Post by Samael on Jun 30, 2012 15:16:55 GMT -5
Name: Rian Asrael
Race: Tapani Human, Male
Age: 29
Height: 6’
Weight: 180 lbs
Appearance: High cheekbones, a thin, sharp nose, paralyzing green eyes, and the occasionally slicked back brown hair give him a dark, yet regal, appearance. Despite this, most of the time he appears to be a simple, everyday human male. His smiles could be described as grim, mirthless, crooked, bleak, sinister, or even almost mad. Clothing depends on the occasion. Typically he wears black, grey or khaki fatigues with shin-length boots, though for more formal, or sinister, events he dons a sable, shimmersilk tunic and matching pants worked with silver on the sleeves and high collar.
Personality:
Rian's most dominant trait is his need for attention and recognition of his abilities. He wishes for his presence to invoke some sort of reaction, whether it be love, hate, or fear is not important to him. Anyone who tries to take advantage of him tends to elicit a violent response, often in the form of a crushed throat. Because of his tragic past, Rian regards himself as owing society nothing and is completely socially irresponsible, with a notable lack of long term goals. He often shoves off the blame of his actions onto others, or turns it around on the accuser. He holds the view that he is entitled to automatic compliance because of his abilities. This comes along with a feeling of superiority to everyone and everything.
A scarred childhood and several devastating betrayals have turned Rian into a callous and ruthless man. He enjoys and is quite capable of manipulating people based on their emotional attachments to particular things or their past history. He will especially single out those he deems as 'weak'. His ability to play with people's minds can enable him to escape from some nasty situations, or even turn the tables with psychological warfare. In order to further his manipulation game he will often pretend to be a social worker, lawyer, anything that he deems as 'fun' and useful. His ability to appear a normal human being and disguise his true nature is something he has a natural talent for.
He is able to quickly comprehend and assimilate details, but despite his intelligence he can be compulsive and unpredictable. All this is hidden beneath a mask of charm, a certain dark magnetism hanging about him like a cloak, while a rasping, yet silver, tongue serves to persuade those not swayed by the charm.
Birth place: Fondor
Faction: Sith Order
Rank: Initiate
Previous Faction: Dark Jedi
Previous Rank: Knight - Assassin
Bio:
Years of Youth
On the world of Fondor, a new life blinked its first glimpses of the galaxy. Tayne and Masri Asrael smiled down at their newborn son, their only son. For the first years after Rian Asrael’s birth, the family lived in joy, relishing each moment together. But all happy things must end. The Asraels were not wealthy and Tayne soon found that his job did not supply enough money to support their joy. Not with Rian adding to the cost. He broke the news gently to Masri, shed tears with her as they struggled to find a solution. Every day the Asraels found themselves poorer. Tayne would grit his teeth and try to find a job, but with the angst in the Noble Houses none of the trade worlds could trust the economy. That lack of trust found its way even to the Asrael household.
Finally, Tayne grew to desperation as lack of options forced him to extremes. Coming home, he discussed the matter with Masri and they soon found themselves sending Rian off for adoption.
A Jedi Master, perusing the children put up for adoption and looking for a force sensitive child, discovered Rian and whisked him away upon discovering his sensitivity.
Once at the temple, Rian was immediately placed into training. When he was old enough, a training saber was placed in his hand. The first few swings accidentally hit his arms and legs, giving him a sharp jolt of pain. He would remember that pain. He practiced much with the saber, but he was never able to be the first in his class at it. Always, others out did him in proficiency with saber sparring. Beaten time and time again, Rian turned to other pursuits to excel in and found a far more valuable weapon: his mind. The Masters soon discovered that Rian’s abilities with telekinesis and telepathy were beyond that of the average youngling and they cultured those abilities. But saber practice was a continued frustration.
Rian hated being beaten, but Zok Tors, another youngling his age, seemed able to do it with ease. The hate grew, a dark fungus in Rian’s heart. Years passed, but no Knight chose him as a padawan. The rejection became bundled in with Rian’s hate of Zok Tors, until it finally exploded.
The two were sparring, when Zok made a derisive remark about how Rian would never be chosen because no one wanted someone who would chop their own arms off with their lightsaber. Zok then began taunting him with increasingly foul remarks as he landed strike after strike into Rian’s body, the young boy not fast enough to counter. Rian went into a rage. Zok might have been more than his equal with the saber, but no one matched Rian’s mind. He sent a force shove that slammed Zok into the wall of the training room with such force it drew blood. His lust for vengeance not yet satisfied, he slashed again and again with the training saber, each blow bringing a scream of pain from Zok. When he came out of the haze of anger, he found Zok huddled on the floor, his exposed flesh a mass of reddened flesh from the training saber. A day later, Rian was expelled.
Seeking Shelter - 13
Rian sought out his parents afterward, who he barely remembered. He would later wished he hadn’t. Rian was greeted with tears of joy, that soon turned to tears of dispair. His father was out of a job and had turned to alcohol as remedy for his sorrow, while his mother was working two jobs. Despite this, his parents tried to provide for him. At first, they thought it would work out. Rian began going to school, which he despised as the other kids made fun of his poverty. Eventually, troubles began to pile on top of each other. Masri’s pay was cut in her second job, causing an increased spur of drinking in Tayne, who turned his drunken anger upon his son as his only outlet. Putting up with the anger and disgust from his father and the constant teasing from his classmates turned Rian into an unsocial loner, with resentment of them all turning into a ball of hatred. One day, a classmate went too far, joking about Rian’s mother and making some uncouth suggestions as to what she could do for a job. The student never knew what hit him. All the school could learn was that Rian had somehow slammed his fellow student into a wall so hard it fractured his skull, the kid was lucky to be alive, but Rian was expelled. Again.
When he broke the news to his father, Tayne erupted into drunken anger, grabbing Rian by the shirt and lifting him up into the air. Rian hated his father’s drunken anger. He hated having to live in a house where his father did nothing to help. And he hated to be touched. Rian blasted his father away with the Force. Still drunk, his father stood up and began teetering toward his son to show him who was in charge. But Rian knew he was beyond his father’s power. Beyond anyone’s power. With his mind like a vice, he grasped a metal rod and hurled it at his father like a spear. However, Rian’s precision was not as well developed. His raw power sent the rod spiraling toward his father, but it missed him by a hair’s breadth. Instead, the rod passed straight through his mother.
Rian forgot how to breath. He hadn’t seen her run in. She must have come to stop him and his father from fighting. He did not know how it was possible. He didn’t mean to hurt her! He didn’t mean to harm her! Going half out of his mind, Rian fled the planet. Fled the system. Fled the whole sector. He would have fled the galaxy if he could.
The Work of a Merc - 15
Life took a turn for the ruthless. To make an existence, then fifteen year old Rian turned his abilities into weapons. He joined a mercenary force called the Vulkhounds. His young age made him the runt of the group, but his sharp mind and quick wits made him fast on his feet. With such an agile intelligence, Rian soon found it possible to out think the mercenaries in his group, allowing him to survive. He also found a silver-tongue of sorts, able to persuade many of those lesser minded than himself into doing what he wanted.
One day, Rian went to the shooting range of the Vulkhound's frigate. He was a terrible shot. The second in command, Captain Tennox, took pity on him. She saw a young boy who didn't really know why he was fighting for the Vulkhounds in the first place. Too young to care about money, but too melancholic to have had a good past. She could deduce the rest from there. She helped him learn how to shoot, training him to use a blaster pistol over the duration of his stint with the Vulkhounds.
Befriending the second in command of the Vulkhounds gave him a protector. And that was really all Rian sought. He did not have ‘friends’. Only allies. And alliances are never permanent. Rian became confident in his protection and threw contempt in the faces of the lesser ranked members.
Unfortunately, the second in command of the Vulkhounds died in one of their frequent skirmishes. Rian knew his time was up from the moment he heard the news. He abandoned the mercenaries at age seventeen, before anyone had the chance to stick a knife in his back.
Path of the Shark - 17
It was not long before one of the mercenaries caught up to him. Rian prepared himself for a fight only to learn that the Herglic following him was no ordinary mercenary. Kiju was his name and he only recently joined the Vulkhounds before Rian left.
Kiju explained that he only joined the Vulkhounds because he had had a vision in the Force, of Rian. The youth was taken aback that anyone would take special interest in him. He had never been cared about before and the idea that someone might was paralyzing. Rian accepted the Herglic’s offer to train Rian in the Force, not asking where Kiju had learned it in the first place. Kiju had his own secrets.
The two treated each other more as equals than master and apprentice, discovering the deeper aspects of the Force together. However, Kiju provided much of the more basic knowledge of things such as constructing a lightsaber and the more intricate forms of such combat. Kiju claimed to have been taught by a Grey Jedi, an offshoot of the actual Jedi Order. Despite the Herglic’s immense strength, he relied more on stealth than overwhelming power.
For years, Kiju trained Rian, but training was not all they did. Herglics were renowned traders and merchants and Kiju worked for a different sort of Herglic trade. He was an arms dealer, using his persuasive abilities with the Force as well as his sheer power for more... lucrative ends. He used Rian as an asset more than a friend. The more intense ‘training’ consisted of teaching Rian a few new abilities with the Force, then going to a meeting with Hutt crimelords to ‘test out’ the new abilities. Or, he would send Rian out to resolve a problem for the company. Often this consisted of making individuals who had embezzled, stolen, or cheated the company in some form or another, disappear. Usually the body was found in a week, or a month.... or never.
Despite the Herglic having much knowledge in the way of lightsaber combat, Rian found other intricacies of the Force far more interesting, and useful. Nevertheless, he trained daily to stay in shape. He was not weak. The Force bolstered his strength and speed beyond that of any normal human. However, he simply did not devour lightsaber combat with the same avarice he did Force techniques. After mastering Shii-Cho, Rian went on to study Shien and Djem So. He preferred the strong stance and overwhelming counter attacks of Shien. But he never found such practice to be as pleasing as picking a thought out of someone’s head at the bargaining table, or quickly apprehending new information. Kiju called it Drain Knowledge. This ability was not only nice to have in store, but pivotal in the Herglic's trade. Rian drank it all in eagerly.
He found his forte in using telepathy and telekinesis. He never quite mastered the Force lightning ability, but he was quite adept at crushing the larynxes of those who became his enemies. Using telekinesis, he found saber combat became much easier. When you could lift your enemy into the air and spear their trapped body with your saber, like a netted fish, the fact that his forms were not as fine as his master's no longer weighed so heavily on his mind. But, he would always have to be stronger in the Force to defeat his opponents, or at least more creative in how he used it.
The training went on for years. Bit by bit, Rian began to learn the forms of Djem So. A powerful physique was necessary for the style, which Rian possessed in his height and weight. When not actually practicing by carving the lightsaber through living beings that had displeased Kiju's company, Rian performed the forms of Djem So in a basement beneath the Herglic's headquarters. Kiju, an incredibly powerful being of pure strength, showed him there how to properly use Djem So's counter-attacking philosophy to an advantage in a fight. The entire mindset of a Form V practitioner when entering a duel was to dominate the opponent. So Kiju dominated Rian. Daily.
Beaten until he was a mass of bruises and welts, Rian would be then forced to undergo hours of meditation, concentrating on telepathic communication, lifting large objects with his mind, and eventually sending force lightning crackling from the tips of his hands. Exhausted, he would wander off to a cot in the corner, fall asleep, and be woken up the next day to be sent off on some mission. No rest. No mercy. In Kiju's eyes the weak deserved to die. He was as ruthless as a vornskr, despite seeming to actually care about Rian. Indeed, he called his training method the path of the shark. And a shark was always moving.
After thousands of hours of such training, Rian became a warrior not to be meddled with. In saber combat, Rian would beat the training droids into submission, utilizing the power of their attacks to strengthen his own "Fluid Riposte". Strengthening his body with the Force, he flowed from "Perching Falcon" to "Falling Avalanche" with fluidity and grace, hitherto unseen in his forms.
In the Force, Rian surpassed even his Master's abilities, though Kiju would never admit it. Years spent lifting large objects with his mind, and flinging rocks through hoops in the air, enabled him to fling his lightsaber like a spear, or crush a person beneath a cascade of rubble. Telepathic illusions would confuse and disorient his opponents, leaving them open for the devastating strike of Force lightning, or the simple crushing of the trachea. His mind became his most powerful weapon.
Delving Darkness - 25
When he turned twenty-five, Rian’s lust for power still could not be satisfied. Kiju taught him less and less. Rian grew more frustrated with each passing month. It seemed the Herglic’s knowledge had been sucked dry. At last, Kiju told Rian that he had taught him all he could. Recognizing Rian’s dissatisfaction, he directed him to Bunduki, where the Teras Kasi practitioners resided. If they could be found, he could be trained to enhance his martial skill. Rian thanked Kiju and departed for Bunduki at once.
He reached the surface of Bunduki, far away in the outer rim, several weeks later. The planet old, but Rian felt something drawing him down. An ominous, but patient evil that lacked the fierce aggression Rian had felt in other wells of Dark Side residue. Intrigued, Rian sought out the presence. After much searching, he was guided to a nearly abandoned temple, forgotten by the passing years. Rian reached out in the force. Immediately, a blast of pain shot through him unlike anything he felt before. Memories flipped through his mind, seemingly of their own accord. The darkest nightmares of his past seemed on a repeating loop, making him watch over and over again as he killed his mother, was expelled by the Jedi Order, teased by the children at school. When the nightmares withdrew, Rian found himself on the floor, his body shuddering while he wept uncontrollably. A figure appeared in the doorway of the temple. The voice was harsh and rasping, a siren of evil. It asked him if he wished to learn the power so recently used upon himself. Rian’s heart seemed to slow to a halt. It had been this man-thing who forced him to grovel upon the ground like a sobbing child. The realization came with unparalleled anger, but Rian’s lust for knowledge outweighed his thirst for revenge. He asked the man who it was, and he answered that he was merely the imprint of an age gone by, a descendant dissenter of the Jedi Order in the time of the Great Schism. Not a being thousands of years old, but the last remnant of an ancient bloodline. One filled with knowledge and steeped in the Dark Side's ways. A man, but not like any Rian had ever met. He asked once more if he wished to be trained. Rian answered yes, and his descent into madness began.
The Master himself had not heard the sound of an earthly voice for some time. Alone, in the wilds and more recently in the temple, he simply existed. Once, he remembered some that had called him Ishmial. Those some were dead now. He had lived a long time, but he lost track of the years. The last nameday he remembered had been his fortieth. It seemed it had been a lifetime since then, though it was only twenty years. A lifetime for some. Twenty years since he last had known laughter. Twenty years wherein he sought peace. He found none. Few who slaughtered their friends in a fit of madness and ran off into the wilds did. Was he insane? Perhaps. But all things were insane, in one way or another. Life itself was madness, for him. Now, it seemed he had a new purpose. Rian Asrael had found him. And Ishmial planned to release him upon the galaxy. For all the friends Ishmial had lost, for all the horrors enacted, he would revisit the galaxy with an abomination the likes of which it had not seen. He would pay back the galaxy, with interest tenfold. For his name had once been Ishmial, a descendant of the Jedi from the Schism. All dead now. All but him. Raised in secrecy, tortured in life, destined for tragedy. Yes, he would make worlds burn. And Rian Asrael would be the wildfire to do it.
Two years of training passed within the temple, Rian seldom leaving except to bring back sustenance from nearby ship. The training forced Rian to confront his darkest fears, the hooded figure goading him with its low, rasping voice. Every moment he hated most in his life was suddenly playing before him every day. He fed upon the emotions: hatred, grief, strife, and the loathing he felt for those who were better than them. Now, he was better than any of them. Superior in every way. They would suffer for every moment of misery he had had to endure. The seed of revenge, already there, began to take deep root. The training changed him, taking the outlines of a man with a grief stricken past and filling him in with rage. Indeed, this seemed to be the intent of the hooded master whose tutelage Rian followed so voraciously.
His Master brought him subjects on which to test. Rian did not know where they came from. He did not ask. He did not need to ask. Delving into their minds showed him who they truly were. Their deepest fears, darkest nightmares, dreaded secrets. All were laid bare before his penetrating gaze that reached into their souls and plucked out their essence. Yet, it was not without cost to himself. Their fears became his fears, their pain his. Controlling the process was like riding an avalanche of fire and ice, twisting and churning inside him so forcefully that the first dozen attempts he threw up. What he found frightened him, sickened him to the very core. The faces began to blur, a man who feared what his children would discover, a soldier who'd killed his friends to escape, a woman who sought to hide a murder.
So much fear. So much anguish. Did he feel for them? The first twenty times, yes. Some part of him had longed to reach out and console their terror. He reached out with care those times, shuffling through memories like thin glass sheets. It taught him care. It taught him precision. But it did not teach him compassion. Lust for vengeance strangled his empathy, choking it with weeds of long sown hatred. Slowly, he began to gain control. The bouts of sickness in his stomach faded to light nausea. Nausea turned to revulsion. Revulsion to hatred. Hatred.... to loathing. They were weak, all of them. All humanity and humanoids were weak, and all the same. Their fears were petty; their nightmares mere insects. They deserved to die. Not out of mercy. No, he had run dry of that long ago. Only now did he realize it.
Continually, his Master forced him to reach into their minds and ravage their thoughts, searching for what they held most sacred, or most unsacred. It taught him the malleability of humanoids. The fallibility of man. The falsehood of civilization's strength. All so shortsighted. All so blind! He could not bear their thoughts anymore. Always the same six beings. Always them. Yet, all petulant fools. He turned their nightmares on them with wicked intent. Let them suffocate in their weakness. Let them drown in it. One by one, he broke their minds and they slavered upon the ground in helpless drivel. Then, he broke their necks. And finally he realized his transformation.
He had become a wall of darkness, harder than any metal, stronger than any element, but as treacherous as the shifting sands of Tatooine. Altered, some might say twisted, but no, he was the next step of humanity. A natural progression brought about by the Force. There was no emotion, there was only strength. There was no fear, there was only control. He would cleanse the galaxy from the weakness that tainted it. He would forge it anew in the fires of his vengeance. For he was no longer Rian Asrael; he was death incarnate. Or so he thought.
At last, the hooded figure deemed he had mastered the technique. All that was left was to prove his mastery by turning it upon someone close. But Asrael had no one close. No one save Kiju. Rian told the hooded figure of the Herglic, and the shrouded voice seemed very pleased. Kiju would do.
A year more, he spent, training for the inevitable. The hooded figure, whose name he still did not know but referred to only as "Master," told him to train with the Teras Kasi practitioners. As it had been his original intent, Rian found no reason not to. He sought them out.
Tas Ki was her name, a woman who had mastered the martial art. She did not teach just anyone. When Rian Asrael came to her, she made him prove himself in unarmed combat. Again, and again, she struck him down. Clearly, he had little experience with martial arts, save for his footwork. The only redeeming quality about him was that footwork, and his relentlessness. Was the man a vornskr? He certainly seemed to possess their ferocity. Finally, she decided it was enough and immobilized his legs with well-placed kicks. He had potential.
As the months passed, that potential grew. The daily workouts Rian faced were even more severe than Kiju's beatings. Pushups, pullups, sit ups, weight lifting. Tas Ki began forging him into a human weapon. With daily sparring, the bones of his shins and arms began to harden and his body molded beneath the hail of kicks and fists. The anniversary of his training arrived and Rian disappeared, leaving an irate Tas Ki, who thought he had abandoned the teachings.
The Herglic arms dealer, dark jedi, and trade merchant extraordinaire was surprised to see Rian again, but pleased. After inviting Rian onto his private space yacht, he settled down in his chair and asked Rian to tell of his adventures. Rian looked at his food, but did not taste. He glanced at his wine, but did not drink. He seemed... aloof. Those green eyes more guarded than before, but containing a paralyzing green stare. And his face was much changed: haughty, but not in the manner of a petty princeling. It was the arrogance of someone who knew all the cards, and enjoyed watching lesser beings struggle to puzzle them out. Compared to the young, angst filled man the Herglic had known, this Rian Asrael was a cold snake. Rian told Kiju he had learned many things in his sojourn, but he paused. Something was wrong.
Using a technique Kiju had taught him, Rian ripped information from the Herglic’s mind. So... Kiju planned to go after a powerful artifact. Rian asked Kiju when he had been planning on revealing this and the Herglic, confused by Rian’s vehemence, but returning fire with fire, told Rian that it was his own damnable business. Asrael ignited his blade, a lightsaber he had constructed under Kiju’s guidance. It was a white cylinder with four black bands. An emerald blade snapped to life with hissing sizzle. Somewhat reluctant, but growing angrier with each second, Kiju activated his blue blade. The two danced around the yacht, their attacks wrought from sheer power and the violence of Djem So. Rian was outmatched by the Herglic. Djem So fed on the physical prowess of the practitioner, and Rian could not match the massive strength of a Herglic. His saber was severed near the top, sputtering into a useless piece of scrap. Kiju advanced, his wrath brimming until it overflowed. He had been prepared to share the knowledge with Rian, but now his former apprentice would die. Rian simply gave a twisted mockery of a smile and stared with those paralyzingly calm, green eyes. The human male stretched out a hand and Kiju’s mind exploded into memories of his past. The darkest parts of his life flashed before the Herglic until he was doubled over upon the ground. Rian stopped the mental attack and lifted the massive humanoid into the air with his mind, along with Kiju’s own lightsaber blade. Rian told Kiju, his tone full of contempt, that he had always been stronger in the Force than the Herglic. He ripped the knowledge of the artifact from the Herglic’s mind before crushing the windpipe of his former master. Kiju fell to the ground, lifeless.
Hardened Hearts - 28
After a month spent reconstructing a lightsaber, this one with a silver dragon coiling around a black cylinder, its jaws emitting the emerald, dual-phase blade, Rian boarded his ship to travel once more. With knowledge of the artifact feeding his lust for power, Rian set off to find them. He dared not go back to the dark Master. Too much fear waited for him there. Of all the beings in the galaxy, he only feared that one.
Kiju's memories led him to a woman called Alexis, who nearly killed him several times during their first meeting. Managing to calm her, Rian siphoned off relevant information from her brain, but took care not to harm her in the process. She was an intelligence officer for the Sith Military. Kiju's memories were a bit jumbled, being ripped from the Herglic in anger Rian hadn't taken care or precision in what he stole. Rian needed time to sort the information out, but time he did not have. The memories were slipping away, like sand seeping through his fingers. Something about a powerful lightsaber, no was it a saber? The realization he could not recall all of it frightened Rian. He became desperate for the information. Information that now only Alexis could reveal. She refused.
Loath to hurt the woman, who he found some certain attraction to, he tried to persuade her, but to no avail. Eventually, he settled for keeping her prisoner until he could puzzle out the jumbled mess he had extracted from the Herglic's mind. He realized his compulsiveness had cost him foresight. The lust for power had been too overwhelming, but he couldn't help it. In his arrogance, he ignored common self-control, believing he could take what he wanted, do what he wanted. After all, he was a step above normal humanity. Special.
As the days passed, Rian's feelings for Alexis grew. She seemed so beautiful. But would she care for him? Eventually, she became more friendly with Rian. Maybe it was stockholm syndrome, but Rian hoped it was more. Finally, Alexis told Rian that despite everything, she had grown fond of him. Rian was shocked, but he hid it beneath his cold mask. Someone cared about him? He hadn't ever known anyone to truly care about him before. His mother always wanted him to do better. Kiju just wanted to use him as a tool for his company. But Alexis, she actually cared. In his blindness, he allowed her increasing increments of freedom, which she turned on him like a dagger.
He did not know who told the Sith Military of his location, but somehow they found him. As Rian watched the gunship descend, his mind began to race. How? And then he realized. Alexis. With eyes brimming with anger and confusion at the betrayal, he turned to her. She scoffed, telling him how easy it was to manipulate him once she found out his interest in her. Continuing her rant, she told him that he would be taken into custody now. Rian had shaken his head. No. He wouldn't be going with her anywhere. He had cared about her, but no one betrayed Rian Asrael without paying a terrible price. He lifted his hand to kill her, but the trained agent shot him in the shoulder with a holdout pistol. While he staggered from the wound, she escaped onto the gunship, which began arming its missiles.
Realizing his vengeance would have to come at another time, Rian boarded his shuttle and escaped with the gunship in hot pursuit. After a week, he threw them off his trail, but that was not the end of it. The Sith Military did not take the kidnapping of one of their own lightly. He was hunted across the border between the Republic and the Sith, not daring to cross into either unfriendly zone. Finally, the Sith caught up.
Trapped on Dantooine, Rian was surrounded by a full platoon of trained soldiers. Alexis and another officer were in charge. Rian was sure he could out think them, but he needed more time. They were closing in on his shuttle, preparing to board and take him into custody. Before either party could outthink or outshoot the other, a third ship came into view. Rian's blood ran cold as he recognized the ship's design. It was Herglic make.
They came for his blood. Kiju had been one of their pod. Once they learned that Rian Asrael killed him, Rian Asrael was already half-way across the Sith territory. But their vengeance spurred them on. Now, they would have their own. There were three of them. All brothers. And they did not care who they had to kill to get to Rian. A firefight with the Sith Military ensued. Rian watched with satisfaction as his enemies cut each other to pieces. But, Alexis was suddenly in the line of fire. His heart lurched. No, he did not have feelings for her still. He forced himself to think it was a wish for vengeance. That was all it was. He could not let any have that vengeance before him.
Rian reluctantly went into the fray. He crushed the trachea of a soldier who stood in his way, disarmed - literally - another, and simply stabbed a third with his emerald saber. None of it in time to save Alexis. He watched, helplessly, as the Herglic swatted her aside like a rag doll. The sharp crack of her neck breaking was audible on the battlefield. Her limp, lifeless body cartwheeled across the plain. Enraged, Rian killed everything living. No Herglic arm, no Sith blaster would stop him in his madness. All because they stole his revenge.
After a few minutes standing still, Rian realized that all the combatants save him were dead. The three Herglic lay still, smoking corpses. He never even learned their names. He realized in that moment that it had been almost two years to the day since he killed Herglic. Yet his heart held no room for mercy. Betrayal had carved out the last caring bit of it, leaving him with a heart of darkness.
Alone, he wandered aimlessly for two months. He killed all soldiers he crossed, indiscriminate of faction or cause. A sort of small legend grew around him. A green-eyed man who wandered the border, lusting for blood. The few who told the tale said that if you looked into his paralyzing gaze, it would freeze you cold and stop your heart. It seemed exaggeration of fact was a staple in bars, no matter where in the galaxy one was. Nevertheless, he did have a reputation. Eventually, the Sith Military decided it would be more appropriate to cut a bargain with this man rather than lose anymore soldiers to him or send another strike force to eliminate him. After all, a turned enemy was better than a dead enemy. All memory of the ancient artifact still jumbled, Rian agreed to side with the Sith in exchange for monthly payment. Only time would tell if he would keep that agreement.
Soon after joining, the Sith Order swallowed him into their hidden ranks. A growing nebulous of dark energy that Rian fed off hungrily.
Lightsaber: Single blade, dual-phase.
Color: Emerald Green
Description: A cylinder of black, with a silver dragon coiling around the hilt to end in a wolf-like head whose open jaws emit the emerald blade.
Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho: 5
Makashi: N/A
Soresu: N/A
Ataru: N/A
Shien / Djem So: 4
>>Sub-form Backhanded: N/A
Niman
>>Sub-form Jar-kai, or Dual Wield: N/A
Juyo: N/A
Double Bladed Combat: N/A
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
Telekinetic: 7
Telepathic: 7
Body: 1
Sense: 1
Protection: 1
Healing: 1
Destruction: 5
Specialized Skills:
Torture by Chagrin
Drain Knowledge
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 6
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 5
Leadership: 2
Unarmed: 5
Melee Weapons: 3
Ranged Weapons: 5
RP Sample:
A ray of bloody light filtered through the room from the outside as the door swung open. A dull red sun rose behind the figure standing in the doorway, casting his shadow on the floor tinged with red. Rian Asrael entered the room.
Asrael felt it as soon as he opened the door. Violence hung freely in the air. A thin drapery that clouded the senses and blanketed the emotions with wild-eyed fear. Rian saw red again, blinding his sight. The intoxicating vision of death. His eyelids fluttered. The metallic tang of freshly spilled blood engulfed Rian's senses. He could taste it on his tongue, smell it in the air, feel it on his hands, hear its slow trickle. A tide of maroon flooding the room, rising slowly, drowning him. It whispered his name, cried out in pain, love, no... anger. Raging at him while smothering him, filling him up and crushing him. A torrent of fire and a blizzard of ice that froze his soul and burned his body to ashes.
Blink.
Gone.
A vision of death still spread itself before his eyes. An angel held her weapon raised above a servant of darkness. Her eyes crackled with violent electricity, shooting tendrils of uncontrollable energy in every direction. Her hair was matted and tangled with roses of bereaved life. A snarl of victory twisted her face, her arms rippling with a lithe, sinuous strength hitherto unknown and coated in slick maroon. On her cheeks were streaks of mortuous rouge. Tiny rivers the color life trickled down her arms and blade, dripping onto the rended and ruptured body of an unrecognizable figure. The crimson, scarlet drops fell in a silence that seemed to stretch on for eternity.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The voluptuous dark angel turned to him, her body coated in the slick blood of the fallen. “Do you also wish death, stranger?”
Rian’s eyes narrowed to green slits as he concentrated, then resumed normal appearance as he greeted her with a smile that seemed somehow... off. A dark magnetism lay draped across him like a cloak. When he spoke it was a voice that sounded of a molten stream flowing beneath a placid surface; an almost-pleasant voice, whose rich, husky tones spoke power, a rasping river of silver. “Alexis,” said he. It was no question. “I am Rian Asrael. I have come to find the Artifact.”
The woman’s eyes widened. How did he know her name? Rian Asrael knew a great many things. The disfigured body she stood over was one who sought it as well. Clearly he had not been strong enough. Suddenly, the woman came at him with the knife. Rian blinked in surprise. No, he certainly had not expected such aggressiveness. He raised a hand and caught her in the Force, stopping her in her tracks.
A cold serenity issued from the paralyzing gaze of his green eyes. He looked over the woman. She wore a tight fitting pilot’s suit. Dark hair hung to her shoulders and her olive-skinned face was pretty, though marred by a snarl of rage.
“Perhaps I did not make myself clear. We can do this in a civilized fashion... or I can simply rip the necessary information from your brain. Unfortunately, the latter leaves your mental health in ruined tatters. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” a sinister smile slithered across his face and Alexis realized how serious this man was. How serious indeed.
Race: Tapani Human, Male
Age: 29
Height: 6’
Weight: 180 lbs
Appearance: High cheekbones, a thin, sharp nose, paralyzing green eyes, and the occasionally slicked back brown hair give him a dark, yet regal, appearance. Despite this, most of the time he appears to be a simple, everyday human male. His smiles could be described as grim, mirthless, crooked, bleak, sinister, or even almost mad. Clothing depends on the occasion. Typically he wears black, grey or khaki fatigues with shin-length boots, though for more formal, or sinister, events he dons a sable, shimmersilk tunic and matching pants worked with silver on the sleeves and high collar.
Personality:
Rian's most dominant trait is his need for attention and recognition of his abilities. He wishes for his presence to invoke some sort of reaction, whether it be love, hate, or fear is not important to him. Anyone who tries to take advantage of him tends to elicit a violent response, often in the form of a crushed throat. Because of his tragic past, Rian regards himself as owing society nothing and is completely socially irresponsible, with a notable lack of long term goals. He often shoves off the blame of his actions onto others, or turns it around on the accuser. He holds the view that he is entitled to automatic compliance because of his abilities. This comes along with a feeling of superiority to everyone and everything.
A scarred childhood and several devastating betrayals have turned Rian into a callous and ruthless man. He enjoys and is quite capable of manipulating people based on their emotional attachments to particular things or their past history. He will especially single out those he deems as 'weak'. His ability to play with people's minds can enable him to escape from some nasty situations, or even turn the tables with psychological warfare. In order to further his manipulation game he will often pretend to be a social worker, lawyer, anything that he deems as 'fun' and useful. His ability to appear a normal human being and disguise his true nature is something he has a natural talent for.
He is able to quickly comprehend and assimilate details, but despite his intelligence he can be compulsive and unpredictable. All this is hidden beneath a mask of charm, a certain dark magnetism hanging about him like a cloak, while a rasping, yet silver, tongue serves to persuade those not swayed by the charm.
Birth place: Fondor
Faction: Sith Order
Rank: Initiate
Previous Faction: Dark Jedi
Previous Rank: Knight - Assassin
Bio:
Years of Youth
On the world of Fondor, a new life blinked its first glimpses of the galaxy. Tayne and Masri Asrael smiled down at their newborn son, their only son. For the first years after Rian Asrael’s birth, the family lived in joy, relishing each moment together. But all happy things must end. The Asraels were not wealthy and Tayne soon found that his job did not supply enough money to support their joy. Not with Rian adding to the cost. He broke the news gently to Masri, shed tears with her as they struggled to find a solution. Every day the Asraels found themselves poorer. Tayne would grit his teeth and try to find a job, but with the angst in the Noble Houses none of the trade worlds could trust the economy. That lack of trust found its way even to the Asrael household.
Finally, Tayne grew to desperation as lack of options forced him to extremes. Coming home, he discussed the matter with Masri and they soon found themselves sending Rian off for adoption.
A Jedi Master, perusing the children put up for adoption and looking for a force sensitive child, discovered Rian and whisked him away upon discovering his sensitivity.
Once at the temple, Rian was immediately placed into training. When he was old enough, a training saber was placed in his hand. The first few swings accidentally hit his arms and legs, giving him a sharp jolt of pain. He would remember that pain. He practiced much with the saber, but he was never able to be the first in his class at it. Always, others out did him in proficiency with saber sparring. Beaten time and time again, Rian turned to other pursuits to excel in and found a far more valuable weapon: his mind. The Masters soon discovered that Rian’s abilities with telekinesis and telepathy were beyond that of the average youngling and they cultured those abilities. But saber practice was a continued frustration.
Rian hated being beaten, but Zok Tors, another youngling his age, seemed able to do it with ease. The hate grew, a dark fungus in Rian’s heart. Years passed, but no Knight chose him as a padawan. The rejection became bundled in with Rian’s hate of Zok Tors, until it finally exploded.
The two were sparring, when Zok made a derisive remark about how Rian would never be chosen because no one wanted someone who would chop their own arms off with their lightsaber. Zok then began taunting him with increasingly foul remarks as he landed strike after strike into Rian’s body, the young boy not fast enough to counter. Rian went into a rage. Zok might have been more than his equal with the saber, but no one matched Rian’s mind. He sent a force shove that slammed Zok into the wall of the training room with such force it drew blood. His lust for vengeance not yet satisfied, he slashed again and again with the training saber, each blow bringing a scream of pain from Zok. When he came out of the haze of anger, he found Zok huddled on the floor, his exposed flesh a mass of reddened flesh from the training saber. A day later, Rian was expelled.
Seeking Shelter - 13
Rian sought out his parents afterward, who he barely remembered. He would later wished he hadn’t. Rian was greeted with tears of joy, that soon turned to tears of dispair. His father was out of a job and had turned to alcohol as remedy for his sorrow, while his mother was working two jobs. Despite this, his parents tried to provide for him. At first, they thought it would work out. Rian began going to school, which he despised as the other kids made fun of his poverty. Eventually, troubles began to pile on top of each other. Masri’s pay was cut in her second job, causing an increased spur of drinking in Tayne, who turned his drunken anger upon his son as his only outlet. Putting up with the anger and disgust from his father and the constant teasing from his classmates turned Rian into an unsocial loner, with resentment of them all turning into a ball of hatred. One day, a classmate went too far, joking about Rian’s mother and making some uncouth suggestions as to what she could do for a job. The student never knew what hit him. All the school could learn was that Rian had somehow slammed his fellow student into a wall so hard it fractured his skull, the kid was lucky to be alive, but Rian was expelled. Again.
When he broke the news to his father, Tayne erupted into drunken anger, grabbing Rian by the shirt and lifting him up into the air. Rian hated his father’s drunken anger. He hated having to live in a house where his father did nothing to help. And he hated to be touched. Rian blasted his father away with the Force. Still drunk, his father stood up and began teetering toward his son to show him who was in charge. But Rian knew he was beyond his father’s power. Beyond anyone’s power. With his mind like a vice, he grasped a metal rod and hurled it at his father like a spear. However, Rian’s precision was not as well developed. His raw power sent the rod spiraling toward his father, but it missed him by a hair’s breadth. Instead, the rod passed straight through his mother.
Rian forgot how to breath. He hadn’t seen her run in. She must have come to stop him and his father from fighting. He did not know how it was possible. He didn’t mean to hurt her! He didn’t mean to harm her! Going half out of his mind, Rian fled the planet. Fled the system. Fled the whole sector. He would have fled the galaxy if he could.
The Work of a Merc - 15
Life took a turn for the ruthless. To make an existence, then fifteen year old Rian turned his abilities into weapons. He joined a mercenary force called the Vulkhounds. His young age made him the runt of the group, but his sharp mind and quick wits made him fast on his feet. With such an agile intelligence, Rian soon found it possible to out think the mercenaries in his group, allowing him to survive. He also found a silver-tongue of sorts, able to persuade many of those lesser minded than himself into doing what he wanted.
One day, Rian went to the shooting range of the Vulkhound's frigate. He was a terrible shot. The second in command, Captain Tennox, took pity on him. She saw a young boy who didn't really know why he was fighting for the Vulkhounds in the first place. Too young to care about money, but too melancholic to have had a good past. She could deduce the rest from there. She helped him learn how to shoot, training him to use a blaster pistol over the duration of his stint with the Vulkhounds.
Befriending the second in command of the Vulkhounds gave him a protector. And that was really all Rian sought. He did not have ‘friends’. Only allies. And alliances are never permanent. Rian became confident in his protection and threw contempt in the faces of the lesser ranked members.
Unfortunately, the second in command of the Vulkhounds died in one of their frequent skirmishes. Rian knew his time was up from the moment he heard the news. He abandoned the mercenaries at age seventeen, before anyone had the chance to stick a knife in his back.
Path of the Shark - 17
It was not long before one of the mercenaries caught up to him. Rian prepared himself for a fight only to learn that the Herglic following him was no ordinary mercenary. Kiju was his name and he only recently joined the Vulkhounds before Rian left.
Kiju explained that he only joined the Vulkhounds because he had had a vision in the Force, of Rian. The youth was taken aback that anyone would take special interest in him. He had never been cared about before and the idea that someone might was paralyzing. Rian accepted the Herglic’s offer to train Rian in the Force, not asking where Kiju had learned it in the first place. Kiju had his own secrets.
The two treated each other more as equals than master and apprentice, discovering the deeper aspects of the Force together. However, Kiju provided much of the more basic knowledge of things such as constructing a lightsaber and the more intricate forms of such combat. Kiju claimed to have been taught by a Grey Jedi, an offshoot of the actual Jedi Order. Despite the Herglic’s immense strength, he relied more on stealth than overwhelming power.
For years, Kiju trained Rian, but training was not all they did. Herglics were renowned traders and merchants and Kiju worked for a different sort of Herglic trade. He was an arms dealer, using his persuasive abilities with the Force as well as his sheer power for more... lucrative ends. He used Rian as an asset more than a friend. The more intense ‘training’ consisted of teaching Rian a few new abilities with the Force, then going to a meeting with Hutt crimelords to ‘test out’ the new abilities. Or, he would send Rian out to resolve a problem for the company. Often this consisted of making individuals who had embezzled, stolen, or cheated the company in some form or another, disappear. Usually the body was found in a week, or a month.... or never.
Despite the Herglic having much knowledge in the way of lightsaber combat, Rian found other intricacies of the Force far more interesting, and useful. Nevertheless, he trained daily to stay in shape. He was not weak. The Force bolstered his strength and speed beyond that of any normal human. However, he simply did not devour lightsaber combat with the same avarice he did Force techniques. After mastering Shii-Cho, Rian went on to study Shien and Djem So. He preferred the strong stance and overwhelming counter attacks of Shien. But he never found such practice to be as pleasing as picking a thought out of someone’s head at the bargaining table, or quickly apprehending new information. Kiju called it Drain Knowledge. This ability was not only nice to have in store, but pivotal in the Herglic's trade. Rian drank it all in eagerly.
He found his forte in using telepathy and telekinesis. He never quite mastered the Force lightning ability, but he was quite adept at crushing the larynxes of those who became his enemies. Using telekinesis, he found saber combat became much easier. When you could lift your enemy into the air and spear their trapped body with your saber, like a netted fish, the fact that his forms were not as fine as his master's no longer weighed so heavily on his mind. But, he would always have to be stronger in the Force to defeat his opponents, or at least more creative in how he used it.
The training went on for years. Bit by bit, Rian began to learn the forms of Djem So. A powerful physique was necessary for the style, which Rian possessed in his height and weight. When not actually practicing by carving the lightsaber through living beings that had displeased Kiju's company, Rian performed the forms of Djem So in a basement beneath the Herglic's headquarters. Kiju, an incredibly powerful being of pure strength, showed him there how to properly use Djem So's counter-attacking philosophy to an advantage in a fight. The entire mindset of a Form V practitioner when entering a duel was to dominate the opponent. So Kiju dominated Rian. Daily.
Beaten until he was a mass of bruises and welts, Rian would be then forced to undergo hours of meditation, concentrating on telepathic communication, lifting large objects with his mind, and eventually sending force lightning crackling from the tips of his hands. Exhausted, he would wander off to a cot in the corner, fall asleep, and be woken up the next day to be sent off on some mission. No rest. No mercy. In Kiju's eyes the weak deserved to die. He was as ruthless as a vornskr, despite seeming to actually care about Rian. Indeed, he called his training method the path of the shark. And a shark was always moving.
After thousands of hours of such training, Rian became a warrior not to be meddled with. In saber combat, Rian would beat the training droids into submission, utilizing the power of their attacks to strengthen his own "Fluid Riposte". Strengthening his body with the Force, he flowed from "Perching Falcon" to "Falling Avalanche" with fluidity and grace, hitherto unseen in his forms.
In the Force, Rian surpassed even his Master's abilities, though Kiju would never admit it. Years spent lifting large objects with his mind, and flinging rocks through hoops in the air, enabled him to fling his lightsaber like a spear, or crush a person beneath a cascade of rubble. Telepathic illusions would confuse and disorient his opponents, leaving them open for the devastating strike of Force lightning, or the simple crushing of the trachea. His mind became his most powerful weapon.
Delving Darkness - 25
When he turned twenty-five, Rian’s lust for power still could not be satisfied. Kiju taught him less and less. Rian grew more frustrated with each passing month. It seemed the Herglic’s knowledge had been sucked dry. At last, Kiju told Rian that he had taught him all he could. Recognizing Rian’s dissatisfaction, he directed him to Bunduki, where the Teras Kasi practitioners resided. If they could be found, he could be trained to enhance his martial skill. Rian thanked Kiju and departed for Bunduki at once.
He reached the surface of Bunduki, far away in the outer rim, several weeks later. The planet old, but Rian felt something drawing him down. An ominous, but patient evil that lacked the fierce aggression Rian had felt in other wells of Dark Side residue. Intrigued, Rian sought out the presence. After much searching, he was guided to a nearly abandoned temple, forgotten by the passing years. Rian reached out in the force. Immediately, a blast of pain shot through him unlike anything he felt before. Memories flipped through his mind, seemingly of their own accord. The darkest nightmares of his past seemed on a repeating loop, making him watch over and over again as he killed his mother, was expelled by the Jedi Order, teased by the children at school. When the nightmares withdrew, Rian found himself on the floor, his body shuddering while he wept uncontrollably. A figure appeared in the doorway of the temple. The voice was harsh and rasping, a siren of evil. It asked him if he wished to learn the power so recently used upon himself. Rian’s heart seemed to slow to a halt. It had been this man-thing who forced him to grovel upon the ground like a sobbing child. The realization came with unparalleled anger, but Rian’s lust for knowledge outweighed his thirst for revenge. He asked the man who it was, and he answered that he was merely the imprint of an age gone by, a descendant dissenter of the Jedi Order in the time of the Great Schism. Not a being thousands of years old, but the last remnant of an ancient bloodline. One filled with knowledge and steeped in the Dark Side's ways. A man, but not like any Rian had ever met. He asked once more if he wished to be trained. Rian answered yes, and his descent into madness began.
The Master himself had not heard the sound of an earthly voice for some time. Alone, in the wilds and more recently in the temple, he simply existed. Once, he remembered some that had called him Ishmial. Those some were dead now. He had lived a long time, but he lost track of the years. The last nameday he remembered had been his fortieth. It seemed it had been a lifetime since then, though it was only twenty years. A lifetime for some. Twenty years since he last had known laughter. Twenty years wherein he sought peace. He found none. Few who slaughtered their friends in a fit of madness and ran off into the wilds did. Was he insane? Perhaps. But all things were insane, in one way or another. Life itself was madness, for him. Now, it seemed he had a new purpose. Rian Asrael had found him. And Ishmial planned to release him upon the galaxy. For all the friends Ishmial had lost, for all the horrors enacted, he would revisit the galaxy with an abomination the likes of which it had not seen. He would pay back the galaxy, with interest tenfold. For his name had once been Ishmial, a descendant of the Jedi from the Schism. All dead now. All but him. Raised in secrecy, tortured in life, destined for tragedy. Yes, he would make worlds burn. And Rian Asrael would be the wildfire to do it.
Two years of training passed within the temple, Rian seldom leaving except to bring back sustenance from nearby ship. The training forced Rian to confront his darkest fears, the hooded figure goading him with its low, rasping voice. Every moment he hated most in his life was suddenly playing before him every day. He fed upon the emotions: hatred, grief, strife, and the loathing he felt for those who were better than them. Now, he was better than any of them. Superior in every way. They would suffer for every moment of misery he had had to endure. The seed of revenge, already there, began to take deep root. The training changed him, taking the outlines of a man with a grief stricken past and filling him in with rage. Indeed, this seemed to be the intent of the hooded master whose tutelage Rian followed so voraciously.
His Master brought him subjects on which to test. Rian did not know where they came from. He did not ask. He did not need to ask. Delving into their minds showed him who they truly were. Their deepest fears, darkest nightmares, dreaded secrets. All were laid bare before his penetrating gaze that reached into their souls and plucked out their essence. Yet, it was not without cost to himself. Their fears became his fears, their pain his. Controlling the process was like riding an avalanche of fire and ice, twisting and churning inside him so forcefully that the first dozen attempts he threw up. What he found frightened him, sickened him to the very core. The faces began to blur, a man who feared what his children would discover, a soldier who'd killed his friends to escape, a woman who sought to hide a murder.
So much fear. So much anguish. Did he feel for them? The first twenty times, yes. Some part of him had longed to reach out and console their terror. He reached out with care those times, shuffling through memories like thin glass sheets. It taught him care. It taught him precision. But it did not teach him compassion. Lust for vengeance strangled his empathy, choking it with weeds of long sown hatred. Slowly, he began to gain control. The bouts of sickness in his stomach faded to light nausea. Nausea turned to revulsion. Revulsion to hatred. Hatred.... to loathing. They were weak, all of them. All humanity and humanoids were weak, and all the same. Their fears were petty; their nightmares mere insects. They deserved to die. Not out of mercy. No, he had run dry of that long ago. Only now did he realize it.
Continually, his Master forced him to reach into their minds and ravage their thoughts, searching for what they held most sacred, or most unsacred. It taught him the malleability of humanoids. The fallibility of man. The falsehood of civilization's strength. All so shortsighted. All so blind! He could not bear their thoughts anymore. Always the same six beings. Always them. Yet, all petulant fools. He turned their nightmares on them with wicked intent. Let them suffocate in their weakness. Let them drown in it. One by one, he broke their minds and they slavered upon the ground in helpless drivel. Then, he broke their necks. And finally he realized his transformation.
He had become a wall of darkness, harder than any metal, stronger than any element, but as treacherous as the shifting sands of Tatooine. Altered, some might say twisted, but no, he was the next step of humanity. A natural progression brought about by the Force. There was no emotion, there was only strength. There was no fear, there was only control. He would cleanse the galaxy from the weakness that tainted it. He would forge it anew in the fires of his vengeance. For he was no longer Rian Asrael; he was death incarnate. Or so he thought.
At last, the hooded figure deemed he had mastered the technique. All that was left was to prove his mastery by turning it upon someone close. But Asrael had no one close. No one save Kiju. Rian told the hooded figure of the Herglic, and the shrouded voice seemed very pleased. Kiju would do.
A year more, he spent, training for the inevitable. The hooded figure, whose name he still did not know but referred to only as "Master," told him to train with the Teras Kasi practitioners. As it had been his original intent, Rian found no reason not to. He sought them out.
Tas Ki was her name, a woman who had mastered the martial art. She did not teach just anyone. When Rian Asrael came to her, she made him prove himself in unarmed combat. Again, and again, she struck him down. Clearly, he had little experience with martial arts, save for his footwork. The only redeeming quality about him was that footwork, and his relentlessness. Was the man a vornskr? He certainly seemed to possess their ferocity. Finally, she decided it was enough and immobilized his legs with well-placed kicks. He had potential.
As the months passed, that potential grew. The daily workouts Rian faced were even more severe than Kiju's beatings. Pushups, pullups, sit ups, weight lifting. Tas Ki began forging him into a human weapon. With daily sparring, the bones of his shins and arms began to harden and his body molded beneath the hail of kicks and fists. The anniversary of his training arrived and Rian disappeared, leaving an irate Tas Ki, who thought he had abandoned the teachings.
The Herglic arms dealer, dark jedi, and trade merchant extraordinaire was surprised to see Rian again, but pleased. After inviting Rian onto his private space yacht, he settled down in his chair and asked Rian to tell of his adventures. Rian looked at his food, but did not taste. He glanced at his wine, but did not drink. He seemed... aloof. Those green eyes more guarded than before, but containing a paralyzing green stare. And his face was much changed: haughty, but not in the manner of a petty princeling. It was the arrogance of someone who knew all the cards, and enjoyed watching lesser beings struggle to puzzle them out. Compared to the young, angst filled man the Herglic had known, this Rian Asrael was a cold snake. Rian told Kiju he had learned many things in his sojourn, but he paused. Something was wrong.
Using a technique Kiju had taught him, Rian ripped information from the Herglic’s mind. So... Kiju planned to go after a powerful artifact. Rian asked Kiju when he had been planning on revealing this and the Herglic, confused by Rian’s vehemence, but returning fire with fire, told Rian that it was his own damnable business. Asrael ignited his blade, a lightsaber he had constructed under Kiju’s guidance. It was a white cylinder with four black bands. An emerald blade snapped to life with hissing sizzle. Somewhat reluctant, but growing angrier with each second, Kiju activated his blue blade. The two danced around the yacht, their attacks wrought from sheer power and the violence of Djem So. Rian was outmatched by the Herglic. Djem So fed on the physical prowess of the practitioner, and Rian could not match the massive strength of a Herglic. His saber was severed near the top, sputtering into a useless piece of scrap. Kiju advanced, his wrath brimming until it overflowed. He had been prepared to share the knowledge with Rian, but now his former apprentice would die. Rian simply gave a twisted mockery of a smile and stared with those paralyzingly calm, green eyes. The human male stretched out a hand and Kiju’s mind exploded into memories of his past. The darkest parts of his life flashed before the Herglic until he was doubled over upon the ground. Rian stopped the mental attack and lifted the massive humanoid into the air with his mind, along with Kiju’s own lightsaber blade. Rian told Kiju, his tone full of contempt, that he had always been stronger in the Force than the Herglic. He ripped the knowledge of the artifact from the Herglic’s mind before crushing the windpipe of his former master. Kiju fell to the ground, lifeless.
Hardened Hearts - 28
After a month spent reconstructing a lightsaber, this one with a silver dragon coiling around a black cylinder, its jaws emitting the emerald, dual-phase blade, Rian boarded his ship to travel once more. With knowledge of the artifact feeding his lust for power, Rian set off to find them. He dared not go back to the dark Master. Too much fear waited for him there. Of all the beings in the galaxy, he only feared that one.
Kiju's memories led him to a woman called Alexis, who nearly killed him several times during their first meeting. Managing to calm her, Rian siphoned off relevant information from her brain, but took care not to harm her in the process. She was an intelligence officer for the Sith Military. Kiju's memories were a bit jumbled, being ripped from the Herglic in anger Rian hadn't taken care or precision in what he stole. Rian needed time to sort the information out, but time he did not have. The memories were slipping away, like sand seeping through his fingers. Something about a powerful lightsaber, no was it a saber? The realization he could not recall all of it frightened Rian. He became desperate for the information. Information that now only Alexis could reveal. She refused.
Loath to hurt the woman, who he found some certain attraction to, he tried to persuade her, but to no avail. Eventually, he settled for keeping her prisoner until he could puzzle out the jumbled mess he had extracted from the Herglic's mind. He realized his compulsiveness had cost him foresight. The lust for power had been too overwhelming, but he couldn't help it. In his arrogance, he ignored common self-control, believing he could take what he wanted, do what he wanted. After all, he was a step above normal humanity. Special.
As the days passed, Rian's feelings for Alexis grew. She seemed so beautiful. But would she care for him? Eventually, she became more friendly with Rian. Maybe it was stockholm syndrome, but Rian hoped it was more. Finally, Alexis told Rian that despite everything, she had grown fond of him. Rian was shocked, but he hid it beneath his cold mask. Someone cared about him? He hadn't ever known anyone to truly care about him before. His mother always wanted him to do better. Kiju just wanted to use him as a tool for his company. But Alexis, she actually cared. In his blindness, he allowed her increasing increments of freedom, which she turned on him like a dagger.
He did not know who told the Sith Military of his location, but somehow they found him. As Rian watched the gunship descend, his mind began to race. How? And then he realized. Alexis. With eyes brimming with anger and confusion at the betrayal, he turned to her. She scoffed, telling him how easy it was to manipulate him once she found out his interest in her. Continuing her rant, she told him that he would be taken into custody now. Rian had shaken his head. No. He wouldn't be going with her anywhere. He had cared about her, but no one betrayed Rian Asrael without paying a terrible price. He lifted his hand to kill her, but the trained agent shot him in the shoulder with a holdout pistol. While he staggered from the wound, she escaped onto the gunship, which began arming its missiles.
Realizing his vengeance would have to come at another time, Rian boarded his shuttle and escaped with the gunship in hot pursuit. After a week, he threw them off his trail, but that was not the end of it. The Sith Military did not take the kidnapping of one of their own lightly. He was hunted across the border between the Republic and the Sith, not daring to cross into either unfriendly zone. Finally, the Sith caught up.
Trapped on Dantooine, Rian was surrounded by a full platoon of trained soldiers. Alexis and another officer were in charge. Rian was sure he could out think them, but he needed more time. They were closing in on his shuttle, preparing to board and take him into custody. Before either party could outthink or outshoot the other, a third ship came into view. Rian's blood ran cold as he recognized the ship's design. It was Herglic make.
They came for his blood. Kiju had been one of their pod. Once they learned that Rian Asrael killed him, Rian Asrael was already half-way across the Sith territory. But their vengeance spurred them on. Now, they would have their own. There were three of them. All brothers. And they did not care who they had to kill to get to Rian. A firefight with the Sith Military ensued. Rian watched with satisfaction as his enemies cut each other to pieces. But, Alexis was suddenly in the line of fire. His heart lurched. No, he did not have feelings for her still. He forced himself to think it was a wish for vengeance. That was all it was. He could not let any have that vengeance before him.
Rian reluctantly went into the fray. He crushed the trachea of a soldier who stood in his way, disarmed - literally - another, and simply stabbed a third with his emerald saber. None of it in time to save Alexis. He watched, helplessly, as the Herglic swatted her aside like a rag doll. The sharp crack of her neck breaking was audible on the battlefield. Her limp, lifeless body cartwheeled across the plain. Enraged, Rian killed everything living. No Herglic arm, no Sith blaster would stop him in his madness. All because they stole his revenge.
After a few minutes standing still, Rian realized that all the combatants save him were dead. The three Herglic lay still, smoking corpses. He never even learned their names. He realized in that moment that it had been almost two years to the day since he killed Herglic. Yet his heart held no room for mercy. Betrayal had carved out the last caring bit of it, leaving him with a heart of darkness.
Alone, he wandered aimlessly for two months. He killed all soldiers he crossed, indiscriminate of faction or cause. A sort of small legend grew around him. A green-eyed man who wandered the border, lusting for blood. The few who told the tale said that if you looked into his paralyzing gaze, it would freeze you cold and stop your heart. It seemed exaggeration of fact was a staple in bars, no matter where in the galaxy one was. Nevertheless, he did have a reputation. Eventually, the Sith Military decided it would be more appropriate to cut a bargain with this man rather than lose anymore soldiers to him or send another strike force to eliminate him. After all, a turned enemy was better than a dead enemy. All memory of the ancient artifact still jumbled, Rian agreed to side with the Sith in exchange for monthly payment. Only time would tell if he would keep that agreement.
Soon after joining, the Sith Order swallowed him into their hidden ranks. A growing nebulous of dark energy that Rian fed off hungrily.
Lightsaber: Single blade, dual-phase.
Color: Emerald Green
Description: A cylinder of black, with a silver dragon coiling around the hilt to end in a wolf-like head whose open jaws emit the emerald blade.
Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho: 5
Makashi: N/A
Soresu: N/A
Ataru: N/A
Shien / Djem So: 4
>>Sub-form Backhanded: N/A
Niman
>>Sub-form Jar-kai, or Dual Wield: N/A
Juyo: N/A
Double Bladed Combat: N/A
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
Telekinetic: 7
Telepathic: 7
Body: 1
Sense: 1
Protection: 1
Healing: 1
Destruction: 5
Specialized Skills:
Torture by Chagrin
Drain Knowledge
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 6
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 5
Leadership: 2
Unarmed: 5
Melee Weapons: 3
Ranged Weapons: 5
RP Sample:
A ray of bloody light filtered through the room from the outside as the door swung open. A dull red sun rose behind the figure standing in the doorway, casting his shadow on the floor tinged with red. Rian Asrael entered the room.
Asrael felt it as soon as he opened the door. Violence hung freely in the air. A thin drapery that clouded the senses and blanketed the emotions with wild-eyed fear. Rian saw red again, blinding his sight. The intoxicating vision of death. His eyelids fluttered. The metallic tang of freshly spilled blood engulfed Rian's senses. He could taste it on his tongue, smell it in the air, feel it on his hands, hear its slow trickle. A tide of maroon flooding the room, rising slowly, drowning him. It whispered his name, cried out in pain, love, no... anger. Raging at him while smothering him, filling him up and crushing him. A torrent of fire and a blizzard of ice that froze his soul and burned his body to ashes.
Blink.
Gone.
A vision of death still spread itself before his eyes. An angel held her weapon raised above a servant of darkness. Her eyes crackled with violent electricity, shooting tendrils of uncontrollable energy in every direction. Her hair was matted and tangled with roses of bereaved life. A snarl of victory twisted her face, her arms rippling with a lithe, sinuous strength hitherto unknown and coated in slick maroon. On her cheeks were streaks of mortuous rouge. Tiny rivers the color life trickled down her arms and blade, dripping onto the rended and ruptured body of an unrecognizable figure. The crimson, scarlet drops fell in a silence that seemed to stretch on for eternity.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The voluptuous dark angel turned to him, her body coated in the slick blood of the fallen. “Do you also wish death, stranger?”
Rian’s eyes narrowed to green slits as he concentrated, then resumed normal appearance as he greeted her with a smile that seemed somehow... off. A dark magnetism lay draped across him like a cloak. When he spoke it was a voice that sounded of a molten stream flowing beneath a placid surface; an almost-pleasant voice, whose rich, husky tones spoke power, a rasping river of silver. “Alexis,” said he. It was no question. “I am Rian Asrael. I have come to find the Artifact.”
The woman’s eyes widened. How did he know her name? Rian Asrael knew a great many things. The disfigured body she stood over was one who sought it as well. Clearly he had not been strong enough. Suddenly, the woman came at him with the knife. Rian blinked in surprise. No, he certainly had not expected such aggressiveness. He raised a hand and caught her in the Force, stopping her in her tracks.
A cold serenity issued from the paralyzing gaze of his green eyes. He looked over the woman. She wore a tight fitting pilot’s suit. Dark hair hung to her shoulders and her olive-skinned face was pretty, though marred by a snarl of rage.
“Perhaps I did not make myself clear. We can do this in a civilized fashion... or I can simply rip the necessary information from your brain. Unfortunately, the latter leaves your mental health in ruined tatters. We wouldn’t want that now, would we?” a sinister smile slithered across his face and Alexis realized how serious this man was. How serious indeed.
