Jester

Star Wars: Revanchism [KOTOR era]

Miran had never been suited to meditating. The quiet stillness always left him feeling unsettled, which was quite contrary to the activity’s purpose. IRSOG-37’s first engagement was just minutes away, and it was all the young padawan could do to still the restless thoughts of his wandering mind. Would the Order take him back? Would his family? Would he ever be able to face his master again? Meditation wasn’t the prescription he needed, action was. It was his master who had always professed that the primary catalysts for questionable actions were doubts: doubts of acceptance, doubts of success, and doubts of purpose.

Miran unfolded his legs drew in his surroundings. He felt invisible to the nervous silence that had settled over his detachment. With want for eyes to see, the miralukan felt. He felt the nervous twitching of a grunt’s fingers across the stock of his gun. He felt the measured observance of the sergeant across the room. Ironically, Miran even felt the calm exhalations of a fellow jedi as they accomplished what he had been too impatient to manage. The force was his guide, and it showed him all the things he assumed that eyes couldn’t.

The padawan focused on the feelings of those around him. Why linger on his own doubts when the doubts of others proved to be an effective barrier? Miran felt the weight of his worries drift behind a wall of conscious thought. His master had often told him that he put too much arrogance into what he perceived to be an uncommon understanding of the Force. Where others used it as a tool, Miran felt this action to be rudimentary. To truly know the force, once has to experience it passively. The fellow members of his species seemed to forget that they evolved in response to this very action. In remembering the distant memories of his youth, there are several images of one of his older brothers assuming a meditative state. If the purpose is to become better in tune with the Force, why not just feel?

Then, to break the reverie of weapons maintenance and meditation, the PA system crackled on with a deep male voice, "30 minutes to drop. Prepare to board drop pods on the red light mark..."

Miran’s empty sockets twitched in response to the change he felt in the room. Every small, terse movement was felt in waves through the force, and he could no longer assuage the doubts that had been weighing on his mind, for they matched to keenly with those of the men and women around him. What happens when you can no longer block out your worries? You defeat them. His hand fell to his lightsaber and he was curtly reminded as to why he was there. Inaction was simply something he could not tolerate; he felt too much to remain idle. Just as meditation and consideration had not helped in his preparations for battle, they would do nothing for the atrocities that were being committed by the Mandolorians.

‘Act if you must,’ his master had told him. ‘Fight your battles, defeat your enemy, and gain your satisfaction, but promise me one thing.’ He still remembered the sheer will of the older man as his presence had borne down on him. ‘When this war is over, take those “eyes” of yours and tell me if the future you helped make is worth what you’ve seen to get there.’

That had been the final words they had exchanged before Miran had left Coruscant on a republic transport ship carrying another half-dozen of his fellow knights and padawans. The only thing he could think was how could it not be worth it? Why give us swords only to keep them sheathed? Miran’s gripped tightened around the hilt of his lightsaber. Why call us knights and then expect us to flee from conflict? At their core, he understood Jedi ethics, but so often they felt impractical and isolated from how the Galaxy actually functions.

There was no more room for doubts in his mind. The will to act had overcome them.

Star Wars: Revanchism [KOTOR era]

Character sheet up. Let me know what needs to be changed. I left the last section open for anyone willing to come up with a shared background.

Star Wars: Revanchism [KOTOR era]

Name: Miran Yoan
Species: Miraluka
Age: 21
Rank/Title: Padawan
Planet of Origin/Birth: Katarr
Force Sensitive Y/N: Yes

Appearance:
Miran is a tall, lean man with a slender build. While he's athletic, he does not have a wealth of raw physical strength on which to rely. Before leaving for the war, he shaved his thick brown hair down to the scalp, and has made sure that his face has been kept equally clean. He dresses in the simple brown and beige robes of a jedi, forgoing additional armor in favor of greater mobility. Owing to his species, Miran wears a thick brown cloth over his empty eye sockets.

Skills/Abilities:

Please list with most potent skills first.
-Force sight
-Force telekinesis
-Lightsaber duelist

Equipment:

List here, item by item.
-Robes
-Lightsaber (single blade, blue)
-?

Personality:
Miran has been hopelessly afflicted with wanderlust ever since he was a child on Katarr. Like others of his species, he was born force sensitive, a fact that he would use to his full advantage in order to see what the galaxy had to offer. His natural curiosity and tendency to push boundaries chaffed mightily with his jedi training. A meditative and passive approach to life seemed counter-intuitive to the living force he had been experiencing since birth. How could he stifle such a vibrant part of himself and call it necessary? These would be the same feelings that would ultimately lead to him following Revan to war.

History:
Miran was born to a powerful and influential family on Katarr. His ancestors had been among the first of the species to leave Alpheridies to settle other worlds and thus they remain influential in Miralukan politics to this day. He was the youngest of four boys and was attention starved as a result. While his parents focused on handling major issues of planetary and galactic politics, it was left to his elder siblings to keep him in line--a task at which they failed miserably.

As Miran grew from a spirited infant into a troublesome toddler, his parents began to consider his future. His elder brother would continue his parent's political legacy, the next was destined for a military career, and the third would end up joining the Miralukan order of force sensitives, the Luka. It was eventually decided, that someone from the Yoan family would have to serve as a representative to the jedi order.

Miran left for the order when he was just old enough to start dreaming of the greater galaxy. He offered no resistance when his parents eventually sent him to Coruscant. There, his idea of what it meant to be a jedi changed dramatically. The monastic teachings of the order felt inherently uncomfortable as he strained to please his instructors. While meditation would calm him somewhat, there were those in the order who were a bit perturbed by his tendency to long for adventure. Eventually, his prowess in the force would prove to make-up for his shortcomings, and he would go on to train beneath a master.

Years later, Revan's actions would inspire feelings in the young padawan that had begun to fade. In the end, he was not able to resist the call.

Relationships and Acquaintances:
(To be determined)

Harry Potter - The Year Things Changed

Richard Corbeaux
Age: 17
House: Ravenclaw
Year: Seventh

Harry Potter - The Year Things Changed

The End of Summer

Richard could never remember seeing his father look as haggard as he had then. His eyes were sunken and heavily lidded. His lips were pale and drawn up. The worry lines on his forehead, which had always been hinted at, now looked permanent. His normally trim beard had curly tufts sticking out in tangled clumps. He had been in his work robes for what seemed like three days straight. The only thing neat about his current state was the shine of his silver Department of Magical Law Enforcement badge which was pinned neatly over his heart.

Richard’s mother created quite the contrast. While his father read the Daily Prophet, she buzzed dutifully around the kitchen, casually flicking a hand here and there, whipping up a quick breakfast for his sake. Her cheerful demeanor always made her seem a few years younger than she actually was.

Two plates flew, unassisted, from the cabinet, to the table, and landed soundlessly between father and son. Bacon, eggs, and biscuits for Richard and an omelet for his father.

“Think they might let up with the investigation with the start of the term dear?” his mother asked, her voice half chipper and half concerned.

“Not bloody likely,” his father snorted between bites. He glanced from his paper down at the table. His brow furrowed in alarm. “Where’s-”

Richard’s mother handed him his coffee and sat down between them.

He took a long, deep swallow and continued. “With the attack the happened at the World Cup, they’re not taking any risks when it comes to the Tournament. Wizengamont has already put in the petitions to cancel it.”

“You mean the Tri-Wizard tournament.” Richard rarely chimed in at breakfast, preferring to give his parents the time to talk, but it was hard to ignore things that were likely going to affect him.

“Beauxbatons has already managed to pull out. I can’t imagine Durmstrang will be far behind. Though I can’t say I’ll cry over the rotten swedes not being here.” He flipped through the paper. His dad had been doing the DMLE’s grunt work since the attacks. While the Auror’s headed up the investigation, there were smaller fires to put out. Raids were at an all-time high. Any street corner dragon shit salesmen or whore that’s been seen Knockturn Alley in the past three months is getting their door kicked in. Men like his father were the ones who did the knocking.

“I can’t see them cancelling it,” Richard’s mother replied. “Shifting the rules a bit, sure, but the laws of magic that govern the Goblet are far too powerful to simply cancel it all together.” She was a studious woman in her spare time, but had never bothered to further her education.

“You would be right, dear. The word from Madam Bones herself suggests that it will be a Hogwarts isolated event. With the other two schools bowing out, security will thankfully be a minor nightmare.”

His mother gave a small smile. “Maybe you’ll get to see your father this year, Richie.”

Richard wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He stabbed at his bacon absently.

“Don’t worry, son,” his father assured. “Neither of us are that lucky,” and suddenly his father’s tone changed and he lowered his paper.

“Jokes aside, I want you to listen to me, son.” His father locked eyes with him. “There is something to all this that doesn’t sit right with me, and it shouldn’t with anyone else. This was not a freak accident, and whatever happens, keep your head down this year.” Richard could never remember seeing such a desperate look in his father’s eyes. “I don’t want you going near that fucking Goblet, do you understand me?”

“I hear you, Dad.” Both of them knew it was a lie the second the words left his mouth. Nine months later, when they saw one another again, both will have wished it hadn’t been.

The Naming of the Champions

The thrill of it had been too much to resist. Seeing his classmates, friends, and acquaintances all go forth and enter their names had been the worst type of peer pressure. Even the Weasley twins had gotten in on the fun. Their beards would be forever burned into the minds student body. Everyone from Diggory to Davies had entered, and he was going to be damned if he was seen as the only person unwilling to do so.

So, one morning, after breakfast, he had strolled up to the goblet and successfully deposited a slip of parchment with his name on it into the cup. The claps from those around him had been enough encouragement and boost to his confidence to helf reinforce his decision.

Now, with much anticipation, they all waited for the results.

He ran a hand through his thick dark hair and looked around. They were all gathered around in the Great Hall as the headmaster entered center stage. For years he had been known to put on a grandiose speech, but here his flair for the dramatic seemed to reach its zenith.

The aged wizard walked down an aisle of students and made his way to the ancient, magical cup. Fire simmered from its wooden rim and brightened as all the torches around the hall dimmed with wave of Dumbledore’s hand.

Roger Davies, his quidditch mate cupped him on the shoulder. “Exciting business, hey Richie?” he whispered. “Think there’s glory waiting for the pair of us in that old cup?”

Richard waved him off. Roger had always been a good-looking, well-meaning idiot. Well, at the very least, in Ravenclaw terms. No one in their house was stupid, but Roger’s intelligence extended to more athletic pursuits and how to pick women--or the equally challenging feat of how to get rid of women.

“If there’s any justice, it’ll place you and Sally-Anne in there together,” he jabbed between Professor Dumbledore’s grave warnings of danger. “Now shut it!” Richard hissed, “I think the first name’s about to appear.”

The Goblet’s blue flames crackled into a dark red hue. The headmaster held a strong, but withered hand out as a jet of fire exploded from the goblet. A burnt piece of parchment drifted between his fingers. “CEDRIC DIGGORY!” he bellowed. “Our first champion!”

Cheers and applause erupted throughout the hall. You could not find a more well-liked individual in the whole school. If there had been odds on whose name would be drawn first, Richard would have put everything on Cedric. Even the slytherins couldn’t complain too much--still, only a few clapped. The popular young man shook hands with Dumbledore before being quickly ushered into a back room.

The noise dimmed and, eventually, the last hufflepuff cheer died down.

The flames darkened once more, and the tension in the hall was palpable. Nonetheless, two more names must be drawn.

The flames shot forth another blackened piece of parchment.

“RICHARD CORBEAUX!”

A lot happened at once. Davies nearly pulled his head off with his congratulatory hug as the other Ravenclaws whistled and cheered. The applause that accompanied his name was muted compared to Cedric’s, but nonetheless, it was there. He felt his feet move in spite of himself and he blinked maybe once between his seat and shaking Dumbledore’s hand.

Why him?

While no one disliked him, Richard couldn’t claim to be particularly noteworthy or popular amongst his peers. He play beater for the quidditch team, but he spent a lot of time rotating with his teammates. He made good marks, sure, but most of the students in his house managed that. There was nothing about his seven years at Hogwarts that distinguished him from the average student, but here he was, being ushered into a back room reserved for ‘champions.’

Subtly, his father’s words seeped into the back of his mind.

He had only entered because he had assumed that there was no chance that his name would be drawn.

So much for that.

Fallout RP

Looking to do a Fallout roleplay. If interested, message me on here or pm.

♥♠♣♦Welcome to Wonderland♦♣♠♥ (Starting!! (Always Open)

Well I managed to get something up. Reply whenever's best.

♥♠♣♦Welcome to Wonderland♦♣♠♥ (Starting!! (Always Open)

Al was startled from his gaze. As much as he tried to make sense of it, he simply couldn't. Had the current swept him down river? Had he been unconscious? The sun shone with radiant beams, which was fine of course, barring the fact it had been evening when he had jumped. Instinctively however, he knew, on some level, that he was a long way from anything that slightly resembled home. As if to confirm suspicions, he was greeted by the strangest man he had ever laid eyes on.

It wasn't his appearance that distinguished this man, but his manner. The loose gait in which he carried himself would seem uncomfortable and awkward on anyone else, but for this man, it was his natural state. His distant, unfocused stare never seemed to truly meet Al's own gaze, but instead hovered just around the edge of eye contact, as if the consequences would warrant some disaster.

And then there was the talking.

Al winced.

"You're going to have to slow your roll, buddy," Al replied. "And you're speaking to Allen, not Alice." Even as he said it, Al still tried to put that together in his head. None of this was making any sense. He ran a nervous hand through his still soaking hair and moved to stand up, still shaken from his incident. His eyes swept over the scenery again. It's as if every color was truer in this place than it had been five minutes ago. Green was somehow greener here.

In a lot of ways, it wasn't too dissimilar to what he remembered his childhood vision of heaven being after a sleepy session of Sunday School. Maybe this was the risen Christ come to judge him. Perhaps he had actually succeeded in ending things.

If only. Successful suicide is the only sin that cannot be confessed.

He reached a hand out to the strange man. "Well, if I can call you Hat, I suppose it's only fair that you call me Al." Even then, there was something that compelled him to trust this unknown individual. There was also the part of him that said it would be a foolish thing to trust him entirely. "Wonderland you said? I'm assuming you know where I should go?"

Well, if this is death, heaven, or some crazy dream/vision, why not see it through at the present?

♥♠♣♦Welcome to Wonderland♦♣♠♥ (Starting!! (Always Open)

I was wondering if I should have interacted with someone in my first post, just to kind of get some steam going. I'll feel pretty silly if we wait around for someone to respond first. Though, it does seem like a few people have a plan of what they want to happen.

♥♠♣♦Welcome to Wonderland♦♣♠♥ (Starting!! (Always Open)

Well, I managed to throw something up. Sorry for the delay; I was spending time with my girlfriend this weekend.