AbdAas Oriatius: Returned

[DeathToll]

...SOUNDS OF FIRE...​

"...Hovering. Weightless embers melt away, seperating from the current of heat into the freezing cold; they flap and flutter with their wings of desperate existentialism, yet away from what they began. He's staring. You can feel it upon you, but you can't see. He does not move. It is but a flash in memory, somehow preserved under scrutiny and curiosity of doubt. It is difficult, but you manage to look deeper. His flesh is burning, yet it retains a cool stone-blue. Red and yellow perfectly encapsulate his image, seperated by, halo, a white lining. You cannot shake his stare. No matter the heavenly glow and immunity to gravity, that ominous glare collapses your chest; stifling, suffocating. Your task is endless, lifting higher and higher to see his face; to understand why, you must see his face. You search and search, thinking, feeling the impression of a sinister grin, but doubt feeds your curiosity. You remember, you see it. White glow, brilliant and blinding from the pale of his eyes. His head is lowered, this angel, this tormentor somehow shows no emotion on his expression, yet through that perfection spews judgement. The feeling floods a crushing pressure. It had already passed, a flash of memory, a dream. Yet it lingers. He is there. Somehow, he is always there."

"The suns rise, and a man returns. There is no beginning, no end. Time yields not to man's limitations, their narrow view, linear and flat. To comprehend it as a singular path of forward motion is to shut off the majority truth. He recognizes this circulatory spin of methodical spontaneity, and holds his integrity to it. Yet that flashing image, that burning deity of judgement ever greets him. This man, what he was, he tried to leave behind; yet only found further truth to reinforce his expanding grasp of the galaxies. Time stands still. The past is now. The present is now. The future is now."

"A man rises, to lead; remarkably so, he is perpetual growth and wisdom. Yet, in his heart and in his hand, he chooses to step down. A woman wants for justification and retribution, her dreadful past so haunting her. Yet in order to convince herself she must first convince another. A boy proves himself wrong, by proving himself right. Life, it seems, is aboundingly fickle. And a man returns after nearly three decades, from stepping away and bearing witness to the mural entirely. He held the apple, withheld from eye; disstanced to truly see what life is; unfinished...."

"...A righteous man leads the committed hunt, two others at his side; Jedi. For months they have been searching, picking up the reigns that one other would not; one, all others believe should. Some disagree on principle, many more on method. They believe the responsibility was his, and remains his. They do not see, unnable to understand. They only see his lack of attempt, allowing her to freely rome. She misunderstands entirely, joining the Dark and clouded thinking to make right in her mind what she knows is wrong. What wronged her have wronged even more through her."

"They see the history of their brethren, ended, collecting the broken and scattered pieces; they begin to see that time stands still, that all revolves around it. But they do not understand. So they continue, calling death the most defining marker in one's life; even as they withold to label, 'end'. Evidence leads them to more bodies, she's been running for some time. Will he ever come, she wonders? He is not among them. This all could have been averted, they say, if he'd just stopped her. Could he? Should he? He didn't. They tire of looking. She yearns for his attention. They find her, shown to them; they have already lost. One by one they give themselves to her. She must believe she is right, soul be damned. Her conviction and guilt dominates their linear thinking."

"He shares communion with his mentor, the student become a Master and a Councilor. She cannot be wrong anymore, she must show him. Here she holds her lightsaber embeded in his mentor's heart forever, worse than if his own. Why won't he fight, she wonders? They meant something to each other once. But that is not the why. That is what drives her to the edge. He did not stop her, did not chase her, did not confront her, and did not fight her; for he does not believe it so. He can stop her now, but he does not. For it is not power he seeks at all, limiting as it is. Even now, he won't give her what she wants; even she cannot twist lies to support her desires in the face of such integrity. And so, she kills herself; the only way to get to him. And it does..."

"...A young man must prove himself. The true test, what to make of it all once one has. The first inspiring success shapes a man, lifting up that trophy to see how it fits in the stars. To some, it is not a question of proving oneself capable, but instead proving oneself worthy of the attention. But how does that attention change us? We look up, but forget to look down."

"This young man faces culture and ritual, the rights above others. He faces off against the very elements, racing through the forrest, the trees splintering from his ambition; limited. The others are no match for him, the favored of the stars; they recognize his abilities for what they represent. He is more than a young man, a Force that he is also. Strength shatters beneath his might. Skill blurs to his piercing focus. Will bends and bows in contour with his radiating spirit. Rule itself concedes. He reaches the final test, and competes to be measured greater than. Even the beast is incapable to his ability. Its massive figure lurches forth, and he obliges its request. He stands over its carcass. He knows what comes next. But what does that mean? What does he mean?"

"The boy returns a man, standing at the alter of modern worship; symbolism. Upon the heavy slab sits the hammer on its pedistal. It's power represents existence. To succeed in this test gives mark to strike the fissure of life's course into the stone. He picks up the hammer, staring into those lives set before his; there still. He is in hesitation, forever. Resigning to misconceptions, he lifts it high and strikes it down. Flash, that image burns bright of an angel. The stress splits a fissure that cuts through all others, bending an arc from base to head. He turns away. Is their way the only way? Her carcass weighs heavy on his mind..."

"...Today, a man has embarked on a pilgrimage to the Unknown Regions, a Councilor resigned, seeking what his Mentor sought before him; and achieving some respite from that burning image. And just like his Master before, he knows not what he will find nor what he is looking for. For it is the journey that sets a man apart. At first, he gains a sense of peace; indeed a seperation of what once was, what should have been. He's done terrible things, or rather... it's what he hasn't done that is so terrible. And yet, as before, there is only himself in a singular bubble; though a different shape, the engines, like current events, propel him forward yet purposefully without a destination. He turns away. He plots a course, only to plot another, and another; stepping over stones, yet enjoying the ripple of water around them as he pass. Will he ever escape the bend of time, circling back without end? Or is there, in fact, no end at all? Up ties another knot in the weave, yet overlapping the last layer underneath or above? Sifting through memory, he sees no start or finish. All connecting, he is wrapped around himself to see it clearly. Forward he goes, but walking backwards."

"The only one who could, may still be; in a sea of rain. But is it one who intersects many, or many who intersects one? The possibilities are endless, and continuously redefined. Perspective is everything, though one must take into account the bend of the looking glass. To see it for what it is, imperfect, is to know its perfection. One may question destiny and control. But what is the effect on time and those who enslave themselves to it? A rock, with past scars inflicted, is on display; with its god towering upon it. Those cracks, beneath his feet, are seen as the example, the mold; to be upheld and even broken. A new influence is left, changing everything; leaving memory to interpretation, to perspective. How time does tell. It is infinite...

________________________________ ________________________________

Spoiler: ______________________BURN OF ANGEL'S BRIGHT______________________

AbdAas Oriatius
New Jedi Order
Former Grandmaster
Sephi, Male
119, 6'2", 210lbs
White Eyes, White Hair
Smokey Tanned Gray Skin

...Often mistaken as blind, Grandmaster Oriatius' physical display appears as judging. Quite the contrary, in fact a most welcoming and understanding individual. Though his experience is evident in his opinions, viewed more as open fact. Often wearing an untraditional robe type, exposing one shoulder and arm, he is always very layered. But the Grandmaster's most prominent feature is his long white beard and hair, tied into cuffs at varius junctures and layered thick over each bound lock.

Spoiler: FORCE POWERS AND TECHNIQUES

Sense:
Precognition, Farsight, Sense, Sight, Listening, Battle Meditation, Empathy, Meld, Shatterpoint
Control:
Tutaminus, Control Breath, Detoxify Poison, Tapas, Healing, Comprehension, Hibernation Trance, Morichro, Speed, Jump, Conceal, Presence, Stealth
Alter:
Telekinesis, Affect Mind, Illusion, Projection, Stasis Field, Barrier, Protection Bubble, Protection, Defend, Deflection, Immunity, Breach, Sever Force, Revitalize, Valor, Animal Friendship, Plant Surge, Alter Environment, Flash, Destroy Droid, Electric Judgement, Ray, Light

Lightsaber Forms:
Form VII: Vaapad
"Accept the fury of the opponent."

Basic mastery of all Forms.

Spoiler: WEAPONS AND GEAR

Lightsabers:
"Prism": Single Gold Hilt, Green

Other:


Gear:
Archaic steel pocket watch, draped over his right thigh, hanging from two points; the chain linked into his belt. Gifted to him by an old friend, Jedi Master Sage Artemis Acre.

Two major outfits; one usually worn under the other, but sometimes worn by itself. One pearly white robe, reminiscent of an ancient greek senetorial gown; exposing much of the arms and half of the chest with a diagonally crossed wrap. And one very old charcoal gray Jedi robe, wrapped thick over layers of garments; accented by an inner dark oak.

Seven metal marbels, always kept in belt pocket at his left hip. Their value is unknown.

Light-weight Gold Cortosis weave bracers on either forearm, with enscribed murals that tell of two men. One, the god who knows not of his origin. And the other, his creator who becomes enslaved to his will. They were gifted to him long ago, telling a tale of the tribe he helped save themselves.

Spoiler: The Aureate Chest of Chimera

A very old arc, decorated with the metal plating of ancient warriors' armor long past, ranging from silvers to golds, that sits in Master Oriatius' room on Tython. The massive chest, designed with locking mechanisms capable of withstanding most current hacking technology and methods, contains a variety of personal items both most meaningful to AbdAas' past and most useful to his present.

Spoiler: RELATIONSHIPS

Padawan: Gnost-Tok
Padawan: Sal Zidu
Padawan: Chervil Lyelle

Spoiler: ROLEPLAYS

"Harvest"

"(PvP Sim) AbdAas Oriatius and Asher Sirius vs Mandalorians"

"Gnost's New Master"
"A New Beginning for Sal"
"Some Sort of Direction"

________________________________ ________________________________

 

[DeathToll]

Thar be a WIP! And this be reserved...

 

[Natise]

Looks pretty bad ass, I'll do an in depth reading when I'm more awake.

 

[GABA]

Aw yea! Grandmaster! :CHappy

 

[Master Maverick]

Dude, awesome read! Can't wait to see how they all fit, cause for the life of me I can't really figure out what's what, haha.

Anyway, we should get the coronation of the new council thread going... cause I want to RP with him! hahahah

 

[DeathToll]

"Father Time" anyone? No? Not so much?

Lol. Thanks guys! More will be fleshed out soon.