Logan Pryce

[Dawyn]

Logan Pryce

AGE

► 25​

SPECIES

► Human​

HEIGHT

► 6'2​

WEIGHT

► 190​

EYE COLOR

► Blue​

HAIR COLOR

► Brown​

HOMEWORLD

► Unknown​

GENDER

► Male​

FACTION

► Jedi Order​

RANK

► Jedi Knight​

FORCE SENSITIVITY

►Yes​

Biography​

Born about twenty-five years before the Tragedy at Ilum, give or take a few depending on which medical expert one asks, Logan was born a slave. Or at least, was one for long enough that he nor those few who managed to escape with him alive on the day of his liberation could either. His childhood, at least before he was sent to work in the mines at the age of seven, was one of silence, and not by choice. Cry, and get hit. Whimper, and get hit. Speak, and get hit. It was only when he had survived long enough to be given a name, Logan, that he was permitted to say even the most deferential words at all. His last name came later, largely because there were multiple other Logans at the nameless spice mine that he was forced to work at-until they died in a cave in. But it gave him something he could hold on to, some small sense of identity in the death and darkness that surrounded him every day. Logan Pryce. That is who he was, and would be until he died, for better or for worse.


At around the age of ten, things began to get better for him. Not because anyone cared, but because he was useful and had somehow managed to survive three years. He seemed to have an uncanny ability to sense danger in the deep, dark, giant spider invested hell of the mine, and was soon used as a veritable canary. Slaves were an investment, and one who could prevent the others from dying was valuable. Soon, he began to receive extra rations, and, even a respirator. He soon learned a very valuable truth-the more useful he was perceived as being, the better he was treated.


Over the decade or so, he pushed himself and his abilities, following the one true lesson he had learned about living. He was able to hide himself better in the darkness, from the eyes of the spiders, his fellow slaves, and even his masters. He was able to sense weak points in the rocks, and, when he was sure he could not be viewed, adjust them with his will-even if he could not touch them-to reinforce them, or if necessary cause them to collapse, or temporarily shield himself from one. More than a few cruel supervisors ended up dead to unfortunate cave-ins, which he was beaten for...but far less than he would have been otherwise. He grew stronger, faster, more intelligent, as much out of necessity as natural inclination.Socially, he was rather isolated. It was not encouraged for him to converse with other slaves, and they did not last long even with his help. He had agency in so many ways, but his efforts were ultimately futile in the grand scheme of things. A contradiction that would tear at him throughout the years.


Finally, after a decade, things changed. One day, a particularly cruel Rodian enforcer named Jeslek took a dislike to him. Logan had, over the years, become more self-assured in his abilities, more independent than a slave should be, at least according to his opinion. First, he gave him the most dangerous assignments-crawl into an uncharted tunnel, make sure poison gas had properly been pumped out of a chamber, follow the spiderwebs to their source. When that failed to kill him, or at least maim him, the beatings began. First with his fists. Then with a stun baton. Then small cuts with a vibroblade. Soon Logan’s entire upper body, face, and arms were crisscrossed with scars. Logan took each cut, eat beating, without as much as uttering a word. He had stored up bacta over the years, and each night, he would travel to his hidden crevasses, apply them, and be ready at work the next day. Or he would die. That is how things were.


Until the day Jeslek had dragged him into an uncharted side corridor with a few of his guard buddies with a wicked grin of his face, and shoved him in front of a ledge. Told him they needed someone to explore what was at the bottom. Logan knew this was different from the other time as he peered over the ledge into the darkness. He could sense how far the drop was-if he even survived, he would suffer broken bones no matter how he landed, and this time it wouldn’t be like the surface cuts and beatings he had endured. He would be made useless, crippled even. And he knew where that would lead, knew what happened to those who were no longer capable.


And for the first time in his life, he used the forbidden word he had heard other slaves killed for. A simple, quiet, word that felt so alien.


“No”.


And before Jeslek had the ability to respond, he lashed out. Struck out with the power he knew he had, the innate Force that had hid so carefully throughout the years. It was desperate, burst, he had never attempted such a powerful burst of it, especially not against three guards at once, But he had nothing to lose and now choice , it worked. Jeslek and his two accomplices were flung back hard against the stone wall of the cavern-and with a sickening crunch the Rodian’s head snapped back at an unhealthy angle, and he felt a chill wash through him. He had killed him, he knew instinctively. And he knew what that meant.


He ran. He ran using the power inside of him, ran using the sinewy muscles born from the mines and the extra rations. For the first time, up. Up through the passages he had dug through as a child. Up through a side shaft that had long been closed, ducking into the shadows and willing himself to be smaller, less noticeable as guard patrols ducked through. And then finally burst out through the corroded steel door...and found himself breathing in fresh air and the scent of trees for the first time. An unusual sense of calm, of relief washed over him, followed by anxiety. He was free...now what? Unfortunately, he did not have much time to contemplate as the shouts of his pursuers grew ever closer...so he did what he was good at. He ran.


Thus he became a fugitive on the unknown world he was under. The first few weeks were the hardest. Hiding from the vengeful slavers. Trying not to die of exposure, to find food, to not become food to the more dangerous wildlife. To survive. But his instincts guided him, as they always had. And soon he had become the master of his environment. A rock could be sharpened, so could a stick. So on and so forth, until he became a veritable primitive, living on the edges of the slaver’s camp in some far flung Outer Rim wasteland...yet so much more at peace than he had ever been. After a few months, his former captors assumed he was dead, killed by the elements, wildlife, starvation, or a combination of all three. Sure, one of their sentries would disappear from time to time without a trace, but was more likely? An escaped slave who had only ever known a mine surviving in the treacherous wilderness with nothing but the clothes on his back and his bare hands, or one of them becoming careless and getting dragged away by some woodland monster. Most thought it was the latter.


Years, and perhaps a dozen dead sentries later, Logan was feasting on the carcass of some dead form of hare in his makeshift wood and stone hut hidden in the side of a cliff when he heard explosions in the distance-and not the kind that indicated a mine explosion. Grenades. Blaster fire. A genuine fight-something which he had not heard, ever. Grabbing a rusty vibroblade, a scavenged blaster pistol, and the mismatched armor he had cobbled together from the dead guards of various sizes, he crept out along the treacherous mountain path that led to an overhang above the bandit camp. When he arrived, he carefully got down on his stomach and crawled his way to its edge. The blaster fire had died down now, with only a few haphazard shots ringing out from time to time. He glanced at the camp, and saw ruin.


Slavers lay strewn dead or in the process of dying everywhere. Some look like they had been cast aside like dolls in a tornado, thrown over the detritus and debris now littering the camp. Others were missing limbs, heads. More than a few looked like they had been cut down by blasterfire. And in the middle of it all were a man and a woman with what looked like...laser vibroblades of blue and green? Dressed in some kind of strange monk robes. Staring down more than a dozen slavers with blasters drawn.


Logically, he knew they were dead. Vibroblades, against blasters, at that distance? They stood no chance. But part of him, the inner Force inside him, tugged at him. Something about them...


And then he felt it. The power inside of him...yet coming from those two. They moved in a swift, deadly dance, once that defied all logic and understanding. Blaster bolts seemed to bend around them, and those that did not collided with their strange weaponry and turned back against those who had fired them. In moments, the slavers were dead or dying. Those who had tormented him for his entire life...gone. All in an afternoon. So easily dispatched, just by those two with their strange blades and funny clothing.


Except for one, taking aim with a sniper rifle in a tower nearby him at the edge of the camp. How he had escaped their notice, he did not know. Only that their backs were turned, and the shot was being lined up. He did not know whether he could trust the two, but he did know one thing. Every one of those slavers deserved to die. Taking aim with his pistol, knowing it was a long shot and that had not had much practice, given the limited supply of power packs he had been able to loot, he drew upon the Force deep inside him, letting it guide his hand. And fired.


The red bolt that erupted from the end of his blaster burned through the air-straight into the pirate’s chest, who toppled off the edge of the tower and was dead before he hit the ground. The two figures instantly swerved to look up at him, not even bothering to glance at the dead bandit. He froze, dread filling him. He knew in an instant he stood no chance, even with his powers, against them, knew he could not flee even if he wanted to. The flame inside him was like a burning sun in the two of them, and he wondered if revealing himself had been wise...or if they had already noticed him from the moment he had approached.


And then they...switched off...their swords and waved to him, gesturing him to come over.


And against all his logic...operating again on feeling...he came. Carefully, cautiously, like a once domesticated dog who had been abused and then became wild, circling around them, his hands not far from his blaster. More for his own comfort, he knew instinctively they could crush him in a moment, but he did not like feeling helpless. And then he felt tired, so tired. As if the years of constantly being on alert, hiding, and surviving had taken a toll on him, as if he could finally relax. It was only as his eyes were closing that he realized those feelings were not entirely natural.


He woke up with a start, almost in a panic as he felt the world shifting under him, a constant thrumming noise all around him, an unnatural light surrounding him. But quickly felt a calming hand on him. It was one of the monks...except it was a woman. Small, blonde, pale, with hazel eyes and long blonde hair. He stared at her. She stared at him, then smiled. A genuine smile, and then began to talk.


She first apologized for having put him to sleep, she had felt it was necessary until she could be sure he was friendly. He was on a ship-a true ship-one that could travel the stars, along with a group of rescued slaves. They had been assigned to dismantle the slaver camp on the planet to shut down the spice production, as apparently they were allies of someone...something...some group called the Sith, that used their power...his own innate power...for evil. She and her partner, an older man with dark skin and graying hair, were Jedi, who used it for good. He didn’t really understand the distinction, or what constituted “good” or “evil”, but he did know they had taken him off the planet, did know they had not harmed him, and did know they were beings of immense power, like him but more...focused. Experienced. Powerful. He thought it was nonsense for a moment...until he looked out the window next to him, seeing the receding, blue orb of the planet behind him.


She continued on, saying he had power like them, just more natural, and unrefined. That with careful training, time, and patience, he could gain the sort of abilities they had, if he was willing. That the galaxy needed people like him to stand up to those like the slavers, and make a difference. He didn’t really know much about any of that, but he did recognize one thing. He could be useful to these Jedi. And he had learned benefit of being useful long ago. He agreed.


Two years of training would pass, two years that honestly felt more like two decades to him, as he was introduced to not only to the Jedi, but galactic society itself. He had known, from what datapads the sentries had carried with them, that a galaxy had existed beyond the planet he had spent his entire life on, that there were at least a few more civilized planets. But he was not prepared for the tens of thousands of worlds. For multiple languages. For this system of “credits” which one could exchange for...almost anything really. Everything so many Jedi, and indeed galactic citizen, took for granted he was frankly amazed by. And, in many ways, led to him being fairly socially awkward, and somewhat of an outcast within the Jedi. Welcomed...but perhaps not as accepted as someone with a more “civilized” origin might be.


What he lacked in knowledge about the galaxy and social skills, however, he more than made up with his talent in the Force. He was a fast study in the basic arts, and showed a decent proficiency in lightsaber combat as well, primarily with the Shien and Djem So variants, which complemented his strong physique well. He showed particular talent in the creation of barriers, concealing himself, the basic manipulation of the environment, and reflecting blaster fire back at his opponents, and would go on to construct his own single bladed blue lightsaber.

Approximately five years after the Battle of Ilum, he was deemed sufficient advanced enough to become a Knight, if a little rough around the edges, as much as the title meant these days, and deemed fit enough to be independent. It is still a bit of a shock to him, to be free, to be able to go anywhere, do anything...even if he was, he knew, supposed to remain within the bounds of the Jedi Code. And with that came excitement...and anxiety….how would he fit into this society he had been isolated from for so long?

---------Start of the roleplay--------​

Description and Items​

Pale, with long, brown, unkempt hair and kind blue eyes, taller than average with a strong physique. Scars crisscross his face and arms, making an otherwise handsome face considerably less so. Has a pleasant, if somewhat oddly accented deep voice due to his long period of isolation. Eschews typical Jedi robes for Jedi Stealth Armour as he does not like to stand out, and keeps his single bladed lightsaber concealed underneath it.

Personality​

Logan is a bit reserved even for a Jedi, in the sense he was only really socialized in any normal manner for about two out of his twenty-five or so years, so he is often quite quiet. This can make him seem distant, but really it is because he is still not quite sure how to act around other people, especially attractive females-a lifetime of being a slave, followed by the typical sexual repression of being a Jedi, means he is often confused and troubled by the feelings that come up with he sees one. He does not trust as easily as other Jedi, and looks for ulterior motives in others he does not know, simply out of a habit of survival.


Once one gets to know him and his particular quirks, however, they find he is a reliable, if awkward, friend, the kind who might not be the best to take to a party but definitely the sort who can be trusted to make sure one makes it home from it in one piece. He tends to be rather blunt with expressing himself, having not really learned social tact, which can be both frustrating and refreshing at the same time.

Present powers and abilities​

Logan is proficient, though not yet a master, at Shien and Djem So, which were his primary focus during training, and is particularly good at reflecting blasterfire. In terms of force abilities, he has shown a decent but not remarkable mastery of the foundational Jedi arts, with a noticeable skill in barriers, concealing himself with the Force and the basic principles of alter environment (aerokinesis, cryokinesis, pyrokinesis, and electrokinesis).

Threads​

 

[Logan]

Approved!!!