Post by Susan on Jun 20, 2013 9:25:53 GMT -5
Name: Zandar Quinn
Race: Human
Age: 26
Height: 6’0
Weight: 155lbs
Appearance:
Not a tall man, but nor is he short, Zandar is somewhere in between. Carrying a fairly toned, muscular body, he often walks straight backed with a quiet air of confidence. Small dark brown eyes, flecked with a smattering of gold, perch over several nondescript facial features, ending in an almost square chin. Often found straddled with a thin layer of untended stubble, the near black strands of brown matching the well looked after crop of short cut hair atop his head.
The Dark Jedi often wears the loose fitting black robes synonymous with his craft. His single Lightsaber mostly concealed beneath them, clipped firmly to his belt. He almost always wears a simple silver pendant around his neck, concealed beneath the robes, and resting against his skin. It is not special in any way and holds no sentimental value, he just likes the feel of it.
Personality:
Headstrong and brash, Zandar will often brazenly rush into a situation woefully unprepared, with little or no thought as to the consequences. Often confident to the point of arrogance, his own estimation of his abilities is often skewed as to the reality of things. A man of not too many words, he will usually prefer to act rather than chat incessantly about nonsense, only to arrive at the same eventual conclusion.
Never one to socialise with many people at a time, he tries to avoid crowds where he can, and even one on one with an individual, will keep conversation brief. He is not that great a communicator, and will more often or not take silence as a preference to unnecessary discussion. Despite not caring much about others, he will frequently take most opportunities to show off what he believes are superior abilities. Especially if he feels he is in the company of individuals he finds threatening. His overconfidence and arrogance is often a result of overcompensating for an inner lack of self esteem and personal weakness.
Zandar is not a man who is prone to getting intimate with others, or succumbing to the pleasures of the flesh. He does not see it as wrong, and accepts why others would go down the route. He himself just does not see the appeal, and never has.
Birth place: Nar Shaddaa
Faction: Dark Jedi
Rank: Dark Jedi Knight, Marauder
Previous Faction: N/A
Previous Rank: N/A
Lightsaber: Standard, single phase. (Click)
Colour: Orange
Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho: 5
Makashi: 4
Ataru : 3
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
Telekinetic: 3
Telepathic: 3
Body: 7
Sense: 4
Protection: 1
Healing: 0
Destruction: 5
Specialized Skills:
N/A
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 6
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 5
Leadership: 1
Unarmed: 3
Melee Weapons: 5
Ranged Weapons: 1
Bio:
A prison without shackles
Being part of the Jedi order is a rare privilege, one that many are honoured to receive. Jixen Quinn was one such person, especially as a boy. He marvelled at what the masters could do, at the knowledge and sheer power at their fingertips. He wanted to be like that one day, and threw himself into everything that the Order wanted him to do. And he was good at it, he knew he was, and he knew he’d be the best. He was scolded for that attitude, his masters didn’t agree with them, they warned him against it. He was told to take things slower, do as they asked, learn to control his power.
They were wrong. Holding him back out of fear and stupidity, and he resented them for that, he loathed that he could not reach his potential because of his fellow Jedi and their precious rules. He could not walk away though, he had put too much of his life into it, and without the order, he had no purpose. He would go along with what they wanted, but his anger and bitterness would always boil below the surface. Eventually a catalyst would come to jumpstart the eruption.
Her name was Nairn. They met in the temple, two young Jedi knights looking for a new sparring partner. And they sparred together, trained together, and talked together. It did not take long for the conversations to take a turn towards something they both were passionate about, but had never before voiced to another person. A mutual detest of the overbearing attitude of the Jedi Council, both young humans did not agree with all the restrictions. Both felt they had had their wings clipped. And they both felt that not everything lead to the dark side. Love was such a grand and electric feeling, neither thought that it could possibly be bad.
There is only passion
They both knew it was considered wrong in the eyes of the Jedi. Jixen did not care, and Nairn did not care. Those were the only opinions that mattered to the pairing. Passion will lead to the dark side, as far as they were concerned it was a lie. A Jedi trick to keep them controlled and docile, but the two young humans would not be having any of it. They gave into their passions, they did whatever they pleased. Although not overtly, it was a forbidden tryst and somehow that made it all the better. If they revealed what they were up too, they would likely be punished by the Order. And despite having reservations about how things were done, neither wanted to be kicked out and branded failures.
Ultimately though, it was taken out of their hands. A pregnancy was not something that the Order would agree with, and certainly hiding it would be difficult. Termination was never discussed, neither Nairn nor Jixen had any inclination to extinguish the life out of their unborn child. They spoke and argued at length about what to do until they eventually decided that there was only one option. And so they left the Temple and the Order behind them, and headed for the outer rim.
Not just for Smugglers
The outer rim was crawling with bolt holes for fugitives and all sorts that didn’t want the past, or anything else, catching up with them. Nar Shaddaa was far from the prettiest place in the galaxy, and was probably not the best place to raise a child – but it would have to do. They only had a few months to set themselves up on their new world before the big day, and they tried their best. Whilst in the order, they had little need for a disposable income, and thus had very little to set up a new life. Both took any job available no matter how menial, anything would do to bring the credits home. Eventually it got to the point where Nairn’s condition made it complicated for her to work, and Jixen became the sole provider. Waiting tables was hardly going to be enough, and eventually the young former Jedi had to look elsewhere for a more profitable cash flow. He did not want to belittle the skills and power he had obtained through his many years of training, but Mercenary work was plentiful and paid well, so it would have to do.
After the first few contracts, Jixen found that he was starting to enjoy it. It wasn’t even a difficult job, not for a man with his talents. Of course it varied, sometimes he had to guard something, other times he had to retrieve something. Occasionally he had to kill something – it was these times that he enjoyed the most. He felt a surge, an unprecedented rush when he struck down a weaker, all but defenceless opponent. Sometimes he didn’t even kill them straight away. He took pleasure in prolonging their suffering, feeding off of the pain. He couldn’t believe he was being paid for it.
After their son was born, Jixen spent more time with his family, although he began to miss his new found passion more and more. He would row with his love often about the time he had to spend at home, and he would blame infant Zandar for missing out on many victims to play with. Deep inside him though he knew he needed to be around, he knew there were times he had to be there for his son. Zandar had powerful blood running through his veins, and would need a strong hand to guide him. Jixen was starting to suspect that Nairn would prove too weak to help their child fulfil his true potential.
Down the right path
As the infant aged, both parents kept an eye on his development. They both cared for their son, although Jixen and Nairn had different things in mind. Nairn wanted to make sure that her precious little boy would grow up strong and live a good life. Jixen was waiting for the force to manifest in his son, waiting for the day he could impart his knowledge on an apprentice of his own. Train the boy in the way he saw fit, away from the prying eyes of the Jedi Order. It was another subject that the couple were often at odds with, Nairn always insisting that the boy was too young, despite her lover’s assertion of the contrary. Often frustrated and disappointed at his son’s preference to his mother, Jixen would take out his anger on anyone that came into close enough contact. It had gotten to the point where he didn’t even bother with waiting to find someone to pay him to inflict harm, he just did it. It was far too enjoyable not too.
Eventually though, he would get his own way. And despite his annoyance, he knew that he would. The woman was too weak to deny him eternally, and it was only a matter of time before he worn her defences down. He also knew that it was only a matter of time before he would have to deal with her once and for all, to think he thought he could love someone so pathetic and puny. Since she gave birth, she hadn’t even touched her Lightsaber, the weapon hidden away merely gathering dust on a shelf. She hadn’t even bothered to train in any way shape or form, it was as if she had forgotten the power she had within her, either that or she feared it. Anyone who was too puny to embrace the power did not deserve it, or anything else for that matter.
Zandar was only a few years old, barely more than a toddler, when his training began. Although Jixen was not given as much control and influence he wanted, Nairn believing his preferred training methods far too harsh for such a young child. Once again left frustrated, Jixen was left mostly on the sidelines whilst his other half did most of the instructing of their child. His loathing grew.
As the boy aged, Jixen was becoming more and more angered at how slow his training was coming along. It had been months now and Nairn had achieved nothing with the boy. He could be so strong, but not if he was poisoned by her weakness. The former Jedi said as much, and another heated argument ensued. This one was worse than any other before, and whilst others had led to blows - mostly from the male, this was the first time that Jixen had ignited his Lightsaber. Nairn was forced to use her own to defend herself, but she had got sloppy, neglected her training. And Jixen knew he was always better than her regardless. She lasted longer than he thought, but in the end it was still a simple matter to strike down the woman he once loved. The body was disposed of, and finally Zandar’s training could begin in earnest.
The Master
Jixen did not believe in the pandering of the now deceased Nairn, teaching like that only encouraged weakness. His child would be a powerful force user, just like him. And for that to come to pass, all weakness must be exterminated – only the strong would prevail. His teachings were aggressive and relentless, and the young boy was frequently punished for his failings. It was more than a difficult child hood, and Zandar quite quickly begun to despise his father. His master fed off the hate, encouraged it even, commanding his pupil to embrace it, use the anger as fuel, become more and more powerful.
After such a lesson, the boy beaten and berated, the anger took control and he swung at his master with all his fury. The little boy’s fists never connected, but Jixen was pleased and even showed it. For the first time he congratulated and praised his young apprentice, and Zandar felt an unfamiliar warmth inside him. He felt good about himself, and that first lesson never went away from him. Tapping into the anger was good, never ignore it, feed off of it. Something he would always do.
Jixen’s lessons didn’t’ always seem to carry an important underlying teaching. It was often the case to Zandar that his Master was just punishing him because he could. And while this was true, the boy always tried to find the hidden teaching. He decided that there was not much to learn from being continuously subjected to force lightning over the course of several days. The only thing he took from those times was more and more burning hatred for his instructor. He did not even see Jixen as a father anymore. Really he had never been a father anyway, he’d been many things, teacher, torturer, but never his father. He had always been simply the Master. Zandar hated him for that, but there was one thing he agreed with his master on. One day he would be stronger, one day he would be powerful in the force, and his saber would cleave through all his unfortunate opponents. The Master would be the first casualty.
But that would take time. And despite his own irritation at that, he recognised that he was not yet strong enough. He didn’t come to this conclusion simply by sitting down and taking a long hard think. After the first time he tried to strike at the master, he had tried it several times. Not just with his fists, but his training saber and even his own force powers. Each time he had been struck down, and instead of being congratulated, he was punished. The castigation growing more and more severe after each failed attempt. Eventually it sunk in that he would have to bide his time and wait. Eventually he would be more powerful than even the master, and on that day he would strike once more. And on that day he would not fail.
Methods of learning
In his years of tutelage under the master, Zandar had never left Nar Shaddaa. He had barely even left the little hovel they were set up in. Spending every waking hour being pushed to his limits and sometimes past them, he often wondered what was out there, and again his loathing for the master grew, being restricted to his grubby little surroundings.
Barely twelve years old, he was surprised when the master commanded him to leave. All of a sudden he was told to exit their home and just keep on walking. There was no standing on ceremony, after even the slightest hesitation on Zandar’s part, the master took things into his own hands. Picked up by the force, the child was flung bodily out of the fleapit, out of the only home he had ever known, and commanded to walk onwards. Not knowing what to do, in a strange new surrounding, and having nothing but the clothes on his back, all he could do was follow his instructions. Not even an hour into his blind wandering around the streets of Nar Shaddaa, a small group of human thugs set upon the boy. This was not simply a matter of chance for Zandar, but a situation orchestrated by the master. Zandar tried to defend himself, he was not armed, but he tried to use his fledgling force powers to his advantage. He tried his best, but the fear crept up in him and he was terrified, utterly perplexed as to what to do next. He had been afraid before, but only from the master. And most times the anger overwhelmed the fear, but this was something new. The thugs were about to move in for the kill when a flash of red ended them all, one by one. For the briefest of moments the boy was pleased to see the master, but that soon faded. Once again gripped by the force, he was hurled around and beaten, the master inflicting great pain on the pathetic little weakling he had the misfortune to call his apprentice. Fear could be an asset, but not if you let it take hold. From that moment on, whenever he was afraid, he would remember the beating that took him to within a sliver of his life, and the anger would win out.
The master would introduce more tests like these over the course of his training, occasionally calling upon the use of the indigenous scum to add a little spice, a little unpredictability to the training regimes. After the first time Zandar was not taken by surprise again, and did not allow his fear to take hold. Dispatching yet another poorly trained group of rat bags his master had sent after him, the boy stormed back to the hovel and made demands of his own. His powers were growing, and he was getting better in the sparring with the master, but it wasn’t enough. The wretched little training blade he had was wretched, all but useless. He wanted his own weapon, a symbol of his own power – something of his own. The request was denied and once again a battle ensued, Zandar unleashing his own lightning against the master for a change. Once again he was hopelessly outmatched, but his training had come a long way, and he was starting to learn just how to channel that anger. The master was not one to change his mind often, but he recognised that the boy now needed his own saber. Not as a reward but simply because he could not progress further without one.
Zandar would not be given the honour of choosing his own parts, however. He was still forced to assemble his blade, but all the components were given to him by the master. Most of them, the orange colour crystal included, were procured from the Nar Shaddaa markets. The master had discovered long ago that on this backwater cesspit, there was almost nothing you could not acquire. And so Zandar built his own blade. The rush of excitement he got when he first thumbed the button and the blade he had built ignited was nothing short of spectacular. He only allowed himself a few small moments to admire his handicraft before he put the virgin blade into action. His quick, angry slash was wild but his aim was true, and would of connected if not for the master’s red blade springing out of nowhere and interception. For the first time master and apprentice came to blows on more equal footing, both now equipped with a fully functioning weapon of their tradecraft. Zandar was more adept with the blade than he was with the force, and he had proven that in the intense training sessions, even with the puny thing he had been forced to use then.
Once again he was defeated by the master, but he had come closer than he ever had before. He had put him on the back foot, there were times he had the upper hand in the duel. Zandar knew this, and he knew that he still had a long way to go. His constant daily machinations of extinguishing the life out of the being he loathed more than anything were well on the way to becoming a reality. And now he had the tool to bring about the bastard’s end.
The master recognised that this was happening, and he knew that perhaps one day the boy would succeed. He was not afraid of this, quite the contrary. He wanted his pupil to become the best, better even than him – even though he knew it would take a lot for anyone to best him. His apprentice was starting to learn how to use the dark side, how to feed on the emotions instead of shying away from them. With that first strike from the orange blade, the master could feel all the anger and hate from over the years directed at him. He was training the boy how to better master Lightsaber combat, but his pupil was touching into the dark side just enough to give him that ever so slight edge. It needed to be shaped into more than just an edge, and so the training became even more aggressive. Zandar was cut, burnt, electrified whenever he failed. He never struck out against his master again, once more he would wait until he felt he was ready.
Cast out
The training became more specialised, strayed away from beatings and aggressive instructions. Instead it became more focused on Lightsaber combat. Use of the force was not completely neglected, but it was placed to one side. The master always preferred the use of the blade in combat than the force anyway, and it was clear that his pupil favoured the same. The long training sessions were often spent blade to blade more than anything else, and neither pupil nor master held back. Zandar knew he would not defeat the master, and he wasn’t explicitly trying too. But if in these sparring sessions he sensed an opening in his master’s defence, then he would not let the opportunity go to waste.
The master found that his apprentice was getting stronger in the Lightsaber forms by the day, and had already begun teaching him others. When he himself was instructed by the Jedi, he had favoured Makashi and Ataru, perhaps more so than the basic Shii-Cho form. From consistent duelling with his pupil, he felt that the growing man would also take to these forms with great proficiency. At first the apprentice struggled with the change, but it did not take long for him to start finding his feet, so to speak. Clearly he was more used to the base form, but over time he was getting better and better to these new techniques. He was still far from strong enough though.
He needed to be pushed harder, tested past the limits, and so it was time to reintroduce some old methods. The master commandeered a small craft and took his apprentice from Nar Shaddaa for the first time. They were not going for a picnic on Naboo, however. The first stop was Tatooine, where Zandar was sent out to be subjected by the planets harsh climates. The growing man lasted longer than the master had expected, but it was still not good enough, and when he brought the weakened, near dead failure back to the ship – he showed just how disappointed he was.
After Tatooine came the wild moon of Dxun, and this task Zandar performed somewhat better at. This was supposedly world full of many terrors and offering little to no chance of survival to the ill prepared, but as it seemed, Zandar was more than prepared. His saber tasted blood many times, and corpses of aggressive cantankerous native fauna littered the scorched earth in his wake. The apprentice was growing in power now, and was feeding off of his new environment – he didn’t even want to leave. After several weeks the master himself had to come down from his ivory tower to investigate. He had kept as close an eye as he could on his apprentice, but thought that he had been away from his master for more than long enough.
Zandar caught the master by surprise, or as much as surprise as you can catch a Dark Jedi master. His blade was barely ignited as the orange death came down against him. He hacked and he slashed and he pushed his master back with every attack. This time he was confident would be the time, he was strong, he was dominant – he was better. The new fighting methods he had learnt helped him in his quest, and for the most part he was well in the ascendancy. He could not get through the defence to bring down the final blow, however. The styles were too similar, the master had taught him everything he knew, and he did not quite know enough to overcome the slimy little arse. The clash lasted for what seemed like days, until eventually both blades were extinguished. For the first time in a long time Zandar was congratulated on his prowess, praised at his bold attempt. And then the tendrils of pain gripped him once more.
And my chains are broken
Master and apprentice stayed on the demon moon for some time, setting up a basic camp for the time being. The master felt that the aggressive indigenous species that called this place home were a much greater test to his pupil than the scum that floated at the top of the criminal soup of Nar Shaddaa. Every day Zandar was sent out into the wild to kill whatever he came his way, and almost every day the master would leap out of the shadows to attack his apprentice when he felt the younger man least expected it. Some days he didn’t bother, and would just allow the creeping fear to sink in, to then be replaced by overconfidence and lead to a lowering of the guard. Once he left it three full days before he launched into an attack once more, and this attack was nearly too much for Zandar. He was ill prepared for it, which really was the point, and was almost overwhelmed by the first onslaught.
He wasn’t though, and he fought back. Years of this kind of insistent and unrelenting training had conditioned Zandar and his fighting style was becoming something much more. When out in the jungles of Dxun alone, he wasn’t just killing mindless critters. He was doing his own training, moulding his own combat style, making himself better. The master favoured strength and a brutal onslaught over most else. Zandar agreed with that approach, but he recognised the weaknesses, weaknesses that could be exploited. He worked on his own speed, his reflexes, trying to gain any advantage he possibly could.
They spent a good year, maybe even more than that on Dxun. He wasn’t quite sure how much time passed, he was far more focused on the ultimate task he had in front of him. He conditioned his body, pushing himself further than he had before. Not just focusing on his Lightsaber techniques, he would manipulate the force as best as he could – anything to give him that edge. And in the end, an edge would be enough. Despite having the initial advantage, the master felt the lead draining away from him as his apprentice proved to be stronger than he realised. This duel did not last as long as the one previous, but it was still lengthy – and they were still evenly matched. At least for the most part, Zandar had his little edge, he had finally worked out how to better press his advantage. He used everything he had been taught, everything he learnt, and put it all into this one final battle.
The orange blade flashed past the red defence and the blade, coupled with the hand that gripped it, fell to the ground. It was not over there. Zandar had dreamed of this day all his life, but he wanted time to savour it. And for days he subjected the master to all the little eccentricities he himself had to live through, he wanted to make sure it hurt. And he was certain he did, but the rat bastard didn’t even have the good graces to beg for his death. He wanted death but he didn’t’ beg, he commanded it. He ordered him and just laughed at what he called pathetic attempts of torture. Eventually, after days of this, Zandar had had enough. He wanted more than anything to end it, to plunge his blade through the blackened heart of the monster who had shaped his entire life. The master wanted it probably more than him, ordering him to strike him down, to finish it. It took a lot for him to reluctantly walk away. He had followed the master’s commands all his life, and this was one he would do anything to follow – but he was finally free of the monster’s grasp, and he wasn’t about to let him have the final victory.
Zandar left the master alone in the jungles of Dxun. Injured, weapon less, and tortured to an inch in his life. Taking the small ship that they had used to get here, Zandar doubted very much that even the master would leave this place alive.
Freedom
Zandar went back to Nar Shaddaa. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he had nowhere else to go. Alone and independent for the first real time in his life, he was more confused than he thought he would be. He had broken free from the master and left him for dead, that was all he had ever wanted to do. Now that he had accomplished this, he didn’t know what to do next. Unbeknownst to him, he followed in the masters footsteps and took up the profession he had so enjoyed when he first arrived on the smuggler’s moon.
Zandar was more like the master than he cared to admit, himself also greatly enjoying the mercenary work. The credits he made piled up though, unlike the master he did not have a parasite draining his supplies, he just had himself to look after. He struck down any of his targets with the same kind of pleasure the master had, but it was not enough for him, he needed more.
Which was why he left Nar Shaddaa. He continued the mercenary work on other worlds, taking contracts on people where ever he could. It was probably more bounty hunting than mercenary, eventually he only took jobs that included unchecked murdering. And then he started hearing about something, something new – something intriguing. It was a word that had been bandied about before many times, but never in it’s true meaning – at least not until recently. The master had mentioned the Sith in the past, but only merest mentions of the great Dark Lords of ancient times. If the whispers around the galaxy were to be believed, then they had returned proper. Zandar Quinn had to find out if these rumours were true, he knew that the Sith could teach him more. Could make even him more powerful. It was power that he must have.
He finally found his purpose.
RP Sample:
Loose grains of sand were whipped up at a near frightening speed by growing winds. A story so often witnessed in the dune sea’s of Tatooine, the deserts a wild and untamed animal, unpredictable and hostile. The human was sweltering under his dark robes, the hood up over his head and half concealing his face, doing its best to protect him from the less than gentle onslaught. Regardless of how uncomfortable the weather made wearing his current attire, Zandar Quinn had no intentions to strip down stark naked in the middle of the desert. He wasn’t too far from the settlement now, not that it really mattered considering he was heading away from it.
Shuttled away from a world he knew well to this unknown, inhospitable land he was sent here alone, with simple yet strict instructions to follow. Leave civilisation behind and walk until he could walk no longer. He planned to follow these instructions to the letter, and would walk so far until he arrived back at the city if he could. He knew that it was unlikely, but as far as the human was concerned, it was not impossible. And so he would walk, and he would walk until he felt he could walk no longer. At that point, he would crawl, and crawl until he could crawl no more. The sun’s above him would do their best to eat away at his energy, sap his resolve – but he would not allow something as puny as a star to stop him. He would walk until he could walk no longer. Which was why, quite a few hours later, he collapsed face down in the sand.
He did not know how long it was since he fell in the desert, or where he was now. He did know what came next, though. He felt weak, barely able to speak let alone move. He was still fully clothed and the material felt overwhelmingly heavy against his body. Scarcely able to open his eyes, his blurred and unfocused vision noticed a familiar figure, and the young man forced words to escape from his sandpaper mouth.
”Failed...”
The one word was all he could manage, coming out as a weak rasp as he used the last of his remaining strength to speak. He knew that he would get an immediate response, and he knew that it would not be in words. He knew what came next.
Pain.
Race: Human
Age: 26
Height: 6’0
Weight: 155lbs
Appearance:
Not a tall man, but nor is he short, Zandar is somewhere in between. Carrying a fairly toned, muscular body, he often walks straight backed with a quiet air of confidence. Small dark brown eyes, flecked with a smattering of gold, perch over several nondescript facial features, ending in an almost square chin. Often found straddled with a thin layer of untended stubble, the near black strands of brown matching the well looked after crop of short cut hair atop his head.
The Dark Jedi often wears the loose fitting black robes synonymous with his craft. His single Lightsaber mostly concealed beneath them, clipped firmly to his belt. He almost always wears a simple silver pendant around his neck, concealed beneath the robes, and resting against his skin. It is not special in any way and holds no sentimental value, he just likes the feel of it.
Personality:
Headstrong and brash, Zandar will often brazenly rush into a situation woefully unprepared, with little or no thought as to the consequences. Often confident to the point of arrogance, his own estimation of his abilities is often skewed as to the reality of things. A man of not too many words, he will usually prefer to act rather than chat incessantly about nonsense, only to arrive at the same eventual conclusion.
Never one to socialise with many people at a time, he tries to avoid crowds where he can, and even one on one with an individual, will keep conversation brief. He is not that great a communicator, and will more often or not take silence as a preference to unnecessary discussion. Despite not caring much about others, he will frequently take most opportunities to show off what he believes are superior abilities. Especially if he feels he is in the company of individuals he finds threatening. His overconfidence and arrogance is often a result of overcompensating for an inner lack of self esteem and personal weakness.
Zandar is not a man who is prone to getting intimate with others, or succumbing to the pleasures of the flesh. He does not see it as wrong, and accepts why others would go down the route. He himself just does not see the appeal, and never has.
Birth place: Nar Shaddaa
Faction: Dark Jedi
Rank: Dark Jedi Knight, Marauder
Previous Faction: N/A
Previous Rank: N/A
Lightsaber: Standard, single phase. (Click)
Colour: Orange
Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho: 5
Makashi: 4
Ataru : 3
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
Telekinetic: 3
Telepathic: 3
Body: 7
Sense: 4
Protection: 1
Healing: 0
Destruction: 5
Specialized Skills:
N/A
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 6
Intelligence: 6
Speed: 5
Leadership: 1
Unarmed: 3
Melee Weapons: 5
Ranged Weapons: 1
Bio:
A prison without shackles
Being part of the Jedi order is a rare privilege, one that many are honoured to receive. Jixen Quinn was one such person, especially as a boy. He marvelled at what the masters could do, at the knowledge and sheer power at their fingertips. He wanted to be like that one day, and threw himself into everything that the Order wanted him to do. And he was good at it, he knew he was, and he knew he’d be the best. He was scolded for that attitude, his masters didn’t agree with them, they warned him against it. He was told to take things slower, do as they asked, learn to control his power.
They were wrong. Holding him back out of fear and stupidity, and he resented them for that, he loathed that he could not reach his potential because of his fellow Jedi and their precious rules. He could not walk away though, he had put too much of his life into it, and without the order, he had no purpose. He would go along with what they wanted, but his anger and bitterness would always boil below the surface. Eventually a catalyst would come to jumpstart the eruption.
Her name was Nairn. They met in the temple, two young Jedi knights looking for a new sparring partner. And they sparred together, trained together, and talked together. It did not take long for the conversations to take a turn towards something they both were passionate about, but had never before voiced to another person. A mutual detest of the overbearing attitude of the Jedi Council, both young humans did not agree with all the restrictions. Both felt they had had their wings clipped. And they both felt that not everything lead to the dark side. Love was such a grand and electric feeling, neither thought that it could possibly be bad.
There is only passion
They both knew it was considered wrong in the eyes of the Jedi. Jixen did not care, and Nairn did not care. Those were the only opinions that mattered to the pairing. Passion will lead to the dark side, as far as they were concerned it was a lie. A Jedi trick to keep them controlled and docile, but the two young humans would not be having any of it. They gave into their passions, they did whatever they pleased. Although not overtly, it was a forbidden tryst and somehow that made it all the better. If they revealed what they were up too, they would likely be punished by the Order. And despite having reservations about how things were done, neither wanted to be kicked out and branded failures.
Ultimately though, it was taken out of their hands. A pregnancy was not something that the Order would agree with, and certainly hiding it would be difficult. Termination was never discussed, neither Nairn nor Jixen had any inclination to extinguish the life out of their unborn child. They spoke and argued at length about what to do until they eventually decided that there was only one option. And so they left the Temple and the Order behind them, and headed for the outer rim.
Not just for Smugglers
The outer rim was crawling with bolt holes for fugitives and all sorts that didn’t want the past, or anything else, catching up with them. Nar Shaddaa was far from the prettiest place in the galaxy, and was probably not the best place to raise a child – but it would have to do. They only had a few months to set themselves up on their new world before the big day, and they tried their best. Whilst in the order, they had little need for a disposable income, and thus had very little to set up a new life. Both took any job available no matter how menial, anything would do to bring the credits home. Eventually it got to the point where Nairn’s condition made it complicated for her to work, and Jixen became the sole provider. Waiting tables was hardly going to be enough, and eventually the young former Jedi had to look elsewhere for a more profitable cash flow. He did not want to belittle the skills and power he had obtained through his many years of training, but Mercenary work was plentiful and paid well, so it would have to do.
After the first few contracts, Jixen found that he was starting to enjoy it. It wasn’t even a difficult job, not for a man with his talents. Of course it varied, sometimes he had to guard something, other times he had to retrieve something. Occasionally he had to kill something – it was these times that he enjoyed the most. He felt a surge, an unprecedented rush when he struck down a weaker, all but defenceless opponent. Sometimes he didn’t even kill them straight away. He took pleasure in prolonging their suffering, feeding off of the pain. He couldn’t believe he was being paid for it.
After their son was born, Jixen spent more time with his family, although he began to miss his new found passion more and more. He would row with his love often about the time he had to spend at home, and he would blame infant Zandar for missing out on many victims to play with. Deep inside him though he knew he needed to be around, he knew there were times he had to be there for his son. Zandar had powerful blood running through his veins, and would need a strong hand to guide him. Jixen was starting to suspect that Nairn would prove too weak to help their child fulfil his true potential.
Down the right path
As the infant aged, both parents kept an eye on his development. They both cared for their son, although Jixen and Nairn had different things in mind. Nairn wanted to make sure that her precious little boy would grow up strong and live a good life. Jixen was waiting for the force to manifest in his son, waiting for the day he could impart his knowledge on an apprentice of his own. Train the boy in the way he saw fit, away from the prying eyes of the Jedi Order. It was another subject that the couple were often at odds with, Nairn always insisting that the boy was too young, despite her lover’s assertion of the contrary. Often frustrated and disappointed at his son’s preference to his mother, Jixen would take out his anger on anyone that came into close enough contact. It had gotten to the point where he didn’t even bother with waiting to find someone to pay him to inflict harm, he just did it. It was far too enjoyable not too.
Eventually though, he would get his own way. And despite his annoyance, he knew that he would. The woman was too weak to deny him eternally, and it was only a matter of time before he worn her defences down. He also knew that it was only a matter of time before he would have to deal with her once and for all, to think he thought he could love someone so pathetic and puny. Since she gave birth, she hadn’t even touched her Lightsaber, the weapon hidden away merely gathering dust on a shelf. She hadn’t even bothered to train in any way shape or form, it was as if she had forgotten the power she had within her, either that or she feared it. Anyone who was too puny to embrace the power did not deserve it, or anything else for that matter.
Zandar was only a few years old, barely more than a toddler, when his training began. Although Jixen was not given as much control and influence he wanted, Nairn believing his preferred training methods far too harsh for such a young child. Once again left frustrated, Jixen was left mostly on the sidelines whilst his other half did most of the instructing of their child. His loathing grew.
As the boy aged, Jixen was becoming more and more angered at how slow his training was coming along. It had been months now and Nairn had achieved nothing with the boy. He could be so strong, but not if he was poisoned by her weakness. The former Jedi said as much, and another heated argument ensued. This one was worse than any other before, and whilst others had led to blows - mostly from the male, this was the first time that Jixen had ignited his Lightsaber. Nairn was forced to use her own to defend herself, but she had got sloppy, neglected her training. And Jixen knew he was always better than her regardless. She lasted longer than he thought, but in the end it was still a simple matter to strike down the woman he once loved. The body was disposed of, and finally Zandar’s training could begin in earnest.
The Master
Jixen did not believe in the pandering of the now deceased Nairn, teaching like that only encouraged weakness. His child would be a powerful force user, just like him. And for that to come to pass, all weakness must be exterminated – only the strong would prevail. His teachings were aggressive and relentless, and the young boy was frequently punished for his failings. It was more than a difficult child hood, and Zandar quite quickly begun to despise his father. His master fed off the hate, encouraged it even, commanding his pupil to embrace it, use the anger as fuel, become more and more powerful.
After such a lesson, the boy beaten and berated, the anger took control and he swung at his master with all his fury. The little boy’s fists never connected, but Jixen was pleased and even showed it. For the first time he congratulated and praised his young apprentice, and Zandar felt an unfamiliar warmth inside him. He felt good about himself, and that first lesson never went away from him. Tapping into the anger was good, never ignore it, feed off of it. Something he would always do.
Jixen’s lessons didn’t’ always seem to carry an important underlying teaching. It was often the case to Zandar that his Master was just punishing him because he could. And while this was true, the boy always tried to find the hidden teaching. He decided that there was not much to learn from being continuously subjected to force lightning over the course of several days. The only thing he took from those times was more and more burning hatred for his instructor. He did not even see Jixen as a father anymore. Really he had never been a father anyway, he’d been many things, teacher, torturer, but never his father. He had always been simply the Master. Zandar hated him for that, but there was one thing he agreed with his master on. One day he would be stronger, one day he would be powerful in the force, and his saber would cleave through all his unfortunate opponents. The Master would be the first casualty.
But that would take time. And despite his own irritation at that, he recognised that he was not yet strong enough. He didn’t come to this conclusion simply by sitting down and taking a long hard think. After the first time he tried to strike at the master, he had tried it several times. Not just with his fists, but his training saber and even his own force powers. Each time he had been struck down, and instead of being congratulated, he was punished. The castigation growing more and more severe after each failed attempt. Eventually it sunk in that he would have to bide his time and wait. Eventually he would be more powerful than even the master, and on that day he would strike once more. And on that day he would not fail.
Methods of learning
In his years of tutelage under the master, Zandar had never left Nar Shaddaa. He had barely even left the little hovel they were set up in. Spending every waking hour being pushed to his limits and sometimes past them, he often wondered what was out there, and again his loathing for the master grew, being restricted to his grubby little surroundings.
Barely twelve years old, he was surprised when the master commanded him to leave. All of a sudden he was told to exit their home and just keep on walking. There was no standing on ceremony, after even the slightest hesitation on Zandar’s part, the master took things into his own hands. Picked up by the force, the child was flung bodily out of the fleapit, out of the only home he had ever known, and commanded to walk onwards. Not knowing what to do, in a strange new surrounding, and having nothing but the clothes on his back, all he could do was follow his instructions. Not even an hour into his blind wandering around the streets of Nar Shaddaa, a small group of human thugs set upon the boy. This was not simply a matter of chance for Zandar, but a situation orchestrated by the master. Zandar tried to defend himself, he was not armed, but he tried to use his fledgling force powers to his advantage. He tried his best, but the fear crept up in him and he was terrified, utterly perplexed as to what to do next. He had been afraid before, but only from the master. And most times the anger overwhelmed the fear, but this was something new. The thugs were about to move in for the kill when a flash of red ended them all, one by one. For the briefest of moments the boy was pleased to see the master, but that soon faded. Once again gripped by the force, he was hurled around and beaten, the master inflicting great pain on the pathetic little weakling he had the misfortune to call his apprentice. Fear could be an asset, but not if you let it take hold. From that moment on, whenever he was afraid, he would remember the beating that took him to within a sliver of his life, and the anger would win out.
The master would introduce more tests like these over the course of his training, occasionally calling upon the use of the indigenous scum to add a little spice, a little unpredictability to the training regimes. After the first time Zandar was not taken by surprise again, and did not allow his fear to take hold. Dispatching yet another poorly trained group of rat bags his master had sent after him, the boy stormed back to the hovel and made demands of his own. His powers were growing, and he was getting better in the sparring with the master, but it wasn’t enough. The wretched little training blade he had was wretched, all but useless. He wanted his own weapon, a symbol of his own power – something of his own. The request was denied and once again a battle ensued, Zandar unleashing his own lightning against the master for a change. Once again he was hopelessly outmatched, but his training had come a long way, and he was starting to learn just how to channel that anger. The master was not one to change his mind often, but he recognised that the boy now needed his own saber. Not as a reward but simply because he could not progress further without one.
Zandar would not be given the honour of choosing his own parts, however. He was still forced to assemble his blade, but all the components were given to him by the master. Most of them, the orange colour crystal included, were procured from the Nar Shaddaa markets. The master had discovered long ago that on this backwater cesspit, there was almost nothing you could not acquire. And so Zandar built his own blade. The rush of excitement he got when he first thumbed the button and the blade he had built ignited was nothing short of spectacular. He only allowed himself a few small moments to admire his handicraft before he put the virgin blade into action. His quick, angry slash was wild but his aim was true, and would of connected if not for the master’s red blade springing out of nowhere and interception. For the first time master and apprentice came to blows on more equal footing, both now equipped with a fully functioning weapon of their tradecraft. Zandar was more adept with the blade than he was with the force, and he had proven that in the intense training sessions, even with the puny thing he had been forced to use then.
Once again he was defeated by the master, but he had come closer than he ever had before. He had put him on the back foot, there were times he had the upper hand in the duel. Zandar knew this, and he knew that he still had a long way to go. His constant daily machinations of extinguishing the life out of the being he loathed more than anything were well on the way to becoming a reality. And now he had the tool to bring about the bastard’s end.
The master recognised that this was happening, and he knew that perhaps one day the boy would succeed. He was not afraid of this, quite the contrary. He wanted his pupil to become the best, better even than him – even though he knew it would take a lot for anyone to best him. His apprentice was starting to learn how to use the dark side, how to feed on the emotions instead of shying away from them. With that first strike from the orange blade, the master could feel all the anger and hate from over the years directed at him. He was training the boy how to better master Lightsaber combat, but his pupil was touching into the dark side just enough to give him that ever so slight edge. It needed to be shaped into more than just an edge, and so the training became even more aggressive. Zandar was cut, burnt, electrified whenever he failed. He never struck out against his master again, once more he would wait until he felt he was ready.
Cast out
The training became more specialised, strayed away from beatings and aggressive instructions. Instead it became more focused on Lightsaber combat. Use of the force was not completely neglected, but it was placed to one side. The master always preferred the use of the blade in combat than the force anyway, and it was clear that his pupil favoured the same. The long training sessions were often spent blade to blade more than anything else, and neither pupil nor master held back. Zandar knew he would not defeat the master, and he wasn’t explicitly trying too. But if in these sparring sessions he sensed an opening in his master’s defence, then he would not let the opportunity go to waste.
The master found that his apprentice was getting stronger in the Lightsaber forms by the day, and had already begun teaching him others. When he himself was instructed by the Jedi, he had favoured Makashi and Ataru, perhaps more so than the basic Shii-Cho form. From consistent duelling with his pupil, he felt that the growing man would also take to these forms with great proficiency. At first the apprentice struggled with the change, but it did not take long for him to start finding his feet, so to speak. Clearly he was more used to the base form, but over time he was getting better and better to these new techniques. He was still far from strong enough though.
He needed to be pushed harder, tested past the limits, and so it was time to reintroduce some old methods. The master commandeered a small craft and took his apprentice from Nar Shaddaa for the first time. They were not going for a picnic on Naboo, however. The first stop was Tatooine, where Zandar was sent out to be subjected by the planets harsh climates. The growing man lasted longer than the master had expected, but it was still not good enough, and when he brought the weakened, near dead failure back to the ship – he showed just how disappointed he was.
After Tatooine came the wild moon of Dxun, and this task Zandar performed somewhat better at. This was supposedly world full of many terrors and offering little to no chance of survival to the ill prepared, but as it seemed, Zandar was more than prepared. His saber tasted blood many times, and corpses of aggressive cantankerous native fauna littered the scorched earth in his wake. The apprentice was growing in power now, and was feeding off of his new environment – he didn’t even want to leave. After several weeks the master himself had to come down from his ivory tower to investigate. He had kept as close an eye as he could on his apprentice, but thought that he had been away from his master for more than long enough.
Zandar caught the master by surprise, or as much as surprise as you can catch a Dark Jedi master. His blade was barely ignited as the orange death came down against him. He hacked and he slashed and he pushed his master back with every attack. This time he was confident would be the time, he was strong, he was dominant – he was better. The new fighting methods he had learnt helped him in his quest, and for the most part he was well in the ascendancy. He could not get through the defence to bring down the final blow, however. The styles were too similar, the master had taught him everything he knew, and he did not quite know enough to overcome the slimy little arse. The clash lasted for what seemed like days, until eventually both blades were extinguished. For the first time in a long time Zandar was congratulated on his prowess, praised at his bold attempt. And then the tendrils of pain gripped him once more.
And my chains are broken
Master and apprentice stayed on the demon moon for some time, setting up a basic camp for the time being. The master felt that the aggressive indigenous species that called this place home were a much greater test to his pupil than the scum that floated at the top of the criminal soup of Nar Shaddaa. Every day Zandar was sent out into the wild to kill whatever he came his way, and almost every day the master would leap out of the shadows to attack his apprentice when he felt the younger man least expected it. Some days he didn’t bother, and would just allow the creeping fear to sink in, to then be replaced by overconfidence and lead to a lowering of the guard. Once he left it three full days before he launched into an attack once more, and this attack was nearly too much for Zandar. He was ill prepared for it, which really was the point, and was almost overwhelmed by the first onslaught.
He wasn’t though, and he fought back. Years of this kind of insistent and unrelenting training had conditioned Zandar and his fighting style was becoming something much more. When out in the jungles of Dxun alone, he wasn’t just killing mindless critters. He was doing his own training, moulding his own combat style, making himself better. The master favoured strength and a brutal onslaught over most else. Zandar agreed with that approach, but he recognised the weaknesses, weaknesses that could be exploited. He worked on his own speed, his reflexes, trying to gain any advantage he possibly could.
They spent a good year, maybe even more than that on Dxun. He wasn’t quite sure how much time passed, he was far more focused on the ultimate task he had in front of him. He conditioned his body, pushing himself further than he had before. Not just focusing on his Lightsaber techniques, he would manipulate the force as best as he could – anything to give him that edge. And in the end, an edge would be enough. Despite having the initial advantage, the master felt the lead draining away from him as his apprentice proved to be stronger than he realised. This duel did not last as long as the one previous, but it was still lengthy – and they were still evenly matched. At least for the most part, Zandar had his little edge, he had finally worked out how to better press his advantage. He used everything he had been taught, everything he learnt, and put it all into this one final battle.
The orange blade flashed past the red defence and the blade, coupled with the hand that gripped it, fell to the ground. It was not over there. Zandar had dreamed of this day all his life, but he wanted time to savour it. And for days he subjected the master to all the little eccentricities he himself had to live through, he wanted to make sure it hurt. And he was certain he did, but the rat bastard didn’t even have the good graces to beg for his death. He wanted death but he didn’t’ beg, he commanded it. He ordered him and just laughed at what he called pathetic attempts of torture. Eventually, after days of this, Zandar had had enough. He wanted more than anything to end it, to plunge his blade through the blackened heart of the monster who had shaped his entire life. The master wanted it probably more than him, ordering him to strike him down, to finish it. It took a lot for him to reluctantly walk away. He had followed the master’s commands all his life, and this was one he would do anything to follow – but he was finally free of the monster’s grasp, and he wasn’t about to let him have the final victory.
Zandar left the master alone in the jungles of Dxun. Injured, weapon less, and tortured to an inch in his life. Taking the small ship that they had used to get here, Zandar doubted very much that even the master would leave this place alive.
Freedom
Zandar went back to Nar Shaddaa. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he had nowhere else to go. Alone and independent for the first real time in his life, he was more confused than he thought he would be. He had broken free from the master and left him for dead, that was all he had ever wanted to do. Now that he had accomplished this, he didn’t know what to do next. Unbeknownst to him, he followed in the masters footsteps and took up the profession he had so enjoyed when he first arrived on the smuggler’s moon.
Zandar was more like the master than he cared to admit, himself also greatly enjoying the mercenary work. The credits he made piled up though, unlike the master he did not have a parasite draining his supplies, he just had himself to look after. He struck down any of his targets with the same kind of pleasure the master had, but it was not enough for him, he needed more.
Which was why he left Nar Shaddaa. He continued the mercenary work on other worlds, taking contracts on people where ever he could. It was probably more bounty hunting than mercenary, eventually he only took jobs that included unchecked murdering. And then he started hearing about something, something new – something intriguing. It was a word that had been bandied about before many times, but never in it’s true meaning – at least not until recently. The master had mentioned the Sith in the past, but only merest mentions of the great Dark Lords of ancient times. If the whispers around the galaxy were to be believed, then they had returned proper. Zandar Quinn had to find out if these rumours were true, he knew that the Sith could teach him more. Could make even him more powerful. It was power that he must have.
He finally found his purpose.
RP Sample:
Loose grains of sand were whipped up at a near frightening speed by growing winds. A story so often witnessed in the dune sea’s of Tatooine, the deserts a wild and untamed animal, unpredictable and hostile. The human was sweltering under his dark robes, the hood up over his head and half concealing his face, doing its best to protect him from the less than gentle onslaught. Regardless of how uncomfortable the weather made wearing his current attire, Zandar Quinn had no intentions to strip down stark naked in the middle of the desert. He wasn’t too far from the settlement now, not that it really mattered considering he was heading away from it.
Shuttled away from a world he knew well to this unknown, inhospitable land he was sent here alone, with simple yet strict instructions to follow. Leave civilisation behind and walk until he could walk no longer. He planned to follow these instructions to the letter, and would walk so far until he arrived back at the city if he could. He knew that it was unlikely, but as far as the human was concerned, it was not impossible. And so he would walk, and he would walk until he felt he could walk no longer. At that point, he would crawl, and crawl until he could crawl no more. The sun’s above him would do their best to eat away at his energy, sap his resolve – but he would not allow something as puny as a star to stop him. He would walk until he could walk no longer. Which was why, quite a few hours later, he collapsed face down in the sand.
He did not know how long it was since he fell in the desert, or where he was now. He did know what came next, though. He felt weak, barely able to speak let alone move. He was still fully clothed and the material felt overwhelmingly heavy against his body. Scarcely able to open his eyes, his blurred and unfocused vision noticed a familiar figure, and the young man forced words to escape from his sandpaper mouth.
”Failed...”
The one word was all he could manage, coming out as a weak rasp as he used the last of his remaining strength to speak. He knew that he would get an immediate response, and he knew that it would not be in words. He knew what came next.
Pain.
Edited as shown below, hope that is better.
