Dear People: Please stop 'hating' a day where people try love with each other, however corporate the reason. Remember instead that there are people out there trying to love you, too, and let them.
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10 yrs ago
Gone from 6/19 to 6/27.
10 yrs ago
Ah, Buddhism. Dramatically worded for his and her pleasure.
10 yrs ago
Grave digger, grave digger, let me be the one that got away.
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10 yrs ago
My children, raise your proud and terrible heads. I will find you a better world, where man is a cautionary tale and angels fear to tread.
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Bio
This is my bio. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
@Ellri Sheet edited, should be good with the alterations.
@Sundered Echo Edited that as well, though his hand-to-hand combat is something he would have worked to keep up and progress with alongside his lightsaber combat. The latter is his focus, but I figure he's about as capable a physical combatant as it's a fifteen year old can be.
As a mild counter, be careful how much you discount technical knowledge and what a young person is capable of learning and achieving martially. Having worked relatively extensively with young fencers, I've seen first hand the skill that can be achieved by a focused individual at a young age, puberty or no. Especially with the Makashi, which relies on precision rather than strength and has many such parallels, he's had plenty of time to be a pretty significant threat (though his Djem So is probably a bit weak against more fully-grown opponents).
That being said, he does of course lack battlefield experience--all his knowledge would be technical and such. My references to him as a duelist are all more about his potential--and possible sparring notoriety--rather than any actual battlefield accomplishments.
This right here was the kind of shit that gave Sem a headache and a half for weeks.
It was bad enough he had to be screaming through space in what amounted to a metal tin can, hoping no one would happen to so much as graze them in the crossfire. That they would be boarding an enemy ship with no real hope of recall or retreat other than taking the damn thing was just a bonus. The real kicker, though, was that he was strapped inside a tin can heading on a mission with no hope of retreat with a whole squad of troops at least as anxious as he was. War, he was pretty convinced, was no place for a zeltron at the best of times. Being able to hear the feelings and thoughts of the people around (-don'tletmediehere-neversaidgoodbye-lastmealwasfuckingrations-itsokitsokitsok-) made it awful hard to dehumanize your enemy, to ignore the people's pain around you and focus on crushing out your own, which is why usually he preferred to be doing his part from as far away from other people as possible.
So naturally, they throw him into the exact opposite situation. He was lucky like that.
"It's going to be fine, guys." He found himself chuckling under his breath to no one in particular. "First one to the bridge gets to be 'Captain' all trip." It was a pretty weak joke, but a few smiles cracked here and there. Good ol' Sem. 'Least he tried.
Anything else he was going to say went out the window--or, more importantly, the boarding hatch as it popped open and they humped it out into the ship. From there it was actually easier for Sem in some ways. He had to hand it to the Liberators, when the time came to get shit done they buckled down and did it. Thoughts of death turned to thoughts of training, taking defensive positions, covering corners, and it was easier to slip in among it all and let his own thoughts of a cold, breathless death disappear. As the mild opposition began to appear, Sem got to work doing what Sem's did.
Shoot.
It was the one thing he was really, really good at. Half instinct, half training, half voodoo for all he cared, he had this part of the job down pat. An Imperial down the way--engineer or something, nice guy, Sem managed to pick up about as much as whatthefrag before the left side of his head disappeared. Stock to shoulder, barrel up, no need to look down the scope now just pop-pop-pop. He'd found a corner, shoulder pressed into metal grating, some annoying little button or another flashing in front of his eyes, but as they leapfrogged their way down to engineering he didn't have much time to do anything but focus and shoot.
Don't think. Just shoot.
By the time they were pinning down the doors, the ship rattling around them from the pirates--who oh, by the way, were supposed to be on their side!--he'd gotten himself settled and was ready for war. Of the few things Sem was truly grateful for, his knee pads were one of them. Flat enough to be stable--none of this rolling rounded bullshit--and padded enough with the addition of a sock or two to be comfortable, they let him take up a firing position by the doorway like no other.
Sighting down the barrel towards the cleverly marked Aft Doorway, Sem widened his stance just slightly. Time to earn his meager paycheck.
"No one's getting through here, bossman." He said, as much to himself as anyone else. "Just like back home."
In the South which assuming from Tommy boy's drawl he's from. Well yes indeed because if it has racist and or sexists overtones a redneck probably said it at least once. Why? Because Merica.
That's pretty much what I was going for, alongside general soldier drawl--I've known my share of soldiers, most of whom didn't miss an opportunity to discriminate, objectify, slander or otherwise be derogatory towards their brothers in arms in what (I sincerely hope) is an affectionate manner. Plus, I can't really tell how many cultural stereotypes we're actually retaining in this future world of ours. That being said...
Tbh it felt gross to me too. Plus like, come on, its been nearly a millenium...
That's probably more accurate. Teasingly sexist and mildly flirty, intended--gross, probably not. Edit button, here I come!
@Fallenreaper Sure, no skin off my nose. He'll be an echani in a matter of moments--not much of his bio will actually change, so you'll have to to better than that to keep me out. ;)
If my .gif skills weren't so weak-fu, I'd totally rock the 'Bit of both!' line at the end of Guardians of the Galaxy.
On a more serious note, I figure that Trent is a sniper--he's working explicitly at long range with a weapon that fires very dangerous rounds with almost no travel time against the enemies that are most susceptible to it. Since in general their equipment is meant for closer engagements, and in particular their damaging missiles are explicitly able to be outpaced, I figure Trent's initial foray into the combat basically lets him be a show off like that.
...and then the hammer drops, and he starts drawing agro, and realizes that DPS can't tank for dick. Wait for it. ;)
Arix looks like most other young echani--so much so that, without knowing how to read body language like an echani, he would seem the same as most of them. At fifteen he is tall and lean for his age and in notably excellent condition, notably toned with wiry muscle and trim of fat from the admittedly excessive training he subjects himself to. His eyes are a dark slate, his hair a chin-length shag of silver but for the thin, trailing braid of his station. He has no noticeable scars and traditionally a calm, somber expression.
Aside from his race's cultural talent of using body language to predict maneuvers in battle, there is little that separates an echani from a lithe, well-toned human of similar stature but their silver hair, grey eyes, and remarkably slight genetic diversity. That being said, Arix like the rest of his kind has been trained in the echani martial art, and as such is a combatant of note even unarmed.
Arix wants very badly to be the model Jedi. He walks like a Jedi and talks like a Jedi, but he isn't one really. Not yet. He feigns poise, but inside he is unbalanced, undone--and so angry. Try as he will to let go of his disdain for the lazy or the weak, it is only because he knows he should that he treats them with the humility and respect they 'deserve' rather than ignoring them completely. A perfectionist, it pains him to leave a task unfinished or an art unperfected, and so he prefers to master one talent before bridging to the next.
For all his flaws, however, he truly believes in the ideal of the Jedi as Warrior Peacekeepers, heroes and heroins standing for justice and truth in a galaxy that can't protect itself without them. He believes it enough to die for it, and suffer for it...but does he believe that he'll ever be one of them?
More in question.
Flaws: Of the many flaws Arix has, perhaps his most defining is his belief in himself. Call it confidence, willpower, arrogance, whatever--Arix is stubborn. He has never met a challenge he was willing to admit was beyond him, never seen a feat that he does not believe he could come to equal given time. Approaching problems with his strongest foot forward, his grasp of subtlety extends into swordplay and that is absolutely it. Absolutely willing to bash his way through a problem if there is any hope of success, it is this willingness to self-abuse and sacrifice that fuels his perfectionism.
Arix is a Jedi, and all that implies--at least, he sees himself as one, and strives to achieve it. But his drive to be the best, to perfect what he applies his attention to can breed a contempt for others that he must temper. An individual capable of great sacrifice and feats of heroism, he often finds himself looking to the people he is to protect and wondering just what about them is so worth protecting. It does not make him a great Jedi, but he is confident that he will overcome his feeling of superiority, that the satisfaction in a job well done for its own sake will overcome his occasionally scathing opinions.
While most know of Arix' cold and aloof behavior, biting criticism and obsession with perfecting himself, it isn't known to many quite how far he resists the slide. Having given into to the Dark Side once before and felt the strength, the confidence, the puissance that came with it, his dip in the water was alarmingly comfortable. Still, in the face of the Sith, he is no longer certain that fighting fire with fire is such a terrible idea. If it's what will keep him alive, possibly long enough to carve a way for himself and others out of the Sith compounds, then so be it.
As an echani, Arix was raised with the understanding that combat was the truest form of communication. Practically from birth he has trained in the echani martial art, a practice he was careful to continue as part of his conditioning as a padawan, and as such is a surprisingly proficient martial artist for his age. His true talent, however, lies in his saberwork: Arix has all the potential to be one of the best lightsaber duelists of his age.
Having poured his time and energy into his swordsmanship, even as a padawan Arix demonstrates a truly impressive proficiency in the Makashi, Form II. The style's focus on precision and efficiency appealed to him, and his competitive nature made it a natural focus over more practical forms such as Soresu or Niman. Though by no means a master, he has moved on from the basic forms of the style to a higher level of practice commonly associated with the rare Knights devoted to the style, able to attack and defend with minimal effort and focus sufficiently to resist the Force attacks of an opponent. He has also learned to appreciate and utilize the somewhat esoteric art of trakata in his bladework, taking advantage of the lightsaber's ability to turn off to throw his opponents off balance and take advantage of superior positioning and distance control. With his Master's assistance he has begun cross-training in Form V, both the reverse-grip Shien style and the more powerful Djem So variant, as methods to overcome the potential weaknesses of his preferred style, leading to a surprisingly fluid combatant style for one of his age. Utilizing multiple grips on his blade, seeking coverage for his weaknesses and his unrelenting dedication to his training have made him a saberist beyond his years..
At the expense of most other basic skills. With only meager ability to do anything but muscle his way through his problems, Arix has run into the very real possibility that he might have gotten himself into a trap he can't smash his way out of.
Arix possesses a solid smattering of the basic abilities, with a particular focus on Force Speed--he is notably above others of his peer group and demonstrates a natural affinity for it. His true talent, however, is something a bit darker.
Arix has once before tapped into the strength of will that is Force Rage, and was alarmed enough both by the sensation of walking that dark road and the pain he very nearly caused his master to swear off its use.
That he remembers how good it felt is not something he is proud of.
Arix can't remember a time when he didn't want to be a Jedi.
As a young boy he knew them to be the heroes they were--beacons against an uncaring and vicious universe, asking nothing and giving everything for the sake of others. They stood for right, freedom from oppression, order over chaos, and he craved that. He wanted to be he hero of the story, the handsome Knight that lead the charge, the back his companions watched in awe as he did the impossible because it was the right thing to do. It was the most natural thing in the world that he was found to be gifted in the force, one of relative many of his people, and taken in to be trained as a Jedi at the age of nine.
He came to find out, of course, that the truth was far from how he dreamed it--not of the Jedi, but himself. He knew what the Jedi stood for, that they must be generous, compassionate, wise...and he saw none of those things in himself. Petty in a way he would never have imagined, his burning desire to stand as one of the august Knights was matched only by his disappointment at finding so little in himself of worth. It was only through effort, then, that he could be one of them. If he wasn't so naturally suited to the task he would force himself to be by sheer strength of will, come what may.
And so Arix became cold, distant, focused. He couldn't afford errors--he had to be perfect. With what was at stake, what could be at stake, there was simply no other acceptable option. Too slow with a blade and someone could die. Too fast with a temper and someone could die. Jedi were meant to lead by example, and if he wanted to be one of them he would need to be the best of them, above reproach. The lightsaber, symbol of the Jedi to the galaxy at large, became his fixation--he felt the Force most naturally with it in hand, felt it flow through him more easily as he slid through its katas, and so it seemed natural to him that this was where he should devote himself. While the Force may be fickle, his dedication to the Light in question, all he had to do to be a superior duelist was be perfect.
He could do that.
A model student, he gave all the right answers and acted precisely as a Jedi should, but it was a cold thing--it lacked sincerity, was rigid and doctrinal instead of warm and genuine. Done for its own sake, their principles ran hollow--but it was then that he became the padawan learner of Master Marichel Sint. The Jedi was powerful, poised, and she felt with such honest compassion that Arix was captivated. She taught him to see combat--and, more importantly, communication--on a grander scale, to realize that communication was the point and that only by embodying that would he ever achieve as he hoped to. She made him see the worth in his lessors, the value in every life and the sanctity of protecting it. She made him feel whole when he was so worried that he would never be who he should. Under her training he has, in many ways, begun to blossom as a Jedi. By providing him focus for his passion and aggressive perfectionism, she helps put him in balance.
Still, he is somewhat frustrated at his lack of progression. Having spent six years in the order and become the equal of many full fledged Knights in lightsaber combat, it is frustrating that he is considered not ready for the Trials. Commonly touted as too focused on the physicality of the Jedi and too interested in combat, he only recently begun to focus on what that means--in the same way as every other obstacle in his life, Arix intends to focus on any objections and overcome them through main force of will.
Light Side: If Arix can learn to subordinate his rage, to let it serve and protect others instead of avenge them then he would truly be a force to be reckoned with. Willing to give everything of himself and his spirit to stand strong where another under his protection might fail, peace would turn him from a troubled young man into a living force, a man in tune with his natural purpose with the Force flowing strongly through him.
Dark Side: Arix is proud, willful, independent and angry. The Sith have taken the only woman he ever truly cared about from him, the only person who made him feel worthy of the power he wields, and if he cannot forgive them for that then he could very well succumb to his need to slay them for it. Giving in to his rage in its entirety he could reveal himself as a powerful weapon in the eyes of a suitable manipulator, or simply get himself killed during his rampage.
Rule 1: Immediately get above, or below, the plane of battle.
It was something he remarked on occasionally, though rarely was it implemented. Static battlefields had been ingrained in the mind of every military commander since before man had taken to the stars, and no matter how much they tried it took admirals and generals, the best of them, to stop them from seeing the battlefield as a lateral plain. So it was that as the group started to break up into their defensive patterns, throwing themselves into the fray, that Tom Trent dove. Screaming underneath the field of battle until he was far enough away to get some perspective, his hands worked on autopilot to make miniature adjustments to his trajectory while he took a good long look at the situation.
Defense for a sniper was a combination of overwatch and threat analysis. The new machine was obviously the largest threat on the battlefield but there were the cogheads stepping in to study it, which meant Tom didn't have much to help it with. Tom's method of acquisition included 'put a hole in it big enough to make it stop', followed occasionally by 'put enough smaller holes in it to make it stop'. Capture, interrogate, reverse engineer...none of these were things that Tom was any good at or had any interest in. He was a flyboy and a marksman, plain and simple. And as the hotsy-totsy little firecracker of their group dove in to save the rookie, the marksman side of things saw a golden opportunity to fulfill that command from on high.
"Don't you worry, darlin'." He was already drawling into his microphone, tongue between his teeth as he magnified the target on Maki's tail, waited for it to break into a pattern to close distance...
"Not about to let some Coalition kid get there before I do."
Lightning.
The shot speared through the unit from collar bone to hip and punched right out the other end--if it was a comfort to anyone, the pilot probably hadn't even realized he'd been hit by the time the green bolt vaporized him, exciting his molecules until the energy between them was greater than the energy holding them together. Did time slow down, in that moment of death? Would sensation somehow transcend the nervous system, a moment of physically unimaginable pain transcending simple limitations to achieve some lingering meaning or horror before death, perhaps even into the afterlife?
Nah. Probably just a matter of light's out.
Fire and move, fire and move. Better than any sniper on foot, the Mosquito careened through space at dizzying angles to get away from its marked firing position and still managed to search for a new target--parallel processing was a bitch, Tom thought with an idly smile around his tongue as he flicked down towards the middle of the battlefield, harder to spot for his distance from the line of scrimmage that was the defensive perimeter of the Lincoln. A risky maneuver but he thrived on risky maneuvers, and out of range of all but the most dedicated opposition...
His attention flicked to Trapp, watching the glimmer of him slide through space even as his tactical readouts spat all sorts of information out at him. It scrolled across the screen faster than he could read, useless as ever...but not useless was the red line that had already pierced the Mk II on approach to him, its coordinates locked and triangulation already beginning to occur from the targeting systems. The firing time wasn't stellar--there might have been some bleed through in the energy systems, he would have to note that to the egg-heads--but he flicked a finger to the Tesla drive to compensate. Cutting it momentarily, momentum in space carried him along at an even clip as he tried to get past the tangled that was Gerry and his new dance partner.
"Come on, come on..." He hummed idly to himself, idly amused that Trapp would call the rest of them out on their shit but completely ignore his own, getting in that close to blast up a Ferir just because it was on the tail of his squad-mate. Like it wasn't their job to get shot at. Obvious enough that the man had some guilt issues from his little speech back on the ship, but that was no reason to leave him hanging.
"Don't worry, Mama, I'm not about to let the old warhorse go down..." He smirked, the drive's boost bringing the Arbalest back online in record time. A quick jet to clear the fray and move past the obscuring shrapnel of Yuu's Calamity Cannon--that beast of a gun--and it was all green light and dropped Ferir. Not as clean as his first move, the blast still took out the upper half of the machine. If the pilot was lucky, he might even have survived long enough to get sucked out into space and processed as a prisoner. If he wasn't blown apart during the combat first.
Who could say.
"Eye in the sky reporting in." He drawled as he flicked over the Tesla drive and shot backwards with a sudden jerk of inertia, his padded piloting harness jerking against his chest as he screamed backwards towards the Lincoln. He'd made two shots out of position, so it was time to get back behind the bruisers--Wes was a much easier target. Besides, the man liked being shot at. The few missiles that had been streaking for his location were left behind, detonating hard on a scattered burst of flares that made Trent smirk a bit in his suit. "Two dead birds, two chickens out of the fire. Anybody got something fun for me to light up yet?"
El Taco Taco