Asura

The Heroes of Beacon

Sho Minazuki said
RWBY May Cry.Looks like they still need to develop more advanced moves, I can imagine a lot of utility moves for Ruby's speed semblance.

I'm told this is an early pre-alpha released to sponsors, so I assume they'll be adding a lot more in terms of combos.

The Heroes of Beacon

Gameplay from Roosterteeth's official RWBY game.

Maybe if the Grimm were as tough as that in the show, the finale would be worth watching.

Blood Act~ Lore /CS Thread

UserName: Asura
Character Name: Warwick Blight
Age: 20
Mageblood Type: Obiligatio
Favored Magic Class: Demonomancy
Previous Magic Training: No official training, although he's experimented enough to know the very basics
Race: Human Carsaeus (Werewolf)
Appearance:
Warwick is a rather imposing male, standing at just over six feet in height and weighing in at roughly two hundred pounds. His physique is one of power, one expected of a predator. Every inch of his body is plated in lean, chiseled muscle giving him the strength and speed one would expect of a feral beast. Covering his muscular body is a layer of fair white skin marked with a variety of scars and marks to define it's owners reckless life style. While appearing more human than many of his kin, it is very obvious to the common bystander that Warwick is far from human. This face is one of the more noticeable indicators of this. While they're quite 'rugged' and what many would call 'handsome', the inhumanity in them is obvious. His face is angular and sharp. Predatory in nature and dangerous in design. His teeth are unlike any human's, entirely pointed and suited to ripping meat from prey rather than grinding food down normally.

His eyes are a sharp, piercing yellow color and seem to glower on their own with an unsettling energy akin to that of the Inferno. His ears, while in the place one would expect human ears, are pointed much like those of an elf and covered in a thin layer of fuzz. His hair seems to be a cross between the long locks one would find on a human's head and the thick fur one would find on a wolf. It's soft and warm, yet wild and untamed and kept in a shaggy mop that only adds to his disheveled appearance.
More features become apparently as you move down his body. Patches of 'fur' like those found on his ears and fairly common along his form, particularly around his limbs. His appendages are just another indication of his heritage. Unlike human fingers or toes, each of them ends in a sharp hooked claw rather than a rounded nail confined to the top portion of the digit. His palms are calloused in a manner that also seems to resemble the 'pads' found on a dog or its more wild siblings, allowing him superior grip. The last obvious indication lies along his back. Particularly, the tail that hangs from his back at the point where his spine fuses into his sacrum. It's rather thick and covered in a form of hair similar to that on his head.

Short Bio: To truly understand Warwick's story, you must first understand who his parents were. His mother, a kind young woman by the name of Marianna descended from a poor family. For all her life, she grew within a healthily sized village within Eania's countryside as the daughter of a shepherd. Living outside the feeble walls of her village and assisting her family in raising their livestock, as one of the only children of her parents to have made it past childhood, Marianna exposed herself to a variety of dangers. One of those dangers just so happened to be the one to conceive Warwick with her. Attacks on their cows from creatures of prey were not an uncommon occurrence. Many predators would wander onto their farm looking for an easy meal and occasionally make off with one of their cows or sheep. What was uncommon, however, was a string of these attacks night after night. Such an event plagued their farm one balmy summer.

Her father, an aging man at that point, did what he could with the little help he could afford to patch up their fences and ensure nothing could get into the farm. But nothing he could do truly stopped the beast, who returned every night and tore apart animal after animal. With their village having no true militia to call for help with such a terrifying turn of events and their coffers running low on coin to replace the animals with, Marianna took it upon herself as the eldest of their children to try and foolishly put an end to the attacks. Camping out one knight with her father's bow, she intended to wedge an arrow in the beast when it came for her livelihood and return a hero to her assorted siblings. What she found was no mortal beast.

Having lived reasonably close to the border of Djarkel, a land of darkness where foul beasts ran amok, it was a shock the peasants hadn't expected what Marianna found that night. Instead of a mountain lion or some coyote, what descended upon the cows that night was a massive, bipedal creature that smelt of fire and brimstone of thirsted for blood. It stared down upon the peasant girl with curiosity. An emotion which quickly turned to amusement as she drew an arrow from her quiver and shot it uselessly into it's dark fur in an attempt to strike it down. Her fiery attitude impressed the demon, who decided that rather than feeding on her for nourishment, he'd feed another hunger of his. The demon forced himself upon the unsuspecting farm girl before disappearing into the night, leaving her family to discover her in the morning, bloodied and broken.

Recovery from the various traumas inflicted upon her that night was quick, or as quick as being raped by a demon could possibly be. She was always a determined girl, a stalwart one. It was something she could overcome. Indeed, the demon had intended just that. For only the bravest mortal women could undertake the horrors that would befall her in life. Horrors which revealed themselves several months after the event, when a bump formed its way in her belly. A bump that would one day become Warwick.

Try as they might, her family couldn't convince Marianna to rid herself of the... thing that grew within her. Spawn on a demon or not, she insisted that it was her child and that depriving it of life would be more wrong than birthing a half breed. Nine months after the tragic event Warwick came into the world, kicking and screaming like a bat out of hell, as one would expect of his kind. He was an exceedingly healthy baby, as much as it pained his family to admit. It was certain he would make it through the earliest years of his life.

For the most part, his early years were the easiest. His family kept him locked away from the world, hoping to avoid the shame and mockery that would come of his existence. From the moment he could walk, talk and even remember he was shunned by those meant to be closest to him. All aside from his mother, whom did her best to nurture and care for him. To shield him from the coldness of the world. But she couldn't be around forever. He would eventually need to forge his own way into the world. His grandfather knew as much. Perhaps in a form of tough love or spite for the little 'beast' that had come of his kin, the old farmer sent Warwick, a mere boy off into town by himself on an errand. His first real glimpse into the world outside of his family's farm was amazing... until the people of town noticed him. They shouted names at him, threw things. The abuse eventually culminated in them chasing him out of town, calling him a monster and nearly doing worse than simply shooing him off. It was a prelude of things to come.

All throughout his childhood he was subject to it all. The bullying, the harsh whispers behind his back, the cold glares from all those around him. He was shunned for what he was, for something he had no control over. The fear and prejudice caused the fine folk of his village to torment the poor wolf as he developed. For all the damage it did though, it hardened him. For every wound they caused he grew stronger for it, colder, but stronger. But his existence didn't just harm himself. His family were right in hiding him away. They were subject to nearly the same amount of abuse, his mother in particular. Called a whore for birthing a demon, a heretic and even a demonmancer. As much as she tried to protect him from the world, he could see the barrage wearing down upon the one person who had been there for him through it all.
So, rather than continue to bring his own parent and the others of his kin down, he decided to run away. No matter where he went, he'd always be the target of some form of mockery. But maybe if he left to be on his own, he could take some of the suffering away from them. A boy, no more than thirteen years old at the time, Warwick scribbled a note with what little knowledge of writing he had been given and made off into the night with nothing more than a knapsack at his side.

As hard as the journey was, he trekked on, day after day, town after town. Surviving was difficult but for once in his life, his demonic heritage came in handy. He was fast and strong. His senses keen. He could survive out in the wilderness where a softer lad could not. It was three long years of this, sticking to the woodlands and escaping into towns now and again to stir up some trouble and grab some supplies before the populace chased him away. He'd often get attacked, the more ignorant assaulting him and forcing him to fight back. He mauled many a man during his occasional town visits, forced to run before the authorities were called in and inevitably blamed him for the altercations.

A miserable existence it was, but he managed. Day after day he survived, alone in the world and wandering aimlessly for a place of acceptance. Something, much to his surprise, he would soon find. He had heard stories of his kind, half demons, or werewolves as the common folk tended to label his particular breed, banding together to form groups. Clans of the unwanted who helped each other survive in the world that wanted nothing to do with them. It was by luck alone that one day, Warwick stumbled upon such a group. Or rather, they stumbled upon him. While searching for a place to rest for the night, he had inadvertantly stumbled into the territory of one of these clans. They tracked him, as those of their particular blood tended to do, to the cavern he managed to claim for himself. Had he been a mere mortal, he likely wouldn't have escaped the handful of scraggly looking half breeds that stormed the cave. But he wasn't. He was one of them.

The small clan, consisting only of a dozen or two their breed, happily accepted Warwick into their ranks after a mildly violent run in within the cavern. For the first time, with these other 'monsters', he found peace and acceptance. They helped each other with tasks, looked out for one another and functioned like a little family unit of their own. Like a pack of the animals their corrupted fathers took the form of, they carved out a niche just large enough to live comfortable in the wilds, far from where harm could be done. It was a good time in Warwick's life.

As such, he should've expected it to all come crumbling down. For the deities of the world seemed to have it out for the young wolf. Having lived among the ever growing clan for several long years, Warwick had done well for himself. He had moved up the 'hierearchy' thanks to an unnatural charisma with his fellow half-demons. Made some friends, conquered a few of the clan's women for his own. It was all going well. But the leader of their little 'pack', their 'alpha' had grander plans. Having lived on the fringes of society for so long, having been outcasts all their lives, they had finally grown to the point where they could make a difference. Where they could strike back against those who would oppress them. Consisting of roughly fifty five individuals, their group of mangy mutts had turned into a small army of Carsaeus. Enough to challenge some of the weaker villages that surrounded their home. Despite strong protest, some even from Warwick himself, their leader decided to lead a crusade against the humans who had wronged them all.

It was the beginning of the end for their clan. Leading ten of his fellow wolves into a farming village much like the one Warwick was born into, they slaughtered the unsuspecting inhabitants in the night and took the backwater town for their own. Livestock to feed them, houses to shelter them and a healthy dose of revenge against people who had never done them any wrong empowered the wolves of their clan. With numbers on their side, the humans could do little to stop them. In a land of holy crusades, hubris was the last thing those tainted by demon blood needed. Unbeknownst to the foolish wolves, not every man, woman and child in that village had fallen to their warriors. Some had managed to escape in the night while the werewolves snorted and celebrated their victory. They sent word to the other villages and soon, their find homeland responded with the force one would expect at such a grievous infestation.

Soldiers, hardened of battle and possessing powerful magics assailed the village one day. The arrogance of the wolves leader prevented him from calling a retreat. Instead of running for the hills as they should have, many of Warwick's comrades made a stand against the troops that came marching to retake the village. They were slaughtered like the animals they had always been. One by one, Warwick watched as his 'family' were cut down by blessed swords and holy silver. He himself had been attacked by the soldiers in his attempt to flee the losing battle.Cornered by several of Eania's best, it was then that for the first time, Warwick tapped into his mageblood.

He had always held the ability, an affinity for controlling the more vile creatures of the world. It was perhaps his latent abilities in demonomancy that had helped propel him through the ranks of his clan. But this was the first real use. The first obvious use of his abilities. Cornered like a beast, in fear and rage, sorrow and hatred that came a rift in the very space of their plane. It wasn't a large one, but that day Warwick tore himself a portal to the realm of Inferno in sheer desperation.
From the rift poured forth imp after imp, minor demons who slipped through the fabric of the tear and scattered through the battlefield, free of control thanks to Warwick's inexperience and allowed passage into the mortal realm. It distracted the soldiers long enough for him to turn tail and rush, self preservation prevailing as he ran into the wilderness once more, shocked, terrified and amazed all at the same time. By the time he had stopped running, he was far from the scene of the terrible massacre. So far he could no longer smell their scents, or hear their cries. He was alone once more.

Stripped of all he had known, the mourning wolf aimlessly wandered once more, with no where left to go and no where to rest in the fear those soldiers who came to claim his companions would too hunt him. Left an emotional wreak, he had merely one thing to compose himself. One thing to focus on. That godforsaken rift he caused. He knew very little of it, but he was certain what he caused that terrible day was magic. It wasn't entirely unheard of for mages to summon forth demons from what he had heard. Perhaps he was one of them.. no, he had to be one of them. In the tragedy of his loss, he had found something of value in himself. Something that could provide him with a future.

It was near impossible to live within Eania and not hear of the Twilight College, even with his limited contact with civilized people. A place where mages were accepted and trained. If he managed to make it there, he could start anew, in a place where he wouldn't be hated and more importantly, hunted by the natives of his land. So he set forth for it. To the college and to a new life, one he could only hope wouldn't be stripped away again.

Good Attributes:

Werewolf Physiology; As a Carsaeus, Warwick has inherited attributes from his father's corrupted blood. His half demon heritage has blessed him with an enhanced set of physical attributes. Of his particularly heightened attributes his strength reigns supreme however, allowing him to keep up with and even overpower the most physically oriented races of the world. He has also inherited many physical features to show his ancestry as well. His teeth are nothing like an average human's, with every single one pointed and naturally crafted to tear meat from bone with his incisors even longer than normal. His fingers and toes also end in hooked claw like nails rather than only covering the top portion of his digits and growing to rounded points. His senses are enhanced to the superhuman as well, with eyes more than capable of seeing in the darkness of night, ears capable of picking up the most minute of sounds and most powerful of all, a sense of smell that dwarfs what more civilized races can dream to have. His regenerative capabilities are also heightened, allowing him to recover from wounds at an increased rate although no where close to instantaneous.

Transformation; In times of great emotional strife or physical danger, Warwick is prone to succumbing to his instincts as a self defense mechanism. Should he ever give in, his physical form morphs to that of a massive bipedal wolf demon roughly eight and a half feet from head to toe and several hundred pounds. In this form, he gains a thick layer of thick black hide, rife with the smell of brimstone and incredibly resilient to damage. Additionally, his physical attributes are further boosted.

Loyal; Perhaps owning to his species, Warwick is an incredibly loyal companion. While his very abrasive behavior can turn away any who wish to call him a friend those who do find a place close in his heart. Having never had anyone look past what he was to get close with him, he cherishes any friends he manages to make and will defend those who earn his trust violently much like an alpha protecting his pack.

Combat Ready; Having to fend for himself in a world that holds, at best, a disdain for his kind, Warwick was forced to verse himself in the ways of combat to defend himself. Using his bestial features and unnatural physical attributes, he's managed to mold himself into a fearsome warrior who favors unarmed, close quarters combat above all else. While he lacks more traditional technique, he makes up for it with feral unpredictability and tenacity.

Bad Attributes:

Werewolf Physiology; As a half demon, Warwick also boasts the weaknesses of his tainted family line. Holy artifacts that would fend off demons also effect him much as they would a full blooded Inferno walker. Like demons, he is also susceptible to demonology spells and while he cannot fully be banished to the Infernal Realm, those who practice that particular school will find him to be manipulable should their skill surpass his own. Additionally, a weakness that belongs to his wolf lineage alone and not to all demons is his vulnerability to silver. While its effect vary widely on how pure the metal is, coming into contact with such a substance can cause him anything from a moderate rash to burns akin to touching a hot iron.

Transformation; While transforming gives Warwick great strength to defend himself with, it comes at the loss of his humanity. In this form he becomes a feral monster akin to what many would assume of the Inferno, rampaging against all those he comes into contact with, friend or foe. In such a rampage he'll happily murder his closest companions and either must be physically restrained or worst, killed to put a stop to it prematurely. In this form he is far more susceptible to other demonologists and his weakness to many demon banes grows even stronger.

Socially Challenged; Warwick's social skills are very lacking. Not only was he an outcast for most of his young life, but being judged and looked down upon by so many people has ruined his outlook on many. He is rude, aggressive and more often than not violent to those around him, partially out of spite and partially to protect himself. It's difficult for him to rely upon others, let alone trust them and he finds himself at odds with many of those he comes into contact with simply because of his behavior, let alone his demonic traits.

Secret Word: Rebirth

Subject: The Relics

Golly gee, mister, this sure looks swell!

Star Wars: Revanchism [Sheets]

Mesha Sevik

Name: Mesha Sevik
Species: Cathar
Age: 26
Rank/Title: Captain
Planet of Origin/Birth: Cathar
Force Sensitive Y/N: Yes
Appearance:

Skills/Abilities/Talents/Training:

- Expert Marksmen; Her years in the Republic's special forces have crafted Mesha into a potent marksmen. She is incredibly accurate and possesses training in a variety of ranged weaponry, from blaster rifles to more exotic slug throwers and the like.

- Expert Close Range Combatant; A product of her military training and a natural inclination to be a more physical fighter, Mesha is a significant force to be reckoned with up close and personal. Despite her small stature she boasts incredible physical prowess thanks to her conditioning and Cathar heritage. She blends more practical military unarmed combat and blade work with the traditional fighting style of her people, mixing grapples and strikes with her natural claws and feral tenacity.

- Infiltrator; Her time with the special forces have taught Mesha to be an incredibly stealthy soldier. Capable of slipping in and out of places unnoticed and stalking down her enemies like a predator, she excels in more subtle stealth operations and assassination missions.

- Vehicle Operator; Mesha is capable of piloting a variety of vehicles and partaking in gunnery roles if needed. Be it a swoop bike, a troop transport or a starship she is able to effectively maneuver and operate the craft. She is certainly no ace however and is far more experienced with ground based units.

- Field Medic; While she's certainly no doctor, Mesha has been trained to apply first aid on the battlefield and is more than capable of stablizing soldiers who go down in the field to be moved to a safer place for proper treatment from a more qualified doctor.

- Force Sensitivity; Despite thus far performing no telekinetic abilities revolving around the force, Mesha's latent sensitive has bestowed upon her impressive precognitive abilities. Giving her a 'danger' sense of sorts when in harms way, it also greatly enhances her hand to hand fighting and abilities as a marksmen as she's capable of predicting the opponent's next move more often than not. She cracks this up to instincts though as she possesses no real knowledge of the force itself.

Equipment:

- A modifier version of the standard issue heavy blaster rifle, made to pack more of a punch to pierce armor at the cost of burning the power pack quicker.
- Two blaster pistols
- A standard issue vibroknife
- Several thermal detonators, ion grenades and breaching charges stashed within her belt.
- A medical kit, filled with kolto patches, stimpacks and synthskin along with other basic first-aid supplies.
- A recon droid probe, linked to her helmet's HUD to provide a bird's eye view when deployed.
- Slightly altered commando armor made of a light weight alloy to provide protection while minimizing loss of movement. Along with a HUD linked into her visor and an inbuilt helmet communicator, she has modified both of the gauntlets to hold a grappling spike launcher and one hundred feet of fibrecord each.
- Utility Belt to hold various miscellaneous objects (spare communicator, tool kit, holomap, spare ammunition, ect)

Psych profile:

Mesha is an stern and outwardly cold woman, embittered by the loss of her people and the horrors of the war she's been forced to witness over the last several years. The Mandalorians have pried her family, her home world and her comrades from her one by one and her immense hatred shows for them. She's ruthless in battle, unleashing a serene, chilling fury upon her opponents that seems to straddle the line between calculated carnage and primal instinct. Out of battle, she's not much more approach, maintaining the image of a strict, detached officer. She's been hardened by what she's seen and been put through, shelling herself off to try and protect herself from any more loss by simply not connecting with those that remain. At worst she appears as an icy and uncaring wench. But in truth, she's a compassionate soul. Those who follow her into battle may feel as though she has little care for their well being, but more often than not she finds herself desperately charging in and risking her life to draw fire from her followers in their time of need, to drag that wounded man out of harms way.

Mesha, as a whole, is also immensely loyal. Perhaps not to the Republic, whom she feels sat idly back and ignored the strife of the Cathar, allowing the Mandalorians to ravage the galaxy until they eventually posed a risk to it's financial assets, but to the military. A group who took her in while she was lost and forged her into what she was today, a weapon to use against her most despised enemy. Like many Republic soldiers, she sees the Jedi in a poor light. They had sat back even longer than the Republic had, letting so many die when they could've entered sooner into the war and helped bring about a swift end to the crusades. Yet at the same time, she can't help but feel vaguely grateful to the Jedi that did come to the aide against the wishes of their superiors. It's a conflicting matter for her and one that can only fade with time, or grow worse, as she grows to understand the mysterious monks better.

History:
Born in the year 3989 in the sprawling wildernesses of Cathar, Mesha Khol was the third child of four, born retired warrior and a successful mechanic. Living in the more technologically advanced sectors of her home planet thanks to her parent's position Mesha enjoyed a reasonably comfortable childhood. It became apparent very early on that the young Cathar wasn't fit for the more methodical type of work her mother had made a living doing. She was a fighter, rambunctious even for their species and always picking fights. Her father was quite proud of his youngest, always boasting that one day she'd be a great hunter, maybe even better than him in his prime.

She proved her dad quite right. Embarking on her very first blood hunt at the age of sixteen years old, she managed to bring down an entire Kiltik nest on her own. Unfortunately, no amount of ritualistic bug killing would prepare the youth for the challenges poised to meet her in the coming years. Not long after her first hunt, she was plagued by a long string of nightmares. Carnage all across the planet, darkness descending from the skies, hundreds of Cathar scrambling into the ocean to escape some mysterious pursuer. She watched night after night as her family perished in the fiery inferno that seemed to consume everything before awaking in a sweat. The dreams were so vivid and real... they terrified her to the core. But they were only dreams. A natural response to the violence of the hunt, her mother would tell her. If only she had been right.

Plagued once again by her night terrors, Mesha awoke not to a cold sweat across her body, but to the unnatural shriek of blaster fire and the rumble of explosions. The Mandalorian scourge had descended upon Cathar that night a viscous massacre worthy of her visions had begun. Her father burst into her room in their modest house, quickly dragging her out of bed with the rest of the family to begin their escape. The Mandalorians went house to house, flushing out any who survived the initial bombardments of their cities and gunning them down as they escaped. Through sheer luck, the brutal warriors had yet to sweep through their portion of the city. The ran through the streets as fires consumed house after house, as jump pack born crusades soared through the skies and as blaster bolts came down like rain drops to the thunder of war.

It was very apparent there would be no mercy for their species. Not from the barbaric Mandalorians. This was no act of war... it was an act of merciless genocide. The only hope of survival for them was to board a ship and leave Cathar before the crusaders managed to destroy the few starships their planet had. On the way to the port, the small group was cornered by two of the crusaders. In a final act of bravery to ensure the safety of his family, Mesha's father descended upon the soldiers to draw their fire, the last memory Mesha having of her beloved father being one of agony as he was gunned down in a hail of red bolts while her mother dragged herself and her younger sister off, tears streaming down their faces. It was through his sacrifice and some gut feelings of Mesha's that the trio managed to reach the shattered remains of the port her mother once worked at. Seeing them in reasonably good shape, those who gathered there quickly shoved them upon one of the last vessels and fired them off into space.

Numbed by the experience, Mesha sat huddled in the ship as it left orbit over Cathar, gunfire nearly bringing it down as it escaped the once lush world, now enveloped in flame and death. The shock of it all... the death of her father (and as she later found out) her eldest siblings, who had not managed to escape the massacre like the rest of their family did. The knowledge that nearly everyone she had held dear to her heart were hunted down like animals by these... monsters nearly broke the poor girl. Her worst nightmare, quite literally, had come true before her very eyes. It was days until their ship landed upon Taris and the remnants of her people disembarked to begin their new lives of refugees, some of the first in a war that would soon embroil the entire Outer Rim. But when they landed, what remained was not the sobbing girl that left Cathar's surface. Instead, an embittered warrior looking for revenge. While her mother and sister grieved the loss, she festered on the feelings of rage she held for the Mandalorians.

It was this bitterness and outright hatred for the crusaders that claimed her world that pushed Mesha to join the Republic's Military. While it was true the Mandalorians had yet to siege the Republic and Cathar was not a world of theirs, she was sure that a swift response would be made against the aggressors by the Senate and when it did happen, she wanted to be on the front lines delivering recompense. Saying her goodbyes to her mother and sister, she embarked for the recruitment center as soon as she could. She faked her age on the documents and thanks to her exceptional physical shape, she managed to enter into training almost immediately. Deciding her best bet for seeing conflict quickly was to join up with the special forces, she was sent off from Taris to begin a regime that would break many.

But if the Mandalorians couldn't break her, no drill sergeant would. As determined as ever, Mesha fought her way through the training and came out on top with flying colors. She was swiftly placed into a commando unit where, much to her dismay, she was deployed not against the Neo-Crusades of Mandalore, but filthy pirates and the like. The Republic hadn't even bothered to retaliate for the loss of her homeworld. The Republic simply ignored it and the various other conquests they made into the Outer Rim, blissfully ignoring them as they tore through world after world. It would be six long years until the young soldier would get what she so craved. But in the meanwhile, she pressed herself into her work. Her father had always said she'd grow to be a great warrior and she'd be damned if she was going to tarnish his memory by proving her wrong. Through various assignments she proved herself a potent force, a natural instinct guiding her through any trial the special forces could put her against.

She climbed the ranks from the lowest tier to that of Captain not months before the outbreak of what would be known as the Mandalorian Wars. With the Republic needing a vanguard against the seasoned crusaders, Mesha was offered a position on the IRSOG. A chance at long last to satisfy a blood lust a decade in the making, she was among the first of her platoon to accept the invitation. She's fought for two long years now, paying back every life lost on Cathar that fated night one by one with every skirmish and engagement with no plans of stopping.

Relationships and Acquaintances:

Traest Krey’lis - Commanding Officer

Star Wars: Revanchism [Knights of the Old Republic/Mandalorian Wars]

HeySeuss said
Cool. Might want to have her master die with one of the other IRSOG's. -9 or -22.

But people die when they are killed!

Star Wars - Jedi Exile

Work in progress, dawg.

Name: Kaiburr
Gender: Male
Species: Shard
Age: 121
Homeworld: Orax

Appearance:

Picture

Kaiburr's true form is that of a large bundle of light amethyst colored crystals that radiate with a soft pulsing light in tune with his cognitive functions. Like all of his race, he has been inserted into a specially outfitted droid body that lacks any form of inbuilt AI and instead operates by sensing the 'brain waves' given off by his crystal body, allowing him to interact with and take in his surroundings.

Personality:
Flaws:

Skills:
Specializes in Shien/Djem So, proficient with Shii-Cho and Ataru
Equipment: A lightsaber with an extra long hilt, designed to give the user better grip for power attacks. It possesses a blue Adegan crystal .
Force Abilities:
Basic Force Abilities
Force Concealment
Force Stasis
Telepathy
Tutaminis
Mechu-deru

Personal History: (This bit is your way in. Couple of paragraphs long minimum though remember I'm looking for quality over quantity.
Additional Info:

Star Wars - Rise of Crusade

Ready for Geonosis whenever you are, Knighthawk.

Star Wars - Rise of Crusade

As the shuttle he had spent the better portion of a week on began to rattle and shake signifying entrance into the atmosphere above Mandalore, Xi couldn't resist the urge to let out a long, exasperated sigh. Being assigned to this foul planet wasn't his ideal form of work. The Mandalorians were a broken people, licking their wounds after a sound defeat by the Republic and their Jedi hounds. The scholarly Sith doubted that they would have much to offer his master's cause, but he had no reason to defy the man known as Crusade. After their initial meeting, the Sith Lord had been quite generous by allowing the Anzat full reign over his holocron archives. The knowledge he managed to absorb as a result was incredible, so flying to a backwater planet to turn some defeated warriors against the Order he hated so much was the least he could do in return.

Still, it felt wrong. Dressing himself in the robes of the past, clipping his old lightsaber to his belt and masquerading as a persona he had left behind so long ago. While faking his identity wasn't something foreign to the male after decades of wandering the galaxy, to think himself a Jedi once again was a sensation bizarre to him. At the very least, he could justify it by using his ruse to run the name of the Jedi further through the muck. Gazing outside the port window of the shuttle, he could only sneer as the surface of Mandalore grew closer and closer. The pilot, one of Crusade's many peons, called back through the intercom that they would be landing within ten minutes. They would touch down on the land belonging to clan Den, a reasonably high ranked faction among the wounded Mandalorian hierarchy. They would be the first of the clans he would torment during his little tour through their planet.

After several more minutes of contemplation and smug thoughts of self superiority, the sounds of the secondary thrusters slowing their descent shook Xi from his musings. Without missing a beat, the vampiric Sith stood from his seat just as they touched down upon the grassy plains below. A few mechanical clicks as the automated systems went to work and within seconds a rush of air filled the ship's quarters as the back end of the shuttle opened up and a ramp extended down below, giving its occupants access to the outside world. His sturdy brown robes flickering in the wind, Xi trotted down the metallic ramp until his boot covered feet crunched the grass down below. So it all began.. Assuming the natives of the forsaken planet still had any fight in them, the owners of the homestead they had landed upon would soon come searching and when they arrived, they'd find a Jedi just looking for trouble. The real problem was the wait. For a man of an immortal race, wasting time was never something Xi enjoyed. Either luck shone down upon him, or Mandalorians did indeed have some fire in their spirits as soon, a set of riders broke from over the horizon.

Five riders crested the horizon, all wearing rag tag red armour that appeared to have been cobbled together by various other sets. Only the lead rider had was discernable above the others to have his own set of unique armour. Seamless but definitely not in perfect condition, covered in scrapes and blaster marks and one burn from his right shoulder down to the left side of his waist was obviously made by a lightsaber attempting to cut through the metal, it's failure indicated to what the metal was. Mandalorian Iron.

Blaster fired out from the underslung basters on the swoop bikes, lacing a circle of fire around the shuttle. Several careless shots even crazed the outer hull of the vessel. Two riders broke right, and began circling the vessel clockwise and two left counter-clockwise spaced out in two layers, as the fifth rider obviously the leader rode through, using his blaster to fire near the feet of the man who descended the ramp to stop him. As the bike stop, and the engine was cut out the leader looked at the man, recognizing the attire and the weapon attached to his belt.

"What do you want Jedi? You are not welcome here."

A smirk found its way upon Xi's face as blaster fire came screeching over the hill. As warlike as ever, it seemed. One would assume their thorough defeat would make the damned Mandalorians more cautious about gunning down anybody who came around. Assured they wouldn't dare strike him, the former Jedi trotted towards them until the leader let a volley strike the ground before the Anzat's feet. Stopping his advance, he did his best to try and conceal his amusement and maintain the image of a stern Jedi.

"It does not matter whether I'm welcome here or not. I've been assigned to an important mission by the Council to monitor your people." He informed the lead Mando, doing his best to convey a calm voice while simultaneously lacing it with a certain disdain that one would expect from a Jedi in such a situation. He was there to instigate a conflict, after all. "It's been a long while since the scattering of your clans and while I'm quite certain you're still licking your wounds from the war, we cannot risk the remnants of your great ‘empire’ harboring any... less than peaceful thoughts as they rebuild."

He waved his and and two riders rode off in different directions, in the distance smoke could be seen indicating nearby settlements. “We have been bested, we have had all our weapons and armour removed having to begin anew. You have no need to come and gloat here.” He stepped off his bike, standing to his full height. “I am Mar Den, leader of the Den clan and you are not welcome on my land. We are honourable people Jedi unlike you and your Republic.”

He indicated to the riders circling them. “These weapons we used to defend ourselves, against people like you who would take advantage of us.”

Narrowing his eyes towards the leader of the riders, Xi simply shrugged his shoulders. "It matters not whether you say your clans are bested and disarmed. The council has reason to believe Mandalore may become a threat in the near future. If you're truly sincere about how downtrodden your clan and the others of this world are, you have no reason to deny me entry to your lands." He retorted haughtily, ensuring the tone in which he conveyed his words was just as offensive as the words themselves.

He cast his arms around him. “These are the lands of Mandalore artueii. My ancestors died in defence of these lands against the likes of you Jedi. If you truly came to investigate this world for threats you could have done so from within your ship.” This time it was him who began accusing, with his blaster rifle slung over his back his right hand was down near a holstered pistol. “This world is naught but farm land and mines now, tell me what it is you truly want.”

"Your ancestors forfeited the right to have their lands left alone when they took a torch to the galaxy and expected to conquer it without challenge. You and your clansmen will have to pay the price for their failure, I'm afraid." Xi shot back sharply, his voice steadily growing more aggressive as their verbal battle seemed to begin heating up. Watching his hand slip down towards his holster, a glint of malice flickered in the vampiric Sith's eye. "Those mines of yours can prove to be quite troublesome... Mandalorian Iron is quite an important resource for this planet. A very conflict encouraging resource." He said. In response to the man's aggressive stance he pushed his robes to the side, revealing the saber hanging from his belt. He made no moves towards it however. He simply allowed it to be seen. A threat... no, a challenge of sorts. As if to say 'yours against mine'.

“Use of Mandalorian Iron is our birthright, it is what makes us strong and defends ourselves against you and your type who try to impose your will upon us.” More riders appeared on the horizon, from the direction that the ones earlier had left. Staying well back currently. However it could be seen from afar that whatever armour they were wearing was even more rag tag than the five who rode against the man earlier. He indicated to himself and the two riders who had remained earlier. “As you can see we do not have enough beskar’gam to protect five warriors in new armour, what harm is it giving your order and the Republic?”

He took a step forward. “Though I tell you something. You Jedi have finally revealed yourselves to be the scum you are, pretending you’re all high and mighty. When you come here to what, gloat?” He turned away and began walking to his speeder bike. “I am through with this discussion. I expect you to leave.”

Xi stood silent as the Mandalorian went about claiming his 'birthright' and speaking of how poor the warriors of his clan were, an uncaring look upon his face as he awaited the end of his speech. If nothing else, the Mandalorians certainly did hold a great deal of pride for a ragtag assortments of broken souls clinging to tradition. Only when the man issued his final sentence did the fallen one speak up. "And if I don't?" The imposter questioned defiantly.

The Mandalorian turned, his helmet not betraying a hint of emotion on his hidden face. “You will be made to leave…” He let the sentence trail off. “Of course with the necessary restrictions you would be stunned and we’d have to think of an elaborate ruse to tell the Republic, probably involve some rogue Mandalorians bent on revenge - Such a thing being as unthinkable as it is. Though in all honesty.” His right hand was down holding onto the stock of his pistol by this point. “With the state things are in, I cannot guarantee that all the rifles nearby have working stun functions. In fact, I believe the settings on my own rifle are a little bit off giving kill shots when I merely want to stun.”

He flicked off his helmet mic, stopping the Jedi from hearing him as from atop one of the nearby hills a shot, aimed right at the mans head, left the blaster rifle. Speeder bikes began moving as more blasters began to join the chorus....

So it seemed the old, downed dog still had some fight left in him. Xi's lips parted to speak once again but it became quickly apparent to him that the time for words was over. mainly because of the blaster bolt soaring towards his head from over the hill. The sound of the blaster going off immediately triggered the reaction within the Anzat. He was more than aware of the odds against him at the moment and it proved to be quite useful for him. No sooner than he ducked towards the side did the bolt of blazing red energy screech near his face, the heat radiating off it caressing his skin as it past and struck the ramp of the shuttle behind him.

By the time any of the other riders had began firing upon him, the Sith had already pulled his saber into the palm of his hand with the force. With a simple click the green blade of his weapon extended to its full length, humming as it sliced the air. Two blasts flying past his body as he strayed from the shuttle's vicinity, his eyes narrowed down on the Mandalorian's leader who at this point had drawn his pistol and taken aim. More than prepared to reflect whatever shot he had back at him with his glowing blade, the former Jedi was certainly shocked when the weapon fired off not a stream of condensed energy, but a round metallic slug. Forced to duck away at the last moment, he hissed internally as the round sliced through the robes to his side, narrowly missing his mid section. Another shot soon followed it but the former Jedi, expecting it at this point, managed to roll out of the way of the shot with his superior reflexes.

There was no doubt in his mind another shot would be coming, but using the time it would take for the seasoned warrior to aim the Anzat focused the force upon the archaic weapon in the leader's hand, yanking it out of his grip at the last second and sending the weapon flying off into the distance. Free of such an obstacle, Xi made haste in closing the gap between them as the disgruntled warrior began to reach for his rifle. Thanks to the unnatural speed bestowed upon a force user such as himself, he easily managed the task, the reasonably inaccurate blaster fire from the ever moving riders striking the ground around him like rain as he rushed their commander. Seeing he had little time to pull the weapon up for a shot the old dog managed to throw up his gauntlet to block a horizontal slash from the speedy alien's blade. The lightsaber bounced off the resilient beskar, leaving little more than a scorch mark on it's surface.

For how pathetic his race was in the Sith's eyes, Xi could at least give the man credit for his skill in battle. Even with a Jedi in his face, the old bastard managed to keep him at bay, moving in close to limit Xi's capabilities with his saber while battering any swings away with his impervious armor. The melee, at the very least, guarded Xi from some of the incoming blaster fire as the Mandalorians were forced to divert the rifles as to not strike their leader, even if the bolts would have little effect on him. Yet even the most seasoned could only hold up for so long under the graceful assault of a well trained force user. A single mistake was all it took for the skirmish to end. Miscalculating the trajectory of an incoming strike, the searing blade of Xi's lightsaber cut through the vulnerable joint of the man's elbow. With no beskar to slow it, the gleaming green blade cut straight through and left the man's arm to drop to the ground uselessly.

A scream echoing inside his helmet, it took merely another fraction of a second for Xi to capitalize on the weakness brought on by the decisive strike and claim his other arm with a lightning fast flourish. Left defenseless, Xi easily sent the man sprawling with a force push to the chest. Of course, for his failure, the Mando did manage to give his men enough time to close the gap with their foe. A shower of blaster fire coming upon him, Xi pivoted his lightsaber and began to flick away the bolts as they came in. Seeing an opportunity with one of the riders slightly ahead two of his companions, the dark sider rose his hand and called upon the force once again to force the head rider to swerve to the side, the two behind him unable to turn in time to escape the sudden collision which left all three scattering in a fiery blast that claimed their bikes and their lives.

Yet with a variable swarm of warrior descending upon his position, three was nothing in the grand scheme of things. With several of the bastards circling around him to fire on him from behind, it became obvious fending them off with his saber wouldn't do at all. Left with no other option, he did the unthinkable. The blade of his saber quickly retreated to its hilt, leaving him wide open for the incoming fire. Yet as the Mandalorians focused in on this weakness, by the time the bolts arrived... he was gone. Disappeared into thin air as the riders circled about in confusion. But their foe had not disappeared. No, he had merely hidden himself from them as to better combat them, as was proven when two more of the riders suddenly found themselves losing control of their bikes as they moved to pass each other, the swoops crashing into one another in a blazing inferno that too consumed their riders even as they attempted to jump away.

Paranoia within the ranks, blaster fire began to reign supreme once more. Only ten riders remained and like cattle they would soon fall, one after another. Like a predator striking against his prey he slowly went about dispatching each of their riders. Flipping swoops into the air with bursts of the force so they would crush their riders beneath, crushing repulsors so the vehicles would fly off course and crash into the ground and violently smash their masters, even appearing briefly to ignite his saber and cut a warrior off of his bike before vanishing once more. Before long the carnage had claimed all of the riders, each and every one of them slaughtered by the ruthless 'Jedi' even in retreat.

Once he was assured that every threat had been taken care of and even the sniper who begun the entire fight had fled to the hills in fear or self preservation did the vampire will himself to reappear, the force energy he had cloaked himself in vanishing for good. Stalking slowly towards the only remaining life on the field, the clan leader whom he had bested earlier in the fight and 'disarmed' quite literally. The man laid upon the ground, struggling to try and stand despite his lack of limbs. A cruel smile on his face, Xi placed a boot onto his chest piece and forced him onto his back from the pathetic position he had forced himself onto up on his stubs.

"You have no honour Jedi, finish what you started." The leader spat up at the Jedi, hatred burning in his voice as the Anzat drew his saber and ignited the luminescent green blade once more. Pointing his fingers towards the man's helm, he used the force to ensure his head jerked upwards to reveal the weakness of his neck. "Oh, I know I don’t. Soon the whole of Mandalore will know as well. You've been of great service, my friend." The arrogant Sith purred in a condescending manner as he swept his saber down and cut through the man's throat, severing his head from his body before he could breath another defiant breathe.

In all honesty, Xi had expected to spend so much more time on this rock. But thanks to the rashness of one man, he had saved himself days of effort. With luck the lone survivor would return to his clan and bring him the news of the terrible massacre that had occurred on their lands. Men of their clan, the leader of their worthless existence cut down by a ruthless Jedi looking to further cripple their people. He considered it a success, all and all. Deactivating his saber and allowing it to stick to his belt via its magnetic clip the vile alien bent forward to collect the head of his fallen foe, looking down at the helmet with a quizzical expression.

"Wonder if it'll fit me..."

________________

Having successfully collected the armor of the fallen clan leader to further add insult to injury, Xi returned to the shuttle and within moments left the atmosphere of Mandalore for the wide open abyss of space. Having spent most of the trip tending to the various burns from close calls with blaster bolts and the nasty cut the main Mandalorian's slugthrower had left on his side the Sith at last had time to himself. Time which he spent contacting Admiral Roland to report his good news.

The return was curt, the admiral standing tall and proud in the hologram. “My congratulations to you, however preparations are not near finished for the Emperors reveal.” He nodded to someone outside the hologram. “We are sending you data now, you are to head to Geonosis and locate KallaTatha. He will inform you off your mission.” With that the hologram faded.

Star Wars: For a Few Credits More

AngelNoire said
I dont respond to every post. And I do include at least a paragraph. And the whole someones feelings might get hurt if I dont respond to theirs thing is ridiculous because nobody gets that butthurt over something like that... Because thats ridiculous. I know you in particular seem to like to rebuke me, which I honestly don't mind, but at least have legitimate things to say. In the future, unless you are being personally affected, I would prefer you in particular dont jump on the bandwagon the way you do. You aren't being blunt, you're being an ass. This is being blunt.Okay, thats noted and valid. In the future I will wait until I have more to share and type it up in a longer post. No problem.

Enalais said
Trust me you haven't seen how bad i can be. If anything i'm being nice to you.