Indigo
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Sep 19, 2009
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NAME: Nirulve Venelent
FACTION: Sith
RANK: Acolyte
SPECIES: Lannik
AGE: Young Adult.
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 2.3 ft
WEIGHT: 70 lbs
EYES: Yellow
HAIR: Chestnut Brown, which is long, tangled, brown, and perpetually in disarray
SKIN: Pale Orange
CREDITS: 100 Credits
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: N/A
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes
STRENGTH: [3/10] Nirulve is fairly weak, and his small stature means objects that would normally not be considered heavy can be challenging for him.
DEXTERITY: [7/10] Quite dextrous, this Lannik can move at surprising speeds and is reasonably agile and mobile. Exceptionally skilled at dodging and staying low.
CONSTITUTION: [3/10] With a low threshold for pain and a somewhat weak immune system, a 3 might be generous, to say the least.
INTELLIGENCE: [4/10] A scheming, clever, and despicable creature, Nirulve is a quick study and thinker. He has begun to learn about abstract philosophy, economics, and leadership from a wide variety of viewpoints.
WISDOM: [4/10] While he may have abstract intelligence, he has very limited moral comprehension, and has a hard time judging courses of action as good or bad.
CHARISMA: [3/10] He cannot charm, or meaningfully interact with most people for any length of time.
FORCE POWERS:
Force Precognition[2/10]
Force Sense[1/10]
Force Stealth[6/10]
SKILLS:
Nirulve is highly skilled at subterfuge and stealth, able to hide and silence his footsteps highly efficiently. He has some experience with demolitions as well, able to craft basic explosives and place them.
LIGHTSABER/SWORD FORMS:
Form III – Soresu [2/10]
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:
His fear is at once his greatest strength and weakness; those who are more powerful than he can boss him around with little to no effort, but if pressed into a situation where he is threatened, his fear motivates him and makes him into a frantic, fast thinking murderer. Physically he has no strength or endurance, and in standard fights he has no real ability. He also has little interest in most force powers, only learning those that either come very easily to him or those that are forced upon him. Lacking a strong will, he is also unusually malleable to suggestion, so long as that suggestion does not directly interfere with any of his own code of ethics and beliefs. His fear also allows him to hide and sneak about silently, making him a natural assassin. Fear of prolonged combat also causes him to seek killing blows as soon as he feels safe, although fear of wounds cause him to fight on the defensive at all times in direct confrontation. He also cannot concentrate efficiently on multiple things; in a duel he cannot focus on force powers. Finally, he cannot center himself in the force or meditate without stress.
GEAR:
A simple long sword, cortosis weave, and simple, cloth clothing. He carries very little with him at all times, owning very little. He also owns a silver lightsaber he stole from the first Jedi he met on the Battle of Corusant, having watched her die and stolen it from her corpse afterwards.
SHIP:
N/A
DROIDS:
N/A
PETS:
N/A
PERSONALITY:
Nirulve is a timid, nervous specimen, often with a nervous twitch or shifty stare, constantly looking about. In any given room, his eyes gravitate to escape routes constantly. He has no spine and no ability to refuse or contradict harsh, forceful personalities, unless doing so would conflict with orders or other people. In situations where there is an intensive conflict, he always tries to find an escape route. While on the job, he still remains quiet and polite, but in a more militaristic fashion. Once threatened, he immediately seeks to put an end to the threat, either through diplomacy or (more likely) murder. He also dislikes eating meat he did not prepare himself, and avoids it as best he can, although out of politeness he’ll eat any put in front of him.
BIOGRAPHY:
KILLS:
N/A
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
N/A
DUELING RING MATCHES:
N/A
GRAND TOURNAMENT MATCHES:
N/A
ROLE-PLAYS:
Pt 1:
The Sandbox II
One Mission One Mind
Nothing like having Friends for Dinner
Trip to Dromund Kaas
The Battle of Coruscant: The Jedi Temple Training Rooms
Pt 2:
FACTION: Sith
RANK: Acolyte
SPECIES: Lannik
AGE: Young Adult.
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 2.3 ft
WEIGHT: 70 lbs
EYES: Yellow
HAIR: Chestnut Brown, which is long, tangled, brown, and perpetually in disarray
SKIN: Pale Orange
CREDITS: 100 Credits
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: N/A
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes
STRENGTH: [3/10] Nirulve is fairly weak, and his small stature means objects that would normally not be considered heavy can be challenging for him.
DEXTERITY: [7/10] Quite dextrous, this Lannik can move at surprising speeds and is reasonably agile and mobile. Exceptionally skilled at dodging and staying low.
CONSTITUTION: [3/10] With a low threshold for pain and a somewhat weak immune system, a 3 might be generous, to say the least.
INTELLIGENCE: [4/10] A scheming, clever, and despicable creature, Nirulve is a quick study and thinker. He has begun to learn about abstract philosophy, economics, and leadership from a wide variety of viewpoints.
WISDOM: [4/10] While he may have abstract intelligence, he has very limited moral comprehension, and has a hard time judging courses of action as good or bad.
CHARISMA: [3/10] He cannot charm, or meaningfully interact with most people for any length of time.
FORCE POWERS:
Force Precognition[2/10]
Force Sense[1/10]
Force Stealth[6/10]
SKILLS:
Nirulve is highly skilled at subterfuge and stealth, able to hide and silence his footsteps highly efficiently. He has some experience with demolitions as well, able to craft basic explosives and place them.
LIGHTSABER/SWORD FORMS:
Form III – Soresu [2/10]
STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:
His fear is at once his greatest strength and weakness; those who are more powerful than he can boss him around with little to no effort, but if pressed into a situation where he is threatened, his fear motivates him and makes him into a frantic, fast thinking murderer. Physically he has no strength or endurance, and in standard fights he has no real ability. He also has little interest in most force powers, only learning those that either come very easily to him or those that are forced upon him. Lacking a strong will, he is also unusually malleable to suggestion, so long as that suggestion does not directly interfere with any of his own code of ethics and beliefs. His fear also allows him to hide and sneak about silently, making him a natural assassin. Fear of prolonged combat also causes him to seek killing blows as soon as he feels safe, although fear of wounds cause him to fight on the defensive at all times in direct confrontation. He also cannot concentrate efficiently on multiple things; in a duel he cannot focus on force powers. Finally, he cannot center himself in the force or meditate without stress.
GEAR:
A simple long sword, cortosis weave, and simple, cloth clothing. He carries very little with him at all times, owning very little. He also owns a silver lightsaber he stole from the first Jedi he met on the Battle of Corusant, having watched her die and stolen it from her corpse afterwards.
SHIP:
N/A
DROIDS:
N/A
PETS:
N/A
PERSONALITY:
Nirulve is a timid, nervous specimen, often with a nervous twitch or shifty stare, constantly looking about. In any given room, his eyes gravitate to escape routes constantly. He has no spine and no ability to refuse or contradict harsh, forceful personalities, unless doing so would conflict with orders or other people. In situations where there is an intensive conflict, he always tries to find an escape route. While on the job, he still remains quiet and polite, but in a more militaristic fashion. Once threatened, he immediately seeks to put an end to the threat, either through diplomacy or (more likely) murder. He also dislikes eating meat he did not prepare himself, and avoids it as best he can, although out of politeness he’ll eat any put in front of him.
BIOGRAPHY:
Nirulve and Mevoulve Venelent were twins; youngsters on the planet of Lannik. The pair of them were dramatically different, and most had a hard time believing them came from the same stock; Mevoulve was a hearty, healthy, and fun-loving Lannik, who would play in fields or meadows endlessly until called. Nirulve on the other hand was sickly, seeming to suffer from some sort of permanent malnourishment. Growing up together, Nirulve quickly discovered he was outclassed by his brother in every meaningful way. In sports, in school, in the community, it didn’t matter where the comparison was made. Mevoulve was the brother that was liked, and Nirulve was the brother that was tolerated.
There was only one place in which Mevoulve was considered odd, for he held a strong desire to go offworld, and to explore the galaxy. Above all, he wished to acquire power. He was respected and liked but he craved more. He had heard legends of the Jedi, and of the Sith, and he wanted to go and join them, and take some power and glory for the Lannik race, a race that had largely been ignored in prior conflicts. Most of his contemporaries laughed along with him while he spoke of his ideals, loving him for who he was and unconcerned with what his ambitions might lead him to do. Nirulve knew, though. He saw his brother, late at night, when the world slept, training himself in body and mind, waiting for his chance to strike out at the galaxy.
When the inevitable day that Mevoulve announced he was leaving, to enlist in the Sith and take a piece of the galaxy’s power for himself, only Nirulve was unsurprised. Only he had the presence of mind to demand to travel with him, to leave Lannik. While he had little desire to see the galaxy, he had no desire to stay, always within his brother’s shadow. He would leave, and find a world where he was valued independently of his brother. Do not misunderstand; While Nirulve never knew what Mevoulve felt for him, he truly loved his brother, as his planet did. So on the journey to a Sith World, he could not bring himself to abandon his brother immediately, determined at least to see him off properly at the gate of his dreams. Arriving at Korriban and being told by the Sith to immediately to go home naturally set the plans of both brothers spinning; Mevoulve had never been rejected by anything, and Nirulve could not abandon his brother on this dust bowl of a world.
Their first day, they acquired a very small apartment, and had a hard talk on what they would do. Niruvle begged his brother to return to Lannik, or go to some other place in the galaxy. The Jedi could perhaps help him, or would take him. Or he could join the Imperials, abandon the whole force thing and go for a more normal job? Mevoulve would not be dissuaded, and insisted he would remain on this planet until he found a way to enter the Sith. If Nirulve wanted to leave, he was welcome to, but if he tried to force his brother to come, they would duel. Nirulve refused such a thing. Mevoulve was stronger, a better fighter, although perhaps not faster, and above all, Mevoulve was still his precious brother, adored by his world. How could he abandon him? So while Nirulve hated this world, and wished every day for greenery and life again he remained, and they worked as a team to discover the easiest way to enter the academy.
After months passed, Mevoulve and Nirulve learned much. Mevoulve learned the Sith were amongst the powerful beings that walked the earth, perfect in every way, and their command of the force was unmatched. The way of the Sith was survival of the fittest, and Mevoulve knew he was the fittest. He would earn his way in, and prove his own potential in the force. Nirulve learned many of the same things in different ways. While Mevoulve would ask and demand information from Cantina goes and Sith Guards, Niruvle would silently walk from place to place, never being seen, listening both for words and their meaning. So he learned that Sith were powerful but cruel, and their Jedi counterparts were weak and not worthy of mention, despite their kindness. He learned that to be able to use the force at all, one had to be force sensitive.
He learned that his brother, the powerful and brave Mevoulve, was mocked openly amongst the guards that saw him. The acolytes, the warriors, even a master, all laughed and said the same thing. He is a fool, and attempting to enter the Sith was a waste of time for him, for there was an insurmountable wall in his way; he was not force sensitive. A cruel irony, for Nirulve also learned he was, and could join the Sith if he was inclined. Above all though, Nirulve learned fear. Nirulve learned Sith would kill without thought or hesitation, removing any roadblocks in their path. Anything without defenses, without the ability to survive on its own, was soon destroyed. And from that he learned to channel his fear into extreme productivity, stealing swords, blasters, credits, explosives, anything he could get his hands on, that would allow him to survive on this wretched world. Mevoulve was arrogant, he assumed he would survive on his own merit, and Nirulve began to fear for him as well, fear that his brother would misstep and be slain by a Sith. He did not know it yet, but he was right in this fear.
As the months passed, Nirulve began to follow his brother around, stalking him. Mevoulve never noticed, he was highly inattentive to his surroundings. Nirulve watched as his brother angered important people, and their amusement of him wore thin. The critical point was coming soon, Nirulve knew. But he knew not what he would do when it came.
One miserably hot day, it did. Between two boulders and hidden from view, Nirulve listened, as his brother spoke to a Sith Acolyte. He heard them talk, clear as day, but his large ears could not believe what he heard.
“I will be a Sith this day; either yield or die by my hand!”
“Yes, you have the correct disposition… but killing me will not open the academy doors, will not grant you entry. To do that, there is someone you must kill, but not me. You know who.”
“Nirulve, then. Killing him is how I will gain access.”
“Is that the name of your brother, Mevoulve? We do not know him other than the ‘weak one’.”
“It doesn’t matter. If that’s what I have to do, then I will do it.”
I will do it. Those words tumbled around Nirulve’s head. Mevoulve… the better brother, the loved brother, the proud and strong, who no matter how hard he tried, could not become Sith… would kill him? No. Nononono. That wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. Even as Nirulve crept away, mindlessly stealing a new sword, his mind was a flurry. He couldn’t do that. But this planet was a corruption. It tore at his brother’s mind. He felt it, when he first touched down. It was evil. Sith were evil. It was a cruel joke. He was going to die as a cruel joke. No. No no. He couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die.
He entered his home, sword in hand.
He didn’t want to die.
He saw his brother, Mevoulve the proud, who greeted him cheerfully.
He didn’t want to die.
He stabbed Mevoulve once. Twice. In the throat. In the heart. Over and over again.
He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die.
Nirulve regained consciousness some time later, the remnants of his brother’s lifeless body at his feet, his blood staining the floor, staining the sword Nirulve had stolen, staining Nirulve’s skin. But Nirulve was alive. He walked out, mindlessly heading to the Cantina again, to learn more, to survive. Fortune was with him that day, for the very acolyte was out drinking, regaling his story. Arrogantly laughing about how he had commanded one death. How he would dispatch Mevoulve the stupid the next day, when he showed up with his only supporter’s head. Nirulve was stunned. Mevoulve the stupid. Mevoulve the fool. But if this man planned to kill a Lannik, the difference between Nirulve and Mevoulve would not be enough to save Nirulve. No. To survive, he had to kill his enemy before the enemy realized his existence. This enemy was drunk. Was not paying attention. Was weak.
And on Korriban, the weak were culled.
He didn’t want to die.
Nirulve carved a bloody line through the acolyte, killing him before he could react. Now there was an open seat. Nirulve would be the acolyte, be the strong one, and Nirulve would survive. He wanted to survive. That was all that mattered. He would join, learn the secrets, and become strong. He would not die.
There was only one place in which Mevoulve was considered odd, for he held a strong desire to go offworld, and to explore the galaxy. Above all, he wished to acquire power. He was respected and liked but he craved more. He had heard legends of the Jedi, and of the Sith, and he wanted to go and join them, and take some power and glory for the Lannik race, a race that had largely been ignored in prior conflicts. Most of his contemporaries laughed along with him while he spoke of his ideals, loving him for who he was and unconcerned with what his ambitions might lead him to do. Nirulve knew, though. He saw his brother, late at night, when the world slept, training himself in body and mind, waiting for his chance to strike out at the galaxy.
When the inevitable day that Mevoulve announced he was leaving, to enlist in the Sith and take a piece of the galaxy’s power for himself, only Nirulve was unsurprised. Only he had the presence of mind to demand to travel with him, to leave Lannik. While he had little desire to see the galaxy, he had no desire to stay, always within his brother’s shadow. He would leave, and find a world where he was valued independently of his brother. Do not misunderstand; While Nirulve never knew what Mevoulve felt for him, he truly loved his brother, as his planet did. So on the journey to a Sith World, he could not bring himself to abandon his brother immediately, determined at least to see him off properly at the gate of his dreams. Arriving at Korriban and being told by the Sith to immediately to go home naturally set the plans of both brothers spinning; Mevoulve had never been rejected by anything, and Nirulve could not abandon his brother on this dust bowl of a world.
Their first day, they acquired a very small apartment, and had a hard talk on what they would do. Niruvle begged his brother to return to Lannik, or go to some other place in the galaxy. The Jedi could perhaps help him, or would take him. Or he could join the Imperials, abandon the whole force thing and go for a more normal job? Mevoulve would not be dissuaded, and insisted he would remain on this planet until he found a way to enter the Sith. If Nirulve wanted to leave, he was welcome to, but if he tried to force his brother to come, they would duel. Nirulve refused such a thing. Mevoulve was stronger, a better fighter, although perhaps not faster, and above all, Mevoulve was still his precious brother, adored by his world. How could he abandon him? So while Nirulve hated this world, and wished every day for greenery and life again he remained, and they worked as a team to discover the easiest way to enter the academy.
After months passed, Mevoulve and Nirulve learned much. Mevoulve learned the Sith were amongst the powerful beings that walked the earth, perfect in every way, and their command of the force was unmatched. The way of the Sith was survival of the fittest, and Mevoulve knew he was the fittest. He would earn his way in, and prove his own potential in the force. Nirulve learned many of the same things in different ways. While Mevoulve would ask and demand information from Cantina goes and Sith Guards, Niruvle would silently walk from place to place, never being seen, listening both for words and their meaning. So he learned that Sith were powerful but cruel, and their Jedi counterparts were weak and not worthy of mention, despite their kindness. He learned that to be able to use the force at all, one had to be force sensitive.
He learned that his brother, the powerful and brave Mevoulve, was mocked openly amongst the guards that saw him. The acolytes, the warriors, even a master, all laughed and said the same thing. He is a fool, and attempting to enter the Sith was a waste of time for him, for there was an insurmountable wall in his way; he was not force sensitive. A cruel irony, for Nirulve also learned he was, and could join the Sith if he was inclined. Above all though, Nirulve learned fear. Nirulve learned Sith would kill without thought or hesitation, removing any roadblocks in their path. Anything without defenses, without the ability to survive on its own, was soon destroyed. And from that he learned to channel his fear into extreme productivity, stealing swords, blasters, credits, explosives, anything he could get his hands on, that would allow him to survive on this wretched world. Mevoulve was arrogant, he assumed he would survive on his own merit, and Nirulve began to fear for him as well, fear that his brother would misstep and be slain by a Sith. He did not know it yet, but he was right in this fear.
As the months passed, Nirulve began to follow his brother around, stalking him. Mevoulve never noticed, he was highly inattentive to his surroundings. Nirulve watched as his brother angered important people, and their amusement of him wore thin. The critical point was coming soon, Nirulve knew. But he knew not what he would do when it came.
One miserably hot day, it did. Between two boulders and hidden from view, Nirulve listened, as his brother spoke to a Sith Acolyte. He heard them talk, clear as day, but his large ears could not believe what he heard.
“I will be a Sith this day; either yield or die by my hand!”
“Yes, you have the correct disposition… but killing me will not open the academy doors, will not grant you entry. To do that, there is someone you must kill, but not me. You know who.”
“Nirulve, then. Killing him is how I will gain access.”
“Is that the name of your brother, Mevoulve? We do not know him other than the ‘weak one’.”
“It doesn’t matter. If that’s what I have to do, then I will do it.”
I will do it. Those words tumbled around Nirulve’s head. Mevoulve… the better brother, the loved brother, the proud and strong, who no matter how hard he tried, could not become Sith… would kill him? No. Nononono. That wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. Even as Nirulve crept away, mindlessly stealing a new sword, his mind was a flurry. He couldn’t do that. But this planet was a corruption. It tore at his brother’s mind. He felt it, when he first touched down. It was evil. Sith were evil. It was a cruel joke. He was going to die as a cruel joke. No. No no. He couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die.
He entered his home, sword in hand.
He didn’t want to die.
He saw his brother, Mevoulve the proud, who greeted him cheerfully.
He didn’t want to die.
He stabbed Mevoulve once. Twice. In the throat. In the heart. Over and over again.
He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die.
Nirulve regained consciousness some time later, the remnants of his brother’s lifeless body at his feet, his blood staining the floor, staining the sword Nirulve had stolen, staining Nirulve’s skin. But Nirulve was alive. He walked out, mindlessly heading to the Cantina again, to learn more, to survive. Fortune was with him that day, for the very acolyte was out drinking, regaling his story. Arrogantly laughing about how he had commanded one death. How he would dispatch Mevoulve the stupid the next day, when he showed up with his only supporter’s head. Nirulve was stunned. Mevoulve the stupid. Mevoulve the fool. But if this man planned to kill a Lannik, the difference between Nirulve and Mevoulve would not be enough to save Nirulve. No. To survive, he had to kill his enemy before the enemy realized his existence. This enemy was drunk. Was not paying attention. Was weak.
And on Korriban, the weak were culled.
He didn’t want to die.
Nirulve carved a bloody line through the acolyte, killing him before he could react. Now there was an open seat. Nirulve would be the acolyte, be the strong one, and Nirulve would survive. He wanted to survive. That was all that mattered. He would join, learn the secrets, and become strong. He would not die.
Getting into the Sith was easy; he was force sensitive and had an ID card. Once he was inside, he could rapidly acquire proof he belonged. Within a month, he did belong; those who knew he had once been the miserable creature skulking about the settlement near the academy did not care or had forgotten. He had now become a creature that skulked about, listening at the doorways of classes, stalking students who wanted to learn things he was interested. After several long months of observation, he learned some more interesting skills. He also finally worked up the nerve to begin putting in requests for missions; he could not stand still in this place, or the nameless darkness that hungered would find him easy prey, ambition swallowing the stupid and weak. Nirulve was not stupid, but he could no long afford to be weak. He applied for training, and received very little. Of the Sith Code, he finally heard it in it's entirety. He could not, however, remember it. His teachers took it for granted that he did, that he could recite it. His comprehension was that of the first line.
"There is no Peace; Therein lies only Passion."
Conflict is the nature of all beings. All beings want things. All beings need things. In a universe of finite things, there was an infinite demand. There could be no peace, for no being can willingly die for the benefit of others. It is impossible. Peace is a lie. Why use peace? Why is it so easy to fool yourself? Because peace simply means that you and your companions have enough to pretend the rest of the galaxy exists. But it is a lie. There is always hunger. There is always sickness. There are always desires.
"There is no Peace; Therein lies only Passion"
Passion. Conflict. Are they the same? No. Passion is the emotion that bares conflict. He had met Sith; the angry, the arrogant, the cheerful, the mysterious. Each had their own focal emotion, their source of fuel. What drove them. Their hungers. Their desires. What drove him? He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die. If he could live, then everything would be fine. He just had to keep living.
"There is no Peace; Therein lies only passion"
He had been called a coward. Been called weak. Foolish. He remembered their eyes; those who held him in contempt. Those who had called him a coward outright. "You reek of fear", they said. Was fear his passion? Was fear what drove him? Such a pathetic thing. But it was so. He was always afraid. He always held his sword with him.
Nirulve's early months of being a Sith were an endless track of these thoughts, mulling over the first line, mulling over what the Sith thought of him. He met a few decent ones, Galad Victus or Whelp. A respectable Lord named Drakus. An enigmatic figure named the Lector. His missions were unremarkable, and brought unremarkable success. He learned to hide his presence in the force, kill it so that he could hide from even those who used the force. He learned how to shield his mind from mental attacks, from tricks and deceptions. He was not yet able to throw the force about him in a meaningful way, still a novice in the basics of pushing and pulling. It seemed easier, simpler, to use the force to shield and hide himself. He learned a little of philosophy as well, and it began to shape him, alter him into something more logical, more cruel.
The Battle of Corusant was a strangely important yet uninteresting event for Nirulve. He went, of course; there were few Sith who did not. It was his first battle, and in that day he learned he very much hated the carnage of war. The madness and destruction it entailed horrified him, and yet strangely sharpened him. He quickly latched on to a Sith who looked more a terrifying monster than a sentient being, following in the wake of his rampage safely. Safely that is until the beast and he entered a strange training room, of shifting shapes and shadows. There, he met his first Jedi. An angelic figure, a holy looking being. He watched in silent awe as the duel between a demon and an angel took place, painfully aware of his own pitiless weakness. He was yet forced into a moment's action as another padawan entered, looking to aid the knight. Nirulve, perhaps for the first time since his brother, made the choice, to act. To attack. It was a choice of survival; if they killed the beast they might focus him down next. He silently maneuvered around the padawan, intending to take his life with a blow and then proceed to help kill the angel.
He was unfortunately useless. The Beast-Sith killed the Angel-knight before the padawan could get close; Nirulve's own assassination attempt failed miserably as well. The padawan fled and the Beast-Sith gave pursuit, not interested in his downed prey. Nirulve could not help but go to her broken form, the room forming a pedestal, as if to protect her body from any further mutilation. He calmed the room, and in turn calmed himself, tapping into the force from a place not of fear. It was the first time for him, and one filled with one of revelation. His enemies body was cracked and broken at his feet, of no fault of his own, and yet he felt nothing. She had been an enemy, certainly. She would have done this to him given the chance. The Sith still might. Why then, while death was around him, was he so calm?
He gently placed his sword on her throat, and then began to cut. Softly, as one might cut a wedding cake. A small trail of blood leaked out. He watched it trail down her neck with a strange sereneness. Her corpse sat there, and he could do nothing but stare at it. He created another cut, deeper and lower, and at the edges of his mind, he wondered what would it be like, to do this to someone else? He knew he must have done it to his brother, so why couldn't he remember? How strange. He cut again, dreaming of his what it must have felt like. Again. Faster this time. It had been fast with him. Faster. Faster.
After a few minutes, he stopped. He had been quite stained with blood. The Jedi's corpse was unrecognizable. The only thing left in one piece was her lightsaber, which had been a pure white colour as her skin. It ill suited him, but he knew he needed to keep something of this Jedi, of this Angel that had revealed so much to him. He took it, igniting it once, admiring the silver of the blade. He had intended to test it on her, use it to burn what pieces of flesh had not been cut. Moments before he was cut off by a horrifying tremor in the force. Immediately he knew it was time to leave. He left the body there; he supposed in the coming madness it would not matter much what sort of clarity he had acquired in those moments. He ran, faster than he had known to be possible, managing to catch one of the last few ships before the destruction of the planet.
The lightsaber he carried with him always, as with his sword, both important mementos. Unlike his sword, he would not unsheathe the lightsaber for ten more years.
"There is no Peace; Therein lies only Passion."
Conflict is the nature of all beings. All beings want things. All beings need things. In a universe of finite things, there was an infinite demand. There could be no peace, for no being can willingly die for the benefit of others. It is impossible. Peace is a lie. Why use peace? Why is it so easy to fool yourself? Because peace simply means that you and your companions have enough to pretend the rest of the galaxy exists. But it is a lie. There is always hunger. There is always sickness. There are always desires.
"There is no Peace; Therein lies only Passion"
Passion. Conflict. Are they the same? No. Passion is the emotion that bares conflict. He had met Sith; the angry, the arrogant, the cheerful, the mysterious. Each had their own focal emotion, their source of fuel. What drove them. Their hungers. Their desires. What drove him? He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die. If he could live, then everything would be fine. He just had to keep living.
"There is no Peace; Therein lies only passion"
He had been called a coward. Been called weak. Foolish. He remembered their eyes; those who held him in contempt. Those who had called him a coward outright. "You reek of fear", they said. Was fear his passion? Was fear what drove him? Such a pathetic thing. But it was so. He was always afraid. He always held his sword with him.
Nirulve's early months of being a Sith were an endless track of these thoughts, mulling over the first line, mulling over what the Sith thought of him. He met a few decent ones, Galad Victus or Whelp. A respectable Lord named Drakus. An enigmatic figure named the Lector. His missions were unremarkable, and brought unremarkable success. He learned to hide his presence in the force, kill it so that he could hide from even those who used the force. He learned how to shield his mind from mental attacks, from tricks and deceptions. He was not yet able to throw the force about him in a meaningful way, still a novice in the basics of pushing and pulling. It seemed easier, simpler, to use the force to shield and hide himself. He learned a little of philosophy as well, and it began to shape him, alter him into something more logical, more cruel.
The Battle of Corusant was a strangely important yet uninteresting event for Nirulve. He went, of course; there were few Sith who did not. It was his first battle, and in that day he learned he very much hated the carnage of war. The madness and destruction it entailed horrified him, and yet strangely sharpened him. He quickly latched on to a Sith who looked more a terrifying monster than a sentient being, following in the wake of his rampage safely. Safely that is until the beast and he entered a strange training room, of shifting shapes and shadows. There, he met his first Jedi. An angelic figure, a holy looking being. He watched in silent awe as the duel between a demon and an angel took place, painfully aware of his own pitiless weakness. He was yet forced into a moment's action as another padawan entered, looking to aid the knight. Nirulve, perhaps for the first time since his brother, made the choice, to act. To attack. It was a choice of survival; if they killed the beast they might focus him down next. He silently maneuvered around the padawan, intending to take his life with a blow and then proceed to help kill the angel.
He was unfortunately useless. The Beast-Sith killed the Angel-knight before the padawan could get close; Nirulve's own assassination attempt failed miserably as well. The padawan fled and the Beast-Sith gave pursuit, not interested in his downed prey. Nirulve could not help but go to her broken form, the room forming a pedestal, as if to protect her body from any further mutilation. He calmed the room, and in turn calmed himself, tapping into the force from a place not of fear. It was the first time for him, and one filled with one of revelation. His enemies body was cracked and broken at his feet, of no fault of his own, and yet he felt nothing. She had been an enemy, certainly. She would have done this to him given the chance. The Sith still might. Why then, while death was around him, was he so calm?
He gently placed his sword on her throat, and then began to cut. Softly, as one might cut a wedding cake. A small trail of blood leaked out. He watched it trail down her neck with a strange sereneness. Her corpse sat there, and he could do nothing but stare at it. He created another cut, deeper and lower, and at the edges of his mind, he wondered what would it be like, to do this to someone else? He knew he must have done it to his brother, so why couldn't he remember? How strange. He cut again, dreaming of his what it must have felt like. Again. Faster this time. It had been fast with him. Faster. Faster.
After a few minutes, he stopped. He had been quite stained with blood. The Jedi's corpse was unrecognizable. The only thing left in one piece was her lightsaber, which had been a pure white colour as her skin. It ill suited him, but he knew he needed to keep something of this Jedi, of this Angel that had revealed so much to him. He took it, igniting it once, admiring the silver of the blade. He had intended to test it on her, use it to burn what pieces of flesh had not been cut. Moments before he was cut off by a horrifying tremor in the force. Immediately he knew it was time to leave. He left the body there; he supposed in the coming madness it would not matter much what sort of clarity he had acquired in those moments. He ran, faster than he had known to be possible, managing to catch one of the last few ships before the destruction of the planet.
The lightsaber he carried with him always, as with his sword, both important mementos. Unlike his sword, he would not unsheathe the lightsaber for ten more years.
Nirulve quickly discovered his days amongst the Sith had changed. He looked at them, seeing their power, but his ever present fear was now mingled with a sense of... something else. He began to keep to himself, began to only ever be in the academy for the occasional bit of food. For a year he was content to wander the desert of Korriban, silently stalking the outskirts. He became more and more skilled at moving silently, and in shadows, hiding his presence in the force, and hiding his very mind deep within the vast darkness. He began to occasionally hunt beasts, his waking mind believing they were good food for survival and his sleeping mind screaming in protest against the madness that had lay claim to him.
At the end of the year, Nirulve killed another Acolyte that had been wandering the dunes. He sliced him down from behind, silently and efficiently murdering him. He was somewhat surprised to discover that there was no difference between cutting a human and cutting a beast, that it was so easy to end what seemed somewhat intelligent. He left the body behind, but decided it was time for him to leave this desert, suddenly afraid that he was going to lose himself out on the dunes forever. He quickly left, fleeing for a mission to spy on an independent government, making the political figures against the Sith disappear, leaving those who would allow the Sith free rein to live and prosper, slowly growing their influence on worlds that might be costly or difficult to take directly.
For the first time in his slowly fragmenting memory, he was happy. He spent his days living in tiny apartments, little more than holes with a light, getting a quick grasp of the politics of the world and using his skills to sneak in and out of the government, quietly dispatching those against the Sith. Until 1,017 he jumped from a series of worlds, bringing them all closer to Sith dominance, silent and trivial victories. He fought no one and had little to no contact with the Sith outside of a call or two once a month with his next destination or target. For a year or two in a particularly sticky political environment he was mercifully free from the influence of the Sith entirely, able to act on his own thoughts and impulses. And, perhaps unfortunately for the little Lannik, this was the year of his best work for the Sith thus far.
Having proven capable of stealth and cleverness, the Sith sent him to spy on the Mandalorians, suddenly concerned at the fact they were falling apart. He infiltrated their lands, learning some of their beliefs and their ways, watching how they were torn apart by it. Nirulve was moderately disconcerted to discover that the Sith belief system of the strongest ruling seemed oddly prone to similar fractures, and he began to hold the belief that if the unifying presence of the Sith were ever to fall for any reason, the Sith would themselves collapse. The Empress was extremely necessary for the continued survival of the Sith and by extension Nirulve's own way of life. The Lannik drank the detail in, all the while assassinating Mandalorians that raised voices against the Sith without a second thought. He quickly learned that Mandalorians were much more difficult to kill than his other targets, and he thus developed a technique whereby he killed the weakest and most vocal Mandalorian silently and brutally, allowing the Mandalorians to think another Mandalorian had disagreed. It caused schisms and often achieved Nirulve's end goals. He remained a thief and shadow within the worlds of the Mandalorians until the move of MandalMotors to the Sith space, at which point it was decided they had lost their status as players in the war.
He was then sent to spy on the Chiss Ascendency, both to ensure that they were properly using their own agents in the the Hapas Incidents and once again to slay any anti-Sith sentiments. They were very rare, and all in all it was quite dull for the Lannik, especially after his more interesting work in the Mandalorian culture. He once again learned how empires can fall, this time with economic crisis. Quietly he wondered how the Sith Empire managed to survive, as he had no knowledge of their finances nor their leadership. He stopped caring, and it stopped mattering. It had been years since he had spoken to another force user now; he his his presence within the force and protected his mind out of sheer habit, although having spent ten years using only these abilities constantly he had sharpened his ability to hide his presence to a fine point. Once Hapas fell he was withdrawn from the Chiss, the Sith having once again lost all interest in them. He now returns to the core after eight and a half full years abroad as a Sith spy. As he approaches the next gathering of Sith forces, his mind begins to buzz again, his old and familiar fear returning.
At the end of the year, Nirulve killed another Acolyte that had been wandering the dunes. He sliced him down from behind, silently and efficiently murdering him. He was somewhat surprised to discover that there was no difference between cutting a human and cutting a beast, that it was so easy to end what seemed somewhat intelligent. He left the body behind, but decided it was time for him to leave this desert, suddenly afraid that he was going to lose himself out on the dunes forever. He quickly left, fleeing for a mission to spy on an independent government, making the political figures against the Sith disappear, leaving those who would allow the Sith free rein to live and prosper, slowly growing their influence on worlds that might be costly or difficult to take directly.
For the first time in his slowly fragmenting memory, he was happy. He spent his days living in tiny apartments, little more than holes with a light, getting a quick grasp of the politics of the world and using his skills to sneak in and out of the government, quietly dispatching those against the Sith. Until 1,017 he jumped from a series of worlds, bringing them all closer to Sith dominance, silent and trivial victories. He fought no one and had little to no contact with the Sith outside of a call or two once a month with his next destination or target. For a year or two in a particularly sticky political environment he was mercifully free from the influence of the Sith entirely, able to act on his own thoughts and impulses. And, perhaps unfortunately for the little Lannik, this was the year of his best work for the Sith thus far.
Having proven capable of stealth and cleverness, the Sith sent him to spy on the Mandalorians, suddenly concerned at the fact they were falling apart. He infiltrated their lands, learning some of their beliefs and their ways, watching how they were torn apart by it. Nirulve was moderately disconcerted to discover that the Sith belief system of the strongest ruling seemed oddly prone to similar fractures, and he began to hold the belief that if the unifying presence of the Sith were ever to fall for any reason, the Sith would themselves collapse. The Empress was extremely necessary for the continued survival of the Sith and by extension Nirulve's own way of life. The Lannik drank the detail in, all the while assassinating Mandalorians that raised voices against the Sith without a second thought. He quickly learned that Mandalorians were much more difficult to kill than his other targets, and he thus developed a technique whereby he killed the weakest and most vocal Mandalorian silently and brutally, allowing the Mandalorians to think another Mandalorian had disagreed. It caused schisms and often achieved Nirulve's end goals. He remained a thief and shadow within the worlds of the Mandalorians until the move of MandalMotors to the Sith space, at which point it was decided they had lost their status as players in the war.
He was then sent to spy on the Chiss Ascendency, both to ensure that they were properly using their own agents in the the Hapas Incidents and once again to slay any anti-Sith sentiments. They were very rare, and all in all it was quite dull for the Lannik, especially after his more interesting work in the Mandalorian culture. He once again learned how empires can fall, this time with economic crisis. Quietly he wondered how the Sith Empire managed to survive, as he had no knowledge of their finances nor their leadership. He stopped caring, and it stopped mattering. It had been years since he had spoken to another force user now; he his his presence within the force and protected his mind out of sheer habit, although having spent ten years using only these abilities constantly he had sharpened his ability to hide his presence to a fine point. Once Hapas fell he was withdrawn from the Chiss, the Sith having once again lost all interest in them. He now returns to the core after eight and a half full years abroad as a Sith spy. As he approaches the next gathering of Sith forces, his mind begins to buzz again, his old and familiar fear returning.
KILLS:
N/A
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
N/A
DUELING RING MATCHES:
N/A
GRAND TOURNAMENT MATCHES:
N/A
ROLE-PLAYS:
Pt 1:
The Sandbox II
One Mission One Mind
Nothing like having Friends for Dinner
Trip to Dromund Kaas
The Battle of Coruscant: The Jedi Temple Training Rooms
Pt 2:
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