- Joined
- Jan 11, 2018
- Messages
- 130
- Reaction score
- 47
Solari As'hii Valek
ALIAS(ES)
► Calixte
SPECIES
► Echani
AGE
► 21
GENDER
► Female
HEIGHT
► 1.81m
BUILD
► Athletic
HAIR COLOR
► Pale Silver
EYE COLOR
► Yellow
MARKING/SCARS
► N/A
HOMEWORLD
► Eshan
AFFILIATION
► Exile Templar
RANK
► Apprentice
FORCE SENSITIVE
► Confirmed
"I am death."
Skills & Talents
Physical: Level 1 || Sensory: Level 1 || Energy: Level 1 || Mental: Level 1 || Esoteric: 0 || Form VI Niman: Level 1 || Form VII Juyo: Level 1 || Hand-to-Hand: Level 1
Skills & Talents
Physical: Level 1 || Sensory: Level 1 || Energy: Level 1 || Mental: Level 1 || Esoteric: 0 || Form VI Niman: Level 1 || Form VII Juyo: Level 1 || Hand-to-Hand: Level 1
Historical
I was born on Eshan, the only child of a loving mother and caring father. I was an unusually compassionate child, and I loved nothing more than the Echani art. I excelled in the dance. My master noticed my compassion, and he chose me as his apprentice for that very reason.
He said that he had wanted to destroy something beautiful.
I was taken against my will, along with my mother and father - no negligible feat, for Echani are dangerous if nothing else - to a planet deep in Wild Space, secluded beyond clusters of asteroid fields and a black hole. In my master's clutches, I was tortured beyond insanity, tortured until I knew only his will. Hate and rage sustained me. Pain became pleasure. I lost all sense of self, of who I had been... even today, when I think of that pain, shivers run up my spine. When I was broken, he brought my mother to me and did the same to her as I watched. I lived for my hate of him, but I still knew love, still loved my mother... He was more brutal with her than he had been with me. however, and so very violent.
My mother did not survive for long, and in witnessing her death and being privy to her pain, I forgot what it meant to love.
He brought my father to me next, and beneath his guiding hand, I put my father through the same tortures my mother had faced. His screams haunted me, those first few days -- I had forgotten love, but I still knew affection, though my resentment of my father's weakness soon grew to overshadow that affection. If he had been stronger, I used to tell myself, we would have never been taken. By the second week of his torture, however, his screams delighted me. I drew out his suffering for months, my once pure soul stained the darkest of blacks. When my father died, my master christened me Calixte, named for a deity of his homeworld. "She is the deceiver," he told me. "As are you, for beneath your beauty lies an ugliness so complete and thorough it humbles even me."
It was because of him, because of the lessons he taught me, that I came to learn of my supreme connection to the Darkside. I rejected his given name; he hadn't the right to grant it to me.
My Master had grand plans for the Unknown Regions. He meant to raise an Empire, with me as his arm - his soldier, his assassin, his general. He brought in specialists to teach me tactics on the macro and micro level. I learned strategy, naval maneuvers, logistics. Every moment of every day was dedicated to the shaping of the perfect tool. I gave my all to my Master, and for all that I loved him, as much as a creature like me could love, I waited longingly for the day when I could rip his still beating heart from his chest.
There were others like me, men and women he had taken and trained. I hated all of them.
It took five years for me to surpass him, and over that time, I methodically killed each of my comrades, depleting his forces faster than he could build them up. And then, when all of my brothers and sisters lay dead, I turned on my Master. Where he had once seemed as a God, now he was little more than a child. I spent a year killing him, and it was the most glorious time of my life -- I exercised the entirety of my education, and even developed more ways to cause pain, to coax more delicious screams from unwilling victims, and he was most unwilling. I learned the truth of myself in that year, of what I was and what I wanted to be, and after seizing his considerable wealth, I made my way to the known galaxy, to find souls deserving of my pain
Instead, I found a group of Jedi who had been cast out from their order. Exiles, they called them. My master, I discovered, had been one of them, but fearing death, had fled the war. Among those worms, I found my true calling in the chaotic beauty of battle. Oh, I had history seeking out Force sensitive youths to break, and I had been thoroughly trained in all manner of seduction, but these were simply things I did for necessity. I fought because I loved it.
So I became a Templar. Still, I could not surrender completely to my passions. To lose control was to lose power, to be weak, and I had vowed to never be week again.
I saw only the very end of the war, those last few bloody, desperate years. The Tragedy of Ilum decimated Exile forces...but it represented opportunity, and I was ever the opportunist.
Personal
I have been told by humans that I am "pretty", and that I have almost regal features, very fine and angular. I am tall for a woman, with a slender frame that belies my strength, and all the liquid grace of a nexu. I wear a stylized set of K6 light armor in black, highlighted in silver, with black leather wraps for my hair.
I know nothing of remorse or mercy, and I take great pleasure in causing pain and suffering; it's like honey on the tongue. I am a combatant first and foremost, crafted to kill with a single minded intensity - sometimes, I think I should've been an assassin. I acknowledge my arrogance and my lack of understanding beyond the teachings of my deceased former master, but I consider them mere setbacks as opposed to true weaknesses. I have found my more esoteric Force skills to be rather lacking among the Exiles; I know little of generating lightning or draining ones life through the Force. My visions of the future are very few and very vague, and I summarily ignore them.
Instead, my talents lie in more straightforward techniques, as I am above all as a creature of the now. I am quite skilled at using the Force to enhance my already considerable speed and and agility in brief, electric spurts, as I still find prolonged use too taxing. My greatest Force powers is Telekinesis, which I use traditionally, to throw and push and pull and choke, but also to enhance mysaber strikes and pummel my foes with concussive force.
My ambitions are grand, as my Master intended. His plans were truly galactic in scope, but he wasn't strong enough to implement them. Nor am I, truth be told. For that, I seek allies, soldiers, funds, real estate, ships, weapons... I intend to build an elite army, smaller, perhaps, than the Exile hordes of old, but skilled. A surgical knife with which to strike deep and quick.
I lie as easily as I breathe, and I take great pleasure in lying, sometimes simply for the sake of lying. Elaborate lies, simple lies...they flow as easily truth, sound as sweet as honey. I open my mouth, and liquid gold spills out. I am selfish, and hateful, and narcissistic. I can be petty, and vindictive, and I never forget a slight, real or otherwise.
However black my soul is, however, I cannot deny the camraderie I feel with some of my fellow Exiles. It reminds me of family almost, with ties that were simultaneously far deeper than blood but more fragile. Strong bonds, but brittle.
My master taught me something of all the forms of Lightsaber combat, in the hopes that a style might call to me. The elegance of Makashi harkened to the dances of my youth; I had a natural talent for the style. The aggression of Djem So suited me perfectly, but the pure form was too stiff, too regimented, and I was as free and unpredictable as a wind storm. Ataru was exhilarating, lightning fast but far too reliant on open space. The wild, yet flowing nature of Shii Cho appealed to me, but it was the sheer unadulterated passion and ferocity of Juyo that spoke directly to my very soul. However, I am not one to specialize, for therein lie death. Lightsaber combat is an ever changing art, and to truly call yourself a master, one must change with the art.
I decided that I would master Niman, and to do so, I had to "master" all previous five forms of combat. I take more from some styles than others, movements and techniques and philosophies - more Djem So than Soresu, more Makashi than Ataru, more Shien than Shii-Cho...and all malignant grace. I added to my version of Niman the viciousness and near erratic bladework of Juyo, creating a high energy version of the form that is vastly different from the more moderate form practiced by Jedi; they learn Niman because the don't seek combat. I learn Niman because I long for combat.
My offensive capacity is all the more enhanced by using a second saber - of course, when using a second saber, I find it all the more difficult to utilize the Force.
In truth, a duelist fights with a philosophy, not a form. Niman powered by deception and aggression, by rage and hate, by the desire to dominate and destroy utterly and completely, is, in essence, it's own form. That's not to say my form has no weakness, but the weaknesses that are there I exploit to lure my opponent in before an eruption of ferocious violence. Combined with my Echani art, I am a dangerous creature in blade to blade combat.
Niman is purported to be weak against blaster fire, but I find this to be, again, a matter of philosophy. But alas, when under blaster fire, I tend to take cover. My Shien is not yet fluid enough to repel sustained blaster fire
Inventory
NOTABLE PERSONAL EQUIPMENT
K6 Light Armor
Red Bladed Lightsaber
Green Bladed Lightsaber
4C Blaster Pistol
STARSHIP
TR140-Series Light Freighter
CREDITS
None
DROID
D-Series Pilot Droid
Astromech Droid
PETS
None
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