Post by dissolute on Apr 3, 2012 23:07:21 GMT -5
Name: Bestia
Race: Devaronian
Age: 29
Height:6'5
Weight: 238
Appearance:
Bestia towers over the majority of those he meets, standing at six-foot-5-inches and and every bit of two-hundred-and-thirty-eight pounds. He is a daunting sight, long black horns that curve slightly backwards, well enough to impale anyone if he wished to do so. His face personifies the darkside. He has slender cheeks and a tattoo he had recieved in his days as a gladiator. Adorned by his face are a series of scars and knicks he had sustained throughout his years of battling, giving character to his malignant yellow-colored eyes that are a product of his descent into the darkside.
His body is a testament to his way of life, the way of the warrior. Etched upon his powerful, chisled body are scars which number to be more than a hundred sustained through battles he both won and loss. His skin is hard and dark red, its texture almost that of marble. It's covered by a black tunic, a brown belt, and various metalloid pieces that function as armor specifically on his right shoulder. His lower-body is covered with pants and a holster, his belt having multiple places to accessorize his arsenal with gernades of all types, most importantly thermal detnators.
Personality:
Bestia's name was given to him by his masters who raised him, since he never knew or met his parents, and he was given this name because it describes his personality quite well. He is akin to an animal. He has the mentality that if you're in his way, he will kill you, and he believes that he can regardless if he can or cannot. In some way that makes him a fool, but in many situations he had came out victorious in battles because of his indomitable nature. In that same way, he gives off a very egotistical demeanor and for the most part thinks he is better than anyone else around him. Very competitive and never one to give up, he takes on any challenge head on and rarely ever lets up. The only man he gives respect to is his Master and even then he intends on putting him down sooner than later as his power expands far beyond what he could have possibly imagined before hand.
He's ambitious and intense and very loyal to his own cause. Apart from the needs of his master, he is very self-serving and will hang you out to dry at a moment's notice at his convience. He has no quarrell with killing Sith or Jedi, or any other order or group in power, and he doesn't mind getting his hands dirty in the name of credits.
Birth place:Devaron
Faction: Dark Jedi
Rank: Marauder
Lightsaber: N/a
Color: N/a
Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho - 4
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
Telekinetic: 2
Telepathic: 1
Body: 6
Sense: 4
Protection: 3
Healing: 1
Destruction: 2
Specialized Skills:
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 5
Speed: 5
Leadership: 2
Unarmed: 4
Melee Weapons: 7
Ranged Weapons: 1
Bio:
All there was to remember was the sound of slavers yelling profanities and the resounding mechanisms produced in continuity as the land-ship moved over the landscape of Loovria. That was the beginning of his childhood, anything before then was composed of being locked in a cage with poor living conditions and minimal food provided. He was born a slave, and his worth was only what he produced an older adolescent. From a young age he was taught the art of combat, not the force, but with primitive blades. His parents had accumulated a debt which they could not pay and in return they were forced to give their infant devaronian baby to slavers--condemning the youngling to the life of a gladiator. Mercy would allow him a quick death but there was no mercy on this planet--he was forced to learn how to survive.
By the age of five, his training had began and it was composed of simple stances and manuevers. He was the only devaronian in the group, and in a way that hindered his relations with the other young gladiators as he was so drastically different in appearance to them and in consequence he was excluded from the social circle which was erected between some of the more 'elite' children. Nevertheless, he excelled in all fields of training and was, in his age group, a force to be reckoned with. Coupled with the fact he was already disliked, his success in training seemed to further breed animousity and xenophobia towards the young boy which only fueled his ambition to become stronger. This transitioned quite nicely once they began to utilize vibroblades in thier training. Every day, they would be paired and pitted against one another with vibroblades which resulted in numerous dying but those who thrived and survived became stronger for it while also introducing them to the concept of death and killing. The Devaronian's knack for approaching a fight with a certain level of intensity and an almost inhuman knack for destruction and disregard for sentient lives, he was given the name of Bestia, as he was akin to that of a beast. This continued for many years, as their training did not warrant them going into the arena until the age of fifteen.
At the age of fifteen, his trained formality had become chisled and strong, erected through years of arduous training that was not of his choice but something he came to love and adore. He had no memory of his parents and often times wondered if it was ever meant to be that he would meet them. Having not known any other life, he had come to terms with his existence and embraced it fully, yearning to enter the arena to prove his mettle and expand his clout among the others. He wanted nothing less than to teach them the power which he held within his hand when he gripped the hilt of his blade. On the eve of his first gladatorial-sanctioned battle, he sat in his room and contemplated what it would be like in the wake of battle. He would close his eyes and let his imagination blossom with dreams of what he had trained to do since he could remember. He lusted for blood, both his and his opponent's.
His first battle, no matter how much it was built up, was rather uneventful. He had found a young Rhodian, a few years older and slightly more battle-hardened. While the Devaronian was nervous, he entered the battle with blood-lust and did not hesitate to charge at his opponent. The clash of blades was everything he hoped, but with a few swipes and friction of the blades--his own sunk into the rhodian's neck with a powerful thrust forward. The Rhodian dropped and the crowd clammered for more blood; he was immediately praised. In that regard, it was everything that Bestia had dreamed of. He loved the roar of the crowd, the act of claiming victory from a lifeless corpse. In the end, he was a beast, one with intelligence and the taste for war.
The more battles he won, the more the crowd demanded his presence. When they saw the red skin, the large formality and the horns which haunted his opponent's dreams surface from the dark depths of the gladatorial rooms, there was immediate pandemonium. He had become famous by all accounts, and those who owned him made many credits due to his endeavors. His fellow gladiators only held jealousy towards him and on many occasions there were attempts at his life outside the arena--all of which were shot down by the vigilant Devaronian who seemed to be always aware of his surroundings even in the midst of his sleep. Some even said that he almost unnerving perception of what was going on around him, something that allowed him to move faster, be stronger and excell in all forms of combat even when out-numbered and put at a disadvantage.
Often times there were aristocrats that would come by and request to buy the Devaronian, though the slavers would never sell him as they saw him as an income that would perpetually feed their lust for credits and to sell, no matter the price, would be the end of it. Needless to say, the Devaronian held no love for the slavers specifically, how ever he yearned for the arena and therefore did not want to be sold on account that it might be taken away from him. He knew nothing else, and while others dreamed of one day being able to venture as free men, he had no quarrell with dying in the arena. Though sometimes fate, or better worded the force, had intentions far beyond what the Devaronian or his slavers could control. It all changed when a man came through, black cloak and deathly yellow eyes.
Originally, this man had come to the gladatorial arena not to view the games but rather to handle business outside the arena. It was only when the slavers invited him to a game and he accepted did he lay eyes on the Devaronian. This specific battle was boasted to be the most challenging bout that the Devaronian had faced yet. He was put against a number of opponents, a variety of weapons involved to test the Devaronian's ability to adapt against various weaponary--all of which were melee. He walked into the arena, scars littering his body from a multitude of battles, shirtless with torn brown pants, stopping in the epicenter of the arena with his blade in his hand; angled downward to scrape along the brown, sandy surface below.
"Let the games begin!" The announcer proclaimed, the crowd already screaming in excitement as more gated doors lifted up automatically, releasing a man from each door. They surrounded and circled the Devaronian, and while in a confident manner, there was a moment where they visibly hesitated to approach the loan gladiator. The cloaked man sat atop with the slaver and other aristocrats safely watching the game. He spoke briefly with an inquiry, "four on one?" This only brought laughter out by the rest, as he was the only one who hadn't seen the Devaronian battle. "You haven't seen Bestia in battle." The slaver said, the cloaked man merely smiling as he peered onto the arena awaiting the commense of the battle.
The Devaronian approached first, growing wary of waiting, striking at one as he dodged automatically. It seemed as though it took only that to begin the battle, as the remaining three charged at him immediately. One-by-one attacked, the devaronian's percision visibly out-matched all of them as he made quick but powerfulf manuevers to re-direct blades, counter and smash his blade into the armor of his opponents and dodge attacks that seemed almost sure to connect. How ever, even the most agile and battle-hardened of fighters were not invincible, and so while dodging one, a lucky approach allowed them to smash a blunt hammer into the back of the Devaronian. Immense pain overcame him and he lunged forward uncontrollably though positioning his body to fall into roll to re-posture himself just after.
He hadn't been rocked that hard in quite a while. He could feel his back pulsating with pain as he brought himself back to his feet with fludity. The moment of weakness dilluted his perception and he was unable to see another approaching from behind him in time for him to fully dodge the sword. It sliced across his upper-arm, leaving his skin hanging from either side of the wound. He grimaced and produced an ominous roar in pain, slamming his blade into his opponent's almost instantaneously afterward and grabbing at the neck with his free hand. His long, sharp nails dug into the neck producing incisions which leaked alien blood. It ran down his hands as he pushed the blade into the man's stomach, twisting the blade within the wound to further cause damage. He released the man and he fell to the ground, the blade sliding out as the lifeless corpse hit the ground. Immediately the others were on him, not wanting to lose the momentum of battle despite one of them being struck down.
The wound kept him awake, widened his perception with the desire for both blood and not wanting to sustain further damage. He quickly thrusted through the next, narrowly avoiding the others thrust towards his shoulders while stepping in with his own thrust of his blade. His forword foot pivoted, and he slid his blade from the second corpse as it fell to the ground and caught an unexpecting third off-guard. The third was carrying a pike, and he was gathering momentum to strike Bestia in the side of his torso, though with the speed and gathered momentum of the pivot, the Devaronian sliced into the stomache of his opponent and let his blood and entrails spill across the ground as he fell atop the gore. The fourth then realized winning the battle was futile. They had put up a better fight than most, but in the end failure was inevitable. He charged nonetheless, something that Bestia could at the very least respect. His eyes narrowed and he charged as well, preparing his blade for a slash with his full power and momentum gathered within it.
As the two warriors closed in on each other, the blades connected and it almost seemed as though sparks would fly. The power inherent in his blade caused his opponent's blade to richochette backwards, not being able to handle the power, and the man was sent stumbling backwards with it. The Devaronian was in the moment, how ever, and seemed to not even flinch as he progressed forward towards his stumbling advesary. He lifted his blade and struck downward, though the man was able to block the second attack as well. With the power of his downward strike, his opponent was sent into the ground, rocked as he landed shoulder's-first into the ground. The crowd, by now, was screaming and cheering for blood. They wanted the Devaronian to end the battle, but the question was how? He enjoyed giving the crowd what they wanted and he came to know what they wanted. They wanted to see a man die in the most gruesome manner. This man was done, the last few strikes took the fight out of him. He was there, lying, awaiting his death. "Arrrrggh!" The Devaronian addressed the crowd with another ominous roar, raising his fist in the air as he clenched it tightly.
His opponent made his last attempt, while on the ground he made a strike to take the Devaronian's feet from him. He caught on quickly and leaped upward and avoided the blade. Just as he came into the air, to the apex of his climb, he angled his blade downward, both hands grasping it and retracted his legs to his body as he began a downward descent upon his opponent. His opponent did not have time to prepare for the large form of Bestia to fall upon him. Bestia's knees dug into the man's upper-legs and the blade was plunged into the chest of his opponent. He could fell it hit the terra beneath the man's body and sink into even that. With the man dead, he stood up, grabbing both his sword and his opponents. He let out a roar of victory and rased both in the air. "I am the God of The Arena!" He said aloud, his egotism pronounced right then as he beckoned for them to praise him more. He loved it, and the man in the cloak, well--he was interested.
Before he left, he made sure that Bestia was at his side. Enough credits to pay for the training of a handful of gladiators ensured it despite the slavers being hindered by the concept of losing their best gladiator. Even if they didn't, he would have utililzed some of his more unique attributes to either coax them or destroy them. The cloaked man just so happened to be a force-user, a powerful at that, though he did not affiliate himself with any order. He had for a long time served the Jedi Order, but since then fallen into the darkside and uncovered the truth of the force. He could sense a glimmer of the force within Bestia, as well as that, a warrior to be carved from the primitive gladiator he stood as present. After hearing the news, Bestia was unsettled and not sure if he was really content going with the dark jedi, though it was not of his choice at the moment. He did however find the apsect of reprise in killing the man soon enough and perhaps returning to the arena. Something he would ponder vigorously until the moment he intended to exact the attempt.
Upon meeting the cloaked man, he was promptly asked questions. His name, his age, at the time being twenty years of age, and other questions which he did not have answers to. He could sense something in the man, something dark, perhaps something he could not feel before. The man mentioned the force, and while Bestia had heard legends of it, he did not believe the force existed and deduced it was of legend to entertain those with idle minds. Perhaps this man believed different, maybe he could show Bestia different. After healing his wounds, they left, and the man introduced himself as Vallen Allastar and ensured Bestia that he would not see the planet which they departed from for a very long time.
"You are destined for greater things, Bestia." This is what Vallen told him, though Bestia was at odds seeing that he viewed his arena as the most glorious thing a man could be victorious at--something that would change rather quickly once facts about him and the universe would be unveiled to his knowledge. Being without chains was something Bestia was not used to apart from when he was in battle, something he could perhaps grow accustomed to. The ship that they departed in was also something he was not familiar with, it was large and from what he could see quite expensive. Why was this man interested in him? While he had mentioned the force, he had not announced that he had any intention with Bestia that was relevant to the force. Even still, Bestia found it rather obvious that the two things were related in one way or another.
Once they were well away from what he called home, he was instructed to meet Vallen in his private training room. Upon entering the room, he could feel the darkness encumber him, like an aura or ambience which was almost tangible. It was more unsettling than anything he had been subjected to in his entire life, to be perfectly honest, he could feel fear encroaching his mind and soul. "Do you know what I am?" Vallen asked, his voice emmiting a sinister demeanor, one that creeped along Bestia's spine like an eerie breeze. Bestia was wordless, and just stood there standing. His voice raised, a volumous dark voice articulated behind malignant eyes. "Answer me!" Bestia spoke promptly afterward, but in a tone that was not obediant but rather sarcasatic. "Vallen." He scoffed as he spoke and the force-user merely produced a discontent expression.
He lifted his hand towards Bestia and merely squeezed his hand, extending his entity through the force as he utilized it to grasp Bestia's neck--the devaronian's form lifting with the rise of Vallen's hand. "I am a wielder of the force, it's master, I am a force-user." Vallen said with a sadistic satisfaction, his own grip tightening as Bestia could feel the invisible grasp upon his neck enclose further as well. Was this the force? Something that he had thought was stories could very well kill him, but he knew that he would not die here. He would not have gone through such stretches to get him just so that he could kill him through a demonstration. Needless to say, as a man who thrived to gain power, having the force become a reality before him only intrigued Bestia. He wanted this power, and he wanted it as soon as possible. Vallen saw the power-hungry beast, the animal, that was very apparent in the Devaronian. That was the only reason he was here, having an affinity to the force was such a small fraction in comparison.
"I am your master." With that, he released Bestia, and he fell onto his knees--head lowered. He was bought, not with credits, but with his desire for more power. He would serve this man for sure, and in turn he would be taught the ways of the force. "You have latent power within you, we will utilize it to make you stronger than you have ever been in your life." The man spoke and it was so. With that they began training, Vallen began teaching him about the force. He taught him the most basic concepts and pushed the Devaronian to grow his affinity to the force as fast as he could as much as he could. His apprentice lived up to the test, though, as he began to construct a relationship with the force. Like he committed to his gladatorial training, he lived and breathed training with the force, devoting every waking moment to pleasing his master through honing his connection and expanding his knowledge of the force.
Once Bestia learned to "connect" with the force in a way that would enhance his speed, reaction time and general attributes pertaining to physical fighting, Vallen diverted his training from that of the force to lightsaber training. It was never in Vallen's interest to train him in using the force in a major way, merely enhancing the boy's ability to wreak physical havok upon his enemies with his brutal and immeasurable strength. He noted to Bestia that this was his actual intentions as well, and that any further exploration of the force would be done at a later date once he molded Bestia to his view of Bestia's potential. Lightsaber training at first was difficult for Bestia in that he was not use to the higher standard of finesse that was required to wield one. In time though, through Vallen's quite brutal training that force Bestia to endure training droids far beyond his power and percision and at times even Vallen's abilities with a saber, Bestia began to learn the intricities of saber combat.
Ultimately though, he longed for his blade, something more physical in his opinion. He had experienced first-hand how a lightsaber damaged the body. There was no blood, no gore, nothing that brought him to love battling in the first place. He nevertheless continued his training in saber combat but eventually told his master that he preferred a blade, and even though that was something Vallen did not want to hear, he knew of ways to compensate by giving him a blade and still making him a darksider that would be a force to be reckoned with. Vallen then produced a vibroblade for Bestia, something Bestia had longed to see for some time. He gave this to Bestia, feeling that appeasing him in this way would further enhance his training given that he would using something he was truly comfortable with and loved. Furthermore, he would still be capable of battling a jedi with the sword and that was ultimately something that Vallen had sought to accomplish through training the Juggernaut of a Devaronian.
Once he had the blade, he became much more successful in his training. His concentration sharpened and he improved in force abilities that pertained to enhancing physical attributes. He was becoming what Vallen had envisioned when he had first seen him in the arena. What he was when he found him and what he was now were two completely different entities. It was time to bring him closer to the dark side, enrich his soul with hatred and pain. This was a necessity for his growth. He taught him the rhetoric of the darkside, how he could hone it and be the master of it to fuel his power and wield it to his will. He taught him how the Jedi were erroneous in their teachings and how the real strength in the force was drawn from emotion and anger, the growth of hate was paramount to becoming the master of the force. Having felt all this before, in the midst of battle, without having known quite what it was, Bestia did not have difficulty believing this or even assimilating to the ideals.
He grew within the darkness and let it flourish within him to the point where it emanated from his form. He was becoming one with the dark side of the force. Vallen felt it was time to begin allowing him to leave his presence and conduct missions in the name of Vallen. And so, he informed Bestia that he was ready. At this point he was twenty-nine and had trained with his master for nine years. During this time he had become what some would call a Juggernaut of the force, one who was intuned with how to manipulate the force to make them strong enough to break anyone's guard, go through anything's body, and even out-power some of the more powerful droids. What he lacked in telekinesis and general destruction abilities he made up for in raw power and an alarming rate of speed for his size. Even then, he would continue to learn and grow in the force to where he could expand his force abilities further than just manipulating his physical body.
RP Sample:
He gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes; locking them with his master and present opponent. He was being bested routinely by his master, which was disheartening to him, because he was not use to having someone school him in the art of physical combat. He rushed forward, both hands gripping the hilt of his vibroblade as he brought it downward and to the right in a diagonally vertical slash, which was quickly re-directed with a quick bat by Vallen's lightsaber. It left him open, which would mean Vallen could have very well killed him. "Continue being sloppy and I just might finish you off and find a new pupil.." Vallen noted, sending a quick but short thrust of his saber towards Bestia's torso which was blocked prompt to it's projection. "Only to find you cannot find someone as good as me." He came back quick with a response, putting his power into another slash which was aimed at his Master. Despite it being blocked, the inherent momentum and power in the slash took his master aback slightly, which left him impressed but at the same time not amazed as he was quite away of the Devaron's raw power.
With that his Master leapt back, and behind him the view screen clicked on and a man's face appeared as he began to speak. Vallen's saber disignited and he pivoted with fluidity towards the view screen. Within moments the man briefed Vallen on some issues his 'organization' was having and that they would require some aid. This meant Bestia would be on the case, which meant Bestia would get to kill possibly. That alone got the adrenaline pumping through him even moreso than what the spar had stirred up. "Tatooine? You know what to do, pupil.." He spoke, which Bestia quickly nodded and produced a very mischevious grin. "Yes, Master, consider it handled." He replied, sliding the weapon in it's holster as he turned and left the room. He didn't like tatooine but any chance to battle was something he was more than ready for. Time to kill.
Race: Devaronian
Age: 29
Height:6'5
Weight: 238
Appearance:
Bestia towers over the majority of those he meets, standing at six-foot-5-inches and and every bit of two-hundred-and-thirty-eight pounds. He is a daunting sight, long black horns that curve slightly backwards, well enough to impale anyone if he wished to do so. His face personifies the darkside. He has slender cheeks and a tattoo he had recieved in his days as a gladiator. Adorned by his face are a series of scars and knicks he had sustained throughout his years of battling, giving character to his malignant yellow-colored eyes that are a product of his descent into the darkside.
His body is a testament to his way of life, the way of the warrior. Etched upon his powerful, chisled body are scars which number to be more than a hundred sustained through battles he both won and loss. His skin is hard and dark red, its texture almost that of marble. It's covered by a black tunic, a brown belt, and various metalloid pieces that function as armor specifically on his right shoulder. His lower-body is covered with pants and a holster, his belt having multiple places to accessorize his arsenal with gernades of all types, most importantly thermal detnators.
Personality:
Bestia's name was given to him by his masters who raised him, since he never knew or met his parents, and he was given this name because it describes his personality quite well. He is akin to an animal. He has the mentality that if you're in his way, he will kill you, and he believes that he can regardless if he can or cannot. In some way that makes him a fool, but in many situations he had came out victorious in battles because of his indomitable nature. In that same way, he gives off a very egotistical demeanor and for the most part thinks he is better than anyone else around him. Very competitive and never one to give up, he takes on any challenge head on and rarely ever lets up. The only man he gives respect to is his Master and even then he intends on putting him down sooner than later as his power expands far beyond what he could have possibly imagined before hand.
He's ambitious and intense and very loyal to his own cause. Apart from the needs of his master, he is very self-serving and will hang you out to dry at a moment's notice at his convience. He has no quarrell with killing Sith or Jedi, or any other order or group in power, and he doesn't mind getting his hands dirty in the name of credits.
Birth place:Devaron
Faction: Dark Jedi
Rank: Marauder
Lightsaber: N/a
Color: N/a
Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho - 4
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
Telekinetic: 2
Telepathic: 1
Body: 6
Sense: 4
Protection: 3
Healing: 1
Destruction: 2
Specialized Skills:
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 5
Speed: 5
Leadership: 2
Unarmed: 4
Melee Weapons: 7
Ranged Weapons: 1
Bio:
All there was to remember was the sound of slavers yelling profanities and the resounding mechanisms produced in continuity as the land-ship moved over the landscape of Loovria. That was the beginning of his childhood, anything before then was composed of being locked in a cage with poor living conditions and minimal food provided. He was born a slave, and his worth was only what he produced an older adolescent. From a young age he was taught the art of combat, not the force, but with primitive blades. His parents had accumulated a debt which they could not pay and in return they were forced to give their infant devaronian baby to slavers--condemning the youngling to the life of a gladiator. Mercy would allow him a quick death but there was no mercy on this planet--he was forced to learn how to survive.
By the age of five, his training had began and it was composed of simple stances and manuevers. He was the only devaronian in the group, and in a way that hindered his relations with the other young gladiators as he was so drastically different in appearance to them and in consequence he was excluded from the social circle which was erected between some of the more 'elite' children. Nevertheless, he excelled in all fields of training and was, in his age group, a force to be reckoned with. Coupled with the fact he was already disliked, his success in training seemed to further breed animousity and xenophobia towards the young boy which only fueled his ambition to become stronger. This transitioned quite nicely once they began to utilize vibroblades in thier training. Every day, they would be paired and pitted against one another with vibroblades which resulted in numerous dying but those who thrived and survived became stronger for it while also introducing them to the concept of death and killing. The Devaronian's knack for approaching a fight with a certain level of intensity and an almost inhuman knack for destruction and disregard for sentient lives, he was given the name of Bestia, as he was akin to that of a beast. This continued for many years, as their training did not warrant them going into the arena until the age of fifteen.
At the age of fifteen, his trained formality had become chisled and strong, erected through years of arduous training that was not of his choice but something he came to love and adore. He had no memory of his parents and often times wondered if it was ever meant to be that he would meet them. Having not known any other life, he had come to terms with his existence and embraced it fully, yearning to enter the arena to prove his mettle and expand his clout among the others. He wanted nothing less than to teach them the power which he held within his hand when he gripped the hilt of his blade. On the eve of his first gladatorial-sanctioned battle, he sat in his room and contemplated what it would be like in the wake of battle. He would close his eyes and let his imagination blossom with dreams of what he had trained to do since he could remember. He lusted for blood, both his and his opponent's.
His first battle, no matter how much it was built up, was rather uneventful. He had found a young Rhodian, a few years older and slightly more battle-hardened. While the Devaronian was nervous, he entered the battle with blood-lust and did not hesitate to charge at his opponent. The clash of blades was everything he hoped, but with a few swipes and friction of the blades--his own sunk into the rhodian's neck with a powerful thrust forward. The Rhodian dropped and the crowd clammered for more blood; he was immediately praised. In that regard, it was everything that Bestia had dreamed of. He loved the roar of the crowd, the act of claiming victory from a lifeless corpse. In the end, he was a beast, one with intelligence and the taste for war.
The more battles he won, the more the crowd demanded his presence. When they saw the red skin, the large formality and the horns which haunted his opponent's dreams surface from the dark depths of the gladatorial rooms, there was immediate pandemonium. He had become famous by all accounts, and those who owned him made many credits due to his endeavors. His fellow gladiators only held jealousy towards him and on many occasions there were attempts at his life outside the arena--all of which were shot down by the vigilant Devaronian who seemed to be always aware of his surroundings even in the midst of his sleep. Some even said that he almost unnerving perception of what was going on around him, something that allowed him to move faster, be stronger and excell in all forms of combat even when out-numbered and put at a disadvantage.
Often times there were aristocrats that would come by and request to buy the Devaronian, though the slavers would never sell him as they saw him as an income that would perpetually feed their lust for credits and to sell, no matter the price, would be the end of it. Needless to say, the Devaronian held no love for the slavers specifically, how ever he yearned for the arena and therefore did not want to be sold on account that it might be taken away from him. He knew nothing else, and while others dreamed of one day being able to venture as free men, he had no quarrell with dying in the arena. Though sometimes fate, or better worded the force, had intentions far beyond what the Devaronian or his slavers could control. It all changed when a man came through, black cloak and deathly yellow eyes.
Originally, this man had come to the gladatorial arena not to view the games but rather to handle business outside the arena. It was only when the slavers invited him to a game and he accepted did he lay eyes on the Devaronian. This specific battle was boasted to be the most challenging bout that the Devaronian had faced yet. He was put against a number of opponents, a variety of weapons involved to test the Devaronian's ability to adapt against various weaponary--all of which were melee. He walked into the arena, scars littering his body from a multitude of battles, shirtless with torn brown pants, stopping in the epicenter of the arena with his blade in his hand; angled downward to scrape along the brown, sandy surface below.
"Let the games begin!" The announcer proclaimed, the crowd already screaming in excitement as more gated doors lifted up automatically, releasing a man from each door. They surrounded and circled the Devaronian, and while in a confident manner, there was a moment where they visibly hesitated to approach the loan gladiator. The cloaked man sat atop with the slaver and other aristocrats safely watching the game. He spoke briefly with an inquiry, "four on one?" This only brought laughter out by the rest, as he was the only one who hadn't seen the Devaronian battle. "You haven't seen Bestia in battle." The slaver said, the cloaked man merely smiling as he peered onto the arena awaiting the commense of the battle.
The Devaronian approached first, growing wary of waiting, striking at one as he dodged automatically. It seemed as though it took only that to begin the battle, as the remaining three charged at him immediately. One-by-one attacked, the devaronian's percision visibly out-matched all of them as he made quick but powerfulf manuevers to re-direct blades, counter and smash his blade into the armor of his opponents and dodge attacks that seemed almost sure to connect. How ever, even the most agile and battle-hardened of fighters were not invincible, and so while dodging one, a lucky approach allowed them to smash a blunt hammer into the back of the Devaronian. Immense pain overcame him and he lunged forward uncontrollably though positioning his body to fall into roll to re-posture himself just after.
He hadn't been rocked that hard in quite a while. He could feel his back pulsating with pain as he brought himself back to his feet with fludity. The moment of weakness dilluted his perception and he was unable to see another approaching from behind him in time for him to fully dodge the sword. It sliced across his upper-arm, leaving his skin hanging from either side of the wound. He grimaced and produced an ominous roar in pain, slamming his blade into his opponent's almost instantaneously afterward and grabbing at the neck with his free hand. His long, sharp nails dug into the neck producing incisions which leaked alien blood. It ran down his hands as he pushed the blade into the man's stomach, twisting the blade within the wound to further cause damage. He released the man and he fell to the ground, the blade sliding out as the lifeless corpse hit the ground. Immediately the others were on him, not wanting to lose the momentum of battle despite one of them being struck down.
The wound kept him awake, widened his perception with the desire for both blood and not wanting to sustain further damage. He quickly thrusted through the next, narrowly avoiding the others thrust towards his shoulders while stepping in with his own thrust of his blade. His forword foot pivoted, and he slid his blade from the second corpse as it fell to the ground and caught an unexpecting third off-guard. The third was carrying a pike, and he was gathering momentum to strike Bestia in the side of his torso, though with the speed and gathered momentum of the pivot, the Devaronian sliced into the stomache of his opponent and let his blood and entrails spill across the ground as he fell atop the gore. The fourth then realized winning the battle was futile. They had put up a better fight than most, but in the end failure was inevitable. He charged nonetheless, something that Bestia could at the very least respect. His eyes narrowed and he charged as well, preparing his blade for a slash with his full power and momentum gathered within it.
As the two warriors closed in on each other, the blades connected and it almost seemed as though sparks would fly. The power inherent in his blade caused his opponent's blade to richochette backwards, not being able to handle the power, and the man was sent stumbling backwards with it. The Devaronian was in the moment, how ever, and seemed to not even flinch as he progressed forward towards his stumbling advesary. He lifted his blade and struck downward, though the man was able to block the second attack as well. With the power of his downward strike, his opponent was sent into the ground, rocked as he landed shoulder's-first into the ground. The crowd, by now, was screaming and cheering for blood. They wanted the Devaronian to end the battle, but the question was how? He enjoyed giving the crowd what they wanted and he came to know what they wanted. They wanted to see a man die in the most gruesome manner. This man was done, the last few strikes took the fight out of him. He was there, lying, awaiting his death. "Arrrrggh!" The Devaronian addressed the crowd with another ominous roar, raising his fist in the air as he clenched it tightly.
His opponent made his last attempt, while on the ground he made a strike to take the Devaronian's feet from him. He caught on quickly and leaped upward and avoided the blade. Just as he came into the air, to the apex of his climb, he angled his blade downward, both hands grasping it and retracted his legs to his body as he began a downward descent upon his opponent. His opponent did not have time to prepare for the large form of Bestia to fall upon him. Bestia's knees dug into the man's upper-legs and the blade was plunged into the chest of his opponent. He could fell it hit the terra beneath the man's body and sink into even that. With the man dead, he stood up, grabbing both his sword and his opponents. He let out a roar of victory and rased both in the air. "I am the God of The Arena!" He said aloud, his egotism pronounced right then as he beckoned for them to praise him more. He loved it, and the man in the cloak, well--he was interested.
Before he left, he made sure that Bestia was at his side. Enough credits to pay for the training of a handful of gladiators ensured it despite the slavers being hindered by the concept of losing their best gladiator. Even if they didn't, he would have utililzed some of his more unique attributes to either coax them or destroy them. The cloaked man just so happened to be a force-user, a powerful at that, though he did not affiliate himself with any order. He had for a long time served the Jedi Order, but since then fallen into the darkside and uncovered the truth of the force. He could sense a glimmer of the force within Bestia, as well as that, a warrior to be carved from the primitive gladiator he stood as present. After hearing the news, Bestia was unsettled and not sure if he was really content going with the dark jedi, though it was not of his choice at the moment. He did however find the apsect of reprise in killing the man soon enough and perhaps returning to the arena. Something he would ponder vigorously until the moment he intended to exact the attempt.
Upon meeting the cloaked man, he was promptly asked questions. His name, his age, at the time being twenty years of age, and other questions which he did not have answers to. He could sense something in the man, something dark, perhaps something he could not feel before. The man mentioned the force, and while Bestia had heard legends of it, he did not believe the force existed and deduced it was of legend to entertain those with idle minds. Perhaps this man believed different, maybe he could show Bestia different. After healing his wounds, they left, and the man introduced himself as Vallen Allastar and ensured Bestia that he would not see the planet which they departed from for a very long time.
"You are destined for greater things, Bestia." This is what Vallen told him, though Bestia was at odds seeing that he viewed his arena as the most glorious thing a man could be victorious at--something that would change rather quickly once facts about him and the universe would be unveiled to his knowledge. Being without chains was something Bestia was not used to apart from when he was in battle, something he could perhaps grow accustomed to. The ship that they departed in was also something he was not familiar with, it was large and from what he could see quite expensive. Why was this man interested in him? While he had mentioned the force, he had not announced that he had any intention with Bestia that was relevant to the force. Even still, Bestia found it rather obvious that the two things were related in one way or another.
Once they were well away from what he called home, he was instructed to meet Vallen in his private training room. Upon entering the room, he could feel the darkness encumber him, like an aura or ambience which was almost tangible. It was more unsettling than anything he had been subjected to in his entire life, to be perfectly honest, he could feel fear encroaching his mind and soul. "Do you know what I am?" Vallen asked, his voice emmiting a sinister demeanor, one that creeped along Bestia's spine like an eerie breeze. Bestia was wordless, and just stood there standing. His voice raised, a volumous dark voice articulated behind malignant eyes. "Answer me!" Bestia spoke promptly afterward, but in a tone that was not obediant but rather sarcasatic. "Vallen." He scoffed as he spoke and the force-user merely produced a discontent expression.
He lifted his hand towards Bestia and merely squeezed his hand, extending his entity through the force as he utilized it to grasp Bestia's neck--the devaronian's form lifting with the rise of Vallen's hand. "I am a wielder of the force, it's master, I am a force-user." Vallen said with a sadistic satisfaction, his own grip tightening as Bestia could feel the invisible grasp upon his neck enclose further as well. Was this the force? Something that he had thought was stories could very well kill him, but he knew that he would not die here. He would not have gone through such stretches to get him just so that he could kill him through a demonstration. Needless to say, as a man who thrived to gain power, having the force become a reality before him only intrigued Bestia. He wanted this power, and he wanted it as soon as possible. Vallen saw the power-hungry beast, the animal, that was very apparent in the Devaronian. That was the only reason he was here, having an affinity to the force was such a small fraction in comparison.
"I am your master." With that, he released Bestia, and he fell onto his knees--head lowered. He was bought, not with credits, but with his desire for more power. He would serve this man for sure, and in turn he would be taught the ways of the force. "You have latent power within you, we will utilize it to make you stronger than you have ever been in your life." The man spoke and it was so. With that they began training, Vallen began teaching him about the force. He taught him the most basic concepts and pushed the Devaronian to grow his affinity to the force as fast as he could as much as he could. His apprentice lived up to the test, though, as he began to construct a relationship with the force. Like he committed to his gladatorial training, he lived and breathed training with the force, devoting every waking moment to pleasing his master through honing his connection and expanding his knowledge of the force.
Once Bestia learned to "connect" with the force in a way that would enhance his speed, reaction time and general attributes pertaining to physical fighting, Vallen diverted his training from that of the force to lightsaber training. It was never in Vallen's interest to train him in using the force in a major way, merely enhancing the boy's ability to wreak physical havok upon his enemies with his brutal and immeasurable strength. He noted to Bestia that this was his actual intentions as well, and that any further exploration of the force would be done at a later date once he molded Bestia to his view of Bestia's potential. Lightsaber training at first was difficult for Bestia in that he was not use to the higher standard of finesse that was required to wield one. In time though, through Vallen's quite brutal training that force Bestia to endure training droids far beyond his power and percision and at times even Vallen's abilities with a saber, Bestia began to learn the intricities of saber combat.
Ultimately though, he longed for his blade, something more physical in his opinion. He had experienced first-hand how a lightsaber damaged the body. There was no blood, no gore, nothing that brought him to love battling in the first place. He nevertheless continued his training in saber combat but eventually told his master that he preferred a blade, and even though that was something Vallen did not want to hear, he knew of ways to compensate by giving him a blade and still making him a darksider that would be a force to be reckoned with. Vallen then produced a vibroblade for Bestia, something Bestia had longed to see for some time. He gave this to Bestia, feeling that appeasing him in this way would further enhance his training given that he would using something he was truly comfortable with and loved. Furthermore, he would still be capable of battling a jedi with the sword and that was ultimately something that Vallen had sought to accomplish through training the Juggernaut of a Devaronian.
Once he had the blade, he became much more successful in his training. His concentration sharpened and he improved in force abilities that pertained to enhancing physical attributes. He was becoming what Vallen had envisioned when he had first seen him in the arena. What he was when he found him and what he was now were two completely different entities. It was time to bring him closer to the dark side, enrich his soul with hatred and pain. This was a necessity for his growth. He taught him the rhetoric of the darkside, how he could hone it and be the master of it to fuel his power and wield it to his will. He taught him how the Jedi were erroneous in their teachings and how the real strength in the force was drawn from emotion and anger, the growth of hate was paramount to becoming the master of the force. Having felt all this before, in the midst of battle, without having known quite what it was, Bestia did not have difficulty believing this or even assimilating to the ideals.
He grew within the darkness and let it flourish within him to the point where it emanated from his form. He was becoming one with the dark side of the force. Vallen felt it was time to begin allowing him to leave his presence and conduct missions in the name of Vallen. And so, he informed Bestia that he was ready. At this point he was twenty-nine and had trained with his master for nine years. During this time he had become what some would call a Juggernaut of the force, one who was intuned with how to manipulate the force to make them strong enough to break anyone's guard, go through anything's body, and even out-power some of the more powerful droids. What he lacked in telekinesis and general destruction abilities he made up for in raw power and an alarming rate of speed for his size. Even then, he would continue to learn and grow in the force to where he could expand his force abilities further than just manipulating his physical body.
RP Sample:
He gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes; locking them with his master and present opponent. He was being bested routinely by his master, which was disheartening to him, because he was not use to having someone school him in the art of physical combat. He rushed forward, both hands gripping the hilt of his vibroblade as he brought it downward and to the right in a diagonally vertical slash, which was quickly re-directed with a quick bat by Vallen's lightsaber. It left him open, which would mean Vallen could have very well killed him. "Continue being sloppy and I just might finish you off and find a new pupil.." Vallen noted, sending a quick but short thrust of his saber towards Bestia's torso which was blocked prompt to it's projection. "Only to find you cannot find someone as good as me." He came back quick with a response, putting his power into another slash which was aimed at his Master. Despite it being blocked, the inherent momentum and power in the slash took his master aback slightly, which left him impressed but at the same time not amazed as he was quite away of the Devaron's raw power.
With that his Master leapt back, and behind him the view screen clicked on and a man's face appeared as he began to speak. Vallen's saber disignited and he pivoted with fluidity towards the view screen. Within moments the man briefed Vallen on some issues his 'organization' was having and that they would require some aid. This meant Bestia would be on the case, which meant Bestia would get to kill possibly. That alone got the adrenaline pumping through him even moreso than what the spar had stirred up. "Tatooine? You know what to do, pupil.." He spoke, which Bestia quickly nodded and produced a very mischevious grin. "Yes, Master, consider it handled." He replied, sliding the weapon in it's holster as he turned and left the room. He didn't like tatooine but any chance to battle was something he was more than ready for. Time to kill.
