement (Have you been following the light path or the dark path?)
-------------------------
(-2) -1 0 1 2 3 4 5
Sample Rp:
It was a small mediation chamber in which he was kneeling in. There was an ambient light that surrounded the room, but even that was tinted dark blue, and was almost drowned out by the black void that the room was painted in. He had been in this room for three days now, lacking food or water. He found that when he fasted, his answers became clear to him. Answers; which was exactly what he needed now. He had not moved now in over fourteen hours, in knees folded under him as he leaned forward on them. His eyes fixed on his two friends, his light sabers.
He had heard many people giving names to their sabers, but he had no desire to. To name them would be to give them something that he truly did not have himself. To name them would be to give them an identity, and they were not to be identified other than being extensions of his arm. It was hard enough that he had to keep his red bladed friend secret while he was under cover as a Jedi. Not to mention the pain it caused him when he had to leave them both alone so he could ‘mingle’ with the regular people. Just the thought of having to do that drove his meditation into a frenzy of rage.
In his rage, the room shook. It caused his possessions that had been hanging on the wall to fall. There was his Mandalorian armor that he had grown his life in. That armor that he still felt he had not earned. The armor that belonged to the man who had fathered him and that he would have to hunt down in order to become a true Mandalorian.
With it fell his dark robes, the robes he had lived half his life in. He loved them, for if his light sabers were his friends, his robe was his home. He could even wear his dark robe when he posed as a Jedi, and no one thought any different of him. That was his home, that was where he belonged.
The final one of his possessions to fall was his mask. The mask that voided his identity and life. The mask that he had learnt to wear when he was being tortured. That mask represented everything he was. It was his other persona. It was his hate. It was his soul. He knew that mask, but he had no idea of his own face. His face was unfamiliar to him. It wasn’t his. He needed the mask, and the mask needed him. They were one in the same, they made up the sith Assassin that was now meditating in his chamber alone.
Right now he could not dwell things of that nature, nor the hate he felt for the Jedi. No, now he had to deliver on his promise to his master, a man that Justus knew no name for other than Master. It went both ways, as his master did not know his apprentice’s name, nor did his master have a desire to know it at the same time. For his master to know his name would be for his master to recognize him as a living being. Justus was not stupid enough to believe that his master thought him anything but a weapon. As Justus knew that to know his master’s name would grant Justus power over his master. It was a power that Justus could and would use against his Master if give the chance.
“Hell” he thought to himself, breaking his moment of silence for a moment to open his eyes and peer forward into the darkened room. “I even call myself by that name in my head, Justus. How disgusting that I still use the name given to me by that sleeper of a mother I had. I must remember that when I gain the strength to shed the tyranny of my Master to hunt her down and slit her throat. I shall enjoy watching the blood leave her throat. Watching those crimson rubies run from that wound. I will leave my friends behind for it, for they are not meant to be wasted on trash like her. No, she deserves a Vibro-blade at best.”
Finally tilting his head up from its previously perched place, he peered into the view port with his dark jade eyes. He wanted to see the outside, he wanted to see something to hate on the outside world. To view something that wasn’t locked inside his head. “Open view port” he whispered just loud enough for the computer to respond. His voice, though filled with pain, was soft and calm.
The view port opened, showing the blackness of space. The view port showing the void space that stretched on endlessly. Justus let his eyes wander between the flickering stars. In his mind he cursed them all, wanted to see them all blink out so that space would mirror the way he felt. Void, lifeless, and empty. The thought of seeing all those stars go out at the same time sent a sort of joy into his heart. The same joy he felt as he watched a victim bleed out their life blood. The same joy he had when he would watch a dying man struggle to breathe his last breath. It caused Justus same euphoric joy that came at the sound of a death rattle. He licked his lips at the thought.
That is what he needed; he had finally figured it out. He had come to the realization of what he needed to do in order to find peace. He must slaughter everyone he can. He must spread fear and hatred. Justus would find these Sith members his master had told him of, and he would help them fulfill their ambitions.
This brought a smile to his lips. Curving those cupid bow lips into a look of pure malice, reaching down to his chest he pulled lose a cord. The cord ripped away, and the dark shirt he was wearing fell to the floor around him, covered in his own blood. As it fell, the small spikes that had lain inside of it became visible. His body was dripping his own blood as the wounds from the shirt poured red. He looked down at them, how his blood appeared black in this ambient light. He reached his hand down and let his fingers slowly run through the streaks of blood. Taking a good amount of it, he runs it along his lips. His tongue darts out against his fingers, tasting the sweet copper of his own blood. What is left on his fingers he runs along his lips, coating them in a blanket of his own sweet, dark blood. His eyes move back to the view point as he just smiles that evil smile, his eyes turning cold and calculating.
“The taste of my blood compares nothing to the taste of those who do not share the passion of the Sith. My friends demand to taste their blood, and fear not my friends. My beautiful glowing friends, we will suckle the blood of our enemies. Together we will my loyal friends. We shall do splendor, won’t we?” His words echo in the room, as just continues to stare out the view port. Soon, he would get to his destination. Then the fun will truly start.
))