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- Jul 1, 2008
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A man clad in the outfit of a spacing rouge strode around the city, as if he were window shopping. He glanced at all the bars down over the store windows, signifying that they were closed. A smile crossed over his lips as the camera focused in on him. Of course, all the cameras in the city were going to be focused on the fight, this was public entertainment was it not? He crossed his arms over his chest and winked at the camera, before yelling loudly.
"Is anyone here?"
The words echoed through the empty metropolis, of course not. The entire city was void of life, as they didn't want any civilian casualties during the fight honorable approach to a deathmatch, though a tad Ironic. The rubber soles of his boots made virtually no noise on most occasions, though each step sent a thunderous echo through the deserted city. A few moments passed and Saren found himself in the central park of the metropolis, a homage to the nature that had once overun the city, a brief glimpse of the world before man.
He was wearing what he usually did on his adventure, the leather duster concealing the majority of his figure. At his hip he had two slugthrowers, made of a Nickel Carbonate so as to prevent magnetism, each having 6 chambers. They were set up like revolvers, and needed to be reloaded manually after all 6 of the 45 caliber shots had been expelled. He had the cheapest personal blaster on the market in a shoulder holster, he knew it was prone to overheating but he had grown attached to it, having given the nickname Ole Faithful. A ceremonial Uchigatana*( See Bottom) was worn at his hip, a curved sword similar to a Katana in design. It had been custom forged for him a long time ago, and was imbued with the force via a process called Force Alchemy. It was done so that people would consider the blade Holy in the Dishoam Church, though it had the convenient side effect of being LightSaber resistant. On his back was a sword of a much uglier design, a broadsword. It, unlike its oriental brethren, had not been imbued with the force, and was very succeptable to being cut in half with a Jedi's lightsaber. It had been inexpensive to forge, so Saren minded not that he might loose in in the coming battle.
On his wrists he wore to wrist sheathes, each with two throwing knives in them. They too were coated in nickel, though the core of them were made with a steel polycarbonate for effectiveness. Hanging from his belt loop was his prized possession, a lightsaber he had taken possession of years before off of a dead Jedi. It has since then been customized so many ways that it barely resembled the weapon it had originally been. The blade had an orange hue to it, simply for aesthetic purposes. It also had a feature in it so that were the ignition switch of his blade only recognized his thumb print. It had taken years of research, and sometimes the blade wouldn't even recognize his thumb print. Saren hoped that wasn't the case today.
Finally, there was the latest edition to his wardrobe. As was the dishoam tradition, he also carried the lightsaber of his last opponent, Dimitreigh Ordo. Saren hadn't really liked the weight of the blades handle, and wans't a fan of a the blue hue of it's blade, but understood the practicality of having a second beam saber. Between matches he had implemented a archaic pressure sensitivity module in he saber ignition switch, making it so that the sabers ignition switch needed to be held down, with heat applied to it. This made it so that only warm blooded sentients were able to use the lightsaber, also making it so that Saren was unable to use saber thrown with either of his blades.
Saren grew tired of his walking, and sat down on a park bench in the center of the park. His legs crossed over, he began to meditate and think about the possible outcomes of the battle that he was about to partake in. Victory did not matter to him, he simply wished to bring glory to his order. For to long had his teachings gone un noticed, perhaps getting a few kills under his belt would inspire people to figure out just who the hell he was.
*Uchigatana
"Is anyone here?"
The words echoed through the empty metropolis, of course not. The entire city was void of life, as they didn't want any civilian casualties during the fight honorable approach to a deathmatch, though a tad Ironic. The rubber soles of his boots made virtually no noise on most occasions, though each step sent a thunderous echo through the deserted city. A few moments passed and Saren found himself in the central park of the metropolis, a homage to the nature that had once overun the city, a brief glimpse of the world before man.
He was wearing what he usually did on his adventure, the leather duster concealing the majority of his figure. At his hip he had two slugthrowers, made of a Nickel Carbonate so as to prevent magnetism, each having 6 chambers. They were set up like revolvers, and needed to be reloaded manually after all 6 of the 45 caliber shots had been expelled. He had the cheapest personal blaster on the market in a shoulder holster, he knew it was prone to overheating but he had grown attached to it, having given the nickname Ole Faithful. A ceremonial Uchigatana*( See Bottom) was worn at his hip, a curved sword similar to a Katana in design. It had been custom forged for him a long time ago, and was imbued with the force via a process called Force Alchemy. It was done so that people would consider the blade Holy in the Dishoam Church, though it had the convenient side effect of being LightSaber resistant. On his back was a sword of a much uglier design, a broadsword. It, unlike its oriental brethren, had not been imbued with the force, and was very succeptable to being cut in half with a Jedi's lightsaber. It had been inexpensive to forge, so Saren minded not that he might loose in in the coming battle.
On his wrists he wore to wrist sheathes, each with two throwing knives in them. They too were coated in nickel, though the core of them were made with a steel polycarbonate for effectiveness. Hanging from his belt loop was his prized possession, a lightsaber he had taken possession of years before off of a dead Jedi. It has since then been customized so many ways that it barely resembled the weapon it had originally been. The blade had an orange hue to it, simply for aesthetic purposes. It also had a feature in it so that were the ignition switch of his blade only recognized his thumb print. It had taken years of research, and sometimes the blade wouldn't even recognize his thumb print. Saren hoped that wasn't the case today.
Finally, there was the latest edition to his wardrobe. As was the dishoam tradition, he also carried the lightsaber of his last opponent, Dimitreigh Ordo. Saren hadn't really liked the weight of the blades handle, and wans't a fan of a the blue hue of it's blade, but understood the practicality of having a second beam saber. Between matches he had implemented a archaic pressure sensitivity module in he saber ignition switch, making it so that the sabers ignition switch needed to be held down, with heat applied to it. This made it so that only warm blooded sentients were able to use the lightsaber, also making it so that Saren was unable to use saber thrown with either of his blades.
Saren grew tired of his walking, and sat down on a park bench in the center of the park. His legs crossed over, he began to meditate and think about the possible outcomes of the battle that he was about to partake in. Victory did not matter to him, he simply wished to bring glory to his order. For to long had his teachings gone un noticed, perhaps getting a few kills under his belt would inspire people to figure out just who the hell he was.
*Uchigatana
