Hmmmm
- Thread starter Gringhost
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You can make an impact with independent factions or just completely unaffiliated characters. It's a question of dedication and effort.
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Yeah, I mean honestly you can't just make an impact with simply trying. One man against an entire galaxy so to speak would be a huge feat.
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That's not an appropriate example. One man can't go against the entire galaxy, but one man can kill the Supreme Chancellor. That's a pretty major event.
If you want to try to make an impact, the best I can say is try not too when you start. Just let things go with the flow, and you may eventualy. May not be big, but even the smallest of ones can make a big impact.
I figured that was the case, though still seems a bit long. No one is stopping you though, so if that's what drives you, then don't stop.
:CHappy
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Somebody has a future with the Sith.
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Yeah I see what you're saying with that. Even that though is pretty big lol There's practically an entire army standing between him and the Chancellor. That is rather epic though when you think of it that way. I guess it would be easier for one man to do it, huh?
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There's really not an entire army. It's a matter of being in the right place at the right time (or the wrong case at the wrong time in the Chancellor's case). Jack Kennedy was killed by one guy, for example, and he was surrounded by Secret Service agents.
Ronald Reagan was surrounded by Secret Service agents when someone tried to kill him, and he nearly died because a bullet ricocheted off his car and hit him.
Bill Clinton was in the White House, a fortress, when someone tried to crash a plane into the West Wing. The only reason it didn't work was because the guy sucked and landed on the lawn.
George W. Bush was in a huge crowd of people with security everywhere when someone threw a grenade at him, but it bounced and didn't go off.
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I thought it was a shoe? :CIsee
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First Part
My life can be broken down into several parts. My birth and raising. My exodus from home and my journeys to the far edges of the galaxy. My mercenary exploits. And finally my self-realization that brought me to where I am now. To get to know why I am obviously a rough person, you first have to see the place I was raised.
Home sweet home, greatest village in the world of my birth. The continent we live upon was partial to great earthquakes that would cause massive damage to buildings and the earth we built upon. I’ve seen whole houses fall straight into the maw of the world. But it was still home to those raised there. The environment I was raised in forced you to be strong and hardy. I always laughed to my mercenary friends that 10 women from my village could defeat 30 men from their cities. Such was my belief in the strength of the village.
What was it’s name? Home. Warmth. But the name set on the map was Aeglyss. It’s walls had withstood years of famine, siege, and any other amount of troubles. I was born to the blacksmith, with my mother dying in giving me birth. That may have been the reason of my tough raising. With no feminine input, my father would constantly lead me through long working hours, horrible conditions, and work that forced fully grown men to break down. We would always complete the orders of weapons and armor on time, sometimes before they were even required. But every time my father’s eyes passed over my work, I could see he thought it was a piece of dritt. It would motivate me, the look in my father’s eyes. Even though I was only 14, I thought I could create a masterpiece that my father could finally approve.
So when he had business in the great city in the plain, he left me in charge of the forge. I immediately began work on my greatest construction. It would be a pair of matching swords, blades forged from a mysterious metal that I found a year prior. It had fallen from the sky, with strange runes etched into it. Even though it had been darkened by the fall from atmosphere, as soon as I wiped it down, it shined as though well maintained. Truly a godly material, eager to be made into something. Then my plan hatched for my masterpiece.
The handles required something that gave it grip, but has easy on the eyes. So I used bones from a mammoth, pressed to give it a hexagonal pattern on the handle. Once I completed these, I found in my hands two grips that were worthy enough to be placed in the halls of art in the lord’s manse. They came out astoundingly well. I took this as a sign that this would be a great work. I decided to immediately begin work on the blades. I heated up the first piece of God-metal till it was molten, and poured it into a groove we used to make the shape of a blade. I waited for it to solidify enough for me the grab it with my prongs and begin hammering it into a deadly blade. I could feel the blade, through my prongs and while it was unlike anything I had ever felt before, I began to ease the metal into a keen blade. It was strange. While I work the metal into shape, I also saw it in my mind’s eye, where I felt invincible. I touch the red-hot blade and molded it with my own hands, while at the same time I hammered it with the mallet. I do not remember the time it took me to forge that first blade, but once completed I passed out into exhaustion.
When I awoke, I stared at the beautiful blade I created. It was what my father called, a “Damascus” blade. It had intricate patterns blended into the blade itself, not etched as some cheaper blacksmiths might do. I fit it into the bone handle I made earlier and I swear it glowed for a moment. The Gods clearly wanted me to make them. I decided to wait a few hours before beginning the next blade. I needed sustenance and I was sure sleep would be a good idea. Finally, after eating a good amount of food, and napping off the daylight, I returned to the Forge.
As soon as I stepped into the heated room, I could feel it was right. I prepared the metal as I had before, and soon I was at work hammering it into a blade worthy for a King, nay a Emperor. Again, I somehow worked it simultaneously in my head and with my hands. I could not tell you what was different about the second sword, but I worked with it in more passion, fueled by the look my father had given me for years. I wept, and the tears touched the metal. I continued to pound it with the mallet and work it with my hands in my head. I worked till my shoulders burned and my hands were rubbed raw by the handle of the mallet.
I fainted. I couldn’t tell what woke me. I heard a strange laughter, as if multiple voices laughed in a chorus. But it sounded as if it came from one mouth. Then a shaking, and dreams that came and went. I saw my village being destroyed by a being no larger than a man, using a blade to smite the ground and causing the mightiest earthquake to spring up. Buildings fell apart and people began their screaming. I saw my father ride in, trying to reach the Forge where I had lain asleep. But the figure stopped him. I swear I reached out to him, trying to grab him out of the way of the sword the shadow swung. But he was cut through the heart, a look of shock and betrayal in his eyes.
When I woke, it was to my own voice screaming in deep emotional pain. I had seen my village destroyed by that shadowy figure and my father slain by the very same monster. I stood, somewhat disoriented. Then I saw that the second blade was complete. The Damascus design had was less of the curving and looping on the first and instead a what appeared to be a writing in some language. How strange was that, I thought. But before I could further assess the strange markings, I heard the sounds of ravens outside. Typically the birds would stay away, for fear our archers posted on the walls would shoot them down. I opened the door and my eyes widened with emotion.
It wasn’t a dream. The village really had been destroyed. There was a great crack in the earth where the shadow had struck it, and buildings that had previously surrounded the Forge were now just broken timbres. The worse sight though was that of my father. I had seen in my dream that he was struck down. But what had happened to him next, I had not. He was drawn and quartered, then the pieces were nailed to the wall directly in front of the Forge. As screamed, one that shook the mountain it felt like. The ravens fled, and I could no longer contain myself. I ran to the wall trying my best to do what I could. I tried to reach out to my father like I had the metal, with my mind. I poured my love for the man into healing the broken body. What I saw next amazed me. His limbs had reattached, and he coughed once. He looked me in the eyes, and uttered the only thing I ever wanted to hear from him. Then he faded. No matter what I did, I could no longer speak to him. With tears springing forth like a river, I wrapped my fathers corpse with the typical funeral robes of our village. and placed him in the forge. After that, I found scabbards for my blades, and laid them outside until I returned. Then I walked back inside and burned the Forge down.
As soon as it was only ash, I left with the swords tied to my back, never to see my village again.
Sample of the profile? Thoughts? It was too long to send in a PM
My life can be broken down into several parts. My birth and raising. My exodus from home and my journeys to the far edges of the galaxy. My mercenary exploits. And finally my self-realization that brought me to where I am now. To get to know why I am obviously a rough person, you first have to see the place I was raised.
Home sweet home, greatest village in the world of my birth. The continent we live upon was partial to great earthquakes that would cause massive damage to buildings and the earth we built upon. I’ve seen whole houses fall straight into the maw of the world. But it was still home to those raised there. The environment I was raised in forced you to be strong and hardy. I always laughed to my mercenary friends that 10 women from my village could defeat 30 men from their cities. Such was my belief in the strength of the village.
What was it’s name? Home. Warmth. But the name set on the map was Aeglyss. It’s walls had withstood years of famine, siege, and any other amount of troubles. I was born to the blacksmith, with my mother dying in giving me birth. That may have been the reason of my tough raising. With no feminine input, my father would constantly lead me through long working hours, horrible conditions, and work that forced fully grown men to break down. We would always complete the orders of weapons and armor on time, sometimes before they were even required. But every time my father’s eyes passed over my work, I could see he thought it was a piece of dritt. It would motivate me, the look in my father’s eyes. Even though I was only 14, I thought I could create a masterpiece that my father could finally approve.
So when he had business in the great city in the plain, he left me in charge of the forge. I immediately began work on my greatest construction. It would be a pair of matching swords, blades forged from a mysterious metal that I found a year prior. It had fallen from the sky, with strange runes etched into it. Even though it had been darkened by the fall from atmosphere, as soon as I wiped it down, it shined as though well maintained. Truly a godly material, eager to be made into something. Then my plan hatched for my masterpiece.
The handles required something that gave it grip, but has easy on the eyes. So I used bones from a mammoth, pressed to give it a hexagonal pattern on the handle. Once I completed these, I found in my hands two grips that were worthy enough to be placed in the halls of art in the lord’s manse. They came out astoundingly well. I took this as a sign that this would be a great work. I decided to immediately begin work on the blades. I heated up the first piece of God-metal till it was molten, and poured it into a groove we used to make the shape of a blade. I waited for it to solidify enough for me the grab it with my prongs and begin hammering it into a deadly blade. I could feel the blade, through my prongs and while it was unlike anything I had ever felt before, I began to ease the metal into a keen blade. It was strange. While I work the metal into shape, I also saw it in my mind’s eye, where I felt invincible. I touch the red-hot blade and molded it with my own hands, while at the same time I hammered it with the mallet. I do not remember the time it took me to forge that first blade, but once completed I passed out into exhaustion.
When I awoke, I stared at the beautiful blade I created. It was what my father called, a “Damascus” blade. It had intricate patterns blended into the blade itself, not etched as some cheaper blacksmiths might do. I fit it into the bone handle I made earlier and I swear it glowed for a moment. The Gods clearly wanted me to make them. I decided to wait a few hours before beginning the next blade. I needed sustenance and I was sure sleep would be a good idea. Finally, after eating a good amount of food, and napping off the daylight, I returned to the Forge.
As soon as I stepped into the heated room, I could feel it was right. I prepared the metal as I had before, and soon I was at work hammering it into a blade worthy for a King, nay a Emperor. Again, I somehow worked it simultaneously in my head and with my hands. I could not tell you what was different about the second sword, but I worked with it in more passion, fueled by the look my father had given me for years. I wept, and the tears touched the metal. I continued to pound it with the mallet and work it with my hands in my head. I worked till my shoulders burned and my hands were rubbed raw by the handle of the mallet.
I fainted. I couldn’t tell what woke me. I heard a strange laughter, as if multiple voices laughed in a chorus. But it sounded as if it came from one mouth. Then a shaking, and dreams that came and went. I saw my village being destroyed by a being no larger than a man, using a blade to smite the ground and causing the mightiest earthquake to spring up. Buildings fell apart and people began their screaming. I saw my father ride in, trying to reach the Forge where I had lain asleep. But the figure stopped him. I swear I reached out to him, trying to grab him out of the way of the sword the shadow swung. But he was cut through the heart, a look of shock and betrayal in his eyes.
When I woke, it was to my own voice screaming in deep emotional pain. I had seen my village destroyed by that shadowy figure and my father slain by the very same monster. I stood, somewhat disoriented. Then I saw that the second blade was complete. The Damascus design had was less of the curving and looping on the first and instead a what appeared to be a writing in some language. How strange was that, I thought. But before I could further assess the strange markings, I heard the sounds of ravens outside. Typically the birds would stay away, for fear our archers posted on the walls would shoot them down. I opened the door and my eyes widened with emotion.
It wasn’t a dream. The village really had been destroyed. There was a great crack in the earth where the shadow had struck it, and buildings that had previously surrounded the Forge were now just broken timbres. The worse sight though was that of my father. I had seen in my dream that he was struck down. But what had happened to him next, I had not. He was drawn and quartered, then the pieces were nailed to the wall directly in front of the Forge. As screamed, one that shook the mountain it felt like. The ravens fled, and I could no longer contain myself. I ran to the wall trying my best to do what I could. I tried to reach out to my father like I had the metal, with my mind. I poured my love for the man into healing the broken body. What I saw next amazed me. His limbs had reattached, and he coughed once. He looked me in the eyes, and uttered the only thing I ever wanted to hear from him. Then he faded. No matter what I did, I could no longer speak to him. With tears springing forth like a river, I wrapped my fathers corpse with the typical funeral robes of our village. and placed him in the forge. After that, I found scabbards for my blades, and laid them outside until I returned. Then I walked back inside and burned the Forge down.
As soon as it was only ash, I left with the swords tied to my back, never to see my village again.
Sample of the profile? Thoughts? It was too long to send in a PM
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He said it was just a sample.
Also, for people who want one person to make a huge difference in a swrp, it makes a lot of sense. Since in pretty much every movie/game/story everything important was basically accomplished by one person or by a small group of people. It makes sense after playing KOTOR to want your guy to go out and rule the galaxy. XP
Also, for people who want one person to make a huge difference in a swrp, it makes a lot of sense. Since in pretty much every movie/game/story everything important was basically accomplished by one person or by a small group of people. It makes sense after playing KOTOR to want your guy to go out and rule the galaxy. XP
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Your mum's a sample. :CStern
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Yeah.. my profile sucks..
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