[WIP PROFILE] Maro Illias

[Darles Chickens]

//The following is a data log provided by Andris Keeloon Order Authority of Project [R̗̬͈̦̼͢E̵̩͙̥̰̼̟͎̍͂̉̅D̷͉̩̖̘͔̥͙A̘̝̭̣̙͔̖ͨ̌ͬ̿͂̑Ĉ̮̬̯̞͇̱̞ͫ̌̑Ť̪E̝͓̹̝͔̅ͬ̾͗̍̀D̟͕̭̻̮͗] All information is to be considered classified,
and to be accessed only by senior officers with prope̷̞̟̰r credentials, any form of
T͖̪̫̗̳̻̯ͭ͂ͨ̂̓ǎ̮̖ṁ̾̆̐͝p̤̳͛͗̏̓̈è̟͓̯͓̱͉̼r̡̟͎̤͔̰̣̓ͪi̠͈͚͓̠ͤ̃ͫ̚n̒͏̻g̡̗͚̯̬̺ͦ Will be dealt with with haiehiaikx//RR

“A brief, excruciating moment…My eyes opened into a world cold and dim, but it was home…comforting; my rebirth was founded in what one might call arrogance. If the power I am feeling is arrogance, I will gladly wear that as armor.”
-Maro on his first moments accepting the dark side of the force.​

​

Na̋ͬ̅̅ͬme:͂ͭ͛̈̓ͤ̚ ͯ̎ͦ̚M͐̊ͭa͂̎̍r͆̌o ̋͑̉̋̾̊I̓͊́͛̐l̑̍ͬͩ͊ͥ̎ĺ͌̎͊͒ͯiͩͨ̊͛̿ͤaͯ̋͐̓̓̌̚s̓ͬ̔
̇̑ͪ͗̚ A̿ͯͧ̔ͣgeͦ͂ͧͪ̉͆:ͤͯ̐ ͨ30
R͆̚a̅͂ͯͮcͨe̔:ͬͣ̈ͦͦ̚ ͩ̔Hͬ͌̈́͊ͭͤum̃ͫ̐̈́̋͌̏aͥͥ̍n̂
H̄̃̂o͗͛̿ͮ͆̌m͋͑e̒ͧ̂͒w̏͆o̍̄r̔̔͑͌̎l̂̍͌dͫ̏̀̈͊ͩ:ͤ͋͆͊ͩ ͮ̀̿ͦĈoͩr͌ͥͭ̉u̽̍s̏ͩ̓̆̚cảňͣͧ̚t͑̒̾̓ͧͦ
͗̑
ͯ F̋ͨ́̆̈́o̔̐r̿cͯ̈́͐͊̚e ̎ͩͭ̍S̋ͫ̀͒e̋ͪn̈́ͤ̉̄̉̋͊sͪ͐̀i̎͆̓͒͆͐t̀̈́͌͋iv͊̊̐̾̇̽e:̉̑ͬ̀̉̽ͣ ͆̓̀̿Yͯē͊̎ͦ̃ͬ̋s̋ͮ̀͆̔
ͮͩ͌ͣ͌͗̚
|̶͎̲̭̖̹̹͇̆ͬ̊͗̅̂ͩ
̵̣͎̞̳͈̊̾ͨ̅|̆͋ͨ̏͂͂
̻͉͍͕̦̩̅ͫ̄͋̈́ͅ|̰̲̟̣͍͇͓ͪ͢
͎̦̰̦̹̩̋ͅ|̫̱ͤ
͕͎ͤ̚|̩̈ͦͫ̓
̛̺̱̟̫ͅ|̛
̸̝̺̟̞͓͂̍͊̂̿ͅ|̞̯̩͒ͯ͊
̑ͨ̓|̌҉
C̋͌reͮden͑̒t͐iͧ̊̈̐̍̊àlͧ̈́̉̿̇s̃͑̍ͬ:ͭͪ ͏̭͕͔̦̪͍̗|̙̙͉̞̖
͇͚̤̺̈́̅̋͐ͯ|͈̫͚͎͕͒̇ͅ
̯̻̱͚ͅ|͈̹̟͍̠̥̦͛̿͂̈́̄
̺̲̰̂̇ͨͥ͜-ͯGr̀͐̓ͫảduͥ̆̄̂͐̓a̋͑̈́ẗ́ͧ͂͐̿̚̚e̐̄̀d́͒̚ ̈̃͋̚w͗ͧ͗ȋ̿̓ͥ́̍t̓͊̾ͪ͆ͨhͭi̒̒ͬ̀̄nͩ͒ͦͤ ̒ͫ͒ͬt̄̑ͩoͪ́͊ͬ͂ͧ̌p̔ͩ̇̾̇ ̓ͨ̇̉̇5͆̌%̔ ̂̋̍aͪ͑͐ͣ͗ṫ͆ͤ̐ͮ ͨ͆͌the̎́ ͭCͣͧͪ̔̇o̍̄ͫ̚rë́͋̏̈̈ĺ̎̌ͪ̔̄ĺͭ͗̒̇͂̚i̔ͪá̈͛ͦ͋̈́n ͦ̓ͨ́̊͒̇f̈́͌̏̌ͯ̍l̉̿͌̽̚̚i͒̔g̒hͭt̋̅ ̉͐ͫͤ̄Aͯ̾̏̎̿̚c͒͒͐̒̿̿a̿dͥ́̇͛͒ͯem̓͊y͛.͐ͦ̿͊
̓ͨ-ͫͪͫ̎T͗͌ō͂pͣ̽͛̎ͯ ̑̓ͯ̑̏ͯͪmͤ̿̓̓̉ͮͬaͧͬ̈ͯrk͐ͣs͗ͬͤ͑ tͭ̀ͭͤ́͐hrͩ̂̎̋̾̎ö̇̋̍̏̓ͮu͋̾ͫ͐̆gh̀͒̏ͥͪ̎ō̋̽̑̌ͮ̈u͋ͣ̈́̀t̍̀͂͌̔ͭ ̊͒ͨṗ̿͛r͂̐̔̒̅̆̈́ḯ̔m̋̓͑ͪͯar̅͋̐̐́̋yͪ́͊ͧ ͊s̆̅̓̒̂c̋̅ḣ͐̈̓̈̍o̾ͬ̄̓ͪ̑͌o̊͋ͮͩ͂ͨ̍lͤi͊n̾ͯg͛.̆ͯͤͦ̈
̂͛̍ͭ͐̓̆-͒ͯ̂H̋̚iͫ̾̍̉g͛̉̍͛̔̍ͥhͫ̏ͥͩ̚lŷ̾ͪ ̊̽̓̃fͪͦ́ͩ̂o̾͋ͭͦ̒ͧ̃r̅͑͂̈́̚c̑̚ěͣ ̄̏ͭͥ͆ͯs̒̾̾͌͋ͤê̅n͌̾̂ͨsͫ̉iͧͬͤ̿t̆͊ͮ̆iͣͣve̓̉ͯͫ.͆̑̔ͦ̃​

ͯͮ̐​

 

[Darles Chickens]

I'm going to add more to this. I'm still learning how to BB code, bb.

 

[SpaceMocha92]

Holy cow, I've seen some nice templates for character profiles, but I think yours is probably the best I've seen so far.

 

[Darles Chickens]

Holy cow, I've seen some nice templates for character profiles, but I think yours is probably the best I've seen so far.

Ay thanks!
I was helped greatly by @Soverin
We're new!

 

[Soverin]

I see them runes, them ruuuunes boi dem ruuuuunes. This looks real real nice. Soverin seal of approval.

 

[Darles Chickens]

I see them runes, them ruuuunes boi dem ruuuuunes. This looks real real nice. Soverin seal of approval.

Thanks famirino. :cool:

 

[SpaceMocha92]

Welcome! I just joined this week myself. lol

 

[Darles Chickens]

[-Arrival-]
[Location: Coruscant]
​

"--Hello? Are you awake in there?"

Another knock on the door. Every ten minutes. Like Clockwork.

"Just checking to see if you're alive? Say something, Illias..."

The man stood silhouetted by the busy skyline of the approaching planet, the window pane of the light freighter brought a bluish hue over the entire visible civilization. The traffic lines of travel craft were halted as the commute bloated the sky-ways, allowing the ship to easily carve through the air towards the lavish landing platform in the upper wards. He'd draw on the death stick, letting out a shaking breath he'd turn from the window. His sickened yellow eyes shifted towards the door of the viewing port. He'd clear his throat, turning to survey the descent further.
His eyes closed.

B̛͕͔̺l͇̬̤̔ȯ̫̹̞͚̟̬̂ͨ̽̇ọͩͥd̬̟̭̘̻ͭ̔̕ ̛̞̦̤̘̈o̧͕̳͐̍n̟̙͗̆͂̓͢ ̰̘͇͑̓ͬͧ͋m̗̫ͦy̪̫͇̪̲͎ͮ ̳̠̯͖̫ͫ̾̌ͧ̿k̙ͭ̈́̏n̫̜̙̺̐ͩͩ̐͗͌̍ù̶̠̼̜͚͕͍čͫͫ͗͘k̶͉̣̿̌ͤl̟̭̬͔̤̹̄̔̓͛̌̕e̺̒́̓̽ͯͯ̉s̴͓̘ͩ̿̽̆̈.̖̣̯̪͛͊ͧ͑͞ͅ ҉̼͕̪N̛̥̤̘͉o̭̲̱̘͇̓ͮ͆ͮ͝t̼͎͖ͬ̍ͧ͌̀ ͨ̎̊ͥ̉͊͗m̶͕ͯ̌͊̉̌̐y͙͎͉̓̌ ̷̪̞͈̱̖̣̒̀̉ǫ̆̃̓̅w͇̹͐ͮ͊̚n̵̖ͪ.̸ͧ͐͌̒

He'd take another inhale on the substance, pushing it aside to burn by itself. He'd set it in the fine chromium ashtray, scratching at his arms as the ship began to finish its descent. As the ship touched down, stabilizers on the outside would make the landing soft and effortless, unlike the previous ones. Violent, and mind numbing-- It was something the young lord had come to accept, and even embrace. A brief moment of insecurity before indulging in the menial tasks that came with his force training.
"Wait for the crew to exit the ship. Do not speak to any of them."
The command would echo throughout his head, the voice that issued them was almost sickening to him. He always felt sick. But this was especially sickening, for whatever unknown reason, he had grown to resent his parentage. Perhaps it was the Sith training, or pent up teenage angst. He didn't have much of his teen years to recall thanks to the schooling that he was subject to. Perhaps that was the reason for his disdain? It'd be foolish for him to outwardly hate the two that gave him life-- Wealthy traders, both of them. They held the Illias shipping empire, an entire fleet of merchant vessels and a world's worth of shipyards were only two of their assets. The family had a massive pull among the elite of Coruscant, and because of these two facts his parents weren't the type to be denied anything. Even the love of their son.

Time pas̭̦̻̻̜̟̫̽̕s̛̠͚̮̖̘̫̱̊ͮ̐ͨͮ̅ed.

The disgruntled crew would disembark the craft, even after their relentless pounds at the door, the man remained silent, awaiting his chance to leave. They'd eventually tire of their pursuit and head home, or to the nearest nightclub.
He'd pull the thick hood up over his muddy, bed ridden hair, and stepped for the door. He wore the usual dress of a diplomat, or young suitor. A fine leather topcoat, and tight slacks worn over the common coruscanti dress pants, clothing that was stored for him to specifically wear for this arrival. He'd tug at his belt, the sleek black cylinder that was his mass produced lightsaber strapped tightly to his trousers. A virgin weapon, but he and the others had earned theirs.

The landing platform lowered itself, and he stepped into the chilled night air of his homeworld, an orange hue periodically crept over his features with the passing of each ship above him. He'd pull down his hood to cover his features. His skin had become pale, and eyes yellowed with corruption. He knew he looked unwell, and nothing like his parents would assume him to be but he had to answer their call. If they reacted violently upon realization that their precious heir had been seduced into the Darkness, he had the saber to rid him once and for all of the constant fear of their appraisal. If not?
'If not' was unlikely.

Ŝ̙͇̜͍̺͚q͌̐̋ͫͤ̽́u̮͔i̼͍̣̿̂̊̇ͤͤ͜ṛ̡͖ͩ̽ͪ̓m̓̓͛i̴͈̥͎͓̼̼̩͐ͬ̎ͣ̔n̘̟̥̦̟ͥ̇͡g̡̼̞͙̟͈͒ ͇͕̻͈̺͖͙͆͌͑͂́ẉ̤̤̗ͥa̦̞̖̯ͯ̓̅ͦ͋͛s͇̠ͫͩͩ̑ͫ̏ ̲̜̬̤̻͈̓́́ͮ͛̑̓u̠̰͍̅͊͝s̱̯̯̺͍̃ͬͭ̍͂ẹ͚̘͗̃̊̏͐̑͡l̹͉̯̪̹̓͞e͕̪͙̱͑ͫͮ̅̀ͮ͒s̜̭͓̲̦̐ͩͦͥͬ́s͚͉̆̒͑͒̌ͫ̿.͙̫͚̳͙͕̐̽̀̎ͥ̐ͨͅ ̊̃͗F͔ͮ̏̑̆̈l̥̳̩͖͔̏͒ͮa҉̭͎̬̲̙̥̜ỉ̫̈́͑ͤ̂̈͌l̩̱͖̯̦̩͆ͭͦ̽͜ͅi͔̦͎̽̑̾̚͝n̬̣̘͔͖̪̻ǵ̰̟̖̺͎̮͙͗ͤ.̪̠͐̃ͧ̎̃͐͠ ̛̤͛ͥ͒͒C̫̽̀ő̷͋̇n͙̩̖̻͎̔͝v̘̏̆ṷ͕͉̱l̵͓̳͋ͤͬ̏̾̚s̠̤̲͙͉̘͑ͦ̂ị̡̮̋̐̃́͊̍n͏͈͓͖ğ̜̳͚̀͆.̷͓̟̗̼̤̟ͪ̑̚ͅ ̸̣͕̣̱̝̹̏


There he stood. At the end of the landing pad was Anzel Illias. A tall, thin man with slicked back hair, and expensive finery. His fingers were adorned with a collection of signets-- decorations of his masterful diplomacy. He'd cross his arms, appraising the approaching Sith. His stare was constantly unimpressed.
Seeing him, almost caused the boy to reach for his saber, but he continued the approach for what felt like miles before he arrived at the shadow of his father. He'd clear his throat, before parting his lips and speaking in his monotone hoarse, but proper diction.
"Master Illias."
Anzel said nothing, simply brought his ringed hand out to tip the hood down from his son-turned-weapon. Flicking the hood off of his head revealed the sickly unmistakable features of the young Sith. The young lord gripped tightly at the hilt of his saber, ready to flick it out at any moment. He'd strike at his abdomen. It'd be quick and if he could cleave him in half, there could be no direct opposition. He'd glide his thumb over the button to ignite his weapon, but then felt his father's hands wrap around his face. They were warm, and soft. He'd flick his distrusting stare towards the man.
"My son. You truly are the heir we had sacrificed for."
Then he smiled. It was the first genuine smile the boy had ever seen from his father. At the same time, the Trade King brought his coat aside, to reveal the badge that hung close to his person. The crimson Sith Bendu. The boy was confused, and felt even more sick to his stomach now. His father brought his hand from his face, and reached for the Cylindrical device at his waist. Unmistakably a Saber hilt. It was rounded, and covered in a blackened chromium, with precious metal inlays, a truly expensive piece. A gift. The father planted it in his son's now shaking hand.

"Wͪͥͩ̎̔e̮͚͚̺ͩľ̰̦̤͉̬ͭͦc̛̭̝͎͖̫̫̳ͤ̋o̯͂͌ͩ̀ͅm͍̥̬̗̙̜͖̀e̵̯͍̠̦͖ͬ ͚ͫ̋̈̏̓h̘̪̓ỏ̮̱̫̤̪̱͎m̒̉ͭͭͩȇ̵̱͇,̰̹̥̳͓ ̏͒̔̒̾M̩ͥ̋̎̄̿̿a̙͕͔̗͍̟̮͆̇͝r͐ͯ҉̲̫̪ͅõ̋̇."


I͌ͤ̑͑͘ ̘̾̃̐͐͞s̱̘̄͗̏a̫͇̖͔͍͑̈͢wͬ̃͒̋̚͏͔̼͕ ̰͖̣ͧt̨̜̮͉͖̣̙̖͒ͪ̿͛h̺̖̔̄e̳̙̐ͣͦͤ͐ͅm͈̓͘ ͑͋ͥ̊̇͏̲͙s̺͚̗̱͛͐̄͞t̶̄ͧ͂́̒͑̏r͓̘͎͈̹̼̃̆̓ͧȗ̳̯̲͚̠ͦͪ͛͑̀g̮͡g̴̃̓͛ͥͥ̅l҉̙͖̱͖̹̘eͣ̅,̪͈̳͛̂̿ͭ ͇̀͘ͅͅI̩̓̈̔̆ ͔̩̦̮̝̖̫s̲̬̅̕a̸͇̗̓̈̑̊wͯ̇͒͗̍̉͏̪͚ ̳̇ḣ͛͊̔̍͜i̢̘̠̫̫̹̻͇ͮ̍͗͊̌̌̇m̻̟̗ͬ͂́̾ͣ ̖̻̳̗͎̫̒a͇̤͉̦͍̹̽ͬͫͩ̌̾tͮ̈́͐͌̇ͣt̪̳͇̟͞ẽ͇m͓̥͙̩̒̔p̯̭̋̽̒͐ͥ́ͩͅṭ̴̔̓̾̌ͧ̑ͬ ̲͉͔͖̪̎̿̄͝t̤̠̰̗͍̮̤̀ͯͯ͐͑ͩo̗͇̗̳͈̲̔ͦ̈ͩ ̻͓͂R̺͍͛͘ữ̫̠͔ͯ͊n̻̳̻̰͇̥̑ͪ̐̐ͧ̀̔.̡̗͖͓͕̥͚̐͑ ͕̝͓̲̟͕̰ͧ͊
ͣ͛̉̋̌ͧI͒ͦ̚҉̬͕̩̳ ̤͂̔ͪ͂͂ͦ̈d͌̾̇̂ͮi̩͚͓ͣd̸̰̜ ̻̱̬̼͔̬̒͒͢n͇̯͖͚̰͉͌o̼̦̭͛͂ͤͯ̑̌t̥̥̦͓ ̣̩̩̜͇̥͇ͬ̆̊̽h͙͎̩͟ȇ̘̝͚̭̔͌̇ͦ̏͜ͅl̬̄ͯͩ̓̃p̧͚̲͈̝ͅ
̱͉͖̱̮̯ͧ͛͐͆Į̤̥͍ͦͯ̈͑ ̷͚͓͔ͅd̫̲̜̜̔̒͡ͅi̙̙̩̬͇̾̂͝dͩ̌̈́ͥ̐ ̜̰͂̉͋̃͊͞ͅn̝͚͖̄͗̃̓͑ͮ͟ǫ̞̦͇̺̜͓̲͌t̥̖̩̮̜̜͉̑ͧ̄̀ ̣͠h͎̾̈́͂̈́̄̿ę̥̯̦̥̫̄̋̒͛ͧͬ̿l̻̤̯͎̬͔̠͛̈́̄̽ͦp̫̋͠
̝̦̫ͥ̄̋͛̈̐ͣI̯̝̐͗͂ ͖͖͍̦͛͐d̙̗ͤ̾ͫi͖͚̿͌ͦ͌̄d̥̞̰̦͍͙̳͊ͬͭ͋ ̒͌̋͠n̬͚̩͓̯̭̙ͮ̈́͌̎̇̎o̱̯t͍͎͉̝͐̈́̈́̿ ̝̰͡ĥ̢͓̩̪̭̩̣ͩͤͮͯ͐ě̺̮̞̹̟̎͑l̡̲͉̄̍̀ͥ̓ͪp̗̳̲̺͓̙͑̅̉̾ͬ̃͛
̛̺̠̥͎̮̳I̿ ̤̹̓̄̂̈́͗̍̚͢dͪͥͯ̃̃ͯ̓҉̦i̦ͭ̎ͭ̂d͕ͧ̆̈ͫ̿͗̐ ͓̯͎ͦ̄̿̃ͥ̊n̽̀̏̃o͂͗̉̊͊҉̮̝͕̬̳̰ͅt͙̖ͩ̇̽ͯ ̧̫̦̥͇͓̦̪̍̊͂̒h̴ē̦̘͉̞̝̦ͨ̂l̛͙͐p̖̯̟͍̭̳ͣ̐̓̓͢ǎ̷̱ͤͬgͦͤ͑ͨ͂́
̪̠́͊̂ͮi̎̅͐̓̌ ̖̝̠̇ͤ̌͂̌͐̚D̸̖̺̜̫̬̳̱̿͌̊i̙̮̖̳̱͛͒ͣ̑̇̚d͓̯̣̼̱̖͋̃ ̡͚́͊̉ņO̶̥͇̙̤͓̍̽͗ͣͧͦt̙̘̦͍͉͔͖̀ ͓̬̜͕̠̐Hͣ͛̂e̺͎̲̩̻ͦ̾ͅl̘̩̦̣̲̅͑̚i̳̥̼͋͆̊ͨ̓̔̇g̩̤̹̘̬̱͛̅̆̄͢ͅ
̴͉̃̈ͭ͒͊̿̚i̟̼ͭ̏͆̄̋ ̮̤̦͓̳̘ͬ̆̄̎̒̚͟d̦̦͉̙ͫ̒͢ȉ̗̭̗̄̓̈́̓̓a͕͊̀ͅp̛̥̤͚̳ͭ̌̆g ̪̳̌̃ͭ͂n͇̞̺̻̺̩̯ͫͥ̽̓̉͒̓o̎̊͂ͬ̈́͞ṯ͎̩͉̈ͭ̓̆̾ ̗̗̹͇͈̮ͅa̞̅ȉ̭͂̒̾̆e͊ͥ͛̾͋̃i̺̩̗̜͋ͦ̒ū̧͖͛̏ͪ̋ͫ
͢h͇͉̻̟̘͊͗ͣͮ̈́͝ē͎̠̺̭͕̝̮ͣ̈̔̀l͆͋̒̏̈́͏̗͈̯̖͚a͈̳͈̬̦̔͗͐̿̉ͥͭͅọ͓̰̱̝͕̻ͤ̀ ͚̑ͤͭͭ͆i̡͓̯̽ͩ̄̑͊ͥu̱̗̘͇͉̖ ͍̐ͫ̏̌ͧ ̳̳̗̞̓͐̀̚j̨̲̟̖̿̓ͪ̑ͨ̀̄f̧͗͑͌̉͋͛j̜̮̹͎̼̔̑̏ͭͭ̅̾f̢̓j̘̫̾̽ͥs̬͈͍͈̰̰̝͊͛̽i̋̆̿̑͆a̳̦ͅ
̲̉͐Kͧ҉̼ ̡͚̙̮ͮ̽̓͆̔̚ͅj͚̹͕̤̠͎̜̾ͤ̇̈́̌̀ͦ́f͕̆̾ͥ̍ͣ̓͢aͤ̾̎̾͛͋ō̬̉́ͦ͑ͬ̀ị̭̥͋̿ͬͅė͙̭̖ ̾҉͍̳̻̟I̼͙̤ͤ̽ ͙̣̳̝̘̦ͅkͧ͒̇ǎ̝ͪͦͪ̇̒ͬu̗̣̅̓̆͌ͅn͖̥̥̰̼̣̽ͯ̽͛ͫ̌̐f͚̩ͥͯe̩̣͌
̳̦͂Ĺ̡̗̼ ̪̰̣̬ͣ̉̂͊̈i͛͗ǎͮͭ̓͠f̩͓̼͇̮ͭ̃̏ͫ͑̇ͥ̀ͅj͖͕͉͇̗͙̟ͤͨ͐̆͐̑̑͠i̪̝̩̰̰͒ͅe͇͓̍̎ͣa͍̲̖̳̹̓͟ ͬ͐͊ͣL̹̫̤͍̜̞̆̀̉̇̀̓̓ ̒̆ͩͨ͑̊͌͏͎̠̻͎i͙͖̣̩̥͚͔̔̏ͫͮͭ̚į̝͈͙̈́̂͑ͫ̚a̛͎̙͈͉͌̀͌i̙̤̒̏̾̇f̘̭̱̹̗͕̙̋̐̚
̛̼̣̱ͥi̡̫̰̠̜̗̜̾ͯeͧ͌fͮ̍̓̋̏̂̋͘i̹͛̒̎a̺͇͉͇̞̳̓̈́ͧ̀̐̓o̤̲̮͈̫ͅe̦̳̹̜͎̋̇̾ͮ͘ ̬̽̃ͩͪ̽̓Y̾̏̔̈͐̈́ ̘̼̰͎͖̲̘͌̌̈́o̝̝̣̬̗̹͑̅ͮ̾ͬͬi̴̜̮ä͆̄̍i̸̮̠̰͗̅ͨ̐̎ḡ͙̖͕͍̣̮͛̏͞ͅo͌̆̋ͧͫ͌͠
̮͇͔̺͓̖̯̈͑Ỏ̘̪̮͓ ̩͉̙̻̂̆͑͊̾͠i͎͔͇͙̤̙̤ͬ̇͝f̡̑ͤ̾̉ä̙͇̩́͋̀o̵̥̙̣͖̪͑ͅe̮͐̇ͧ͛̆ͬ̆ͅi̞͚̺̼̜̼̥͗ͦͣ̂͗̍̚͜g̯̤͉̅ͯ̔̆ͪ̔ ̗̙̖̣ͫ̎͂̂ͬU̬̗͙̱͋̿̀ ̡̦̞̦̱ͅỏ̇̈́i̱͞g̗̼̻̣̗͇͇̋̉ͯ̌ͦ̏ͪ̀u̙̻̺̟ͫ͂ȃ͕͖̩̮̝̓ͫ̃
̰̖̝̣̬͆h̳̭̭̥̭͑̋e͙̪̠̟̙̥̼l̠̝͔ͩ̍̄̾̈́ͩͯp̫̯̥̳̦̻̼̈̎̔̈͛͆͟ ̮̫͉̘͔͌̎̋̾̅̏̒h̹̦͕̟̦͕̦̅ͨ͊̍̈͗i̛̹̺m̦̬͍̻̜͂̈̽̄ ͣ̀R̖̜̼͈̖͙̤̍ ͔̯̬͓̳͖̣j͉̙̳͖͠a̤͇͖͕̟̎́̍̚͝i͚͇͙̙͉̮̱ͦͬ̕ğ͕͖̹̗͖̪͈ͤͪͧ̒͌i̜̼̔̽ͦ̊͐̎̚͢a̟ͬ̽̌̃̀
͎̉Ḓ̱͎͖̯̤̰ͬ̏͐̎̋ͬ͞ä͔̯͕͈̀̄̓ͦi̤̦̦͇ē̊́̚̚o͍͑͞g̡͔͕͈͈̓i̷̲̻̻͛̅̓͗ͫ̓a̭͈͚ē̸ͫ̈́̇Á̫͚̪̩͉̠̈́̆̂̅̀r̛̝̹͔̼̝͊̉̅a͈͖̻̣̋̍͗͗͒́͌o͓̹̻͈i͈̻̰̮̼̙̭ͪ͗̊̋̈͐g̠̮̰͍̣̘
̤ͬͮa̼͚̥̟͈̭̒̀ͅȉ͓̱̩̜̅ͤ̊̌̀ǧ̜͔̤̠̳̙̗ͫ̌͂̊o͍ͤr̓͒̓ͣ̀a̼͙ͬ̋ͧͅo͔̎R̨̟̱̯̲̺ͯ̾̀̓ȍ̘̬̭ͫa̮͓ͤ̔͊͂͆í̸͕̒̎ͪġ̒ḭ̴̻̫͓̘͚̇̀͒̇ͭͣ̉ͅa͕̯͇̩̪ͪͫ̏ͣ̾̈͞o̓ͣͮ͊ͮ̆ͥ͢
̳̭͚ͣ̈̌L̮͇̹̮̭̀̈̑ͭͣ̾͌į̜̘̰͖̦̪̇̇ͮ͒̉g̛̙ͤ̒̄̉́̂͗a̺̝ͭ͐̅́i̘̝͇͛͋̑̍ͭͣ͢m̟̀ͭ̆̚gI̧͚̎ͧ̋͂ͦm̫̹̑ͪͨğ̼̖͖͔̞̻̈̓͗́͛̈́͘ͅa̳̳̹͖͇̖̣ͨ͒̄i͇̣̐͋ͭg͕͔͖ͥͯͮ̃ͪN̢͙̤̠̥̪ͥ͊̊̅͑̎
̡̳̪̩̱̥̂ͅi͕̖̫̔̓ͥ͆͐̆̕fͮ͏̭͉͖̞̦̥ĝ̪̗͂ͬͨ̓ͦ͡i͈̬̞̹ͧͪ͂ͣͅa̱ͫ̍ͣ̾ͦ͌̚͝ǫ̤̉̍̉̈g͓̰͆͠ŝ̘̯͖̽͑͡G̸̣̤͈̯̾o̜͕̲̅ͤ̐̑̿ͅi̛͓̣̜͎͓̭ͥ̇ͤa̹̦͕ͯ͌͑i̢͚ͩ͆͗̓e̛̯̲͉̓̾͑̄͐́ò͕̪̆ͮ̕a̫͖̠͉̗͈͍̾Sͦͫ͐͐͟

 

[Darles Chickens]

[ - Bidding - ]
[Location: Sith Space; Corvette Inquisitor]​

The stars were soothing from the meditation chamber, and the soft hum of the Corvette, Inquisitor would lull him into a peaceful zen. He'd be positioned with his knees tightly together and hands at his hips. The orange irises would be covered gently by eyelids just as a mechanical voice interrupted the much needed relaxation.
"Acolyte Illias to the Bridge. That is all."
With a prolonged sigh, he'd stand dusting off his leather tunic.

"Lights on. Lower obstructions."

He'd command the Chamber's AI, and the dimmed orange lighting would become bright and florescent, at the same time the floor to ceiling viewing windows would be shrouded by a thick metal sliding curtain bearing a crimson Bendu in its center.

He'd turn, stepping with a formal disciplined walk towards the door. He'd grip the cold hilt of his lightsaber, pulling it from the table that it rested upon. The walk to the bridge was relatively short and consisted of three turns, and a thirty second elevator ride. Officers and soldiers alike passed him giving a few stray nods of acknowledgements as he moved towards the call.

F̹R͖͇̳̲̹̱̱͌͛̀E̩ͯ̋̃͐͗̊̅̀E̜͈̖̣͇̓̍̔̒D̡͖̿O̟M̠͎̿̀̀ͮ ̩̯̼͙̯͙̱́̊͌̋̋FR͙̺͓̜͇̓̽͗͒̊̂͡E̬̯̱ͣͭE̤͚̼͎̍ͦ̽̚͞D͙ͪ͗̂͌̚O̼M͕̙͔̳̦̺͊ͭ͋̈́ͥ ̠̏̓̐̇͌̒̂F͚̯̉ͥ̆ͪ͒R̛̩̉E̥̣̜͊ͅE̹̙͇̘̥ͫ̎ͪ̈́̂ͅD͎̮̥͎͉͒O͔̒̔ͯ̐́͜M̵̳͓͙ ͉̠̎ͫ̓̚͠ͅF̘̲̙̏ͦ̾̎̆͌͊R̟̲̦͝E̴̪̺̬̺E̻ͅD̴͔̙̏ͩ͐̃͊̐Ŏ̹̙̼͚̉̋ͫ̊̊M͍͈͓̳͍ͥͤ̅ͪ̇̚ ̥͒̂ͮ̄̓̀F̪̫̘͂͐̿̀̓͞Ȓ̘̹̳̻̼͖̝̔E͍̞̤͇ͮͪE͙̥̤ͩ͒̎ͭ̉͛ͤ͘D̝ͪ͌Ȍ̙͔̍ͪͥͫM̗̞̤̥̬͕ͥ̋ͤͫͩ͢
̩͛ͦ̒̇̀

The Inquisitor's bridge was a busy room filled with technicians and pilots all going about their work, showing off holopads, and comparing hyperdrive statistics, in the center of the room was a holotable that displayed a robed figure masked with a crimson holographic hue. Maro made his way passed the group of officers, and bowed at the waist.
"What is thy bidding?"
He'd question, his glare shifting towards his jackboots positioned upon the floor.
"Mors Soverin. Your fellow Acolyte finds himself in trouble. His last known location is over Mygeeto. You are to find him and execute a rescue operation. Bring him safely to the Inquisitor, and contact me. You will bring him alive at all costs. Is this understood, Acolyte?"
The hologram would fizzle, and shift to a picture of the target.
He looked the target over, committing his face to memory he'd give a confident nod before pushing out a response;
"Yes, My Lord. I will not fail."
"I would hope not. Go."
With that, the communication cut out, and Maro did rise. He'd turn to the others around them, the Captain making his way to his side.

ͮ̂̔̅̔ ́̈́ͧ̚ ́̓ ͌̚ ͛ ̉̀̌ͪ ́͐͒̀̇ ̍̈͐ͪͨ ͋͛̋̿̅ͭ ̃ͫ̋ͨͮ̂͋ ͊̇̄̉̀̇ͣ ̓̇̍ͣ͒́̏ ͌ͨͨ ͥͯ ̀̈̊ ̃ ͆ͭͦ́̉͋̓ ̏̆ͥͮͯ͌̚ ͊̒͋ͩ̉ͪ ̉ ͂̐ͩ͛͗ͣ ̒̈́͗̾ ͥ̍̎ͬ̽̉ ̐͋ͩͭ̿ͨ ͤ́ ͊ͧ̍́̀́ͩ ͋̽͋ͧ̊̆̃ ͣͧ̇ ͌ͩ̈́̊͑̈ͫ ̎̌̎̾̿ ͊͐ͥ̍̐ͪ̽ ̌͗ ̓͋͋ ͐͂̋̌̈́ ̑͌͆ͪ̌ ̋̋ͣ̏͛͊ ̚ ͂̇ͤ͗̃ͩ ̋ͧ̂͆̓̏ ͯ͊ͮͩ̚ ̓ͮ̿̚ ͐ ͐͋̆ͥ ̈̉ͥ͑͂ ͩ̆̓́̐ ̏ ͦ ̄̎̾̒͂͊̎ ͯ͗ͫ̂ ͯ ́ͪ̆ ͦ̌ ͂̀̂̑ ͐͌ ͧ̈̒ͭ̈ ̐ͫ͐ͬ̑̄ ͂̉͊ͦ͋͐ͮ ̑͐̓̌ ͩ̆̿̃ͥ̚̚ ͧ ̌͒ ͛ ̽̓̉ ͊͗ͯ͒̔̓͂ ̒ͦ ̚ ̍̄ͦͤͭ ̅̾ͬ ́̍ͨ ͨ̓̓̉͋̅̍ ͦ̂̇̉͗ͫ̅ ͬ̓͛̌ͬ ͮ̎̇ ̋̀ ̂ ̉͗͋͒͆ ͣ̔͑ͨ̋̉̚ ̈́͊̽̈ ͋̂͐ ̈́̌ ͨ ́̀ ͨ̃ͭ̓͊̏ ̇ͬͪ̓͆ͨ̂ ̌̐͊̊̽ͫ̋

B͍̙͉̰̱̦̗̊ͮ̔̀ͧ͂e̗̲̮̅̒̐ͩͅ ͉͈͈̲͐̐ͣ̚m̡͉̺͔͍̐̈́͂y̻͕͕ͩ͗̋ͮ̐ͦ̎ ̢̟̻̗̮͈̥̣͒ͫ̓̈́h͓̗̗͕̻ͤ͋ạ̦̻͖̫̬̜̎ͩ̑͘n̸d̥ͣ̎ͨ̄ͩ,͔̖͔͖̃̋ ̖̘͙͇̊̐͘a̷̩̜ͥ̎n̩̫̗ͮ̄ͪͮͭ̇͒d̡ͦͨ͒ ̯ͭ̆I̳̥̻̪͈͚ ̜ͣw̝͔i̴̲̲̩͚̖̦ͫ͆ͨ̑l̶̪͙̞͉̺͓ͦ̋̽̓ͧ̚lͪ̑ ̪̼̀g͇͕̮͖ͬͯ̉̎ͪ̔ͥṳ̰̲̝̙͕͑̏ͬi̧͖͍̬̪̿̇ͤͨͤ͛͂d͕͔̮̘͈̞͒e̠̠͊̒ ͥ͒͜ỷ͖̕ò͈̥̘̻̖̝̬ͫ͋̀ͪ̓u̪͎̟͓̖ͬ̃̆ͮͨ͌ ̠̠̂̿̊ͪͅf̝͈͙̭̯̝̥ͧ̏͘o҉̠̤͙̹̙̟r̩͓ͦ̚w̻̼̭̝̫̽̉̍̚a̰͈̗̖̍́̊r̲̫̞̹̠̜̎ͬ̒͝d̷̺͇̼͂̈̐͂ͤ ̵͔ͧ͛a͕̝̫̜̺͙̮͐̆n͛͘d̝̱̗̝̬̟̣͑͌̆ͧ͂̊͊ ͕̗͔̞̠͔ͯ͑ͭ̉ͮ̇̓b̸̦͎̥̙ͩͭͬê̠͇͔̍̎̑y̦̟͘ò͈̜̲̇̄ͣͯn̍̓̓d̮̹̔̄ ̘̖̱͎̖̜͕ͣ̿̋ọ̻̃ͭͧ͞b̢͉̤̩͓͎̙̹̑l̘͖̩͈̙̒͐̓ĭ̫̖͖̳v̴͚̇ͨ̈́ͭͪͣͦḯ̳̦͖̜̱̫͒̀ͧ̎o̒̄̌͐́̚n̞̳͈̘̪̥̖͌̓̊ͭ͛̅̓.̬̮ͧ ̢̼̜̪̤͇
͚͚͉͍ ̪̟ ̯ ̤̯̬͔ͅ ͔͕̼̖̺̥͙ ̠̱ͅ ̭͈͖͈̻ ̣͙͕͇ ̱̪̙̝̙ ͚ ̠͉ ͕ ̰͔͚͍̻ ͇͔͙̝͓ ͙͕̣̻ ̪̼̱̟ ̖̥̭͎ ͍͍̘͍̮̞ ̖͓̮ͅͅ ͚͕ ̞̪̮̠ ͍ ̮̹͖ ̗ ͓̹̗̺͓ ͙͖̦͈ ͈͎͎͇̬̹ ̹ ̼͈̗͚ ̰͎͇̥͍ ̯̟͚̪̯ ͉ ̠̠͈ ̠͇͇ ̱̘͎̯̲̻ ̪̩̩͎͈̘ ̞̤̰͔ ̙̝ ͓͚ ͅ ̩͎̯̪̱ ̩ ̬̫̼͓ ̬̹̬̩̻̲̯ ̹͎̖̖̮ ̘͚ͅ ͍͉̮ ̬͉̺ ̭̥͈ ̻̤̖͖̬̝͖ ͕̤̙̮̠̦ ͚̖̹͎̤̳̼ ̗̻͕̮ ͙ ̫̱ ͕̦ ̣̩͙̝͓̳̖ ͎ ͕̹̞̣̼ ͎̹͉ ̱͙̘͕̗̪͙ ͕͖̬ ͎̟͎̳ ̝͈͕̫̭͍̺ ̼̹̟̬ ̙ ̟͈̰̲ ̣̣̬͖͉͈ ̝͇ ̜̟̻ ̙̥̫͎̥̙̹ ̞̝̙̱͇ ̹̦͕͕ͅ ̩͇͍̪ ̻̖̼͉̤͓ ͕͎͇̰̹̗ ͎̹̠ ͇̙̺ ͇̼͔̟ ̟ ͍̳̮͍͔ ̙ ̥̩̤̼̫͇̙


"Set course for Mygeeto. I'll have my ship prepared."

 

[Arterius]

Very fun read, and very pretty profile. Maybe our characters will have to bump into each other when the new timeline arrives! ha keep up the good work

 

[Darles Chickens]

Very fun read, and very pretty profile. Maybe our characters will have to bump into each other when the new timeline arrives! ha keep up the good work

Thanks so much! I really appreciate it. Perhaps they will encounter one another, that'd be awesome!

 

[Darasuum]

very interesting. i'm also learning BB code as well. wish i knew how to do everything that you've done.