Leandros Solus

Painus

menace
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Biographical information
Homeworld
Age
Mandalore
60

Physical description
Species
Gender
Height
Mass
Hair color
Eye color
Skin color
Force Sensitive
Level
Human
Male
6'3
215lbs
Grey
Hazel
Fair
No
4

Chronological and political information
Affiliation(s)





Theme
Voice

· Mandalorians
___· Mand'alor the Crusader
___· Mand'alor the Mad
· Mandalorian House
___· House Solus
· Mandalorian Clans
___· Clan Solus
______· Field Marshal
_
.
Leandros Solus

Excerpt · Biography · Personality and Traits · Talents · Miscellaneous

Leandros is the child of a slave born again into a new culture -- the Mandalorians. Rescued at a young age from near death, he believes that in a hypothermia-induced vision he was chosen by the destroyer god Kad Ha'rangir. The god has decreed the time and manner of Leandros' death, and somewhere out there is the Beast that will kill him. It is his given duty to seek out this creature and face it head on. Until that time, however, he must serve his people faithfully with the grim determination of a man who knows his whole life will be war; that no force under heaven will excuse him from assuming his place in line of battle and clashing sword-to-sword, helmet-to-helmet with the enemy.

In the later years of his life, he grew more and more mad. Losing his wife, Raz, as well as being witness to his homeworld's destruction, unraveled his mind. After ascending to the role of Mand'alor, his Eternal Crusade brought about a new era of strife for the galaxy and unrest among the Mandalorians as their new dominion spread out farther than it ever had in the past. No living being was willing to challenge him for the title of Mand'alor, for it would have been a death sentence, and so he remained in the role for over twenty five years, slowly losing his mind and identity.

_

Biography

Perhaps it was fate that ordained my village be raided. Burned, razed to the ground by those we thought our allies. Perhaps it was fate that sent me, my cousin, and the near-blind elderly slave I took to calling "Uncle" into the wilderness to fend for ourselves. Before, on my father's farm, we had caught wild birds to make breeding pairs or to hold for an hour before returning them to freedom. Now we ate them. Uncle made us devour everything but the feathers. We crunched the little hollow bones; we ate the legs right down to the boot, discarding only the beak and the unchewable feet. We gulped eggs raw. We choked down worms and slugs. We wolfed grubs and beetles and fought over the last lizards and snakes before the cold drove them underground for good. We gnawed so much fennel that to this day I gag at a whiff of that anisey smell, even a pinch flavoring a stew. My cousin grew thin as a reed.

For a time in autumn we tried surviving on the seacoast, sleeping in caves and combing the sloughs and marshes. You could eat there at least. There were shellfish and crabs, mussels and spinebacks to be prised from rocks; we learned how to take gulls on the wing with stakes and nets. But the exposure was brutal as winter came on. Uncle began to suffer. He would never let his weakness show to my cousin and I when he thought we were looking, but I would watch his face sometimes when he slept. He looked seventy. The elements were hard on him in his years; all the old wounds ached, but more than that he was donating his substance to preserve ours, my cousin's and mine. Sometimes I would catch him looking at me, studying a tilt to my face or the tone of something I had said. He was making sure I hadn't gone crazy or feral.

In the winter hills we were starving. Uncle was getting weaker. I took to stealing. I would raid a shepherd's fold at night, fighting off the dogs and snatching a kid if I could. Most of the shepherds carried crude weapons. Bolts and arrows would whiz past me in the dark. Uncle hated to see me turning into a thief. If only I had known.

I got caught trying to steal a lamb. She was a fat prize, pegged for market, and I got careless going over a wall. The dogs got me. The men of the farm dragged me into the mud and nailed my arms to a board the size of a door, driving tanning spikes through both of my arms. I was on my back, screaming in agony, while the farm men lashed my kicking, flailing legs to the board, vowing that after lunch they would turn me into a lesson for other thieves. Uncle and my cousin crouched, hidden, up the hillside; they could hear everything.

I begged the farm men to release me, to end my agony. I would do anything and I described it all at the top of my lungs. I cried out to all of the gods in a shameful little boy's voice piping up the mountainside. I knew the others could hear me. Would their love for me impel them to dash in and be nailed alongside me? I didn't care. I wanted the pain to end. I begged the men to kill me. I could feel the flesh and bones torn and shattered by the spikes. Blood oozed from my wounds like the drool from a ravenous hound, seeping lazily off the board and staining the dirt beneath me.

A fist shattered my cheek. The men set the tanning board upright, angled against a wall, and there I squirmed, impaled, for the sun's endless crawl across the sky. Others gathered around to watch me scream, to tear my rags and poke at me. Dogs would sniff my soles, emboldening themselves to make a meal of me. I only stopped wailing when my throat could cry no longer. I was trying to tear my arms right through the spikes, but the men lashed me tighter so that I could not move. When at last their growling bellies drove my tormentors indoors for supper, my cousin slipped down from the hill and cut me free. The spikes would not come out of my arms; she had to blade the wood off the frame with a rusted dagger. My arms came away with the nails still through them. I was carried off like a weakling babe.

That winter was the coldest I could remember. Sheep froze in the high pastures. Twenty-foot drifts sealed the passes. Deer were driven so desperate with hunger that they straggled down, skeleton-thin and blind from starvation, all the way to the shepherd's folds, and presented themselves for slaughter. We stayed in the mountains, high up. We slept in dugouts that shepherds had abandoned or in ice caves we chopped out with our stone axes, lining their floors with pine boughs and huddling together beneath our cloaks in a pile like puppies. I begged them to abandon me, let me die in peace in the cold. They insisted that they take me down to town, to see a physician. I refused. Never again would I place myself before a stranger, any stranger, without a weapon in my hand. Did doctors possess a more exalted sense of honor than other men? What payment would they demand? What profitable turn would he discover in a slave and a crippled boy?

Only gods and heroes can be brave in isolation. A man may call upon courage only one way, in the ranks with his brothers-in-arms, the line of his clan and his city. Most piteous of all states under the stars is that of a man alone, bereft of the gods of his home and his people. A man without a clan is not a man. He is a shadow, a shell, a joke and a mockery. That is what I have become now. No one may expect valor from one cast out alone, cut off from the gods.

At night, bouts of fever alternated with fits of teeth-rattling ague. I contorted in my cousin's arms, with Uncle's bulk enwrapping us both for warmth. I called out again and again to the gods but received no whisper in reply. They had abandoned us, it was clear, now that we no longer possessed ourselves.

One fever-racked night, perhaps ten days after the incident at the farm, the others wrapped me in skins and set off foraging. It had begun to snow and they hoped to use the silence and luck to take unawares a hare or convey of grouse. This was my chance. I resolved to take it. I waited until they had moved beyond sight and sound. Leaving cloak and furs behind for them, I set out barefoot into the storm. I climbed for what felt like hours but was probably no more than five minutes. The fever had me in its grip. I was blind, yet guided by an infallible sense of direction. I found a place amid the pines and knew this was my spot. A profound sense of decorum possessed me. I wanted to do this properly and be of no trouble to the others.

I picked out a tree and set my back against it so that its spirit would conduct mine safely out of this world. I felt Death advancing for me. Feeling ebbed from my loins and midsection. When the numbness reached the heart, I imagined, I will pass over. Then a terrifying thought struck me. What if this was the wrong tree? What if my tree was over there, or that one down there? What if I chose wrong, and my spirit would be doomed to wander the planet for eternity? I tried to get up, but I no longer had command of my body. I was failing even in my own death. Just as my panic and despair reached their apex, I was startled to discover a man standing in the grove directly above me!

Some part of my brain reasoned beyond the desire for him to help me; what was a man doing here, standing in this storm? I blinked and willed him away, but no, this was no dream. Whoever this was, he was really there. The thought foggily came that he must be a god. It occurred to me that I was acting impiously to him. I should have responded with terror or awe! Something in his posture, I think, suggested that I ought not give up the bother. I knew he was going to speak, and whatever came forth would change my life, either here or in the next. I must listen with all my faculties and forget nothing.

"A mind without purpose," he spoke with a quiet majesty that could be nothing other than the voice of a god, "will wander in dark places."

What a strange thing to say.

I pondered what he meant by this, until my vision cleared and I could see his appearance. Spikes protruded from his armor, and in his hands he clasped a mighty war-axe of elegant design. His helmet bore the T-shape that all children are raised to venerate.

The destroyer.

Kad Ha'rangir.

The destroyer's eyes probed mine, gently, for one final instant. Had I understood? His glance seemed to inquire not so much "Will you now serve me?" as to confirm the fact, unknown to me heretofore, that I had been in his service all my life.

I felt warmth returning to my midsection and the blood surging like a tide into my legs and feet. I heard shouting from below and knew someone had found me. They reached me, scrabbling over the snowy crest and into the grove of pines. "What are you doing up here alone?" I could hear them ask, slapping my cheeks as if to bring me out of my daze. My eyes focused upon the visors of their helmets, forming that immaculate T-shape adorned by the god Kad Ha'rangir.

Clan Solus, they called themselves.


Personality and Traits

Leandros acts with an extreme fervor and zeal. Having been saved from death by clan Solus and adopted into their culture, he has devoted his life to the cause of the Mandalorians. His life is eternal war, and that is all he reveres. To engage in combat is the most blessed way of professing his devotion. To that end, however, he is not blinded by his zealotry. He acts with calculated precision under the belief that his death will come the day Kad Ha'rangir determined all those years ago in the snowy mountains. Around his peers he is a cheery and pleasant fellow, hiding his insecurities behind a veneer of congeniality and devotion to the cause. He's just a big ol' teddy bear.

He loathes Force-sensitives, a belief ingrained in him by his other clan members. For centuries the Mandalorians have fought Force users, and now their ire has been turned against their Sith oppressors.

Talents

Leandros is a skilled melee combatant, having spent years of his life under the tutelage of older, deadlier Mandalorians. His blaster skills are on par with the rest of his people.

He's also adept at survival and braving the harsh elements, something that he sadly learned during his youth.

Equipment


Scars, Tattoos, and Other Markings
  • Diagonal scar tracing from top left of forehead down between the eyes to the right cheek - POST
  • Jaig Eyes on his helmet - obtained HERE
  • Slayer's Sigil on his armor - obtained for defeating 2+ Sith in PvP
  • Parji Symbol on his armor - obtained HERE (grandfathered in for full completion of Mando rewards months before it was introduced)

Roleplays

__1. Political Disruptions
__2. Start of the Hunt
__3. Wot's A Partee Without A'bit'a Blud?
__4. Get Your Lizards Outta My Life Day
__5. Small Mark, big Hit
__6. Out Shopping
__7. Want Them to Want Us
__8. Spicy Places
__9. Preventative Silence
__10. Heckin' Impies, Doin Them A Spook
__11. Prep the Badgers
__12. Shoring Up: Depthfinding
__13. Post-Mission Briefing
__14. Stop Badgering the Locals
__15. Badgering Moff Jeeeeenkins
__16. Poke the Bear
__17. Bad Intel For A Bad Heist
__18. Den of Iniquity
__19. Shady Negotiations
__20. And Those Other Places
__21. Dopey Badger Meets A Sith
__22. Can You Hear Me Now?
__23. Who Let the Dogs Out?
__24. Solus and the Songbird
__25. tank u, next
__26. Badger Pot Luck
__27. Weaken the Chain
__28. Sol'yc's Sharpened Claws: Wow
__29. Violation of Trust
__30. SITC: Let's Not Rue the Rau
__31. SITC: Bye Bye Buccaneers
__32. SITC: Purchase Order
__33. Hurricane of Fire
__34. Time to Play
__35. A Dangerous Escape
__36. Balls and Brains
__37. Red Right Hand
__38. House Solus
__39. Hide and Seek
__40. Sneevy Business
__41. Wandering Eye
__42. Chaos Rising
__43. All-a-tov Cocktails
__44. Mand'alor
__45. Disruptor of the Peace
__46. Cry Havoc!
__47. Jaws of the Viper
__48. Hutt Stuff
__49. So Long, Farewell
__50. Welcome to the Party
__51. Keeping Order
__52. Sealing the Deal
__53. Unsettled Business
__54. Down Times
__55. First Class: Mock Ups
__56. The Fruited Plains
__57. Hutta Drink Up
__58. Shrimp and Grids
__59. Remember Your Fallen
__60. Marriage on Mandalore
__61. On the Brink
__62. Chips Ahoy!
__63. Gain the Pain
__64. The War Council Convenes
__65. Get In, Loser
__66. The Future of the Sith
__67. Iron Sharpens Iron
__68. Aftermath
__69. The Dogged Posse Bites
__70. Thank You For the Venom
__71. Barrack Corellia
__72. Where R U @
__73. Drinking to Downfall
__74. In Their Footsteps
__75. Milestones
__76. Newer, Better
__77. All Very Domestic
__78. Red Skulls, Golden Masks
__79. Unwelcome Surprises
__80. No Good Deed
__81. Growing Pains
__82. The Way the World Ends
__83. Vengeance
__84. Echoes of an Old Life
__85. Under Better Circumstances
__86. Giving It A Shot
__87. A Cat, A Dog, and A Badger Exit A Bar...
__88. The Badger and the Lioness
__89. Blood and Fire
__90. Strife
__91. Three Cheers for the Silent Badger
__92. Probing their Defenses
__93. Going Fishing
__94. God of War
__95. Vigilante Justice
__96. The Most Dangerous Room in the Galaxy
__97. Growing Up
__98. Perilius Position
__99. The Verdict
__100. 5 CCs of Politics, Stat!
__101. Bum Rush
__102. The Profaned Vanguard

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Last edited:

Logan

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So while I appreciate the tone and the imagery that you chose to paint with this profile, there are some parts that fall a little too far on the dark side that I think you need to tone it down a bit. You can keep the nailed to the boards part, but maybe tone down the description of the wounds and such a bit. Also remove the part about the sheep guys urinating on you, a little too far there. Maybe too the description of eating the bird parts.

Outside that, I think it was a really good character and I enjoyed reading it.

Approved!
 

Painus

menace
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Big update in light of rank and level promotion. New FC, thread tracker updated, items updated, etc.

This is now the changelog.

16JAN2019 - profile update above
21JAN2019 - rank up to Field Marshal, new weapons from faction rewards
17FEB2019 - updated thread tracker, weapons, rank, and other stuff
01MAR2019 - i added a gif of georges st pierre eating an orange slice and edited some profile stuff now that he's level 3
22MAR2019 - minor edits, added threads
01APR2019 - he's old now
01APR2019 - he's not old anymore (april fool's)
06SEP2019 - returned to the site, aged him up 5 years, updated threads and symbols. also he had a kid with Raz, surprise
29OCT2019 - updated threads, updated FC. he's now jason statham whaaat
idk when - he's mand'alor now waddup. also aged him to 40 since his daughter is 10 years old
24NOV2019 - updated thread tracker. only 2 threads from 100!
15DEC2019 - updated in light of the Epilogue. He's now 60 years old and has around 101 threads done
 
Last edited:

Dread

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Please age up your character by fifty (50) years. Thanks.
 

Logan

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hahaha you're so fuckin old
 

Painus

menace
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he can still kick ass buddy watch it
 
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