- Joined
- Nov 3, 2013
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Larun Durante
AGE
► 25
SPECIES ► Human
HEIGHT ► 6’2
WEIGHT ► 200
EYE COLOR ► Brown
HAIR COLOR ► Brown
HOMEWORLD ► Coruscant
GENDER ► Male
FACTION ► Imperial Republica
RANK ► Sith Acolyte
FORCE SENSITIVITY ► Yes
BIOGRAPHY
Born on Coruscant to a poor family relegated to living in one of the lowest, most polluted levels, where even a glimpse of the sun was considered to be a mark of good fortune. Much had changed in the Republic since the rise of the Drast dynasty, but the plight of the poor remained much the same as it always did. For Larun, it was even worse. His father, a salvage worker, was addicted to spice, and his mother, an orphaned street urchin twenty years his junior, had no real skills beyond begging. It was not a great childhood, between the beatings and rants by his father, the constant anxiety of his mother, and never knowing where, when, or if the next meal was coming. His story would have been much like the tale of countless other poor waifs, a young death in some dark alley, if it had not been for one fateful day when he was nine. His mother and father had gotten into an argument again-yelling by his father, screeching by his mother, over his father’s spice use. Larun tried to ignore it as usual, tried to pretend he was asleep in his room, but something was different this time. His mother had flushed the spice down the refresher, and it had driven his father into a blind rage. Larun awoke with a frightened start as his mother crashed through the door to his room, slamming her head with a sickening crack against his bed. Terrified, Larun immediately bent down to try to help his mother, doing the best he could to prop her up...but something was different. She wasn’t breathing this time...and when he pulled his hands back, they were stained with blood.
His father began to scream, to shout, to blame Larun for everything. If only that whore had not gotten pregnant with him, if only he did not have to slave away at his job every day to feed for him, that he had to take the spice, becoming more and more worked up. Larun knew, instinctually, that this time was different. He could feel the oncoming beating was different this time, that there was killing intent behind it, fear that the boy would report him. And something deep inside him awoke, something that had always been there, but that he was afraid to touch due to its chill. This time, however, was different. It was embrace it-or die.
He didn’t remember much about what happened next. One moment his father had grabbed a lamp and had begun to swing it at him, the next his father had been thrown so viciously into the durasteel coat rack back in the adjoining room that one of the hooks had torn through his neck and killed him instantly. Feeling faint and tired, Larun fell asleep once more...and woke up in the local police precinct. A noise complaint had been called, and when the security forces had finally arrived six hours later, expecting the usual tussle between the two, they discovered the scene.
When they asked him what had happened, he told them the truth. And, oddly, instead of being mad, or threatening to so him jail, they smiled, pat him on the head, and called him a good, brave boy. It had puzzled him at the time, but he later learned that there was a hefty reward for those who delivered Force Sensitive children to the local Academy. And so his induction had begun.
Surprisingly, the harsh, early training he had received, which often initially traumatized those from more wealthy, connected backgrounds, seemed pleasant to him. Sure, the decks were stacked against him, and those other poor students without grand family names, if they failed they were not coddled, they rarely got more than a second chance to do anything. But his success was largely based on his own power, cunning, and intelligence, not being entirely subject to the whims of a cruel and random tyrant. The cold chill of the Dark Side, which had so frightened him, had become comforting. His emotions were a burning, freshly forged sword taken right out of the forge, the Dark Side was the freezing water-he could soak his burning fear, terror, frustration, and anxiety into it, and it would emerge strong, cool, and powerful. And he clung to that sword with every fiber of his being.
In spite of his skill and devotion in the Force, and in his chosen form of lightsaber combat, Djem So, he only attained a middling ranking among his graduating class, below the worst aristocratic students-their families could not be offended by a commoner, orphaned boy of course. It would not be proper. But he took solace in the fact that he was first among his equals...and the fact he knew, that if push came to shove someplace where few were watching, he could easily snap the necks of the majority of the wealthier students whose birthright had gotten them what their ability could not.
Much like his time at the Academy, he did not have nearly as much choice in where he was assigned afterwards. In a twist of fate, he was assigned as an attache to the local Coruscanti Security Forces, patrolling the same dark, cold, drug-infested streets and alleys he had grown up in. At first, he was bitter. He had tasted the sunlight, and now he had been cast back down into the darkness, told that this is where he deserved to be. But one could learn-and do much-in its protective shadows, out of the eyes of the wealthier and more aristocratic Sith. He continued honing his powers and abilities-some of which only he knew he possessed-and was able to skim off the top of the local gang leaders and petty crime lords he kept in check. After all, he had no one to rely upon, he needed to build his own nest egg. And, much to the surprise of his superiors and fellow officers, the domestic violence rates in his neighborhood had plummeted to practically zero. Of course, that had been matched with a sharp uptick in missing persons, particularly the most troubling offenders, but people went missing all the time, and no one was going to complain that they missed having to break up those kinds of fights.
With the death of the Emperor and Empress in their unfortunate hyperspace...accident...and the rising tensions throughout the Galaxy, Larun has begun to plot his move upwards out of the shadows once more. After all, in times like these, ability might just be valued more than heritage.
His father began to scream, to shout, to blame Larun for everything. If only that whore had not gotten pregnant with him, if only he did not have to slave away at his job every day to feed for him, that he had to take the spice, becoming more and more worked up. Larun knew, instinctually, that this time was different. He could feel the oncoming beating was different this time, that there was killing intent behind it, fear that the boy would report him. And something deep inside him awoke, something that had always been there, but that he was afraid to touch due to its chill. This time, however, was different. It was embrace it-or die.
He didn’t remember much about what happened next. One moment his father had grabbed a lamp and had begun to swing it at him, the next his father had been thrown so viciously into the durasteel coat rack back in the adjoining room that one of the hooks had torn through his neck and killed him instantly. Feeling faint and tired, Larun fell asleep once more...and woke up in the local police precinct. A noise complaint had been called, and when the security forces had finally arrived six hours later, expecting the usual tussle between the two, they discovered the scene.
When they asked him what had happened, he told them the truth. And, oddly, instead of being mad, or threatening to so him jail, they smiled, pat him on the head, and called him a good, brave boy. It had puzzled him at the time, but he later learned that there was a hefty reward for those who delivered Force Sensitive children to the local Academy. And so his induction had begun.
Surprisingly, the harsh, early training he had received, which often initially traumatized those from more wealthy, connected backgrounds, seemed pleasant to him. Sure, the decks were stacked against him, and those other poor students without grand family names, if they failed they were not coddled, they rarely got more than a second chance to do anything. But his success was largely based on his own power, cunning, and intelligence, not being entirely subject to the whims of a cruel and random tyrant. The cold chill of the Dark Side, which had so frightened him, had become comforting. His emotions were a burning, freshly forged sword taken right out of the forge, the Dark Side was the freezing water-he could soak his burning fear, terror, frustration, and anxiety into it, and it would emerge strong, cool, and powerful. And he clung to that sword with every fiber of his being.
In spite of his skill and devotion in the Force, and in his chosen form of lightsaber combat, Djem So, he only attained a middling ranking among his graduating class, below the worst aristocratic students-their families could not be offended by a commoner, orphaned boy of course. It would not be proper. But he took solace in the fact that he was first among his equals...and the fact he knew, that if push came to shove someplace where few were watching, he could easily snap the necks of the majority of the wealthier students whose birthright had gotten them what their ability could not.
Much like his time at the Academy, he did not have nearly as much choice in where he was assigned afterwards. In a twist of fate, he was assigned as an attache to the local Coruscanti Security Forces, patrolling the same dark, cold, drug-infested streets and alleys he had grown up in. At first, he was bitter. He had tasted the sunlight, and now he had been cast back down into the darkness, told that this is where he deserved to be. But one could learn-and do much-in its protective shadows, out of the eyes of the wealthier and more aristocratic Sith. He continued honing his powers and abilities-some of which only he knew he possessed-and was able to skim off the top of the local gang leaders and petty crime lords he kept in check. After all, he had no one to rely upon, he needed to build his own nest egg. And, much to the surprise of his superiors and fellow officers, the domestic violence rates in his neighborhood had plummeted to practically zero. Of course, that had been matched with a sharp uptick in missing persons, particularly the most troubling offenders, but people went missing all the time, and no one was going to complain that they missed having to break up those kinds of fights.
With the death of the Emperor and Empress in their unfortunate hyperspace...accident...and the rising tensions throughout the Galaxy, Larun has begun to plot his move upwards out of the shadows once more. After all, in times like these, ability might just be valued more than heritage.
Personality and Appearance
Larun tends to be polite, as he had learned from a very young age and from his status in society that being otherwise could very well lead to a lightsaber in the back, and reserved. Why say more than what is absolutely necessary, when it could and would be used against you? To that same end, he is also not as openly vicious or flaunting of his power as other Sith-to do so is to simply invite unwanted attention to himself. One should not mistake this for a lack of ambition, however, as though he often must keep his head bowed, in his mind he is striving to find his place back in the sun.
He holds a quiet, hidden distaste for Sith of a more aristocratic background, until they prove to him that their abilities match or exceed his own. He sees them as coddled and unaware of the true nature of the world-what would they know, truly, about life when they had everything given to them from a young age? Coddled and afforded luxuries from the moment they were born to every step that they take. By the same measure, he tends to have more respect for those in the Republica who have worked their way up like himself, and thinks that they are more in tune with the Dark Side. Part of him has wondered if the Sith of the Old Empire are on to something...but that is something he knows well to never voice.
He tends to keep his appearance relatively modest as well, wearing black shirts, pants, boots, gloves, and a cloak, with his lightsaber attached to his belt. He occasionally is spotted wearing light to medium armor, especially when dealing with more open acts of conflict. His hair is a long, flowing brown, and he is just above the cusp of thin and just below what could be called muscular.
Powers and Abilities
Skills with a Lightsaber: Larun is a decent duelist, which says much about his aptitude, given that he was never given the extra tutoring or afforded much time to practice against other live Sith at both the Academy or in his assignments. His preferred style is Djem So, as he finds he can leverage his physical strength and height well, and it is not as passive or pigeonholed as some of the other forms.
Force Abilities: In addition to achieving a good mastery of the most basic Sith arts, Larun has spent significant time working on his defensive abilities with Force Barrier. If there is anything he has learned from both his time in the Academy and on the streets as an attache, is that anything can happen...and it was far better to be prepared than to not be.
Posessions
Although being rather pitifully poor by the standards of many Sith in the Republica, Larun has managed to scrape together a small, functional collection of assets, which include:
1x Sith Marauder Armor
1x Single-bladed crimson lightsaber.
1x Vector-class shuttle (rented/requisitioned as needed).
Threads
