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- Apr 20, 2015
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A body of a thousand battles bears many scars, bones show grooves that serve as a reminder of past fractures, some veins are now visible in hands and arms, and a tattoo of a sword graces his right forearm - the arm he holds his lightsaber with - and that of a decorated sphere is firmly planted on his right pectoral, next to a multitude of scars in his sternum. All reminders of the heart that allowed him a new chance at life. A simple man, of simple tastes. This is an individual who can see the value in technological progression and in striving for perfection, but also one who believes that large amounts of material possessions only display a need to fill in a void in life, one that cannot be sated. Can commonly seen wearing regular Jedi robes or plain, comfortable clothing, but will not refuse a suit of armour should he feel that it will improve his chances of success.
Polite, merciful, kind and humble, this is a man that will go out of his way to help those he feels require it and may even turn the other cheek. Has been known to attempt to see the best in people, but is hugely aware of the existence of an inner darkness in both his own heart and the ones of those who surround him. This is a man who firmly believes that "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."
Having to take worlds of pills to keep his body from rejecting his heart, but not always having a decent pharmacy close by, Lynch learned quite a bit about human anatomy and general chemistry. Motivated by his survival instinct, the Padawan is capable of resorting to a few strands of Spice to replace his varied medication. Although nowhere near as effective and bearing quite a few toxic side-effects, none are quite as unappealing as the excruciating death that would follow his heart's failure.
A devout practitioner of the ways of Shii-Choo and Niman in his early days, Tarrik is remains highly proficient in the theory behind each and every strike, and most of it remains deeply ingrained into his muscle memory. Sadly, the body no longer responds the way it did, so he was once more tasked with adapting a decades old paradigm to his "new" self. His telekinetic and mind-affecting techniques were the two things this Jedi chose to continuously practice, even when he'd forsaken his weapon. So, in spite of just as rusty in assignment applications as the remainder of his arsenal, these two aspects of his combat ability - with Force Stun as a closish third - are by far his greatest assets. His moderate prowess in telekinesis has led the man on a path towards learning an art of the Jensaarai, Ballistakinesis. Lacking the agility and endurance to deal with multiple enemies at medium to long range, Tarrik believes that this practice will immensely in covering his obvious weaknesses. Forced to deal with tremendous amounts of pain on a daily basis, Lynch has begun to dabble into the arts of Crucitorn: an ability that allows him to "alter" other people's perceptions of pain. Sadly, his proficiency in the area is minimal and, as such, he lacks the capacity to use it on himself. This ability does not, in any way, render wounds inert, nor will it aid in combat. The Jedi can only use it to calm the injured when there are none capable of medical practices around.
But, if this is true, then can we truly be held accountable by our actions? Are those that fall by the wayside not the same puppets as those who uphold justice and truth? Or are we truly able to make our own choices, unbound by the strings that hold us? Is life merely a show for these unfathomable beings? Is it simply an accident of cosmic proportions? ... These are all valid questions, but I don't think they're the ones we should be asking ourselves. I believe we should focus on whether or not this God - exist or not - believes in us. My name is Tarrik Lynch and this, is my story. I was born in Eclipse to Jhon and Kara Lynch. A lovely family, I'm sure, but not one I am familiar with. The Jedi found me at age five, and my training began immediately. They taught me everything... how to dress, how to think, how to fight for my beliefs. For years I pursued this path... my mission. As a Jedi Guardian, I would be the shield that guards the realms of Man; a force for balance and truth in this world of chaos and deception. A true Jedi. Then came the Sith. I was no child at the time, but I might as well have been. All I'd heard of this culture were fairy tales and rumours. When they finally made their move, I remember the fear that stepped through my heart. These monstrous creatures would breathe fire and eat babies for breakfast. Their revolution shook the entire galaxy in but a handful of years. The proud Jedi were no more. The dark-siders' reign brought madness alongside it and pitted brother against brother. How could we broken Jedi cope against these fiends? But someone had to do something. Chained by the fear in our hearts, we went to battle and lost. The culture was now scattered across the galaxy, and a wound was inflicted on both my mind, and my body. Shrapnel wounded my chest and my bent my spirit. I gripped the wound and fell to the floor. The Padawan that accompanied me was not so lucky. His death came swift and merciless. For the first time in my lifetime, I was faced with War. Droids had dragged my blood-soaked body as life oozed out of my chest in a shade of crimson red. My heart was irreparably damaged, but the Padawan's had outlived him, so to the team of doctors that soon converged on my dying form, the course of action was clear. For the next three months, I was hooked to machinery, undergoing several highly invasive procedures that attempted to salvage my existence, and ultimately succeeded. My chest bears the scars to prove it, but my path was now limited. The physical prowess I had honed for years now found itself replaced by a limited endurance and bottles of pills. I could no longer be the man I hoped I'd become, and I was much too weak to join the now thinly spread New Jedi Order, so I took the only path I saw at the time: Exile. For fifteen years, I skipped around from planet to planet, placing as much distance between myself the new Empire as I possibly could. Unlike what the medical professionals had stated, I had died on that surgery room. My body had finally stopped rejecting my heart. My condition would always remain sub-par, but I was able to resume training, had I wanted to... but I didn't. I feared these devils that had broken the Force so, and I buried my head in the sand. Thought had become numb in naive. Until I encountered the Sith again. Having hung my lightsaber, I stood powerless for what felt like an eternity and a half as a rampaging Acolyte tore flesh from bone in order to get his way. My fear had taken over and I did nothing but gaze at the death and destruction he left in his wake again, and again... and again. But the Force spoke to me, on that day. Somehow, in some way, it showed me what the Sith truly are: Men and women. It had taken me over a decade to rid myself of the poison that had locked me in place, but I was finally able to hold myself in battle once more. Upon dispatching the raging menace, I sought out to rejoin the order. War is a young man's game, but I do not care. My life has been tainted by fear for far too long. It is time that I stand up for myself and for others. I am no longer the boy who painted himself a hero. I will not do what I do to change the world. I am a man, and I will devote what is left of my time and my life to helping others who, like myself, try to make their way in this wild world.
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