Gerrigen

Star Wars - Jedi Exile

Gale Keiden

Name: Gale Keiden

Species: Human

Age: 26

Appearance:
Gale towers at 6’4” with a barrel chest, long blond hair, and a thick beard. He tops in at around 250lbs, creating an imposing image. He wears brown Jedi robes over a white shirt and trousers with knee high black boots. Gale exudes control and authority, like any good Jedi knight, maintaining the stoic exterior of his order.

Equipment:
1) Straight, silver, hilt with a green kyber crystal
2) Jedi Utility Belt containing survival rations in the form of capsules, a Hush-98 comlink, a fibercord grappling hook and/or a grappling spike launcher, a holoprojector, such as an Imagecaster, a holomap, an A99 aquata breather, a Jedi beacon transceiver, a glowrod, and lightsaber repair tools.
3) Various personal belongings in his quarters

Skills:
1) Form V: Shien – Advanced
2) Persistent, refusal to fail
3) Naturally strong, which feeds into his lightsaber style

Abilities:
Force Body
Center of Being
Precognition
Mind Probe

Weaknesses:
Impulsive, susceptible to the dark side
Fear of Failure. Both failing those around him and failing the Order.
Alcoholic

History:
The Order has always sold itself as the only true hope for peace and stability in the galaxy. It was the defender of the weak, the enemy of oppressors, and the embodiment of freedom. Gale never viewed this as propaganda, or exaggeration, in his mind he carried forth the banner of the final idealistic institution. The Jedi gave him the opportunity to protect, serve, and to possibly die in service of something greater.

Gale has few memories of his childhood, flashes of a hovel and neglect, a smell of fear. His true family were the younglings and Padawan’s he trained and fought with. His father was Master Pentosh, and his grandparents were the council. Gale saw no hypocrisy in his dedication, the only emotion it inspired was fear of dropping his banner; being the weak link which allows the chain to snap. The tension always existed in the back of his mind, the weight of his responsibility exceeding his abilities. But it began to overwhelm him when the council assigned him a bright young padawan, Selene Carthag.

Gale’s first instinct was to drive her as he drove himself. Nothing less than the best, excellence being the bare minimum, fostering devotion at every step. Slowly he realized that Selene had no spirit for combat, she loved deeply, her empathy for the downtrodden overwhelming her at times. In one of fates little blessings she showed a natural gift for Force Healing, and shared an inclination for Force Body with Gale as well. She was nothing like what Gale had hoped for, and yet she was everything he needed.

In Gale’s third year with Selene he watched her hands hovering above a street urchin, struck by a passing speeder, as she tapped into her natural reserves to draw the child back towards health. Sweat poured down her back as she groaned in pain. For the first time in his life Gale found something worth fighting for other than the mission, this young girl had given his life nuance where before there were only sharp lines.

And then she was gone. Because while Gale was watching Selene, she was also watching her Master. His devotion inspired her, and she hungered for his approval. So when their positions began to be overrun on Geonosis Selene made a desperate charge for the auto-cannon battery.

Time began to crawl as Gale watched Selene break cover. Laser fire crisscrossed overhead as she ran, deaf to his screams. He leapt forward, all the strength and Force he could muster propelled him to her. Almost there he reached out and she spun back into his arms, but his elation was snuffed out in his chest as he saw her side stitched with laser fire. She died instantly, sparing him the final pain of watching her eyes go dark.

Gale didn’t remember much of the next few hours. Later he was commended for activating the cannons and singlehandedly holding the position until reinforcements arrived. The medals meant nothing, and all the buried fear and tension overwhelmed him as he fled to the bottom of a bottle. This model Knight, Pride of the Order, was a broken drunk assigned to a backwater post where he could either rehabilitate or fade into anonymity.

Then came Order 66, and his world was irrevocably changed. For what is a soldier without a cause?

Star Wars - Jedi Exile

Wren Jellec

Name: Wren Jellec

Species: Human

Age: 18

Appearance: Wren has the rather uncommon ability to blend in just about anywhere. He is average height, at 5’10”, with black hair, green eyes, and a wiry build. He wears non-descript khaki robes over a tan tunic and trousers with knee high mahogany boots. His brown hair is tied back into the traditional Padawan braid, or at least it was, now anyone looking closely will see a hastily shorn head.
Traditionally Wren has carried himself humbly, always two steps behind his Master, seen but not heard. That time is gone, and now Wren seeks only to be unnoticed as he flees for his life. Head down and shoulders slouched he moves through the world leaving little sign of his passing. His eyes reveal a burning spirit held in check by fear, but not overwhelmed.

Equipment:
Basic Datapad
Straight hilt lightsaber with blue kyber crystal
Short Viroblade in wrist sheath
Satchel containing change of clothes, micro-torch, and a Hush-98 Comlink

Skills:
Form IV: Ataru – Intermediate
Patient and poised, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Highly analytical with an above average intelligence

Abilities:
Center of Being
Force Stealth
Force Vision

Weaknesses:
Telekenisis
Hesitant and Emotional

History:
At 8 years old Wren was turned over to the Jedi Order a bit later than usual. He had been a surprise child for his parents who believed they were fated to never conceive. Their love for him blinded them to the fact that something was different. In their mind Wren wasn’t moving objects at will or performing acrobatic feats, surely, he was simply the normal child they had prayed for year after year. Slowly, however, the illusion was broken as young Wren seemed to anticipate things before they happened, answering his parents queries before they were voiced.

Wren still remembered his mother weeping as they brought him to a local Jedi Knight. He stared up at his parents, his father comforting his mother before crouching down and taking him by the shoulders. “It is a hard world Wren, the Jedi will try to make you strong enough to survive and maybe do a bit of good while you’re at it. But no matter what happens, you survive Wren, you fight, and you live.” Wren was pulled into his father’s arms one last time before the Knight, who would soon be his Master, reached down and plucked him up.

Wren excelled at his lessons, giving his all at every turn, his father’s words burned into his mind, “Survive”.

The word continued to echo as he and Master Krosh left on mission. It continued to echo as his Master was cut down by separatist droids buying Wren time to escape. And it echoed as he survived two weeks in the bush, utilizing guerrilla tactics and hunting officers. The council, under general circumstances, would have been extraordinarily pleased with Wren, except that there were mixed reports of how the situation played out. Wren said that he sought to create chaos in the ranks so he could steal a shuttle, make it off world, and get past the blockade. In his effort he did kill several officers, eventually taking one hostage and using his clearance to get into the hyperspace lanes. That prisoner attempted to overpower Wren, and the young Padawan had no choice but to kill him.

The reports on the ground told a different story, one of a ghost systematically targeting men directly involved with the death of a certain Jedi Knight. As each associated man continued to disappear the base arranged multiple hunting parties, composed of both battle droids and separatist’s soldiers, with a singular mission: Find the guerrilla and kill him. Unfortunately, for them, this left the base forces depleted, meaning it was relatively easy for Wren to infiltrate and reach his final target, the base commander, taking him to the airfield and commandeering a shuttle. Several investigators believed that Wren killed the commander after using his clearance, wiping the final name off his list.

Of course, this was all conjecture, and the bodies of the separatist officers were never found. Wren, by all standards of evidence and procedure, was home free. Still, the council was wary of a potentially violent force user without the guidance of a strong mentor. Thus, Wren was assigned to the Reclamation, where he could be observed outside the stressors of combat.

As they heard about Order 66 one word echoed in his mind, “Survive”, but it was accompanied by a new word Wren had learned in the Outer Rim, Revenge.

Star Wars - Jedi Exile

Working on two separate sheets, if that is acceptable, and will utilize whichever one fills the needed slots. Will have it up after the game tonight. Incredible premise, very excited to see it move forward.

The Parallel Campaign - An Expansive Spacefaring RPG (Revamped)

I am certainly interested in the concept, my question would be how the PC's interact with each other? Is there an overarching narrative pulling us together, or is it completely player driven?

Either way, the amount of work you have put into this world is impressive!

The Rising Tide

Post is up, please excuse my rustiness and also the wait, I apologize. Finals are hell haha. Feel free to give suggestions, or ask questions if I failed to clarify something!

The Rising Tide

Before John sat an array of people, both young and old, men and women, children and adults. No matter the variety, each person’s response was the same: Attentive. Each had their own reasons to be here, some wished to exact vengeance on the men that had slaughtered their families, others wanted to simply hide. Yet, they all shared one common need, and that was to learn. John knew this, at one point, perhaps, he would have called himself arrogant for believing men 20 years his senior would ever look to him as a modern Socrates; however experience over these few months had shown him differently. He could no longer question whether or not he deserved to lead, for that line of thought was futile. A heavy mantle of responsibility had been lowered onto his shoulders, and only one option remained, accept role and do the best he possibly could. John laughed to himself, perhaps God has a strange sense of humor.

John’s hand rose to stroke the grizzle growing along his chin, buying his eyes the time they needed to wander the room and search the souls of those gathered here. It was never difficult to sort the serious fighters from those who terrified of their very shadow yet desperate to appear strong. “What is poetry?” His eyes moved ceaselessly, gauging any reaction.

A chair turned over as a young teenage boy hastily stood. Those eyes, he was a fighter. John knew he should care for all of his students the same, yet he also was well aware of his bias. The warriors occupied a special place in his heart, because they would be the men and women who carried the rebellion with him to the heart of this country. These few would be the brothers in arms that bled with him… his breath caught, as it always did upon this revelation… that would very likely die with him. “Magic!” A dark and eager smile touched the boy’s lips as he yelled. The room broke into subdued chuckles, and the young boys face turned a vibrant red. Unlike most that age he did not cower beneath the scorn, instead his hand balled into fists and his chin punched upwards. John smiled even wider, spirit is always a rare commodity under the heel of tyranny.

“What, pray tell, would you seek to do with this power? This, magic, Andrew?” The boy’s name came back to him suddenly, along with the tragedy that dropped him at John’s doorstep. His parents were stoned to death in the town square while he was forced to watch, he survived by ripping up and burning the tiny journal in which he had begun experimenting with his gift. John couldn’t imagine the overwhelming anger, and guilt, that Andrew had to feel. Johns gut wrenched as he pictured it, for he knew all too well this child’s pain. Not so long ago his wife and child had been ripped from his arms and burned for using a simple verse to make flowers to bloom.

Stop. John locked down his emotions. The past would be avenged, and there would be no grieving until the fires of hell rose to swallow the attackers in their hot embrace.

“Dante, I would kill all of the soldiers, and I would make Poetry legal.” The boy betrayed no hint that he realized his naivete. Oh how John envied his youth and exuberance.

“I wish that it were as simple as you make it sound son,” John, Dante, softly responded, his strong hands gripped the edge of the mahogany writing desk which supported him. “More than that though, I wish it was so easy to erase the hurt which fuels our mutual hate.” Andrew’s eyes fell, and his shoulders trembled while his conscious mind fought between the equal responses of despair and fury. Dante’s heart broke for him, a small tear formed at the crease in his eye. Andrew righted his chair and slowly sat down, his head raised to make eye contact with Dante. Those brown eyes pleaded for so much, yet the heaviest request was for relief. John could never give him that, nor could he give it even to himself.

“Poetry, my friends, is the manifestation of the soul.” He pushed off the desk and began to pace throughout the room. “Poetry takes your deepest inner feelings, your wishes, and gives them life.” Fervor began to build in his voice. “Do any of you understand the power which you hold, and, more importantly, the responsibility? A corrupt soul could destroy the world, yet a righteous one could bring about endless prosperity” Dante stopped to gather his calm.

“You may question ‘Why then are large works of magic so few and far between’, by asking this you have made your first mistake. That is believing Poetry is a horse to be harnessed and bent to your will. This could not be farther from the truth. Poetry is beautiful, even in its most terrifying form, true verse will stagger you with its emotion even as it devours your life.” His voice came smooth now, passionate and enticing.

“Herein lies the basic secret of poetry. To birth forth beauty and power you must be broken, your pain or ecstasy must flow in and around you. Logic will never birth more than cheap side show tricks.” Dante flicked his hand to the side dismissively. “Poetry is impulsive, alive”.

Dante returned to the center of the group, bringing his hands behind his back. “This is simultaneously Poetry’s greatest strength, and weakness. The destruction of Japan showed us what a broken, however poorly trained, poet can do. He can destroy a country as easy as swatting a fly” John prayed the seriousness was setting in.

“The two parts of effective poetry are Brokenness and Expression. Each are equally difficult to master, but I will teach you as best I can.”

Brokenness, oh how he knew of that bitter lover. In fact, the city which burned his girls knew of it too. With brokenness and expression Dante had slowly cooked each villainous bastard from the inside out. Unlike his family, they were not given the mercy of losing consciousness due to the smoke, no no, they felt every agonizing touch. Their screams did not haunt Dante, though the comfort they brought his did.

“Now to business.” Dante paused, feeling his presence draw them in “Some of you have wondered why I am called Dante. Just as my Father in Name was gifted a vision of hell, I also have seen hell. I have gazed into to mouth of the beast and seen flames spew forth, and in those flames I have glimpsed burning cities. I have watched nations march armies against us in desperation only to fall before the wrath of our words. Oh yes, my friends, I have seen hell, yet unlike my predecessor I do not come to warn the world of its future doom. NO! I come to bring that hell to this vile and twisted people. I swear to you, they shall look upon us, and as their crimes flash before their eyes they will know us for what we are. The Harbingers of Justice. Justice demands their blood, so we shall deliver it.”

Word would now spread faster than ever before, and both friend and foe would flock to him as moths to flame.

The Rising Tide

My post is almost done! I will be able to post it tonight. Sorry that it is taking so long, as you all know finals week is murderous.

The Rising Tide

Procrastination is the name of the game haha. All nighter are part of the college experience! Am, I have always wanted to be a surgeon, but I may go anesthesia. It is much much better for a family, as far as hours are concerned. Ryver, I actually enjoy writing just about anything. Romance though is my weakest haha, I suppose that may be a stereotypical guy trait.

I am working on that post, hopefully it comes out good. My excitement on getting back into the game after a couple years is building.

Edit: Kirra we may have to avoid each other so we don't end up trying to kill one another lol. I'm still trying to read through the whole IC to get a better grip on the interplay already growing between everyone.

The Rising Tide

Name and/or Alias(es): John Canter a.k.a Dante.

Age: 45

Sex: Male

Occupation(s) (if any): Poet and teacher. Leader of the resistance.

Race and Origin: Born in Indiana, United States.

Appearance: At 45 John has managed to mostly maintain the athletic physique of his youth, though his age can be seen in the creases which have grown outward from his eyes and the gray touching his temples. His eyes are a cold gray, reflecting the inner pain and anger which burns in his heart. John’s hair is a sandy blonde, and he comes in at 6’4 with both a wide chest and arms. His face features a strong jaw, with prominent cheekbones; Though never called pretty, rugged may very well fit the bill. Aspiring poets who come in contact with Dante quickly realize that his physical body is simply a shell for his presence, an aura of purpose exudes from his every pore.

Equipment (if any): N/A

Abilities/Talents (if any): A master of magic imbued poetry

History: Will be shown in subsequent flashback post.

Bullet Point

I'm interested if this is still open.