Post by Kur Deruh on Dec 20, 2008 1:53:53 GMT -5
Name: Kur Deruh
Race: Nautolan
Age: 17
Height: 5' 9"
Weight: 152lbs
Appearance: Kur stands tall for his age, already at a height most Nautolans consider fully grown. He is well muscled from rigorous daily training, and is most always seen with a smile on his face. On his head, instead of hair, there are large tentacle-like tendrils. His skin is a light green, the shade of fresh-sprouting grass, and his eyes a deep, galactic black with no irises, simply black orbs placed in his skull.
Birth place: Glee Anselm
Faction: Jedi
Rank: Padawan
Bio: Kur was born Amur and Bakkah Deruh in Glee Anselm, a planet in the Mid Rim. They raised him lovingly for years, along with his younger sister who was born two years after himself. Kur would always defend his sister, Zaurah, against any and all threats that came her way. Be it other Nautolans, wild creatures, or simply the monsters she believed were following her when she slept, Kur held her close, he told her it would be alright, that all would be well.
But all was not well. Zaurah was a sick girl, her tendrils thin and lank, her skin always a sickening hue. She was the one that many children laughed at, ignored, and bullied. Kur helped all he could, but it was not enough, the girl grew up with nobody but her brother, sad.
One day, Kur found his sister sitting in the middle of a group of people. They were all laughing, calling out happily for other to come watch. He simply stared until he heard it, the shrill screech of his sister screaming. He ran forward, reaching the group quickly, and yelled at them, commanding them to leave her be. But they ignored him, continuing their taunting, it even looked like they had sticks with which to beat her.
Another scream. Kur yelled, and each one of them fell to the ground, all at the same time. He stood for a moment before he hurried forward, and reached his sister, she was sobbing, her head in her hands. He picked her up and ran home.
By the next day, news had spread, Kur was sensitive to the force, he had used it on other children.
It wasn't long until his family was contacted by the Jedi Counsil, asking that he be taken to the Jedi Temple for examination. He did all they asked, and managed to pass their tests. Before he knew what was happening, he was taken in as a Youngling.
He trained with the rest, outlasting some, and managed to stay until he turned twelve. He was then assigned a master, and thus became a Padawan to Deaton Pearah, a human.
The day they met was the day he started to construct his lighsaber. Deaton would be there, a watchful eye and someone to guide him if he went astray, but Kur was left to his own devices. Build what you sense is right, the man had said. It took time and energy, as well as quite a few mess-ups before he was capable of actually making the lightsaber. To his surprise, it was the spitting image of his master's. Till this day he has the same lightsaber, tinkering with it now and then, but remaining true to its original shape.
He and Kur became close. He was as close a friend as Kur had ever hoped to find. He confided in the man all of his hopes, his dreams, his fears, the two spoke freely in each others company.
In his training, Deaton was varied, allowing Kur to try his hand in a wide variety of lightsaber fighting styles, as well as applications of the Force, hoping that variety would allow him to find that which truly rang a chord within him.
But this was not to last. One day, Deaton asked to speak to Kur alone, and the Padawan, of course, obliged. It was his belief, the man said, that to be bound to a single master would hinder his development as a Jedi. The man said that, in order for him to truly grasp what is important, what is vital, he would need the teachings of another. Kur protested, but Deaton would not be swayed. In the end, he was left without a master, left at the whim of the Council to place him with another. It is not a day he looks forward to, but one he knows will come.
Lightsaber: A single-blade lightsaber of the same style as his first master.
Color: Lime Green
Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho 4
Makashi N/A
Soresu N/A
Ataru 1
Shien / Djem So 2
>>Sub-form Backhanded 2
Niman N/A
>>Sub-form Jar-kai, or Dual Wield N/A
Juyo N/A
Double Bladed Combat N/A
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
Telekinetic: 5
Telepathic: 2
Body: 4
Sense: 4
Protection: 2
Healing: 1
Destruction: 0
Specialized Skills: N/A
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 5
Speed: 3
Leadership: 1
Unarmed: 3
Melee Weapons: 7
Ranged Weapons: 2
Force Attunement: +4
RP Sample: Kur sat there, staring out the window at the multitude of clouds as they drifted lazily by. This isn't fair, he thought to himself, watching a particularly fast cloud rush by. It shouldn't be this way, he didn't need a new Master... With every thought that entered his head, the Padawan knew how childish he sounded, how immature his griping was. In the end, he had no choice, he would get a new Master regardless, and they would say something sage which they would assume made the whole thing better.
He sighed, pulling his lightsaber from his hilt. He stared at it, remembering the work he'd put into the thing, the crystals, the power conduit, the lenses, the emitter matrix, all for this weapon made as close as he could to the one his master used.
His former master, he reminded himself. The thing lifted up, floating above his hand, spinning slowly in front of his eyes. Master had helped him do that...
'You need focus, you need to pay attention to detail...'
Deaton's voice rang in his head. The man had helped him in more ways than he could count, taught him more than anyone else...
The lightsaber slowly lowered itself into the palm of his hand. He put it back onto his belt, standing from his seat.
And of course this can't go quickly, he thought to himself, the council must deliberate, meditate on this. Kur almost blushed. He was embarrassed in front of himself, how could he think like this? It was pointless anger, pointless rage... Deaton would have been ashamed.
He walked towards the door, he had to do something. Surely just sitting there would drive him insane, he had to occupy himself while he waited for the verdict. Training, that always emptied his head. It was impossible to think too much while you trained, your head was always sucked into the task at hand. Perfect.
Race: Nautolan
Age: 17
Height: 5' 9"
Weight: 152lbs
Appearance: Kur stands tall for his age, already at a height most Nautolans consider fully grown. He is well muscled from rigorous daily training, and is most always seen with a smile on his face. On his head, instead of hair, there are large tentacle-like tendrils. His skin is a light green, the shade of fresh-sprouting grass, and his eyes a deep, galactic black with no irises, simply black orbs placed in his skull.
Birth place: Glee Anselm
Faction: Jedi
Rank: Padawan
Bio: Kur was born Amur and Bakkah Deruh in Glee Anselm, a planet in the Mid Rim. They raised him lovingly for years, along with his younger sister who was born two years after himself. Kur would always defend his sister, Zaurah, against any and all threats that came her way. Be it other Nautolans, wild creatures, or simply the monsters she believed were following her when she slept, Kur held her close, he told her it would be alright, that all would be well.
But all was not well. Zaurah was a sick girl, her tendrils thin and lank, her skin always a sickening hue. She was the one that many children laughed at, ignored, and bullied. Kur helped all he could, but it was not enough, the girl grew up with nobody but her brother, sad.
One day, Kur found his sister sitting in the middle of a group of people. They were all laughing, calling out happily for other to come watch. He simply stared until he heard it, the shrill screech of his sister screaming. He ran forward, reaching the group quickly, and yelled at them, commanding them to leave her be. But they ignored him, continuing their taunting, it even looked like they had sticks with which to beat her.
Another scream. Kur yelled, and each one of them fell to the ground, all at the same time. He stood for a moment before he hurried forward, and reached his sister, she was sobbing, her head in her hands. He picked her up and ran home.
By the next day, news had spread, Kur was sensitive to the force, he had used it on other children.
It wasn't long until his family was contacted by the Jedi Counsil, asking that he be taken to the Jedi Temple for examination. He did all they asked, and managed to pass their tests. Before he knew what was happening, he was taken in as a Youngling.
He trained with the rest, outlasting some, and managed to stay until he turned twelve. He was then assigned a master, and thus became a Padawan to Deaton Pearah, a human.
The day they met was the day he started to construct his lighsaber. Deaton would be there, a watchful eye and someone to guide him if he went astray, but Kur was left to his own devices. Build what you sense is right, the man had said. It took time and energy, as well as quite a few mess-ups before he was capable of actually making the lightsaber. To his surprise, it was the spitting image of his master's. Till this day he has the same lightsaber, tinkering with it now and then, but remaining true to its original shape.
He and Kur became close. He was as close a friend as Kur had ever hoped to find. He confided in the man all of his hopes, his dreams, his fears, the two spoke freely in each others company.
In his training, Deaton was varied, allowing Kur to try his hand in a wide variety of lightsaber fighting styles, as well as applications of the Force, hoping that variety would allow him to find that which truly rang a chord within him.
But this was not to last. One day, Deaton asked to speak to Kur alone, and the Padawan, of course, obliged. It was his belief, the man said, that to be bound to a single master would hinder his development as a Jedi. The man said that, in order for him to truly grasp what is important, what is vital, he would need the teachings of another. Kur protested, but Deaton would not be swayed. In the end, he was left without a master, left at the whim of the Council to place him with another. It is not a day he looks forward to, but one he knows will come.
Lightsaber: A single-blade lightsaber of the same style as his first master.
Color: Lime Green
Practiced Lightsaber forms:
Shii-Cho 4
Makashi N/A
Soresu N/A
Ataru 1
Shien / Djem So 2
>>Sub-form Backhanded 2
Niman N/A
>>Sub-form Jar-kai, or Dual Wield N/A
Juyo N/A
Double Bladed Combat N/A
Force-Sensitive Abilities or practices:
Telekinetic: 5
Telepathic: 2
Body: 4
Sense: 4
Protection: 2
Healing: 1
Destruction: 0
Specialized Skills: N/A
Attributes:
Physical Strength: 7
Intelligence: 5
Speed: 3
Leadership: 1
Unarmed: 3
Melee Weapons: 7
Ranged Weapons: 2
Force Attunement: +4
RP Sample: Kur sat there, staring out the window at the multitude of clouds as they drifted lazily by. This isn't fair, he thought to himself, watching a particularly fast cloud rush by. It shouldn't be this way, he didn't need a new Master... With every thought that entered his head, the Padawan knew how childish he sounded, how immature his griping was. In the end, he had no choice, he would get a new Master regardless, and they would say something sage which they would assume made the whole thing better.
He sighed, pulling his lightsaber from his hilt. He stared at it, remembering the work he'd put into the thing, the crystals, the power conduit, the lenses, the emitter matrix, all for this weapon made as close as he could to the one his master used.
His former master, he reminded himself. The thing lifted up, floating above his hand, spinning slowly in front of his eyes. Master had helped him do that...
'You need focus, you need to pay attention to detail...'
Deaton's voice rang in his head. The man had helped him in more ways than he could count, taught him more than anyone else...
The lightsaber slowly lowered itself into the palm of his hand. He put it back onto his belt, standing from his seat.
And of course this can't go quickly, he thought to himself, the council must deliberate, meditate on this. Kur almost blushed. He was embarrassed in front of himself, how could he think like this? It was pointless anger, pointless rage... Deaton would have been ashamed.
He walked towards the door, he had to do something. Surely just sitting there would drive him insane, he had to occupy himself while he waited for the verdict. Training, that always emptied his head. It was impossible to think too much while you trained, your head was always sucked into the task at hand. Perfect.
.