- Joined
- Jul 25, 2011
- Messages
- 1,213
- Reaction score
- 0
NAME: Yu Zhilan (surname, given name; pronounced "Djur-lan")
FACTION: New Jedi Order
RANK: Initiate
SPECIES: Human
AGE: 22
GENDER: Female
HEIGHT: 5'2"
WEIGHT: 109 lbs.
EYES: Brown.
HAIR: Black.
SKIN: Tan.
CREDITS:
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Lightsaber scar through kidney.
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes.
STR:
||||||||||
Athletic but not exceptional, Zhilan is trained enough to be able to block and parry blows, throw a decent punch, or lift her own body weight. Still, this doesn't place her as the world's most athletic girl.
DEX:
||||||||||
Zhilan is flexible and nimble and enjoys tumbling and pouncing about. She is remarkably stealthy, even without using the Force to dim her presence. However, she is still only human.
CON:
||||||||||
Zhilan is able to take a punch or two, or deal with a stomach virus; but strong poisons and a powerful lightsaber strike will do her in. And, what doesn't kill her might just knock her out.
INT:
||||||||||
Some call her narrow-minded, others simply refer to Zhilan as a parochial. She affirms that the New Jedi Order is the essence of the Galaxy, that the Empire is a miniscule threat, and that the moon is in fact obscured by clouds and not the shadow of celestial bodies.
WIS:
||||||||||
Despite her close-mindedness and eagerness to judge, she's quick to recognize a danger and react appropriately. She has a good sense for the future, and for what will logically occur next.
CHA:
||||||||||
Zhilan is able to illustrate her ideas in words and communicates well with other people, though she's not fit for a position of real command and struggles persuading people on politics with her naive ideas.
FORCE POWERS:
Control:
Sense:
|||||||||| Force Empathy
|||||||||| Force Sense
|||||||||| Precognition
Alter:
|||||||||| Telekinesis
SKILLS:
None.
LIGHTSABER/SWORD FORMS:
[specialized form: None thus far]
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:
Strength: Flexible, agile, quick to learn new skills, and has a knack to react quickly and capably to almost any situation. Reacts well when caught off guard.
Weakness: Temperamental and intractable, Zhilan is stubborn but also self-preserving, and is as likely to commit herself to death in battle as she is to flee. She suffers from a lack of skill, is easy to incite, and often doesn't plan or prepare well for a situation in advance.
GEAR:
Stuff
PET:
None
PERSONALITY:
Zhilan is hotheaded and arrogant girl who often finds herself at a crossroads between anger and patience, a strange combination which manifests itself as a strange sort of pragmatism. While not the youngest padawan in the Order, since the conflict her age has made her a bit of an aberration, much to her dismay. She often looks down on those that think themselves smarter or better than she, though she wouldn't have her thoughts on the matter revealed.
BIOGRAPHY:
Eyelashes part like trees unveiling an island adrift a milky lake which peers apprehensively into the ceiling above, trying to grasp through fog and misery what sensations could be gathered from without. Shadows cast themselves about like dancing harlequins as the lights of speeders danced past the curtains noiselessly, a noxious ionized odor permeated the room and the cold air hung like a spectre haunting her waking nightmare.
Worse of all the senses that struck her pitifully fragile mind was the sound of soft footfalls and the thrum of an energy blade not far away. Beyond that hum, she could hear the lingering scream of her now dead mother, piercing still through the night. The glow of red crawled along the edges of every surface as the illuminated blade cast forth its hatred into the recesses of the room which she called refuge - a black silhouette stood there, now, in the doorway, and venomous eyes darted from beneath the hood to search the room.
She lay in bed, biting her lip fiercely and clutching the cold piece of metal that rest against her bosom. The blaster provided little more than mental comfort as the figure entered the room. Zhilan knew why the figure had come. He had come for her father - who any minute would return from his vigil atop the building, no doubt sensing the slaughter of his family.
The violence was senseless madness, but she sensed a vendetta drove the figure before her. Anger and rage simmered within the robes, and in her mind she watched the future play out before her. In mere moments her life would be ended.
The thrumming crimson sliver rose above her, and she burst from the bed, firing the blaster at the figure before her. The viridian blasts bounced off the blade, the figure before her put on the defensive for a few moments.
A few moments was all she needed, and desperation turned into voracious ferocity as she spilled round after round into the cloaked figure, forcing the blade to dance and compensate for every new angle the blaster fired from. She screamed and charged, dumping bolt after bolt into the fluid blade, until a crashing noise echoed from the living room. The figures hatred erupted like the core of a punctured atom, spilling forth the Force. She felt it wrap around her neck, strangling the life from her and pulling her forward as a human shield all at once.
Helplessly she hung there, her veins unable to circulate blood to her brain, a darkness growing at the periphery of her vision. Another figure stood before her, in hand clutching a blade of azure, its light counteracting the hatred from behind her. She could feel the sensations of her body slipping away from her, but her mind connected with her father, for just a moment, before the scarlet plunged through her gut and punctured her body.
She tried to scream, she tried to grab the blade and remove it, she tried to do anything that a rational mind could do to save itself. But she was paralyzed by pain and an invisible, unstoppable power. It's grip around her neck released, and for a brief moment she died.
Another moment passed, lifeless.
Another moment passed, forsaken.
Another moment passed, still.
If she had had a mind still functioning at this point, it would have told her that it had lost track of time. But, in one of these damned moments, a sensation surged its way through her body. Her mind, had it functioned, would not have been able to explain it. It wasn't a feel, it wasn't a smell, nor a taste, sight, or sound. It was something else coursing through her body, nursing her heart back to beat, bring life back to her body. Moment by moment.
When she awoke, she felt a hand clutching her own. It took her yet another moment to realize that it was cold and rigid, and a few more to understand that it was that of her father. Her eyelashes sheltered the tears that formed as her eyes looked into those of her father, his lifeless corpse clutching her hand, a deep and traumatizing wound burned through his torso, penetrating his heart.
Credit for image due to deviantartist achibner.
Last edited by a moderator:
