Dragous moved as quietly as his body would allow, the very real reality of his shaking limbs and haggard breath made made this step very difficult. There was a pause, pressing his back against the wall and swallow his doubt before peeking around the corner, only to be greeted by the sight of utter destruction. So, those explosions weren't just in my mind after all. Dear god... In any other situation Dragous might have looked upon such a sight with a bit of amazement and wonder at what could have caused it, but today he had the stone cold knowledge that this sight could mean bad things for him.
That presence increased, spreading over the area like a disease, infecting every living thing with a deadly parasite. The source stood in the eye of the destruction, standing tall and ominous with a instantly recognizable weapon pointing at a downed foe. Just taking in the man's appearance caused Dragous to instinctively reach for his blaster, visions stinging his brain with memories. Myths and legends of dark figures wielding the force like a God, descending upon those deemed too 'jedi-like' with little mercy. Were people like this the ones that his Master feared being found by all those years ago?
For the moment, Dragous found himself torn on how to move forward. The more logical side, where his survival instincts were sheltered, blared many mental alarms to tell him to get out of there. The other side was stuck to watching this intimidating figure, eager to witness him in action, take in that power; maybe take a few notes. Dragous had to admit, the idea of seeing the situation unfold made the Zabrak blood that coursed through his veins pump his heart a few beats faster.
Of course he listened to the side that had no logic to it.
The population of Nar Shadda were a formidable lot, everyone was packing and those who lived more than a day there quickly learned just who to avoid and who o draw attention to. The average person kept to themselves and didn't yell to loudly when gangsters were near, for the sake of living. For Dragous, he was all for minding his own business, he wasn't in the fighting mood and he certainly didn't want to attract any attention. He just wanted to eat. But he also didn't really want to put too much thought into it. So, when the streets started clearing up as a bad omen of a coming firefight, Dragous barely took note of the danger; he just noticed the opportunity to take stuff people had left behind.
Old dirty floor bread? Jackpot!
There he sat, huddled in a desolate corner, the bins leaking a sea of upturned trash around him, nibbling on bread. He was slow about it, his stomach wanting to savor the 'meal', the fulfilling feeling of a soft substance being dragged down his throat was one he wanted to drag out. Otherwise he'd be left with his stomach grumbling in the next five minutes. And if his stomach kept grumbling, he'd start making meals out of people and most authorities shun that sort of behavior. Dragous found security in this spot, splayed out like a stiff puppet, you could almost make the mistake of assuming he was dead. The meal, the clothes, the body language, the smell; Dragous certainly looked like a rather pathetic creature, one that would give no benefit to bothering for most. Unless his face really did just piss you off.
So, he was blind the trading of gunfire, deaf to the yells and screams and numb to the shaking of the ground as property was reduced to dust. His mind was completely focused on his food, that is until a foreboding presence struck a chord in his mind. A tingle running down his back that brought images of legends that haunted his mind since childhood. His hand reached down, instinctively running a finger along the cloth that sheltered the twin hilts strapped to his back. He was back to reality, hearing the damning sound of a light saber being ignited.
Was that fear he could feel? Or did his bones go stiff with all this sitting?
Dragous was sure that once he had a full name, but any idea of it was lost to the winds of the future. He had been told his old name didn't matter, until he made his claim in the galaxy, until he rose, until he was given a title... He was just Dragous. From memory, his childhood hadn't been a defining feature in the beginning, a bastard born from forbidden passion upon a desperate night on some backwater dirt ball. He couldn't even think of the planet's name, nor did he ever ask. Growing up, his connection to the force was apparent as well as the dangers. Nightmares, voices guiding him to the edge of a cliff, emotional outbursts that destroyed property. It was worrying. That's when she arrived, to solve the little 'problem'. Master didn't really offer a name, if she had one Dragous never sought it out, learning that she probably meant it that way. She was his master, that's all he needed to know about her.
In his youth she came to him, bringing along promises of power, praise of potential, stories of a force guiding her to him. She had knowledge, experience, all the things Dragous lacked. She offered to take him away, to guide him on the path of a force user. "Destiny calls to you" apparently. It only took a display of force for her words to ring true, a flash of her green saber to make the parents agree. Within a day the child was passed on like a package, stamped with a new label, Dragous. Years later, Dragous came to the conclusion that the woman might have been a jedi once, she certainly matched the stories spread by the Empire. The stories of power-hungry demons who drowned the galaxy in war before the Galactic Empire stepped in, told across campfires as cautionary legends.
In years to come, Dragous grew more in tune with his primal roots, his insecurities, his jealousy, his rage. It was a fire that raged within him, one that would burn him if he wasn't careful as he was always reminded. He never knew what plan his master had in store for him, but he knew she had one, she was always setting it up, always commenting that a certain lesson would come in handy later. Together, the two moved through worlds, scavenging old ruins of temples long forgotten holding knowledge of great power. Dragous realized quickly that they weren't just rushing for power, they were running, they were hiding. This power wasn't just for satisfaction, it was for the sake of safety. His master would never admit it, never entertain the notion, but she was terrified. Terrified of the embodiment of destruction and power, fearful of the man in the black mask who even Imperials regarded as a nightmare given flesh. Darth Vader was a daunting figure indeed.
Even to this day, with his supposed death aboard the second Death Star, Dragous still kept that chill, that fear, that single doubt that made him look over his shoulder. The Empire never seemed to take any notice of the two, maybe they were that good at hiding or maybe they were just worthless, either way Dragous survived. His Master, on the other hand... One day she'd been barking threats of death and damnation at Dragous's latest failure, the next Dragous found her slumped in her chair, gone. Perhaps it was a 25th birthday present? He left in a hurry, rushing into the night scared, alone and no goal in mind. He took her money, her equipment and her lessons. Spending the next few years as an aimless drifter, pondering on his own circumstance.
People always talked as if being a force user forced you to one side, jedi or sith. But Dragous couldn't tell where he fell, he wasn't a jedi, he wasn't anything. He was just a wanderer, exploring the Galaxy through cheap transport, taking small jobs to survive the night, pondering morals and past training routines to keep himself sane. Maybe take a few bounties in, maybe help tend a few farms, maybe sign up for some cheap labor in the back of a cantina, maybe deal with a Drunk Dug and his Gambling Problem. Whatever it took. He kept his sabers hidden and his force powers in check, no matter what Dragous still held onto that fear. He didn't have a place to go to, he couldn't even remember home.
The Force is suppose to guide you, isn't it? It's suppose to give you a path, take you to a greater fate, show you the true way forward. It was always there, around you, with you, in you. And yet Dragous could only feel lost, mindlessly searching a desert for some semblance of a purpose.
Skills:
Trained Force User - Whisked away at a young age to pursue the path of the dark side, Dragous has undergone years of training to build up an efficient skill set. He acts as a marauder, wielding two light-sabers in a style that focuses on agility and reflex, channeling his primal urges into enhancing his body in battle... Not that this always works in his favor.
Speed - Dragous has a slimmer build than most, while he can still pack a punch, he is very much someone who has come more to outpace his opponents than overpower them (He tried over powering once and that just got his arm broken). This preference and build to a more momentum-based style worked hand-in-hand with his two sabers.
Cook - You'd be surprised at some of the skills you can pick up when dragging yourself across half the known universe with no direction in sight. In his time, he found himself learning the essentials, but the skill he managed to become proud of was his cooking. Sure, you don't really get a chance to try out all the fancy recipes when you're practically a hobo, but there's so many ways to experiment with Bantha meat! How would this help in a sticky situation? Well, some people will do anything for a nice hot meal.
Strong Willed - When you have time to think, time to meditate, time hear the dark whispers of the force scratching at your head; you learn to harden your mind. Dragous has been able to build up an impressive resilience when it comes to such matters. You'll have to do more than tickle his feet to break him, but don't touch his bear, that's just rude.
Equipment: Throughout his years, Dragous has learned that it's good to keep tools for both ranged and melee situations, no matter your skill level. So, while he isn't that good with ranged weaponry, he still keeps an old DL-18 Blaster Pistol at his side in case he ever thinks he can get in a lucky shot. Wouldn't take anything bigger or he'd probably shoot his own leg off, plus he had to travel light. He was a drifter, all he owned was what he could carry. Keeping his prized sabers (Purple Crystals) wrapped up in cloth and hidden under the back of his coat, rarely finding the occasion to use them. Other than that, he keeps a simple satchel, a second-hand pair of binoculars and a small vibro knife that does a good job of looking pointy when he didn't want to bring any attention to the sabers.
Weaknesses:
Ineffective against long ranged weapons - What can you do if your enemy isn't in range and just on't give you the time of day to force them closer? Dragous has found difficulty when dealing with those who know their way around a good blaster, especially snipers.
Brash/Reckless/Dumb - While Dragous isn't the worst example of Dark Side training, he sadly carries the hallmark of some personality quirks, carrying a large ego and pride that overtake logical reasoning. This leads to crazy schemes and leaps in logic that only end in him leaving himself wide open to his attacker or hitting himself. He still has scars from when a random kid said he couldn't break through a wall with just his head, now he has a broken horn.
Not the tech guy - He has a basic understanding of technology, he can work a coffee machine, but get this guy behind the wheel of a vehicle or heavy machinery and you're just asking for explosions. He has yet to fully wrap his head around droids.
Not a snow flake - Dragous grew up in a rather hot environment, so even now he still has yet to become resilient to the cold.
Claustrophobic - He does not like tight spaces, he does not like enclosed space, he does not like boxes.
"Apologies for the rude interruption, but those are my men you are intent on harming, something which I can not allow"
NAME
Formerly Icicle, changed to Dashade
AGE
30
GENDER
Male
APPEARANCE
He’s tall for a Changeling, which is still small for other races, sharing his mother’s dark green color scheme. One feature he holds dear is that one of his black horns is broken in half, an old injury, an old failure.
RACE/ORIGIN
Arcosian / Frieza Clan
Power Level
I'm having trouble with power level since I never really paid attention to the specifics on the show, since they were really just an excuse to make the baddies seem tougher. I'm thinking somewhere between your average Frieza grunt and Zarbon.
PSYCHOLOGY
Dashade is usually a calm, polite and collected individual. Carrying himself as an honorable fighter who tries not to do anything without a good reason (Even if sometimes he does completely go against this), as he wishes to restore the name of his clan away from it's foolish roots, he becomes panicked whenever he feels embarrassed. He'll try to use any word that sounds smart, even if he doesn't know what it means, to look better. In a way, he has a bit of an inferiority complex. Overall he values the attribute of loyalty, loyalty to his cause, his people and his blood. He has seen evils, he has committed deeds that would make him question everything, but when you live under propaganda, you tend to find justifications an easy aspect collect.
HISTORY
Icicle is an oddball in light of his people’s reputations, growing up much like any with a perceived noble blood backing them would grow, as an egotistical brat. You're led to believe that every other species exists below your own and you take it in stride and if you're lucky you'll be able to keep with this notion, otherwise it will end up knocking you off your pedestal and into the mud, lower than you ever thought. As a young boy, Icicle's ego and loose tongue brought him to his knees before his family, a word spoken out of turn left him hospitalized and shamed. Whatever family he had were family no more. He was disowned, stripped of his name and sent off to serve in the military under Frieza's fleet where at least a disappointment like him could make a good meat shield.
The greater years of his life, where at his lowest point he was given the shameful name 'Dashade', were spent under the boot heel of his superiors. At first, it was his personal hell, but soon it grew on him. He had been so lost before, so abandoned by purpose, yet rising through the ranks, fight side-by-side with other grunts, he found value in discipline, companionship, loyalty and blind, blind devotion. Icicle was a noble mistake, but Dashade was a loyal soldier. His duty was his mistress and his superiors were his Gods, who he worshiped through his undying loyalty. He would make up for his past failures by pledging his soul to his people.
ASPECTS
Endurance: After his first humbling experience, Dashade was treated to many grueling years of overwhelming conflicts in Frieza's name. Out of this, he grew to have a glutton for punishment, manage to withstand plenty of damage before he'd finally go down. This comes in handy when outnumbered or outgunned, where the only objective is to outlast. When they said they wanted him to become a meat shield, by god he took that snide insult seriously.
Arcosian Gas Pocket: Like most of his species, Dashade's method of breathing allows him to survive in the vacuum of space, while adding an advantage in underwater settings. This does however leave a weak spot for anyone to exploit if they are knowledgeable of his species's biology.
SPECIALIZATION
Dashade's fighting style is built around his role as a soldier, favoring maneuverability, tactics, weak points and misdirection. With a team he can give good strategic advice, on his own he will focus on slowing down his opponent more than dealing the most damage right off the bat. Tying into his view of himself as expendable, Dashade also shows no care for his own well being in both move set and style, his own most powerful move being one that could potentially kill him.
Soldier: Over many conflicts, Dashade has experienced many positions, from the front-line runt, to the backdoor adviser to at one point leading the charge in a chaotic situation. He is most effective in a team, taking orders and numbers in stride and placing the morale of others above his own comfort. While not the socially active type of person, he does get along well with those that work towards a similar goal than him and at all times is prepared to show off his loyalty and devotion.
Close-quarters Combat: While ranged attacks are effective, Dashade finds that he s better at fully utilizing his attributes (Like his own tail) at a close distance. He mostly concentrates on finding an enemies's weak point and going straight for it, unbalancing a foe before trying to beat them.
Gravity Impact: With a mix of Ki and physical force, Dashade sends out a shock wave in front of him that can mostly act like a mini-shield. It makes for a great way to unbalance enemies as well as push them back, though on the attack end it's not really a damage dealer on it's own.
Milky Cannon: Stole- Inspired by Ginyu's own attack, this is a Ki Blast that is charged up and detonated at the users will, allowing Dashade to either use it as a quick offensive get away, or a hidden attack to catch his opponent from behind. No soldier should leave base without a few energy mines.
Burning Blood: Channeling his Ki around him, Dashade is able to coat him self in his Ki for a limited time, where he is able to charge into his opponent and attempt to slam into them as much as possible before he runs dry.
Cerulean Cannon: A risky, but powerful attack that requires time to charge. By channeling electricity through ones own body, Dashade can transfer the currents into energy to explode out of one hand, letting loose a devastating blast that will leave the user quite drained. The risk of manipulating such things in your body is high, if done wrong or simply using too much power, the move can end up backfiring on the user and even incapacitating them for a time. When Dashade first used this move he ended up with a dead arm for over a week.
EQUIPMENT
Red Scouter: Standard issue scouter, sued for detecting energy signatures, analysis and communicating with fellow soldiers. If only there was a way to do that without technology.
Horn: In the incident that showed him to weak and pathetic, where he was disowned, the mark of his failure was the loss of one of his horns. Knocked off during his mother's punishment, Dashade still keeps the horn on his person, reminding him of what brought him here, reminding him of his failure.
RELATIONSHIPS
Family | Relationship Well, ex-family. They are proud and traditional, long ago cutting their ties with the youngest son after his weakness was revealed. His older brother, Fidge, took to hating Dashade since birth, the child was just a worthless creature he had to watch over. The brother took to calling him 'Welp' and dragging him to training sessions saying that Dashade needed to stand on his own two feet, but really it was just an excuse to flex his superiority over the welp. To this day, Fidge tries to distant himself from anything connecting him to Dashade, while Dashade respects his wishes; even at thier worst, Icicle did foolishly look up to his older brother.
Glacia was a solemn and proud fighter, carrying that into motherhood she expected much from her sons. With Icicle she had been patient, she did all she could to get him what he needed to get stronger in both mind and body, but in the end it was all for naught. IN her eyes, he was a lost caused, when the foolish child angered the wrong person, she took it upon herself to punish him in combat, only to find that even then the child couldn't fight back. After his disownment, Glacia disappeared, ashamed of the turn of events and what was left of her family. In years to come, Dashade would grow to despise his mother, thinking of her as a vile and prideful woman that kept him down.
Frieza Forces| Relationship Dashade serves his superiors faithfully, finding an undying loyalty to the military that 'rescued' him from his old self. Though views change between people, Dashade is overall an effective and successful servant, if a bit pathetic and annoying with how he holds himself as well as his background.
Dragous was sure that once he had a full name, but any idea of it was lost to the winds of the future. He had been told his old name didn't matter, until he made his claim in the galaxy, until he rose, until he was given a title... He was just Dragous. From memory, his childhood hadn't been a defining feature in the beginning, a bastard born from forbidden passion upon a desperate night on some backwater dirt ball. He couldn't even think of the planet's name, nor did he ever ask. Growing up, his connection to the force was apparent as well as the dangers. Nightmares, voices guiding him to the edge of a cliff, emotional outbursts that destroyed property. It was worrying. That's when she arrived, to solve the little 'problem'. Master didn't really offer a name, if she had one Dragous never sought it out, learning that she probably meant it that way. She was his master, that's all he needed to know about her.
In his youth she came to him, bringing along promises of power, praise of potential, stories of a force guiding her to him. She had knowledge, experience, all the things Dragous lacked. She offered to take him away, to guide him on the path of a force user. "Destiny calls to you" apparently. It only took a display of force for her words to ring true, a flash of her green saber to make the parents agree. Within a day the child was passed on like a package, stamped with a new label, Dragous. Years later, Dragous came to the conclusion that the woman might have been a jedi once, she certainly matched the stories spread by the Empire. The stories of power-hungry demons who drowned the galaxy in war before the Galactic Empire stepped in, told across campfires as cautionary legends.
In years to come, Dragous grew more in tune with his primal roots, his insecurities, his jealousy, his rage. It was a fire that raged within him, one that would burn him if he wasn't careful as he was always reminded. He never knew what plan his master had in store for him, but he knew she had one, she was always setting it up, always commenting that a certain lesson would come in handy later. Together, the two moved through worlds, scavenging old ruins of temples long forgotten holding knowledge of great power. Dragous realized quickly that they weren't just rushing for power, they were running, they were hiding. This power wasn't just for satisfaction, it was for the sake of safety. His master would never admit it, never entertain the notion, but she was terrified. Terrified of the embodiment of destruction and power, fearful of the man in the black mask who even Imperials regarded as a nightmare given flesh. Darth Vader was a daunting figure indeed.
Even to this day, with his supposed death aboard the second Death Star, Dragous still kept that chill, that fear, that single doubt that made him look over his shoulder. The Empire never seemed to take any notice of the two, maybe they were that good at hiding or maybe they were just worthless, either way Dragous survived. His Master, on the other hand... One day she'd been barking threats of death and damnation at Dragous's latest failure, the next Dragous found her slumped in her chair, gone. Perhaps it was a 25th birthday present? He left in a hurry, rushing into the night scared, alone and no goal in mind. He took her money, her equipment and her lessons. Spending the next few years as an aimless drifter, pondering on his own circumstance.
People always talked as if being a force user forced you to one side, jedi or sith. But Dragous couldn't tell where he fell, he wasn't a jedi, he wasn't anything. He was just a wanderer, exploring the Galaxy through cheap transport, taking small jobs to survive the night, pondering morals and past training routines to keep himself sane. Maybe take a few bounties in, maybe help tend a few farms, maybe sign up for some cheap labor in the back of a cantina, maybe deal with a Drunk Dug and his Gambling Problem. Whatever it took. He kept his sabers hidden and his force powers in check, no matter what Dragous still held onto that fear. He didn't have a place to go to, he couldn't even remember home.
The Force is suppose to guide you, isn't it? It's suppose to give you a path, take you to a greater fate, show you the true way forward. It was always there, around you, with you, in you. And yet Dragous could only feel lost, mindlessly searching a desert for some semblance of a purpose.
Skills:
Trained Force User - Whisked away at a young age to pursue the path of the dark side, Dragous has undergone years of training to build up an efficient skill set. He acts as a marauder, wielding two light-sabers in a style that focuses on agility and reflex, channeling his primal urges into enhancing his body in battle... Not that this always works in his favor.
Speed - Dragous has a slimmer build than most, while he can still pack a punch, he is very much someone who has come more to outpace his opponents than overpower them (He tried over powering once and that just got his arm broken). This preference and build to a more momentum-based style worked hand-in-hand with his two sabers.
Cook - You'd be surprised at some of the skills you can pick up when dragging yourself across half the known universe with no direction in sight. In his time, he found himself learning the essentials, but the skill he managed to become proud of was his cooking. Sure, you don't really get a chance to try out all the fancy recipes when you're practically a hobo, but there's so many ways to experiment with Bantha meat! How would this help in a sticky situation? Well, some people will do anything for a nice hot meal.
Strong Willed - When you have time to think, time to meditate, time hear the dark whispers of the force scratching at your head; you learn to harden your mind. Dragous has been able to build up an impressive resilience when it comes to such matters. You'll have to do more than tickle his feet to break him, but don't touch his bear, that's just rude.
Equipment: Throughout his years, Dragous has learned that it's good to keep tools for both ranged and melee situations, no matter your skill level. So, while he isn't that good with ranged weaponry, he still keeps an old DL-18 Blaster Pistol at his side in case he ever thinks he can get in a lucky shot. Wouldn't take anything bigger or he'd probably shoot his own leg off, plus he had to travel light. He was a drifter, all he owned was what he could carry. Keeping his prized sabers (Purple Crystals) wrapped up in cloth and hidden under the back of his coat, rarely finding the occasion to use them. Other than that, he keeps a simple satchel, a second-hand pair of binoculars and a small vibro knife that does a good job of looking pointy when he didn't want to bring any attention to the sabers.
Weaknesses:
Ineffective against long ranged weapons - What can you do if your enemy isn't in range and just on't give you the time of day to force them closer? Dragous has found difficulty when dealing with those who know their way around a good blaster, especially snipers.
Brash/Reckless/Dumb - While Dragous isn't the worst example of Dark Side training, he sadly carries the hallmark of some personality quirks, carrying a large ego and pride that overtake logical reasoning. This leads to crazy schemes and leaps in logic that only end in him leaving himself wide open to his attacker or hitting himself. He still has scars from when a random kid said he couldn't break through a wall with just his head, now he has a broken horn.
Not the tech guy - He has a basic understanding of technology, he can work a coffee machine, but get this guy behind the wheel of a vehicle or heavy machinery and you're just asking for explosions. He has yet to fully wrap his head around droids.
Not a snow flake - Dragous grew up in a rather hot environment, so even now he still has yet to become resilient to the cold.
Claustrophobic - He does not like tight spaces, he does not like enclosed space, he does not like boxes.
