Avatar of Bastian


Recent Statuses

1 yr ago
Current Anyone else just existing?


Scrawling my cryptic texts on the wall of this virtual alleyway

Most Recent Posts

Tybren | Mandalore | Keldabe, Administrative District
Mentions:@Quest Abandoner

Tybren gazed intently at Rask as he offered up a scant explanation of his presence on Mandalore. The warrior kept his expression and posture as carefully neutral as he could to mask the tiny worm of anxiety squirming in his gut. He was no closer to determining his old comrade's intentions, and, like so many times before, was painfully aware of how close he could be playing this to his own demise. An awkward reunion on the street corner or a quick, brutal shootout - the two options now balanced on a vibroblade's edge, and failure to call the right cards here could potentially bring negative consequences not just to Tybren, but to whomever in the city the gunman was out to get. His mind flickered quickly to the young Jedi sprawled on the training mat this morning: red-faced and determined, but helpless.

"Hell, I'll be honest, I forgot about the Founding. I'm planetside lookin up old friends is all, just worked out that I ended up here at the worst damn time for it."

Tybren hadn't known Rask to let things like that slip by him, but at the same time it seemed a ridiculous thing to lie about. Either senility set in at an earlier age on those high-grav worlds or the old drifter had more important things to worry about than disrupting Founding Day. Tybren eased up, just a bit - took the hand off of his beskad and placed them both squarely on his hips. It was a relief to know that Rask wasn't openly running with the Irregulars anymore, too, and it sounded like he hadn't heard from them in a long time. Still, seemed to Tybren that the only reason he decided to switch sides was the cred-well had run dry. Hopefully there was more to it than that.

"You weren't on the itinerary, but I'm happy I ran into ye."

He smiled, mouth compressed into a thin line, and nodded slightly. A cheap sentiment easily given.

"You look like you done well for yerself, Tybren. How'd a merc like yourself come into retirement? That don't happen every day. Make it big, or you got a side gig goin?"

He had to chuckle at that, smile widening a bit. No, it didn't happen every day. Not even most days. He was damn lucky to make it this far, in fact.

"Didn't quite win it all; just got out at a good time. When Mand'alor called us home, I offered my services to my people instead. Somehow I found myself promoted. Now I oversee training, smooth things over between the different moving parts of our... unusual government. Not typical jobs for an old soldier, but they can be rewarding." He patted the pommel of the beskad slowly. "No one's hired my sword in a good bit of time, now."

Tybren slowly let out the rest of a long breath that he had been holding. Much as he tried, he had never been great at reading the types of people he came across in the day-to-day. Politicians, Jedi, the like, they all seemed maddeningly inscrutable to him. Soldiers, though... mercs, outlaws... marshals. These were people he knew a little better. And though he wasn't inclined to trust Rask, there was something about him that seemed different than way back in the day. Much different. He seemed sad, or tired somehow, in a way that Tybren felt an inexplicable affinity for.

Then the drums began, and the murmur of his thoughts and the vague anxiety all dissipated gradually as the beats picked up from a scattered call-and-response to an uninterrupted canvas of sound, a perfect harmony rising into the heady air of the crowded streets. Like a man suddenly stricken by a trance Tybren half-turned away from Rask and lifted his head slightly to look into the middle distance just above the rooftops, feeling a surge of emotion grip him. It had been a long, often times confusing, sometimes painful road to get here for him, and he suspected the same for many of his kin that walked the streets around him. And yet, here they were, strong as they had ever been. As the deep baritone refrains of Vode An began to join the drumbeats from somewhere in the city, Tybren found himself quietly mouthing along. An otherworldly confidence now had him in its grip; feeling invulnerable, he took a massive risk and turned his back completely to Rask. Time to call his card. If he was wrong, this was where it would all end. But he had a good feeling it wasn't quite time yet. He bent briefly to pick up his helmet and turned back over his shoulder to regard Rask.

"Walk with me, if you've got the time. I'll have to be at the Citadel soon, but we can catch up on the way - maybe I can help you find the friends you're looking for."

With that, he lifted his helmet back over his head, exhaling a bit as the pressure seals popped into place, and turned his gaze back towards the bustling street ahead.

Lyo | Mandalore | Keldabe, Administrative District

A halo of random objects floated freely around his head, tumbling end over end in the air as if drifting through the vacuum of open space. A hydrospanner, a comb, a flimsiplast booklet full of touristy Keldabe postcards - these and other things decorating Lyo's small temporary sleeping quarters came together to form a loose circle reminiscent of planetary rings as he sat cross-legged in the center, deep in his meditations. His mind was carefully and studiously empty, deafened to the distracting noise of intrusive thoughts as he listened to the heartbeat of the Galaxy. The little currents and eddies of the living Force swirled around him, and like a practiced tailor he gathered them into a thread that ran through him.

Lyo allowed the Force to flow fully into his body, starting in his chest and spreading through his limbs, making him strong. Only, as it flowed through his cybernetic arm and leg, he felt himself focusing in more deeply on their minutia: the many thousands of wires, synthetic nerves and microactuators that allowed him to move them as if they were his own flesh and blood. The Force was indeed flowing through these machines, same as his real limbs, but he could feel deeply their slowness, their seeming mockery of his desire to move forward unhindered and unafraid. His resentment met their defiance, an escalating crescendo of frustration that seemed to burn, burn like smoking mechanical wreckage, up from his fingertips to his arms, towards his head, to his mind -

And suddenly his eyes were open, his meditation interrupted, the floating objects thumping to the floor one by one. Il-Lyo let out a long, ragged sigh. Damnit. It seemed like there was no escape from the ruin of his body these days, not even in the Force. He lifted his gaze from the floor, only to discover that one thing was still floating, right in front of his face: his lightsaber crystal. Suspended from a chain around his neck, the glimmering yellow shard of Pontite seemed to echo his simmering feelings of annoyance in the Force. He kept it there to remind himself of his old life, and to use in the construction of a new saber, if he ever came by the materials. His superiors had not yet provided them, and he lacked the means to gather the right equipment himself for the time being. As he sat there, wondering if he would ever be worthy enough to carry such a weapon again, he felt the lightest hint of a tug on his neck in the direction of the door, almost as if the crystal had willed itself to move away from him.

Lyo stared, disbelieving, and shook his head slightly to clear it as he released his hold on the crystal and it dropped back to rest against his chest. Must have accidentally moved it without really thinking about it. He did need to get going, after all. Perhaps he had subconsciously been trying to shake himself out of his reflections. The young Guardian quickly scrambled up off the floor, throwing on his robe and grabbing his cane, then pausing to take a deep breath before stepping out into the hallway.

The rhythmic clicking of the cane on hard, polished flooring made for a curious duet with the heavier, less consistent thumping of his cybernetic leg. He tried to be discreet as he moved among various leaders and dignitaries, but in this state stealth was not exactly his best attribute. Occasionally he would lock eyes with someone and a spark of familiarity would run through him. Many of those not wearing armor as they shuffled through the halls had been at the meeting this morning. From his position "guarding" the door, Lyo had gotten a pretty good look at most of them as they made hasty exits from the room, looking to escape the rising tensions within.

He'd been ordered to keep watch with the Mandalorians as the more influential Guardians of the Empire went inside to mingle with the guests and keep a direct eye on their Empress. Once, he might have resented being placed in such a position - a slight on his capabilities and his pedigree. In present times, however, he knew there was little he could do to protect anyone that his peers could not do better. If anything, he was frustrated by the thickness of the walls making it harder for him to listen in on the conversations occurring within. Any tiny bit of new information on Galactic politics would be invaluable to his second family. He had eventually resorted to reaching out with the Force and gently probing the mood in the chamber, taking care not to delve too carefully into any one being's mind so as not to alert the other Force sensitives to his doings.

Even without the Force, it had been easy to hear the Mandalore's sudden sharp reprimand of Empress Renkar. The silence in the chamber afterward had been louder than any of the preceding hum of discussion. And very shortly following that, the attendees began to make their excuses and head for the door. Lyo had felt a vague mixture of amusement and embarrassment as he watched them all go.

The setting sun fell into his one good remaining eye, the pain pulling him roughly away from his memories. He had reached the entrance of the Citadel. Out there in the city was another meeting, one that carried far more weight for him and for his own future. If he wasn't fit to accompany the Empress, then let the Empress take care of herself for the time being. One long, laborious step at a time, Il-Lyo Sechero waded into the Founding Day crowds.

Tybren | Mandalore | Keldabe, Administrative District
Mentions:@Quest Abandoner

The narrow lanes of open sky overhead were beginning to fade, gradually turning the color of new-kindled flame. Feeling somewhat stifled by the rush of people so near at hand, Tybren turned his face up to greet the gathering dusk, rapidly cooling meal momentarily forgotten as his thoughts inevitably returned to his duty. It was about time to get going. The friction at the Mand'alor's celebration between the Masters of the Enclaves and the various other Jedi factions would likely be reaching a critical point tonight, and it was his job to make sure nothing came out of that aside from a few bruised egos. He begrudgingly spooned up another heaping spoon of spice-clogged broth. Getting shot at every day was preferable to standing in a stuffy room listening to some puffed-up -

“Sometimes, I think starving would be preferable to Mandalore’s food. Ain’t never developed the taste for it, myself.”

Tybren's head jerked automatically towards the speaker, a tall human man that had lumbered his way out of the crowd, speaking as casually as if they'd been sitting here swapping jokes together the whole time. A very tall man. Too tall to be anyone else, really.

“Ain't seen you in some time, Tybren. How you been?”

Too slow, too stupid, that about sums it up for right now. The thoughts went unspoken as he took in the visage of his onetime comrade-in-arms. Older, more weathered. Still looking like he headbutted a vibroblade every now and then. Not so different from himself, all things considered, but life on the Outer Rim tended not to be kind to those in their line of work. Luckily, Rask seemed to be happy to see him. If he hadn't been, there probably would have been several fresh blaster holes in Tybren's head as of right now. It had been a very long time indeed, but the Mirialan hadn't forgotten the speed of the other man's draw.

Slowly, summoning as much grace as he could after being caught so shamefully, Tybren picked himself up off the bench. Even standing, it was a challenge to look the old boy in the eyes, as tall as he was, but he did so while returning the trademark carefree smile with a small one of his own. He reached forward to clasp an arm in greeting as Rask came close enough.

"I always heard it said that if you could survive the food, you'd be halfway ready to survive the people. I guess now and then I still have to get some practice in."

He pulled back with a dry chuckle, dominant hand coming now to rest ever so lightly on the hilt of the beskad at his side.

"Rask Coburn. 'Some time' is underselling it a bit, I'd say. I'm still kicking, myself."

He eyed the man warily now. Despite not being in any immediate danger, he couldn't bring himself to place any trust in the outlaw, not after the things they did. After Kamino, Tybren had... lost himself for awhile. Dove a bit too enthusiastically into his work, took some bad jobs. He had lost some honor during his run with the Irregulars, to be sure, and being reminded of it now didn't exactly bring back any warm feelings. His eyes cut across Rask's gear, looking for any hidden weapons, and caught the very obviously positioned Regulator badge. Now that was new.

Did he actually go straight, or is this some new ploy?

What's he doing on Mandalore?

It might have been that ten years ago, Tybren would have just asked him to his face. If Rask was here to disrupt Founding Day somehow, he had to know. But too many years in Jedi council chambers and training rooms had turned a merc's brittle tongue soft, and nowadays he had to think twice about trading barbs with anyone he met aside from certain oafish Gotals that sold lousy food. With a bit of an effort, he put Tybren the mercenary away, and brought Tybren the politician out once more.

"Of course, it's a bit different nowadays. I'm retired, mostly. Doing a lot more talking than shooting." He eyed the other carefully, hand now a bit more firmly on the pommel of his beskad. "What about you? Here for Founding Day, I'm guessing. You still... working?"

Tybren | Mandalore | Keldabe, Administrative District



The forest of upturned lightsaber blades moved in time to his bellowed commands.


His young charges brought their sabers up in a high guard and held that position, most grasping the silvery hilts as warily as if they were handling a live, spitting rawl. Tybren of Clan Kelborn slowly circled the group of around twenty young Jedi, making note of who held to the form and who began to waver. He darted in and out between them, here using his boot to widen the planted feet of a Togruta with stubby montrals and there gently but firmly rotating the shoulders of a Rodian that barely came up to the shoulders of the next shortest of her peers. At one point, noticing a more immediate problem, Tybren's arm flashed out, his beskar-clad arm catching a student's glowing blade as it dipped precariously out of guard position towards the elbow of the next one in line. He flashed that one a particularly frosty look.

"A properly prepared defense can save your life. A shoddy one can snuff it out."

His Jedi colleagues would call these Padawans, but most barely looked it. They had only been allowed to construct lightsabers a week or so back, and it was a wonder that they hadn't killed themselves with the things a dozen times already. Tybren called them cubs; strip away the pomp and ceremony, the precious Jedi mysticism, and that's what they were.

He was damn proud of them.

Most had already mastered the basics. Positioning, posture, attention. The little incident with the attempted arm amputation had drawn the looks of the two cubs that were involved, but the rest continued staring forward, eyes boring into the imaginary enemy in front of them. They may have just been Jedi cubs now, but he would make Mandalorians out of them. He waded his way out from amidst his students and began to circle around to the front of the room, where a wide transparisteel viewport ran from one edge of the wall to the other, providing an excellent view of Keldabe's central Administrative District. Wide lanes of beautifully paved streets carved through thickets of glimmering metal cityscape. Far down below the tower of the city's Jedi Embassy, the ever-growing crowds continued to fill the avenues in anticipation of the Founding Day festivities. As Tybren approached his customary place in front of the viewport, another cub on the edge of the group caught his eye. Seemingly staring forward like the rest, the young human boy was, in actuality, craning his neck to take in the sights of the celebration below.

As he passed, Tybren hooked the tip of his boot behind both of the boy's rather regrettably closely-planted feet, and swept forward at a low angle. At the same time, he folded his hand over the smaller one gripping the active lightsaber, thumbed the activation switch, and neatly plucked the wilting blade from the cub's grasp. He turned to face the daydreamer just as he landed with a startled cry, harmlessly coming to rest on his cloth-swaddled backside. Tybren rapped the pommel of the deactivated lightsaber against the back of his gauntlet as he looked deeply into the slightly watery eyes, the sharp ping of the sound ringing across the classroom. The other cubs could no longer resist the temptation to look. He could hear the whisper of their robes as they shifted to gaze at their fellow student on the ground, his ears and neck beginning to turn crimson.

"Distraction invites catastrophe."

After holding his gaze towards the cub evenly for a few heartbeats, Tybren bent down, offering a hand to help him back to his feet. He valiantly attempted to ignore the dull ache that spread through his own knees as he did so. A slow smile blossomed on Tybren's face as he saw the firm set to his young charge's jaw, the fire brimming in those eyes that had been barely squeezing away tears just a few seconds ago. This one would not make the same mistake again.

He ruffled the young one's hair before resuming his walk up to the front of the room. Some of the wordless tension that filled the space bled away almost immediately, and the cubs resumed their focus as he turned back to face the whole lot of them. He gave the command to drop, and immediately most deactivated their sabers, shaking the strain and soreness out of their muscles. Small whispers of anticipation began to fill the previously silent classroom. Tybren fell into a military parade rest, hands behind his back.

"As I'm sure all of you know, the celebrations for Founding Day begin today."

The whispers grew in volume. Some of the cubs at the back began to visibly squirm in excitement.

"Beings of all kinds, from all over the Galaxy, have come to see the sights of our city. To get a taste of our way of life. Down there are countless wonders to go out and see and feel and taste. So. Of course..."

He was pretty sure some were holding their breath.

"You're all to report immediately to your Masters for additional duties."

Immediate gasps and noises of despair.

"If your Masters decide it's okay to turn you loose on the city after that, then be my guest. But that's not my responsibility. Dismissed."

He couldn't hold in the amused chuckle any longer as the murmuring students filed out of the three doors at the back of the classroom, soon to be off running in a hundred different directions to track down their Masters for chores, or meditation, or some other Jedi nonsense. In another week they'd be back here again to try their hand at real sparring for the first time. He would be wearing more armor than just gauntlets for that one. As their footfalls slowly faded away, so did his mirth. He turned to look down at the city again with a heavy sigh. In a handful of hours, he would no doubt be called up to stand with his Jedi fellows as diplomats from the other Galactic powers blathered at each other at length for the better part of the day. He turned away from the viewport, rolling stiff shoulders as he set out towards his quarters. Might as well make something of his freedom while he had it.

Now clad head to toe in his beskar, Tybren carefully picked his way through familiar streets teeming with strangers. A trio of Quarren busily marched past, taking up most of the lane and bowling over a few other passersby as they headed back towards the spaceport for some unknown purpose. He noted with some amusement that their reckless pace suddenly became quite accommodating whenever they stopped to give a wide berth to any other armored Mandalorians that happened to be making their way through the crowds. Clones in their customary white armor stood back near the walls, keeping the peace and directing the noticeably confused offworlders around. As he made his way further away from the heart of the city towards the more mercantile outer steads, Tybren scanned the glowing signs to see if anything pricked the interest of his rumbling stomach.

A sudden realization and a spark of familiarity brought him closer to one of the signs. Yes, he could see it now - a pulsing yellow and pink amalgamation with half of the letters missing. A walk-up ordering station was cut into the side of the building facing the street, with a massive gray-furred Gotal hanging halfway over the counter, shouting descriptions of food and accompanying prices in the direction of the passersby.

"Happy Founding Day, Jesca. Scare away any good customers today?"

The Gotal paused mid-shout, doing a double take at the armed Mandalorian that had somehow snuck up on him in the middle of a line of customers.

"What - I - well, if it ain't the Politician himself!! Tybren, my friend! What brings ya all the way down here to see us little folk? Good ta see ya, of course." Jesca wiped his grease-stained forearms on his apron and placed a massive, taloned hand on Tybren's shoulder for a moment.

It had been months... maybe even years since he'd been at this counter, but the shaggy restaurateur somehow never managed to forget a face, or a good turn.

"Needed some fresh air. Figured I'd come see if you'd gotten run out of town yet." Tybren popped the seal on his helmet and swept it off, putting it under his arm as he reached the front of the counter.

"Despite my best efforts, no!" Jesca leaned in conspiratorially, which made little different as his voice stayed the same volume. "My prices haven't gone up in ten years! I keep cookin', they keep buyin'." He popped back up and clapped his hands together. "So! What can I get ya?"

"Whatever you have on special for the day." Tybren waved a hand dismissively, suddenly too tired for that particular problem. "I'm not picky."

"Yeah? Well, be wary what you ask for, heh." The Gotal whirled around at that, thick arms scooping up a bowl, shaking, and then whisking in a lightning quick, well-practiced motion. After only a minute or two, a greasy bowl filled with cyan-colored noodles swimming in a much murkier blue broth thudded into the counter in front of the Mandalorian. "There we go! Got plenty of your precious Mando spices in that one. That'll be five credits."

Tybren nodded and dropped the requested amount on the counter, where it was quickly scooped up by the massive furred hand. An awkward moment lingered. The Gotal seemed about to say something more, his wide smile faltering somewhat as memories of darker times, an unhappy meeting of two souls escaping different burning worlds, might have flickered between them. Tybren turned to glance at the waiting customers behind him, and when he looked back, the moment had passed, the Gotal's amiable face the same as it had ever been.

"...well, I'll see you around, Jes. Take care. Watch out for the health inspector!" Tybren scooped up his food and helmet and cut through the crowd away from the counter, as if dodging Jesca's answering taunts. Miraculously, he found a bench with an open spot. He squeezed his way there and sat down, the strangers on the other end making way a bit for the armed and armored Mandalorian that was suddenly encroaching on their space. Lifting a heaping spoonful of noodles to his mouth as he looked around, Tybren took an exploratory bite. And immediately fought the urge to choke. Spicy. Even for him. He looked down, carefully inspecting the murky broth. A close look confirmed the presence of massive amounts of spice, dark grains swirling amidst the noodles in enough quantity to make a Gamorrean's eyes water. His head snapped up to the restaurant counter, where he caught the Gotal studying him over the passing heads of the crowd. The furred face suddenly tipped back in raucous laughter. Grunting in toothless frustration, Tybren threw out the rudest gesture he could think of at the moment in that direction, then resigned himself to eating the stuff, bite by bite.
Done - though I have yet to find a face for him.

@Bastian Yes it is up! I'm just waiting for a few more applications!

Cool, I've got a good idea of the character I want to play. I'll get started on a sheet.
Hey there, is this still going? I've played quite a bit of D&D, but mostly in homebrew settings. It'd be nice to explore the classic Forgotten Realms environments for once.
Happy New Year! I think I'll wait for someone else to post since I did just before things moved along.
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet