Artello Icypher Kulfar

[Flamjetxx]

NAME: Artello Icypher Kulfar
*He is often referred to as Lord Artello

Within the Four Families of Ord Cantrell, Kulfar is only one of the four. However, the name is one held yet in high regard to anyone who hears it. It was once believed to have originally been Ulfer, but had evolved over time to become Kulfar. The resulting name is supposed to be synonymous with Loyalty, Leadership, and Fierceness in battle.

FACTION: Sith Empire

RANK: Sith, Templar (Yet to be Approved)
Artello is also a respected member of the Kulfar Family, he holds a few Ranks: First son and heir of the Lord of the North-Eastern Provinces, Arch-Knight of the Valkyrie Squadren, and 22nd Legion Commander
*If compared to a Faction Rank, he would be that of a Jedi Knight/Sith Rank.

SPECIES: Human

AGE: 31 Galactic Standard Years

GENDER: Male

FORCE SENSITIVE: Artello Kulfar was trained from birth as a Force Sensitive in the Traditional training of the Kulfar Family as well as 10 years of Sith Training.

APPEARANCE:
Face Claim: Tony Jaa

Artello composes himself well, like a true Lord of the Kulfar family as well as an athletic Warrior. He is always groomed like a King, often by servants, and has short black hair and a clean shaven face (Although, he had a time in his life in which he wore his hair down to his upper back). His training has allowed him to be extremely lean and athletic, focusing far more on agility than strength, but still highly capable in both. He is slightly tanned and of average stature appearing to be insignificant at first. He stands six feet and 180 pounds.

Despite being royalty, his hands are rough, like that of a man of trade due more as a result of his training than actually being a working class citizen. His training has also caused various small scarring across his body. As a result of former participation in the VASK tournament, he’s also received deep scarring on his left forearm and the right side of his chest. Finally, he’d recovered from a blaster shot to his right shoulder as a result of his touring in the neighboring systems on behalf of the Sith Empire.

ATTRIBUTES:
His life as the son of a Lord came with both privileges as well as extraordinarily high expectations. He too had soon come to terms with these high expectations from generations of fathers wishing their son(s) to be the best of the Family. For that reason alone, Artello had become the Warrior he is today.

His studies were extensive, teaching him of a variety of subjects ranging from the menial work of the lower class citizens to the high expectations that came with a Lord. His mind never seemed to be at rest, even if he was found meditating, he was always attempting to improve himself. Being extremely wealthy, he’s always had himself funded. He’d like to think that even if he wasn’t very good at something, such as being a pilot or engineer, he’s at least experienced it well enough to come to that conclusion on his own.

As the first born, there has been the highest form of responsibility placed on his shoulders. He was tasked with being a leader. Leader of his brothers and sisters, leader of the growing Legacy of his father and forefathers, and he was most of all tasked with the future Responsibility of leading his Family as Lord. This expectation has had some drawbacks though. Such an image and stress has caused a great unrest unto his mind in which frequently causes him to be restless and to have a shorter fuse. With such great expectations from him, he too demands a high level of expectations upon his subordinates. His ability for patience is not well known. However, his mentors have been very wise, and even if he doesn’t always agree or portray wisdom in such a fashion, he is certainly capable of recognizing when various situations require the certain finesse of wisdom.

His training has been extensive. As a result of his stature, he his very capable of striking the perfect balance between agility and strength. He had learned how to utilize powerful strikes at speeds that are blindingly fast. His finesse knows no bounds, utilizing precision and mobility without error. He is a perfectionist and he yet still practices despite having already achieved perfection.

Having the position of the son of a Lord would have the expectations that he’d be a Prince, however, his disposition and focuses have been oriented more around honoring his family in battle rather than speaking as a leader. Speaking to an individual, he is straight forward and lacks emotion. However, he has been known to make speeches so moving that it brings tears to his listeners. However, such things are almost always prepared beforehand.

PERSONALITY:
Artello is Fierce and Aggressive in his personality. His strife is clear in his eyes if one were lucky enough to be able to look him in his eyes. However, his servants are not granted such a privilege. His royalty gives him the presence of someone of immense importance and he portrays himself as such, expecting the finer things in life and becoming dissatisfied without it. Even as a soldier on the field, he is used to special treatment, becoming visibly uncomfortable otherwise. However, like a true warrior, he doesn’t question his situations regardless of how poor they may be and makes peace with them when he must.

However, it is the Lord within him that always seeks the better, whether it is within himself, his surroundings or his subordinates, he always strives to improve. His real personality is in his view of the big picture. His loyalty to his family urges him to seek the best for them regardless the cost, painting the antihero into his intents. Even though his motives are pure, his methods are seldom so pure as he aims for the most effective and fastest ways to gain the best things. He often compromises with his morals in order to achieve even the smaller of victories. In a word, he is: Antihero.

BIOGRAPHY:

The First Child Is Born:
“He is so lucky to be first born my Lord. He is first in line for the throne. I admit that I cannot say I am not envious.”

“No. Not lucky. He has the most difficult task of us all ahead of him. Everything in life must be earned, not simply attained. To be first born, although it means that he automatically has the responsibility and rite of a Lord, it means that all of this prestige is barrowed. It means that he has a lifetime of earning to do.”

-Artello’s Father, Lord Ryce Kulfar, to the Captain of the Lord’s Guard, Myanthro Kaytis.

The first child of five brothers and three sisters, Artello inherited his name from his four century old ancestor once known as a great combatant. His sur name is one of the four major families of Ord Cantrell, Kulfar. With such a sur name, Artello gained the instantaneous respect of not only a quarter of the population of the world his family rules, but he also gains the begrudge respect of the three other families that rule the rest of Ord Cantrell. With such a name, Artello was born into a sense of Royalty that expects more than it can give, and with that name, Artello was forced to walk the path of leadership over a World, the Responsibility of setting a supreme example for his younger siblings, and he was sentenced to the insurmountable task of bringing the ultimate honor to his family by eliminating the four other, equally powerful, families without subjecting his people to the hardship of war.

The night was warm and the balcony was open to allow the sweet breeze to carry in the fruit trees that inhabited the garden outside of his room. Artello was only two months old in his crib and fast asleep. Outside his door and on the balcony, two guards each stood guard the infant child. In the corner a caretaker droid sat deactivated, but awaiting the slightest sound of the infant’s discomfort to be activated.

A rustle in the garden below the balcony alerts the guards to what they could only hope to be some sort of action after two full months of only a child’s cries. Looking at each other, one guard nods at the other to look over the edge while he continues to keep watch. Leaning over the marble ledge, a tropical breeze brushes the leaves to make a similar sounding rustling. Giving a hushed chuckle, he turns to his companion, “Just the br…”

*ZIP*

*Thump*

*Crack*

In rapid succession and almost impossibly too little noise being made, a zip of a wire wraps around the neck of the guard with his head turn away, but still hovering over the ledge, his scream was silenced as the line forced his trachea closed. At the same time a thump of an intruder landed behind the other guard in which an arm wrapped around his neck pulled the jaw causing the minimal sound of a snap to be heard from the balcony. The caretaker droid beeps to life as the dull and warm glow of its eyes come to life. Rolling forward, it looks around the room in an attempt to ascertain the origin of the snapping sound.

It was not the sound of a baby crying, and yet it was something out of the ordinary. Far too many times has it been arisen by the sound of some sort of nocturnal bird or animal snapping the weaker branches of the fruit trees in the garden below. Thankfully, the only other sounds that it heard after being alerted were the rustling of a child in its blankets, yet to be awaken. With a final look into the crib, the droid determines that the child is okay and rolls out of the moonlight shining into the room only just shy of the crib to power down in the corner until the child did eventually wake up.

The exact moment the droid powered down, the shadow of the moonlight was interrupted by a pure black profile expanding onto the floor of the child’s room. In the balcony, the assassin stood perfectly silent as the two bodies were vacant of the view from the balcony. With perfect strides, he crossed the room almost instantaneously to look into the crib at the sleeping baby. He bent over into the cradle to hist the child from it, his blankets unraveling, and slowly Artello awoke in the stranger’s hands.

However, the assassin hesitated to observe the child as baby Artello neglected to make a noise. Curiosity and the unfathomably unprofessional action of hesitation of an assassin halted the move to kill a defenseless child. There was no honor in it, and he knew it, but that wasn’t what stopped him there. He held Artello into the moonlight above his head, and the moonlight filled the child’s eyes, causing them to almost glow; And in that singular moment a flash in the assassin’s eyes sent his mind careening into another world.

The events he saw only took fractions of a second to transgress and each second seemed to pass as if an eternity as the assassin saw the man that Artello would eventually become. Powerful, confident, pained by an impossible choice and betrayal, he saw Artello standing over a world in flames, but a world united. For the first time in much more than four hundred years, he saw all of Ord Cantrell united under the words and action of Artello. He saw the future of the child.

However, he was pulled out of his vision by the sound of an alarm sounded by the caretaker droid responding to the disgruntled Artello, disturbed by the vision. Bursting into the room, the two guards from the doorway came in with rifles raised at the intruder, the only thing stopping them being that Artello was in the assassins arms.

Reacting quickly and almost eh instant the guards burst into the room, the assassin raised a blaster pistol to shoot one of the guards in the shoulder and hip, causing him to fall into his partner as he succumbed to his injury. Like a whirlwind, he dropped now fully crying Artello into the crib for him to over his escape with a few more blaster shots behind him at the recovering guards.

Within moments, several more guards poured into the room to find baby Artello unharmed but very unhappy and the two guards only having just recovered. Right behind the additional guards, Lord Ryce and Artello’s mother burst into the room, Artello’s mother coming to caress the child and attempt to soothe him immediately.

In an outrage the Lord noticed the smoking caregiver droid, disabled by a blaster shot and incapable of continuing to sound the alarm, ”What happened?!”

The injured guard was being helped up by his partner by that point in which he attempted to get out a response to his Lord, “Intruder… I… I don’t know here he went sire.”

The additional guards had finished a sweep of the room and balcony in which one of the guards that seemed to be most decorated addressed Lord Ryce, “My Lord. I’m afraid there are two dead and no sign of the intruder.”

Furious, Ryce attempted to control his anger, “Captain Myanthro, I want you to personally watch over my son until further notice.”

“Very well sir.”

***​

Youth Training:
Artello picked himself off the training room floor, the skin on his cheek already beginning to swell in response to it having struck the ground, hard. Anger was clear in his eyes as he flew off the ground at his assailant; The guard, taken by surprise at the immediate retaliation had trouble keeping up with the fists that flew at him from the ten year old boy. Unfortunately for the young Artello, a ten year old was nothing compared to a fully grown adult and for every strike attempted, it felt like there was no progress.

With his very attempts to harm his opponent at least as much as his opponent did to him, he didn’t hear his master’s instructions, “Artello, calm yourself! Artello!”

Suddenly, in the midst of the furious onslaught of his strikes, Artello was yanked backwards by the powerful hand of his Master and tossed to the ground. Unfathomably infuriated, Artello screamed at him, “Master Kaytis! Why?”

Myanthro ignored the disrespect of the child’s anger towards him. It was precisely what he needed to address, “You let your emotions get the better of you.”

“But I had him on the defense,” Artello complained, slightly calmed now, “You’ve always said that you should never let your opponent have an opportunity to transition from defense to offense.”

“But it is how you got there Artello. You are to use your emotions, but not let them control you. You are to control your emotions or you will become blinded as they drive you,” Myanthro tried to explain, “That is how ay combatant allows themselves to open their defenses.”

Cleaerly frustrated, Artello shakes his head, “But I had him right where I wanted him. I didn’t make any mistake, and he had no opportunity to retaliate.”

Taking a stern tone, Myanthro scolds the young man, “Do not let your arrogance get the better of you. No matter how good you think you are, there is always someone better. Even if one man is not capable of breaking your attack and retaliating that doesn’t mean the next one is not capable of it. I am trying to prepare you for the person that can retaliate, not stroke your ego for being able to defend someone barely passable for your own skills,” he says while directing him and the other soldier to so that Artello has a disadvantageous position in their spar, “Now, you start over.”

With a grunt and a look of betrayal, Artello protests his Master’s decision, “But that’s not fair! I had him on the run, and I am punished for it?”

“A real battle is not fair Artello. You must expect to be capable of dealing with a disadvantage,” Master Kaytis responds nearly interrupting the Lord’s son.

“But I can barely even hurt him when the spar is even,” he protests, beginning to walk off the training room floor, “This is so stupid. I don’t even know why I am training to fight in hand to hand combat when I can just use the Force anyway.”

With a hand raised, Artello flings the guard across the training room with relative ease, causing him to skid across the floor, coming to a rest in a loud groan in which two other guards come to his aid. Now angry, Myanthro addressed the acting out with a use of the Force that yanked the storming off Artello back onto the training room floor in which he loomed over Artello, waiting for him to get back up, “Then, if all you need is the Force to dispatch your opponents, then do so with me.”

With a furrowed brow and gritted teeth, Artello rises to his feet and shoves forward at Myanthro with a powerful attempted to use the Force. However, before he could manage the push, the Captain strikes the outstretched arms breaking his concentration towards the Force ability and likely bruising the young man. This goes on for several more attempts in which Master Kaytis sidesteps a Force ability and lands a shove on the ten year old boy pushing him to become angrier and more frustrated until finally Artello gives up.

Sobbing, he drops to his knees in frustrated anger, “I give up! I can’t do it.”

Dropping to the ground to meet Artello speaking softly to him, “There is a hierarchy to combat Artello. The Force may be the most powerful weapon you possess next to strategizing with your mind, but it is also one of the most difficult to use. Even the simplest of methods of combat can counteract it with relative ease. You must first start with the basics in order to become masterful with the most potent of weapons. “

Sniffling, but moved by the insight of the man he’d once felt so frustrated towards, “Yes Master Kaytis, I understand.”

***​

First VASK Tournament:
The annual VASK Tournament was the event to attend. That year was on that was particularly special to Artello. He’d finally come of age to participate in the tournament, and 16 years of training wold come to prove his worth to his father. It had been three years since the Kulfar Family had won the tournament, and even though the weight of his participation would be limited and he wouldn’t be the one to participate to win the Tournament, he would at last be participating in at least a couple of rounds, and he intended to win every round he participated in.

There was a lot of pressure for him to succeed. His father would be watching from a Lord’s balcony and his Master, Myanthro Kaytis expected a lot from his apprentice. After dedicating years to training his body and mind, it was this moment that mattered the most to him. These were the moments I every young man’s life in which he was supposed to represent his Family with victory in to prove that he was superior to the rest of the Families. To have even the tiniest failure now would bring so much shame to his father and Master. The pressure was real.

Artello fingered the worn grooves on the hilt of the lightsaber he held in his hand. For years, he’d built the foundation of his skills by mastering unarmed combat. His skills with not only just a lightsaber, but a multitude of other weaponry seemed so much easier by then, and his training with a lightsaber was so extensive that the hilt was nearly perfectly worn down. The roughness of his hand was proof enough of that much, but what only the hilt could tell an observer were in the blood stains that truly showed the real wear that hand against hilt had on one another; And still, after so much time had passed training, after so much sweat was spent, and after so much blood was sacrificed, it still didn’t seem like quite enough to ease his mind on his endeavor.

Sure, he had the toys to train with, but there was never so much on the line. He could toss a guard across the room with the Force, he could dismember a droid without even the slightest though, and he could bend a full grown man to his knees with a simple pressure point, but none of them would kill him. Although the Tournament prohibited the intentional killing of an opponent, Artello had seen far too many times how brutal the fighting was and how an opposing Family Member wouldn’t just stop when he was supposed to, and in those fights, he has lost a cousin or seen a family member kill an opposing cousin. The Tournament wasn’t just to prove superiority. It was an excuse to take out their frustrations upon each other, and to thin out the competition.

Even so, it was far too late to back down now, because on the Balcony above him, he could see his Father and Mother dropping frequent glances upon him; And his Master was fastening his armor to him. It was suddenly uncomfortable despite having worn it many times before. It was harder to breath for some reason. Finally, the sound of his name echoed in the stadium, and the door slid open to reveal a child combatant in his first attempt to become a man.

Across the field, he could see the other door also rising to reveal a man, not a boy, but a full grown adult approaching confidently. What were the odds? Was this purposeful? He could complain now, but he could hear Myanthro’s voice echoing in his head, “The battlefield is seldom fair.” Artello supposed that this was more so true now than ever before.

His lightsaber ignited in unison with his opponent’s, and as his opponent beckoned the crowd for applause, Artello didn’t even want to notice the cheering, and so he chose not to. Instead, he focused on the task ahead of him. The older combatant knew this sort of determination, and his focus too shifted upon the approaching young man, ever cautious as they drew nearer to each other.

Upon that first touch of blades against each other, Artello could hear nothing and everything at the same time. Hi heart thudded so loudly that he could literally hear the blood coursing though his ears, the lightsabers’ hum whirred so soothingly as they sailed through the air to meet each other in a vibrant clash of light, breaking the sound in a venomous sound of hissing. It was true how the aggressive nature of touching lightsaber accurately portrayed the intent behind each blade and how one needed only to her the battle to know how aggressively each combatant fought.

Even so, Artello was caught off guard by the extent of training held by his opponent as well. It seemed like a lifetime of training was due for every individual of each of the four families in which each of them trained for this exact moment their entire lives. Of ‘course, this man had several years of training on Artello and every resource as well. What did Artello have that trumped him? He had the strength that came with age and a further developed body, and as a result, Artello was struck in the clash of sabers harder than he could manage, and Artello faltered backwards, his lightsaber reverberating the power of the blow into his arms, causing them to ache already.

It was all too soon that Artello knew he was outmatched, and he needed to compensate. The next blow, Artello parried the blow, deflecting the raw power behind it to the side, allowing him a free strike at his side, but likewise, his skills were as highly developed, and he was fully capable of blocking it. The more they fought, the more Artello felt himself becoming troubled by being unable to match his opponent on any front, and Artello already sustained a punch to his face, cracking his mask. Ornamental, the mask only really served to conceal identity from the other combatant, it didn’t do much to actually protect him.

Artello ripped the mask from his face to reveal a sweat stained face with a fierceness in his eyes that stabbed at the elder opponent. Taken back by the youth of his opponent, Artello could almost make out a chuckle. It was truly infuriating, and through the duration of the fight, it was frustrating to know that chuckle had weight behind its meaning. In a lunge, Artello felt and used his anger to propel him at the man making a mockery of him, causing a gash in his armor, but not piercing it enough to injure him. However, it was more than enough to pull him into the reality of his younger, but as dedicated opponent.

Clash after clash, Artello was forced to rely on the Force to throw his opponent off balance and to protect himself from a lightsaber sweep that would have clearly gutted him. Instead, Artello suffered light gashes across his chest in which the burns only served to anger and discomfort him further. However, his armor was being shredded as he could only barely escape the true intent of the slashes.

Finally, Artello had enough, and He decided to stand his ground against the man. Rooting his feet to the ground, Artello braced himself for the incoming powerful strike, but it was more powerful than he had anticipated, leaving his own lightsaber bending back and out of his own grip. Artello couldn’t hold it any longer, and the opposing lightsaber did its worst in flinging the lightsaber out of Artello’s hand, dropping to the ground where he quickly kicked it out of Artello’s reach. However, that was the least of his worries now.

Instead, the Lord’s son had shifted his hand from his own blade to the wrists of his opponent in a last ditch effort to halt its progression into his face. It was true. They really were out there to kill each other despite the rules of the Tournament stating otherwise. He could have aimed the blade to his shoulder, a move that would easily disable him and win the round of the Tournament, but instead, he chose to aim it towards his face, and the way he leaned was hard pressed to cleave him in half.

Already, Artello was succumbing to the weight of his opponent and the blade was digging into his forearm armor, scalding his forearm. In fact, Artello didn’t know when it cut into his arm, but he somehow knew it happened, and in the moment of screaming plain, Artello twisted, shifted all of their weight, and wrenched his opponent’s arm. His weight was too pressed and unbalanced if anything went wrong. He was too focused on ending the duel that he completely missed his own weaknesses. He thought that there was literally nothing Artello had left to do. Now, he was on his back with Artello ripping his lightsaber from his hand, and he was calling Artello’s fallen saber to his hand, but it was too far away, and Artello lopped off his hand.

The alarm was sounded, and he’d won the duel. Coddling his injured arm, the medics were already rushing onto the field to tend to both of their wounds. Artello was taken by his victory, but with his injury being as deep as deep as it was, he wouldn’t be able to continue on in the Tournament. The important part though, was that he brought the honor of victory to his family. He looked up to the balcony to where his father observed his duel with a beaming smile on his face, the pride of victory truly. However, as he looked up, his father had the unmistakable look of disappointment on his face.

Looking down in shame, Artello walked off the battlefield, ignoring the requests of the medics. With a look of pure confusion and frustration on his face, he stopped before passing by Myanthro shaking his head as he spoke, “Why?”

He knew exactly what his apprentice was referring to and truly he asked himself the same question. Why couldn’t the Lord be proud of his son’s achievement against the sever odds and escaping what very well could have been fatal. But he knew all too well why.

It was later in the night in which Master Kaytis would address the question as the Lord’s son lay in his bed, recovering from the injury with a pouch of bacta wrapped around his arm like a cast.

Sitting himself next to him, he tried to get comfortable aside the solemn young man, “Artello, your father… He was… still is the greatest Warrior known to the Kulfar Family. Even to the High Lord, his father, he has always been the greatest. He’s had a reputation for not letting soul go free when he was in combat with them. He had great expectations for you…”

In quiet protest, Artello interrupted his Master, “But Master Kaytis. I was outmatched. I should have never been matched up against someone like that in the first place.”

Clearly unwilling to say it, Myanthro averted his eyes for a moment, “That wasn’t what he was disappointed about. He wanted you to overcome those odds, which is why he arranged for you to fight him in the first place…”

“He did that on purpose?!”

“Settle down Artello. Any father would be proud of their son for accomplishing that feat. What he was disappointed about is that you had the opportunity to kill him that you didn’t take. You could have stabbed him in the chest, severed his head, sliced open his gut, but you chose to cut his hand off instead. Yes, you won the duel, but…” he didn’t finish. He knew that his apprentice knew what he was explaining. Myanthro knew that it was an unreasonable expectation, but he fully understood both sides of the coin. By failing to take the killing blow, he actually brought dishonor to the family by not killing an enemy of the Family while he had the opportunity to do so.

Artello was silent, drowning in his own contemplation of the events, cursing himself for now realizing it sooner. As he’s been told since birth, there is always room for improvement.

***​

Young Love:
Every culture has their Romeo and Juliet story. This one was no different, in fact painfully similar. While he was eighteen years old, Artello had participated in the former year’s VASK Tournament and shown brighter than ever before, taking three lives in his wake and proving himself more than worthy of his title of First Born Son of Lord Ryce. He was well enough known by the other families, and in the ceremonious gathering before the Tournament, he met her. Kayma Sceryntin. Beauty never lied to him so harshly before. She could have been anyone out of the four Families attending the Ceremonious Ball.

In fact, it would have been thirty second later that he would have approached and spoken to her if it weren’t for the young man, nearly his own age that approached her, taking her by the arm in what was clearly an uncomfortable manner. Artello instinctively burst forward to her aid before noticing that the young man doing so was in fact Bastille Scerpyntin. He was well enough known for his own prowess on the battlefield of the Tournament, and recognizing him was no more a challenge than it would have been for him to notice Artello, and he did.

Artello was caught observing them, likely with judgment in his eyes Disrespectful, especially seeing that it had become obvious by the seating of the dinner bell that she could only be one of his several sisters. She held herself well enough against her brother, but like most women in such a society oriented around combat, it were the sons that gained preference. She’d likely participated minimally on the training room floor. That much he could discern as her very aura was soft and inviting. Much like the very first time he’d stepped onto the battlefield of the Tournament, his heart thudded so loudly he could feel the rushing blood coursing past his ear drums at the mere thought of her.

It was almost cute how they caught each others’ glances throughout the dinner and from across the hall. It was a sort of flirting they had going on between the two of them in which he would smile at her and she would giggle at him from across the room. All along, Bastille noticed it all despite their own obliviousness to his observations. Their secret flirtatious language was like a sort of dishonorable torture device for him, and he grew angrier and angrier the more they continued. Perhaps it was the taboo of the nature of their flirtation that made it so attractive, or perhaps there as something deeper to it that made them know that they were attracted to each other. Regardless, Artello knew then and there that there was no question of whom he was always meant to be with despite each others’ origins. After all, there was an entire Galaxy that didn’t care for their individual names and wouldn’t hinder them from seeing each other.

After the dinner, they had their opportunity to meet in the most secluded part of the party, the rooftop. The summer breeze caused her golden-curly hair to flutter behind her in long strands that were as sweet and serine as one would imagine the scent from a bakery carried away in the wind, and even though it was so dark already, Artello could see how bright her eyes were as she peered over her shoulder at him. Rubbing slender fingers over her shoulder, she had goose bumps too, although he was unable to discern whether they were as a result of seeing him or because of the ever so slight chill of the wind piercing her thin dress.

He quickly approached her, removing his jacket, decorated in the seal of the Kulfar Family, and draped it over her shoulders, his body heat residing in the jacket serving to protect her, “You must be wary my Lady. It would be a shame if you were to succumb to anything that would keep you from the Tournament tomorrow.

With a smile so sweet it hurt your sweet tooth; she attempted to hide her smile from him. It wasn’t shame. They both had permanent smiles plastered on their faces, completely incapable of anything else, they had entire conversations with just the looks in their eyes.

“Now, what would father say about a Kulfar boy flirting with me like this?”

With a pursed smile on his lips, he looked her in the eyes, “Not tonight. Tonight, I am just a boy, and you are just a girl.”

True enough, they were indeed just that for neither of them even knew each others’ names at that point, although after looking off the roof of the hall, they certainly conversed as they observed the ocean from behind the palm trees. The feint white crests of the waves disappearing behind dark green palm leaves, the moon barely illuminated anything in its sliver of a crescent status. For hours they conversed and found out truly how much they liked each other. It was as if they were truly cut from the same cloth, and although Artello would have preferred the night stay that way forever, it was never meant to last forever, and the real question was begged of him, “What happens after tonight?”

It was a question he really hadn’t considered. Do they go back to their old lives, solid in the names of their ancestors, Scerpyntin and Kulfar, or did they break every rule they’d ever known and continue to see each other? Or did they simply wait for once a year to see each other in which they would blissfully enjoy each others’ company and be tortured the rest of the time?

Taking her hand and leaning in slightly, Artello gives his answer, “I don’t know about you Lady Kayma, but I don’t intend to let you go.”

And as he finished saying it, she knew what he was doing, leaning in with eyes closed and she too did so; But before their lips could touch, the sound of a door sliding open along with a shriek of disapproval stopped them only just short.

In the doorway, Bastille stood with a brother or cousin on each side of him, each of them armed with a knife from the dinner’s silverware. Obviously shocked and embarrassed, Kayma took a step back and away from Artello beginning to stutter some sort of excuse.

“Enough. I’ll deal with you as deemed appropriately,” Bastille says through gritted teeth as he beckons her to him with an outstretched hand. Through his anger, he mustn’t have even noticed the jacket draped over her shoulders, and she was sneaky enough to remove it and hide it within her scarf has he cast her behind him as if to protect her. It was quite honestly hurtful for him to be believed to intend harm to her, and somehow he suspected that Bastille knew he’d never hurt her deep down, but because of familial ties and living a life dedicated to the eradication of Artello’s Family.

Even from across the rooftop, Artello knew exactly what he told his two partners before they approached Artello with knives raised, “Make sure he doesn’t participate in the Tournament tomorrow.”

Artello gritted his teeth as the two of them cornered him against the ledge of the rooftop. He was unarmed and had nowhere to go against two armed enemies intent upon injuring him. Thankfully, Artello had been prepared for such events, thanks to the teachings of Master Kaytis. With deftly maneuvers and a knowledge of hand control, Artello managed to swing one of the boys away from him, putting him between himself and the other boy, but he was still unable to escape yet. He was forced to confront them, ad despite strategic uses of both the Force and skill, the scuffle ended in one of the boys knocked out and Artello kneeling upon the chest of the second attacker with a knife struggling between them. Artello may have had the advantage of leverage, but he had the second knife engorged in his stomach, causing deep red staining on the pure white shirt.

With a grunt, Artello wrestled the knife from his hands and put it to the other boy’s throat in which both his hands fell to his sides in surrender. Artello had one hand over the wound and the other had the knife to the throat perfectly prepared to slit it. In the time it took for the boy beneath him to gulp from beneath the silver blade of the tableware, Artello thought of the consequences of his actions. To kill one or even both of these kids didn’t bode well for him in any way.

Who knew what troubles would come from an investigation into their deaths? It could even be a War igniting event, causing the deaths of millions on Ord Cantrell. But if he were to let them live, he had some sort of leverage.

“Your brother stabbed me. If I am able to participate in the tournament tomorrow, I will be much weakened. Now, I could kill you and then your unconscious brother, but I think that some things are best left on the roof, and I want you to tell Bastille that too. Do you understand?” Artello stated with pain evident in his voice. The cut was deeper than he would have preferred, but clearly it didn’t inhibit him from following through with killing either of the boys present there.

Turning his head to look Artello in the face as if to ponder whether he was serious or not, Artello clearly felt his confusion through the Force even as he responded, “I… I do understand.”

Artello let him up, and allowed him to pick up his yet unconscious brother knowing that with that bargain he would have to keep his stabbing a secret from anyone that would persecute the Scerpyntin Family, and in return he would have to pray that the secret between himself and Kayma would remain just that and that Bastille would control himself enough to honor that deal.

It was only the day of the Tournament in which Artello was approached by Bastille, a score of personal guard droids escorting him as he entered the Kulfar Barracks, to address Artello. By that time, Artello had bathed in bacta in an attempt to rectify the injury, only a select few medics allowed to have stitched the small but deep cut. It was mostly concealed by support wrapping around his torso, but even one looked closely enough to the right side of his torso, they could see the faintest tinge of red in the slightly raised portion where the stab was located.

The escort droids parted to reveal Bastille, and they both knew there wasn’t much time before Bastille would be ejected by the Kulfar guards, and so he made it short and sweet, “Artello. I only came here to make sure that what I heard was true. It does seem as though you’ve followed through on your end, and you do intend to fight in the tournament.”

Leaning over Artello, who was sitting on a bench while strapping on his ornamental armor, Bastille pressed a thumb into the spot where he was told the stab was located. Artello stifled a scream with a grunt, and he doubled over from the pain while Bastille whispered in his ear, “I would have had the Scerpyntin rosters changed so that I fought you today, but I decided that if you truly are worth my time in willing you that you would survive today with your injury. If you can do that, I would be happy to kill you when you are at full strength.”

As Bastille removed his thumb from the wound, a thumbprint-shaped mark in blood formed underneath the white bandages, and as Bastille fell back into his escort of personal guard droids –a response to the guards pouring into the barracks- he said something barely audible to Artello, “Don’t worry Artello. I’ve held up my end of the bargain.”

Despite the intense pain and reopening of his wound, Artello fought his fight, and survived, but he dishonorably rejected to continue in the Tournament. No one knew he’d been injured, and keeping that secret required the cost of dishonor to his family. It was a shameful night for him, but for Artello, it was well worth his while.

That same night, Artello made a bold move. He didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but he decided he needed to see her again. He took a ship and flew half way across the planet to the Scerpyntin territory where he’d earlier learned she lived. He was cautious, as such things would certainly mean his death if he were to be caught. In avoidance of an army of guards and other prying eyes, he managed to find himself inside the fortress walls of the Palace that housed Kayma.

Only then did it dawn on him that he had no way of knowing how to find her. He was Forced to look into himself and draw upon the Force. If he was truly meant to be with her, the Force would lead him to her. He opened his eyes to find that a while and gold flag of sorts caught his eye from one of the higher balconies of the Palace. It didn’t flutter and it was hardly noticeable, but he recognized it as his own coat, even from such a distance. Could it be?

He ascended the side of the Palace to precariously perch himself onto the Balcony and peer into the room, praying that it was what he thought it was.

“Artello?!” the voice said stunned by what she saw, unsure of what to make of it, “You can’t be here!”

His heart skipped several beats and thudded so loudly he thought the entire Palace would hear it, “Kayma!”

“H…How did you even get here? If you are caught, they will surely kill you on the spot!” she said with genuine fear in her voice.

Funny, that she would be fearful for him after only a single night of knowing each other, and somehow he completely understood. He dared not thing it was infatuation, but that the Force was true in leading him to her. He realized that if she was anyone else other than the one, that his presence there would be wildly inappropriate. It was the realization of a lifetime, “No Kayma. I am supposed to be here. I can’t explain it, but me meeting you the other night, seeing my coat on your balcony… I am supposed to be here. The Force wills it.”

The night was entirely too short, and the realization made was one that was truly life changing. Artello and Kayma shared their first kiss together, and they established a pattern that would go on for the next year. Secret meetings, climbing into Balconies in foreign territories, and even very daring public moves. It was only until a week before the next VASK Tournament that it all ended, where the Juliet story comes to a conclusion.

Artello’s heart thudded as he silently crept onto the balcony. Her light wasn’t on, and she expected him tonight. What did this mean? Peering into the room, he realized why as his heart sank to his feet and he dragged them into the room. Empty. The room was completely empty. Had they been found out? There wasn’t even a bed left in the room.

Artello came to kneel in the middle of the room, his eyes fallen, he felt lost and defeated. His mind immediately went to the worst case scenarios. She was dead, tortured, sent far away never to be seen again; This was a trap and they were just waiting for him to show up. But even as his mind fluttered from thought to though, he simply sat still, unable to rise. His eyes closed into a form of meditation as his mind swept all his thoughts clear. Even the sound of shuffling feet passing by the doorway didn’t alarm him. It didn’t matter if they walked in on him… not anymore.

His mind cleared, he could only ask the Force what his next move was. It had lead him to her before, why not now? There had to be a sign, like before. Then, he felt it in the Force; It was the unexplainable pull that moved his fingers across the floor. It was irregular. There was something off about it. Using the Force, he lifted the portion carefully as to not cause any damage or noise. It was a secret panel, a hidden away chamber from which he could instantly see what it hid away.

He pulled out his coat, meticulously folded away. Her scent was within it, and the memories were sweet, but too little to satisfy him. From the folding, a note fell onto the floor. Curious, he knew it must have been for him as it was unopened. He opened it to unfold the note. It looked as if it were written in haste, but he could easily recognize her handwriting.

“Artello,
The past year has been the most wonderful of my life, and I wish it could last forever, but I’m afraid there has been a development. I’ve found out that I am pregnant. My father was furious to find this out, and I’ve refused to tell him that you are the father. In response, he’s determined that I am to be sent away where he suspects you won’t find me, but I know that there is no Ocean and no any Galaxy too vast for you to find me again. Until you find me again.
With Love, Kayma”

On Tour:
True enough, there was no Galaxy too vast, but to say is easier to do. Artello would spend an eternity searching for his deer Kayma and his unborn child, but with all his efforts, there must have been no greater a secret than the location of his deer Kayma. However, Artello knew of one person of whom would know her whereabouts or would be able to find out for him, her brother Bastille.

With some effort, it wasn’t comparatively difficult for him to locate the man, but locating and interrogating were two very different things. As it turned out, Bastille was in search of greater glory by fighting on the behalf of his Family in the encroaching war between the Border Alliance and Jedi against the SBZ. It thus didn’t take much convincing of his father nor the High Lord Kulfar to gain support in joining the Sith against the Scerpyntin Forces in the Galactic War. In fact, such a thing was quite common for the fighting between the four families to take place on the behalf of the sides of another cause.

Artello thus became a Knight of Kulfar and Leader of the 22nd Legion, also known as the Valkyrie Squadren. Under his command, he had his two younger twin brothers, Kito and Otik, as well as several other members Kulfar guard. But most impressively was the fact that with some time served to the Sith, he even lead various groups of Sith into battle. It is not common for a non-traditional Sith to lead Sith Forces into battle, but the reputation he’d garnished throughout his time with the Sith was the sort of leadership that demanded real weight behind his orders.

His ruthless pursuit, although admirable, often came off as reckless when unsuccessful, but heroic when victorious. Despite his tactical mindset and expert combat efficiency, Artello had been known to pierce deep into enemy territories in probing attempts to flush out enemy forces. It was often devastating if it failed, but it eventually lead him to find the singular name he sought. Bastille.

Bastille’s Jedi robes fluttered in the wind as the wind pelted them with rain. The sound of lightsabers and blaster fire sounded below them while the flood waters rose, making the battlefield slick and difficult to maneuver in. However, he and Bastille didn’t have to worry about as much as they were atop the war torn temple wall where the wet stone was slippery. It made every step require meticulous precision in order to pull off.

“I was wondering whether or not you missed me at the VASK Tournament, Artello,” Bastille shouted almost jokingly from beneath the dull roar of the torrential rain.

Artello ignored the statement. He knew that he wasn’t there before Bastille, intentionally secluded, to tell him he wanted to fight in the Tournament, “I suspect that you know why I am here.”

Bastille ignited his lightsaber, revealing it to be a blue hue that spat at the touch of rain drops on the blade, a steam forming only just to be battered away by the harshness of the rain it was derived from originally, “I do believe I know. I admit that I was surprised to find that she was impregnated, my dear sister. I instantly knew it was you who did it. Who else? Of ‘course though, I didn’t say anything about it to father, but I wanted nothing more than to kill you in that tournament, but father sent me away with her as a result of my failure to protect her,” he said with a head down as if to think back to the moments he spoke of before he took a turn towards anger, “Do you have any idea what it’s like to bring so much shame to your family, and to protect a secret that would easily kill you, but would result in war.”

Artello knew what he spoke of. It was far too many times he’d failed his own father and the High Lord of Kulfar. However, his involvement with Kayma was one that although it would bring shame to his family and the Scerpyntin family alike, it was one he’d choose to involve himself in again. Selfish, perhaps, but for Artello, it was the most worthwhile experience of his life, even if it only lasted such a short period of time, and now he was a father. What else was he supposed to do?

“Bastille, I understand bringing shame to your family, but this is no longer just about protecting an image. It’s about your own family. I may not be a Scerpyntin and you not a Kulfar, but your niece or nephew is both. I truly love your sister and she loves me. How can you stand in the way of that? You must tell me where they brought your sister Bastille,” Artello attempted to reason with him, the intensity of the rain seemed to grow forcing the volume of the conversation to grow as well.

Bastille shook his head, raising his eyes to look at Artello, “You don’t understand, do you? This isn’t about you or her anymore. This is about protecting the four families. We’ve had four hundred years of peace, and we’ve sacrificed so much to get here,” he said with a tremble in his voice; And if it weren’t raining, Artello thought he may have been able to make out tears, “I cannot let anyone find out that the child was yours or it would be certain to cause an all out war and Ord Cantrell would fall into war again. DO you even know what that would mean for us? The economy… the death. Do you really want that for any of us or your own child?”

A chill fell down Artello’s spine as he really thought about it for the first time. There was no certainty whether or not an all out war would indeed break out, but he knew that Bastille was right. If a war was to break out, even if only between two of the four families, the death toll and destruction would be unfathomable. He was Forced to make a choice, a planet or his child and true love. The most selfish choice.

Artello, however, didn’t have the luxury to make that choice, because Bastille interrupted his thoughts, “That’s why I must kill you. It’s not a risk I am capable of taking.”

The moment he finished, Bastille propelled himself across the flat of the temple stone, swinging his lightsaber at Artello who in turn reacted by activating his own lightsaber. As the blade clashed, thunder struck, completely drowning out the sound of meeting blades for the blades to come around again, meeting each other in a furious flurry of blurs emphasized with the sound of hissing as the rain steamed off of them.

Artello and Bastille fought furiously, but in the end, a strike of lightning fell between them, shattering the floor they fought upon which had been a combination of wood and stone. As wood splinters and chunks of stone flew, the two combatants were engulfed into the bowels of the tattered temple, falling into a knee deep flooded room in which a fire ignited to burn the wooden fixtures around them.

Artello picked himself out of the water to find that he’d lost his lightsaber into the water, completely unaware of where it was and unable to focus on locating it with the Force. Thankfully though, it seemed that Bastille too lost his own lightsaber in a similar fashion, in which the two of them were Forced to engage in hand to hand combat. The each of them delivered and avoided their fair share of blows as they maneuvered in the knee deep waters, but eventually, Bastille managed to get off a Force push that sent Artello back with enough time for Bastille to located and Force pull his own lightsaber from the water.

From there, Artello was at the severe disadvantage and was Forced onto the defensive where he avoided several lethal lightsaber strikes at the expense of taking a punch or a kick instead. Finally, Artello simply didn’t have the energy to continue on in the fight after being kicked into the water a final time, and before he could get up completely, Bastille was already atop him, “I suppose it is better things turned out this way. If we fought in the Tournament, I may not have had the opportunity to kill you. But here… There are no restrictions,” he says looming over Artello with his lightsaber at Artello’s throat.

Just before he delivered the final killing blow though, a blaster shot came from nowhere, striking Bastille in his pauldron causing him to retract his extended arm from Artello’s neck, relieving him from the deadly position. Bastille, outflanked, bolted for an exit, blasting through a flaming wooden door in order to escape the blaster fire from what happened to be one of his twin brothers, Otik who held a blaster at the stairs of the temple, one of the few places that hadn’t been engulfed in flames yet.

Rushing through the waters to pick him up, Otik dragged Artello’s exhausted body from the water, Forcing Artello to abandon his lightsaber in the water, “Art, we’ve Forced them into retreat. We didn’t see you, so I came looking for you, and it seemed that I was just in time. You’re right Art. The mud became too slick for them to fight us uphill despite their greater numbers. We’ve won in the heart of their own territory.”

Artello was relieved that his squadron had been so successful, but in his own eyes he succumbed to the most devastating defeat of his life. He had the opportunity to get what he needed from Bastille, his love’s whereabouts, but he failed miserably.

***​

Brothers Back Home:
It had been nearly ten nine years on the battlefield, and Artello fought hard to earn his reputations, but years of the arduous task of somehow locating Kayma and his now nine year old child turned into an even more unsolvable task the longer he was away. Bastille had been reassigned, likely by the Jedi, multiple times, too many times to find out where he is now a days, and he’d fallen into an unceremonious rhythm.

Battle after battle, Artello became a zombie, simply living through his life as if each moment was simply a repetitive as breathing. He’d won his fair share and lost more than enough, but he seemed to grow farther and farther from his true mission. It merely became a task of fighting the other Families, and he’d even forgotten why he was fighting in the first place. Artello had forgotten. He’d forgotten until one day he’d received a transmission from Ord Cantrell beckoning him home.

A decade. That was how long it had taken him and his brothers to return home. In fact, his youngest brother was now sixteen galactic standard years old and he was participating in his first VASK Tournament. His return would celebrate his decorated achievements as well as his twin brothers’ achievements as well as the unification of the family under Lord Ryce in which all of his sons finally become men as a whole.

Only upon stepping foot back onto Ord Cantrell that all the memories came back to him. He remembered the romance that he fought for and the note telling him he was a father. He remembered the childish rivalry he had against Bastille and how badly he wanted to meet him on the Tournament grounds. Then, he remembered what he needed to do and the decision he was forced to make on the battlefield when he first fought Bastille. Ord Cantrell or his son and true love.

***​

*Final VASK Tournament:
To be continued…

SKILLS:
He was trained as a combatant and a leader from birth. Where he lacks in skills such as being a pilot or engineer, he has cultivated the pre essence of being a warrior. His father and his forefathers were the strongest and most ferocious of warriors on both the battlefield and at home, bringing aggression to the courts and his enemies. As a result of his ancestry, Artello is possibly the best Warrior on Ord Cantrell, and he has proven this throughout his entire life.

His training was intense to develop his combat skills. He was taught to fire a blaster, though he has grown to prefer it less. He was taught to fight with a sword, which is where his focus in training resides. He has been taught a variety of other weapon combat methods, but his strongest suit is his unarmed combat training in which he is practically unrivaled.

Along with his ability to fight, he equally sees the necessity for mobility and he places a high priority on being able to avoid less preferable situations through escape or to pursue a fleeing enemy. He is a master of mobility in both combat as well as travel. He is a master of free running.

GEAR:
Modified MMCA
- Artello’s MMCA Armor suit has been modified to include a Jumper, MagClamps, and Heating/Cooling units all controlled via the HUD.
- Finally, he has an HUD controlled wrist-mounted Spray Foam.
- As well as the above modifications, the helmet doesn’t contain phrik, but instead that same phrik has been dedicated to full vambraces extending up to the elbow.
- The final modifications are color schemes. On his Royal suit of armor, the primary color is white and the secondary color is gold. On his Field armor, he retains the standard primary color of black and secondary color or blacker than black. Finally, his woodland armor has camouflage patterns as well as various points in which he can attach local flora to his armor for additional camouflage.

MP-FRAB 22
- Artello owns a Duraplast constructed variant of the MP-FRAB 22 in which is lighter version of the original; He slings it across his back when he chooses to bring it with him. A spare clip is attached to the gun for ease of access as wells as a final spare on his belt.

X2 Lightsabers
- The first Lightsaber Artello uses is a saber staff with a white blade.
- The second Lightsaber he keeps is a yellow-bladed ordinary lightsaber with a slightly extended hilt for easier two-handed utilization. At the butt of the lightsaber hilt is the Family Crest of the Kulfar Family.
- Both Lightsabers are feild –worn and he is highly familiar with using the both of them. Their hilt construction is of Phrik and they are also both equipped with Bifurcating Cyclical Ignition Pulses as well as Dual Phase settings.
- Finally, both blades are decorated in the same White and Gold Color schemes with black grips. However, when he knows he is going out on a mission requiring stealth or concealment, he will alter the color schemes f the lightsabers to be appropriate (usually, this means a black primary and a blacker than black secondary color).

Back Pack
- Artello doesn’t always bring his back pack with him unless he knows he will need it for various reasons. However, within the back pack, he will often bring survival supplies ranging from ropes and spare rations to emergency medical aid and a fire ignition source. There is also a spare flask and purifier as well as a spare hunting knife. He will also bring a tracking beacon a spare comm link and glow sticks as well as a thermal blanket for an emergency. However, he may also choose to bring other items just in case he may need them if he can forsee their use during the extent of their trip.

Utility Belt
- His most important possession is his belt in which he keeps a flask and purifier, a pouch with emergency energy rations, three clips dedicated to lightsaber hilts, and a clip for a hold out blaster. Finally there are two empty pouches for whatever he may need them for.
- He has x2 Electro Magnetic Pulse Disabling Grenades on his belt as well, for emergencies.

Hunting Knife
- Finally, he has a hunting knife hidden on his thigh for use as an emergency survival tool or an emergency weapon.

ROLE-PLAYS:
N/A

RELATIONSHIPS:
N/A


SHIP:
Being the son of a wealthy Lord, Artello has access to luxury. This includes a Yacht as well as a personal Star fighter.

DROIDS:
Artello is well endowed with a plethora of droids that are available to him wherever he goes. However, he is most often seen with a protocol droid and two body guard droids as well as an asteroid droid when away from home.

When training, Artello has access to several training droids that are often left in various states of repair. There is nothing particularly special about these droids other than their durability as well as their combative applications. They are non-lethally equipped, but their databanks have a plethora of known fighting styles ranging from unarmed combat to lightsaber combat as well as battle tactics.

PETS:
Artello has had pets as a child, but as an adult, he finds that he doesn’t have time for pets.

KILLS:
N/A

COMBAT:
NA