- Joined
- Jun 19, 2012
- Messages
- 738
- Reaction score
- 0
NAME: Tirdarius
FACTION: New Sith Imperium
RANK: Crusader/True Sith
SPECIES: Human (native to Coruscant)
AGE: 24
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 6'0
WEIGHT: 181lbs
EYES: Grey
HAIR: Black
SKIN: Caucasian
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes
COMPOSITION AND APPEARANCE
Tirdarius is young enough to be considered in his physical prime, tall as far as he is concerned, but perhaps not so much judging by galactic standards. He does not have the heavy bulk associated with regular physical activity, but instead possesses a slight, slender frame, which only serves to accentuate his height. However, it would be a mistake to consider him physically weak, for he has always sought to maintain a good physical condition as a rule, and thus is stronger than he often appears.
His posture is fairly rigid, keeping his back straight and his shoulders level, rarely relaxing enough that others might think him as slouching. As such, he can appear to be a little uptight or aloof, but this is an impression he prefers to cultivate where possible. His expressions vary, as with most, but more often than not, he prefers to project a sense of outward calm, his expression cold and utterly lacking in animation, so as not to betray what he is thinking or feeling, unless he so wishes it. The majority of his emotive expressions emanate from his cold grey eyes, which often stare with a deep intensity at whatever has his attention.
He always keeps his dark hair cut short and functional, so as not to bother him by getting in his eyes, or requiring that it be brushed one way or that when disturbed by the motion of wind or other forces. What little vanity he chooses to cultivate is rarely expressed in this manner, and he considers elegant or elaborate hairstyles to be simply frivolous, and has expressed as much on many occasions.
With regards to his attire, this is always similarly functional: designed to protect him from the elements, and accentuate his height and slender frame where possible, so he gives little thought to fashions or overly showy wardrobe choices. Black has always been his preference, since this suits his hair and is a fairly slimming colour choice, though he will occasionally be seen wearing darker blues and greens, if in a whimsical mood.
PERSONALITY
Tirdarius approaches life in a clinical, rational manner, always taking the long view, rather than working only to achieve short-term goals of his own and to obtain minor gratification. He is often cold, always aloof, and rarely inclined towards displays of outward emotion, beyond those that serve a particular purpose - even when he does choose to show how he is feeling, even then this is done only with reason. Anger, fear, joy, sadness - these are only displayed to serve his own ends, or to mislead others into believing they understand his mind.
As a consequence of this penchant, he also tends to be something of a long-term planner, and possesses unusual patience in waiting to achieve his aims. He considers everyone a resource to be used, but also believes that life should not be wasted unnecessarily as a result - a fairly warped sense of ethics, but it is there nonetheless. All actions have the potential to reap wider ramifications, so nothing is to be done without due thought for the consequences. This does lead Tirdarius to overthink some situations, but so far it has always stood him in fairly good stead throughout his life, and he has little inclination to change this.
His day-to-day personality changes little: cold, solitary, aloof and disdainful of those around him. When he does choose to express other emotions, they usually carry a touch of cynicism, and this bleeds perfectly into his darker sense of humour, one that views the Galaxy with amusement purely because irony seems to strike from every corner. Sarcasm is his personal preference, but silence remains his weapon of choice, believing the old adage that to speak without good reason is to simply reveal your stupidity.
The majority of those relationships in which Tirdarius does engage are formed purely on the basis of mutual benefit, rather than due to any need for companionship on his part - he is particularly driven with regards to seeing his plans through, and has little time for those that are not capable of providing assistance in some form. When encountering others, he is oftentimes brisk and abrupt in his attitude, and his mannerisms will often betray a certain impatience for their dealings to be concluded, so that he can proceed to the next stage of his endeavours. He is, as a consequence, an extremely private individual, and will protect both that with a far greater zeal than he will under any other circumstance.
This does ultimately mean that Tirdarius lives a fairly lonely, solitary life, and though he has occasionally expressed the desire for companionship, he quickly tires of it, since he tends to feel somewhat threatened by the closeness of others, feeling that they might seek to invade the privacy of his mind and person, and this is not something he is particularly inclined to allow.
ABILITIES
Preferring subtlety over overt strength, seeking not to dominate his enemies but rather to disillusion them, Tirdarius has spent much of his time working on those techniques and abilities that will aid him in this pursuit. His personal beliefs around the true aims of the Sith ultimately lead him to strike out more at the mental arena than that of the physical: in this, he considers himself a practitioner of the ancient art of Dun Möch, the practise of seeding doubt in the mind of another with both words and subtle use of the Force.
Although he has some capability with a lightsaber, even this he feels is only best used as a means of distracting an opponent and forcing them to focus on their inherent physical danger at the expense of their mental safeguards. Battle is a tool of provocation: a weapon designed to force one's emotions to come to the fore, whether their fears for their own life or righteous anger directed at their opponent. All these are things that Tirdarius seeks to bring forth in order to twist and warp them until his aims have been achieved: in essence, until an enemy becomes an ally, or at least a useful tool that might be put to use serving a higher purpose. Wastefulness is not, after all, something he has ever particularly approved of.
In training among the Sith, Tirdarius was given considerable instruction in the use of the more overt arts of Sith combat: use of a lightsaber and those Force-generated abilities designed to inflict pain or assert domination over an opponent. Though he is proficient in the use of electrical Force abilities, he prefers not to use them simply to cause pain: rather, they are better put to use for the purposes of intimidation or more pragmatic purposes, such as causing damage to electronic equipment. To use them on another is simply to wield the blunt instrument of unnecessary violence - something he believes to be the weapon of the thug, the tyrant and the uncivilised.
His own preferred abilities can be found among the more subtle arts: illusion and deception. Mind games and tricks designed to deceive or confuse are among his favourites, and he takes considerable pleasure in making a statement, even preferring to resort to theatrics to get a point across.
[/td]
[/td]
[/td]
[/td]
BIOGRAPHY
Native to Coruscant, I was born to two parents of a fairly modest background, if you care to call them that. My mother was really the head of our household, a music teacher and certainly the more intelligent of both my parents - my father merely worked as a computer technician, earning his credits by fixing the rudimentary mistakes of the technologically inept, as if that were somehow a worthwhile use of a person's time. It's fair to say that both my parents lacked ambition, content with their mediocre professions and lesser aspirations.
Should I say that I had a happy childhood? That is what is expected of such stories, isn't it? Perhaps it might even be true, but the age in which that might have been so was fairly irrelevant as I see it. I went to school, as children do, enjoyed it as much as I suppose could be expected, but with age comes insight, and it didn't take me long to recognise that my parents weren't the type to expect much. "We just want you to be happy in whatever you do" was the constant refrain, as if that somehow persuades a person to excel.
I learned fairly early on that happiness is a useless, transitory emotion. It stems from the satisfaction of goals achieved, or achievement of some form. It exists for a little while, and then vanishes, unless nurtured again. It is a monster in truth, always hungry, always wanting to be fed, seeking reinforcement, seeking approbation. But a person happy one minute can be depressed in the next. Your toys can always be taken from you by someone bigger, someone stronger, someone with greater ambitions. Small dreams and small expectations just make you a bigger target. It was not a lesson my parents ever learned.
If there is such a thing as fate, I'd say it has a fair sense of irony. My mother died before she could ever understand how her petty ambitions resulted in that death, hit by an out-of-control speeder truck of all things. Leading a happy life didn't save it from ending in a way that the CSF described as 'tragic' and 'unnecessary, but 'accidental'. I don't think it was any of the three, truth be told. Anyone who thinks the day is wonderous purely because the sun came up that morning is just asking for the Universe to drop a ton of duracrete bricks on you, just to prove that everything isn't as rosy as you'd imagined.
The irony extended further: my 'happy' father drank himself into an early grave shortly thereafter. Apparently the death of his wife unhinged him. Nevermind that you had a son that relied upon you. Nevermind that 'accidents happen'. A little sunny optimism doesn't save you from being collateral damage, and that he crawled into a bottle and didn't bother to crawl back out depressed me not at all. He'd always been a waste of space, it was true, but I suppose my mother was good at covering up for that fact. Together, they were useless. Apart, they were pitiful.
Freedom at age fifteen shouldn't truly be over-rated. Intellectually, I'd always been free of those idiots, their only gift to me other than birth being the fact that they'd died before becoming an encumberance on me, so I had the power to do whatever I wanted. There'd been talk of 'guardianship', being taken in by some distant relative I'd never heard of, since 15 was too young to be on my own. Pfft. I'd been on my own for years already, at least as far as I was concerned. So I took what money I could and vanished before any of those arrangements could be made. Easy when you knew how, and I'd been imagining that moment for a long time.
Where to go next? Turning my footsteps away from my education on Coruscant naturally meant there were many gaps to fill, but the life I'd left behind wasn't one I could return to unless frustration was to be mine again, so I had to fend for myself. Among the few genetic gifts from my father was my height - I'd grown fairly quickly and was of height with many adults by that point, so passing myself off as one was never difficult. Amazing what can be achieved with a curt word, a sharp glare and the ability to look a grown adult in the eye.
To say that I drifted for a year or two would be accurate enough. I took ship to Commenor shortly after leaving the home of my parents. A good planet to get lost on, with such a large amount of people and traffic. Anyone with any chance of finding me lost it the moment I arrived. All it took was a few credits, a change of name without formal documentation, and that was that. I took odd jobs for a while, serving in tapcafs and running as a messenger, but boredom was a sure companion at such times. I've never lacked for ambition, so that was merely to tide me over. Ambition is fine, but you have to know what to do with it. Otherwise it's just useless, bravado for the soul.
The Imperial Academy was my next destination. And why not? I was seventeen, my prospects few and far between, my education perhaps not as up-to-scratch as I wanted, though I had spent plenty of time teaching myself things I would never have studied at school, when I found the time. Public libraries and archives, holonet documentaries, journalist tabloids - all these were my teachers. But I wanted more, and where better to go than a place reputed to craft young men and women into people who could effect change in the entire Galaxy?
It was a shock, at first. I was not surrounded by idiots of little ambition any more, but by driven men and women who wanted to aspire to the very heights of power and repute, and had little care for who got stepped on during their escalation, provided it wasn't them. It's not as ruthless as it sounds - there was that sense of camaraderie at moments, when everyone was required to work together to succeed, or when aspirations became shared but not opposed. In truth, it was pathetic. Everyone scrambling around with something to prove. And to whom? An idiot with an extra rank chip on their lapels?
But it was an education, certainly that. I've never liked people, but escapism isn't truly possible in an environment as tightly-disciplined and controlled as that. So I learned to escape in my own mind, to keep people at arm's length while never showing it. I suppose I even learned to value people in a way I had not before: everyone has their uses, even if only as a pawn. I used my education as I used the people around me: to better myself, to gain opportunities I did not have otherwise.
If you're curious, it was the Officer Corp that I signed up for. No, I wouldn't be a common footsoldier, losing their life to some drunken smuggler with a blaster pistol on a routine patrol. My ambitions went above that - I intended to be more. Yes, it was the bottom of the rung, but on a higher ladder than that, and that detachment I developed while I was there served me well indeed. I always felt that there was something missing, certainly, but I wonder if that isn't the Universe's way of telling us to work harder, to strive further than we do now, simply because there's always more out there for us, if we aspire to it.
I'm not there anymore, though. No, it was an interesting encounter that changed that. The Sith Imperium is ruled by a group far more elite than mere military officers - individuals who have a very strong sense of destiny, and their place within it. I'd only glimpsed the Sith a handful of times during the years of training in that place, and we'd always been told that Sith were born, not made. So, naturally, none of us poor wretches had any chance of walking in their footsteps. Our duty was to do as we were told and try not to upset anyone powerful enough to crush us like an egg. Simple enough, but I confess I was intrigued.
A routine inspection of the cadets brought me face-to-face with a Sith for the first time. Ugly little creature, to tell you the truth, but I refrained from saying so at the time. All thinly-veiled anger and disdain. Used to authority, most certainly, and I don't imagine he was one to accept failure or less than the best. Arrogant, perhaps, but that's power for you. And I never can abide arrogance in others, whether it's justified or not. A disdainful comment from them brought a similar one from me. I'm not one to let another walk over me, even if they can. You pay for every harm you inflict, one way or another. I wasn't about to let it drop.
Ah, to be in the grip of such a being, I can't tell you how exhilirating it was. Yes, it was to be a fatal move, I realised that the moment I said it - I truly couldn't help myself. To insult a person like that gave me a pleasure I hadn't realised existed. I made a big man feel small. Delicious. But the consequences were clear as I felt myself picked up in a grip made of the air around me, thrown around with the same disdain as you would discard trash. Part of me enjoyed it, purely because I knew I had provoked that. He showed me strength and weakness, all in the same moment.
That strange, otherworldly grip was relinquished, and I was prepared to breathe my last as he approached me and stood over me, anger in his eyes and on his face. His eyes burned with rage. I enjoyed it, knowing even as he killed me that he would do so in this weakness: he'd lost control through nothing, and now had to kill to be free of it. I won that one, even though it would cost me my life. When it didn't...that was when I lost. I was wrong. I hadn't foreseen the consequences. I was picked up off the floor, stared at with those intense eyes, examined. Almost as if he was in my head, probing my very thoughts as I stared back, daring him to do his worst and to enjoy it when he did so.
No, I wasn't to die. I was to leave, to abandon my training in favour of a new destination. There was no explanation. My injuries were treated, the blood cleaned from my uniform. My few possessions were handed to me in a small bag and I was unceremoniously thrown on a transport. Only now have I managed to get the pilot to tell me our destination. Yavin IV, he tells me. To be delivered to the Sith directly. Not to be killed. To be taught.
As a student among the Sith, things were very much as you'd expect from all the stories: cold, brutal, full of fire and energy, most of it thinly concealed, waiting to be turned into brutality at the slightest provocation, ego and short tempers in considerable supply. Learning from them was painful, full of expectation but little actual care as to whether or not you find success: to overcome one obstacle is to be simply presented with another, each one surmounted evidence of progress on the path to power, but also proof of how little you really know. And, of course, you must always watch out for the dagger in the dark, wielded by one who sees you as a rival, or as one of those obstacles. It certainly pays to be sharp, but in truth, I loathed it all. Such pettiness among beings who should really be among the great. Small beings walking in the footsteps of ancient power...
If I have learned anything among them, beyond how to wield the powers that are now mine to use as I wish, it is simply that the Sith possess endless ambition but very little idea what to do with it. Destroy the Jedi and gain galactic domination! Yes, all very well and good, but for what? That is the question none can answer, it seems, and perspective has but taught me that, ultimately, my brethren are fools. A taste of power and they naturally want more, but only for it's own sake, it seems. What good will that do them, in the end? It only forces them to seek out the biggest and brightest and topple them in order to feed their petty ego's: to be the dominant force, the Big Dog. And what do they do with this authority, hard-gained but harder to keep? They simply squash any who might similarly rise up to depose them. And so we find ourselves trapped.
Truly, the Jedi and Sith are both brothers in one light: they're both cancers, feeding off that which sustains them, ultimately to no better end. The Jedi keep the status quo, and stagnate both themselves and the Galaxy they support; the Sith prey upon each other, blinding to the true uses of their power, and so, growth and process give way to lesser ambitions. What is served by this? Ennui, and stagnation only. Small wonder that the Dark Side is strong here. We live to feed it death.
ROLE-PLAYS:
Acolyte
Missions and Scenarios
Over The Edge And Back Again
Lost Lamb
Training
Dark Initiative
Aspects of Sith Magic
Basics of Sith Alchemy
Crusader
Dark Beginnings
FACTION: New Sith Imperium
RANK: Crusader/True Sith
SPECIES: Human (native to Coruscant)
AGE: 24
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 6'0
WEIGHT: 181lbs
EYES: Grey
HAIR: Black
SKIN: Caucasian
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes
COMPOSITION AND APPEARANCE
Tirdarius is young enough to be considered in his physical prime, tall as far as he is concerned, but perhaps not so much judging by galactic standards. He does not have the heavy bulk associated with regular physical activity, but instead possesses a slight, slender frame, which only serves to accentuate his height. However, it would be a mistake to consider him physically weak, for he has always sought to maintain a good physical condition as a rule, and thus is stronger than he often appears.
His posture is fairly rigid, keeping his back straight and his shoulders level, rarely relaxing enough that others might think him as slouching. As such, he can appear to be a little uptight or aloof, but this is an impression he prefers to cultivate where possible. His expressions vary, as with most, but more often than not, he prefers to project a sense of outward calm, his expression cold and utterly lacking in animation, so as not to betray what he is thinking or feeling, unless he so wishes it. The majority of his emotive expressions emanate from his cold grey eyes, which often stare with a deep intensity at whatever has his attention.
He always keeps his dark hair cut short and functional, so as not to bother him by getting in his eyes, or requiring that it be brushed one way or that when disturbed by the motion of wind or other forces. What little vanity he chooses to cultivate is rarely expressed in this manner, and he considers elegant or elaborate hairstyles to be simply frivolous, and has expressed as much on many occasions.
With regards to his attire, this is always similarly functional: designed to protect him from the elements, and accentuate his height and slender frame where possible, so he gives little thought to fashions or overly showy wardrobe choices. Black has always been his preference, since this suits his hair and is a fairly slimming colour choice, though he will occasionally be seen wearing darker blues and greens, if in a whimsical mood.
PERSONALITY
Tirdarius approaches life in a clinical, rational manner, always taking the long view, rather than working only to achieve short-term goals of his own and to obtain minor gratification. He is often cold, always aloof, and rarely inclined towards displays of outward emotion, beyond those that serve a particular purpose - even when he does choose to show how he is feeling, even then this is done only with reason. Anger, fear, joy, sadness - these are only displayed to serve his own ends, or to mislead others into believing they understand his mind.
As a consequence of this penchant, he also tends to be something of a long-term planner, and possesses unusual patience in waiting to achieve his aims. He considers everyone a resource to be used, but also believes that life should not be wasted unnecessarily as a result - a fairly warped sense of ethics, but it is there nonetheless. All actions have the potential to reap wider ramifications, so nothing is to be done without due thought for the consequences. This does lead Tirdarius to overthink some situations, but so far it has always stood him in fairly good stead throughout his life, and he has little inclination to change this.
His day-to-day personality changes little: cold, solitary, aloof and disdainful of those around him. When he does choose to express other emotions, they usually carry a touch of cynicism, and this bleeds perfectly into his darker sense of humour, one that views the Galaxy with amusement purely because irony seems to strike from every corner. Sarcasm is his personal preference, but silence remains his weapon of choice, believing the old adage that to speak without good reason is to simply reveal your stupidity.
The majority of those relationships in which Tirdarius does engage are formed purely on the basis of mutual benefit, rather than due to any need for companionship on his part - he is particularly driven with regards to seeing his plans through, and has little time for those that are not capable of providing assistance in some form. When encountering others, he is oftentimes brisk and abrupt in his attitude, and his mannerisms will often betray a certain impatience for their dealings to be concluded, so that he can proceed to the next stage of his endeavours. He is, as a consequence, an extremely private individual, and will protect both that with a far greater zeal than he will under any other circumstance.
This does ultimately mean that Tirdarius lives a fairly lonely, solitary life, and though he has occasionally expressed the desire for companionship, he quickly tires of it, since he tends to feel somewhat threatened by the closeness of others, feeling that they might seek to invade the privacy of his mind and person, and this is not something he is particularly inclined to allow.
ABILITIES
Preferring subtlety over overt strength, seeking not to dominate his enemies but rather to disillusion them, Tirdarius has spent much of his time working on those techniques and abilities that will aid him in this pursuit. His personal beliefs around the true aims of the Sith ultimately lead him to strike out more at the mental arena than that of the physical: in this, he considers himself a practitioner of the ancient art of Dun Möch, the practise of seeding doubt in the mind of another with both words and subtle use of the Force.
Although he has some capability with a lightsaber, even this he feels is only best used as a means of distracting an opponent and forcing them to focus on their inherent physical danger at the expense of their mental safeguards. Battle is a tool of provocation: a weapon designed to force one's emotions to come to the fore, whether their fears for their own life or righteous anger directed at their opponent. All these are things that Tirdarius seeks to bring forth in order to twist and warp them until his aims have been achieved: in essence, until an enemy becomes an ally, or at least a useful tool that might be put to use serving a higher purpose. Wastefulness is not, after all, something he has ever particularly approved of.
In training among the Sith, Tirdarius was given considerable instruction in the use of the more overt arts of Sith combat: use of a lightsaber and those Force-generated abilities designed to inflict pain or assert domination over an opponent. Though he is proficient in the use of electrical Force abilities, he prefers not to use them simply to cause pain: rather, they are better put to use for the purposes of intimidation or more pragmatic purposes, such as causing damage to electronic equipment. To use them on another is simply to wield the blunt instrument of unnecessary violence - something he believes to be the weapon of the thug, the tyrant and the uncivilised.
His own preferred abilities can be found among the more subtle arts: illusion and deception. Mind games and tricks designed to deceive or confuse are among his favourites, and he takes considerable pleasure in making a statement, even preferring to resort to theatrics to get a point across.
| The Force | |
| ■■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■■ |
| Lightsaber Skills | |
| ■■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■■ |
| Health and Fitness | |
| ■■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■■ |
| General Skills | |
| ■■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■■ |
BIOGRAPHY
Native to Coruscant, I was born to two parents of a fairly modest background, if you care to call them that. My mother was really the head of our household, a music teacher and certainly the more intelligent of both my parents - my father merely worked as a computer technician, earning his credits by fixing the rudimentary mistakes of the technologically inept, as if that were somehow a worthwhile use of a person's time. It's fair to say that both my parents lacked ambition, content with their mediocre professions and lesser aspirations.
Should I say that I had a happy childhood? That is what is expected of such stories, isn't it? Perhaps it might even be true, but the age in which that might have been so was fairly irrelevant as I see it. I went to school, as children do, enjoyed it as much as I suppose could be expected, but with age comes insight, and it didn't take me long to recognise that my parents weren't the type to expect much. "We just want you to be happy in whatever you do" was the constant refrain, as if that somehow persuades a person to excel.
I learned fairly early on that happiness is a useless, transitory emotion. It stems from the satisfaction of goals achieved, or achievement of some form. It exists for a little while, and then vanishes, unless nurtured again. It is a monster in truth, always hungry, always wanting to be fed, seeking reinforcement, seeking approbation. But a person happy one minute can be depressed in the next. Your toys can always be taken from you by someone bigger, someone stronger, someone with greater ambitions. Small dreams and small expectations just make you a bigger target. It was not a lesson my parents ever learned.
If there is such a thing as fate, I'd say it has a fair sense of irony. My mother died before she could ever understand how her petty ambitions resulted in that death, hit by an out-of-control speeder truck of all things. Leading a happy life didn't save it from ending in a way that the CSF described as 'tragic' and 'unnecessary, but 'accidental'. I don't think it was any of the three, truth be told. Anyone who thinks the day is wonderous purely because the sun came up that morning is just asking for the Universe to drop a ton of duracrete bricks on you, just to prove that everything isn't as rosy as you'd imagined.
The irony extended further: my 'happy' father drank himself into an early grave shortly thereafter. Apparently the death of his wife unhinged him. Nevermind that you had a son that relied upon you. Nevermind that 'accidents happen'. A little sunny optimism doesn't save you from being collateral damage, and that he crawled into a bottle and didn't bother to crawl back out depressed me not at all. He'd always been a waste of space, it was true, but I suppose my mother was good at covering up for that fact. Together, they were useless. Apart, they were pitiful.
Freedom at age fifteen shouldn't truly be over-rated. Intellectually, I'd always been free of those idiots, their only gift to me other than birth being the fact that they'd died before becoming an encumberance on me, so I had the power to do whatever I wanted. There'd been talk of 'guardianship', being taken in by some distant relative I'd never heard of, since 15 was too young to be on my own. Pfft. I'd been on my own for years already, at least as far as I was concerned. So I took what money I could and vanished before any of those arrangements could be made. Easy when you knew how, and I'd been imagining that moment for a long time.
Where to go next? Turning my footsteps away from my education on Coruscant naturally meant there were many gaps to fill, but the life I'd left behind wasn't one I could return to unless frustration was to be mine again, so I had to fend for myself. Among the few genetic gifts from my father was my height - I'd grown fairly quickly and was of height with many adults by that point, so passing myself off as one was never difficult. Amazing what can be achieved with a curt word, a sharp glare and the ability to look a grown adult in the eye.
To say that I drifted for a year or two would be accurate enough. I took ship to Commenor shortly after leaving the home of my parents. A good planet to get lost on, with such a large amount of people and traffic. Anyone with any chance of finding me lost it the moment I arrived. All it took was a few credits, a change of name without formal documentation, and that was that. I took odd jobs for a while, serving in tapcafs and running as a messenger, but boredom was a sure companion at such times. I've never lacked for ambition, so that was merely to tide me over. Ambition is fine, but you have to know what to do with it. Otherwise it's just useless, bravado for the soul.
The Imperial Academy was my next destination. And why not? I was seventeen, my prospects few and far between, my education perhaps not as up-to-scratch as I wanted, though I had spent plenty of time teaching myself things I would never have studied at school, when I found the time. Public libraries and archives, holonet documentaries, journalist tabloids - all these were my teachers. But I wanted more, and where better to go than a place reputed to craft young men and women into people who could effect change in the entire Galaxy?
It was a shock, at first. I was not surrounded by idiots of little ambition any more, but by driven men and women who wanted to aspire to the very heights of power and repute, and had little care for who got stepped on during their escalation, provided it wasn't them. It's not as ruthless as it sounds - there was that sense of camaraderie at moments, when everyone was required to work together to succeed, or when aspirations became shared but not opposed. In truth, it was pathetic. Everyone scrambling around with something to prove. And to whom? An idiot with an extra rank chip on their lapels?
But it was an education, certainly that. I've never liked people, but escapism isn't truly possible in an environment as tightly-disciplined and controlled as that. So I learned to escape in my own mind, to keep people at arm's length while never showing it. I suppose I even learned to value people in a way I had not before: everyone has their uses, even if only as a pawn. I used my education as I used the people around me: to better myself, to gain opportunities I did not have otherwise.
If you're curious, it was the Officer Corp that I signed up for. No, I wouldn't be a common footsoldier, losing their life to some drunken smuggler with a blaster pistol on a routine patrol. My ambitions went above that - I intended to be more. Yes, it was the bottom of the rung, but on a higher ladder than that, and that detachment I developed while I was there served me well indeed. I always felt that there was something missing, certainly, but I wonder if that isn't the Universe's way of telling us to work harder, to strive further than we do now, simply because there's always more out there for us, if we aspire to it.
I'm not there anymore, though. No, it was an interesting encounter that changed that. The Sith Imperium is ruled by a group far more elite than mere military officers - individuals who have a very strong sense of destiny, and their place within it. I'd only glimpsed the Sith a handful of times during the years of training in that place, and we'd always been told that Sith were born, not made. So, naturally, none of us poor wretches had any chance of walking in their footsteps. Our duty was to do as we were told and try not to upset anyone powerful enough to crush us like an egg. Simple enough, but I confess I was intrigued.
A routine inspection of the cadets brought me face-to-face with a Sith for the first time. Ugly little creature, to tell you the truth, but I refrained from saying so at the time. All thinly-veiled anger and disdain. Used to authority, most certainly, and I don't imagine he was one to accept failure or less than the best. Arrogant, perhaps, but that's power for you. And I never can abide arrogance in others, whether it's justified or not. A disdainful comment from them brought a similar one from me. I'm not one to let another walk over me, even if they can. You pay for every harm you inflict, one way or another. I wasn't about to let it drop.
Ah, to be in the grip of such a being, I can't tell you how exhilirating it was. Yes, it was to be a fatal move, I realised that the moment I said it - I truly couldn't help myself. To insult a person like that gave me a pleasure I hadn't realised existed. I made a big man feel small. Delicious. But the consequences were clear as I felt myself picked up in a grip made of the air around me, thrown around with the same disdain as you would discard trash. Part of me enjoyed it, purely because I knew I had provoked that. He showed me strength and weakness, all in the same moment.
That strange, otherworldly grip was relinquished, and I was prepared to breathe my last as he approached me and stood over me, anger in his eyes and on his face. His eyes burned with rage. I enjoyed it, knowing even as he killed me that he would do so in this weakness: he'd lost control through nothing, and now had to kill to be free of it. I won that one, even though it would cost me my life. When it didn't...that was when I lost. I was wrong. I hadn't foreseen the consequences. I was picked up off the floor, stared at with those intense eyes, examined. Almost as if he was in my head, probing my very thoughts as I stared back, daring him to do his worst and to enjoy it when he did so.
No, I wasn't to die. I was to leave, to abandon my training in favour of a new destination. There was no explanation. My injuries were treated, the blood cleaned from my uniform. My few possessions were handed to me in a small bag and I was unceremoniously thrown on a transport. Only now have I managed to get the pilot to tell me our destination. Yavin IV, he tells me. To be delivered to the Sith directly. Not to be killed. To be taught.
As a student among the Sith, things were very much as you'd expect from all the stories: cold, brutal, full of fire and energy, most of it thinly concealed, waiting to be turned into brutality at the slightest provocation, ego and short tempers in considerable supply. Learning from them was painful, full of expectation but little actual care as to whether or not you find success: to overcome one obstacle is to be simply presented with another, each one surmounted evidence of progress on the path to power, but also proof of how little you really know. And, of course, you must always watch out for the dagger in the dark, wielded by one who sees you as a rival, or as one of those obstacles. It certainly pays to be sharp, but in truth, I loathed it all. Such pettiness among beings who should really be among the great. Small beings walking in the footsteps of ancient power...
If I have learned anything among them, beyond how to wield the powers that are now mine to use as I wish, it is simply that the Sith possess endless ambition but very little idea what to do with it. Destroy the Jedi and gain galactic domination! Yes, all very well and good, but for what? That is the question none can answer, it seems, and perspective has but taught me that, ultimately, my brethren are fools. A taste of power and they naturally want more, but only for it's own sake, it seems. What good will that do them, in the end? It only forces them to seek out the biggest and brightest and topple them in order to feed their petty ego's: to be the dominant force, the Big Dog. And what do they do with this authority, hard-gained but harder to keep? They simply squash any who might similarly rise up to depose them. And so we find ourselves trapped.
Truly, the Jedi and Sith are both brothers in one light: they're both cancers, feeding off that which sustains them, ultimately to no better end. The Jedi keep the status quo, and stagnate both themselves and the Galaxy they support; the Sith prey upon each other, blinding to the true uses of their power, and so, growth and process give way to lesser ambitions. What is served by this? Ennui, and stagnation only. Small wonder that the Dark Side is strong here. We live to feed it death.
ROLE-PLAYS:
Acolyte
Missions and Scenarios
Over The Edge And Back Again
Lost Lamb
Training
Dark Initiative
Aspects of Sith Magic
Basics of Sith Alchemy
Crusader
Dark Beginnings
Last edited by a moderator:
