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Aurion

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  1. Aurion

    Savareen

    The provisions dropship recoiled with failures and careened treacherously close to the hills of sand and mountains of rock. The distance traveled was far, throttled at unmanageable speeds, with a blemished cockpit. There were wanderers abroad that looked to the skies and witnessed the strain of the aircraft, pointing upward to the black smoke that fumed from the engines. Aurion blacked on impact, but his senses were needled from the constant blare of alarms. He winced, and remembered his experience whenever he was thrown under duress. His hands searched, a quick inspection of his own body turned up no evidence of mortal wounds. He could hear the deepness of his own breath over the racket, the exasperation buried deep in his chest. Rolling onto his side, and pressing his hands against the cold of the steel beneath him, Aurion leveraged his weight against the speed at which their airship moved at. If he moved too fast, a miasma of distress threatened to black his mind once more, which meant a measured canter was the only option. “Ash! Get up! Brace yourself!” Aurion barked loud, and somehow, the words did not just echo off of the walls, but roared inside the mind of the companion he had schemed with. The sound of a powerful draft thundered as their conveyance spiralled downward, the metal that bounded the structure of it began to peel viciously away. Time was nearly out, Aurion had no choice. He reached outwards and towards Ash, ignoring the other individuals that ragdolled to and fro. There was a strange force that clutched at him, dragging him towards a support beam to steel himself against impact. If they died, then this is where the Force would end their stories. If the two lived, perhaps the Force was not finished with him after all.
  2. HOUSE VHASSAAR "FOR WAYSTRIDERS THAT STILL JOURNEY, FOR WANDERERS AT REST" HISTORY House Vhassaar are a part of an ethnic group that virtually only exists in the territory of Athelport, and of exceptionally small populations outside of Slando. These people are known as the 'Waystriders', and they possess far distinct roots from the majority of the people of Savareen. These people originally came from off-world and left as a result of a large dispute between them and the growing number of raiders and pirates that began to settle and dispute within their own lands. The Waystriders were peaceful and sought trade and the innovation of agriculture, while the other natives did not necessarily seek the same. As a result, they were ostracized and removed forcefully from their world, and threatened with genocide. And so they left for Savareen, a planet that was generally open and vastly uncultivated at that time. They believed that if they could demonstrate hard work and their skilled roots in trade, agriculture and coastal sailing, they would be respected and given credence. Of course, this did not happen easily, and they were rejected and exiled from settlement to settlement until eventually they wound up in the capital Slando. The Waystriders then came to the Duke in the thousands and beseeched that he allow them a place to live in the country. They offered anything that a loyal people would - taxes, levy during wartime, and eternal faithfulness. A shrewd negotiator, Aurion Vhassaar, rose above the rest of them in his ability to convince the Duke. He developed a friendship with the man and found himself in his good graces, and as a result, he was named Lord Vhassaar of Athelport, a rich coastal city to the West of the Capital. From this point on, the Waystriders reigned in Athelport, the Vhassaar at their helm. The family itself has seen much history since they settled within Athelport. From very early on, they established their city as a major trade port within Savareen. From this point on, they would change the face of the Vhassaar people, keeping them modernized and putting them on the path of innovation and ultimately high success within all the coasts. The innovations, reforms and projects patroned by the Vhassaar are arguably the primary reason the Savarian Waystriders have survived as a people for so many years, despite being targeted and marginalized many times in their history. ECONOMIC STRONGHOLDS: ATHELPORT, THE JEWEL OF SAVAREEN ATHELPORT is one of the most notable cities in SAVAREEN. In terms of architecture it is exceptional, absolutely enchanting. The city's docks rest within a gigantic red-colored complex known as the REDWELL, which hosts what is essentially a revolutionary market complex. The complex has many floors and many shops, whether situated along its vast quantity of large balconies or within the building. Many aspiring artists, inventors, musicians, etc will also advertise themselves on the balconies of the REDWELL, seeking patrons for their ideas. It is a very efficient system in creating a superior marketplace of ideas and wealth. The city itself is vast and populous and full of brilliant minds. ATHELPORT possesses a naval academy and an artist's academy that has birthed culture and ideas throughout the region. Furthermore, within the city and directly underneath the Vhassaar there are several noble families that act as patrons of the arts and fund theologians and artists alike. ATHELPORT exists as a renaissance mind in SAVAREEN, with a city-state attitude. The people do not yield to anything but wisdom, and only the wisest and most intellectual minds find true prominence in this city.
  3. Aurion

    Savareen

    The scene unraveled at a pace that was too fast, and the actions of men and monsters drew nearer as the seconds ticked. Ash was speaking, words exchanged between people who were both uncertain and fearful. Aurion could sense it, he could feel the dread that crawled all about them. The ship roared loud however, and the flickers of fire in the distance were muted in contrast to the thunderous vessel. Panic was a fascinating feeling, it could be felt in the stomach, it could be felt in the throat, and there was nothing one could do to wash it away once it came over you. Wandering alone, far from the places he had called home, dulled him to these sensations he could now feel in the air. "It's the natives! They've gone crazy! They're rioting and heading this way! We need to get out of here, now!" The man shouted. Before he could chime in with the ebb and flow of power at his tips, the crew barreled up the ramp, while Ash turned back to shoot Aurion a look of confirmation. “This was it.” Aurion played at the shawl that covered his features, readjusting the edges to make sure it hid enough while the gusts of the cargo ship intensified. Ash turned and entered the vessel, but Aurion froze for a moment more, all he could manage was to stare down the swarm headed his way. His extraordinary eyes, searching the faces of the mob. The dissection of their features was important, a guilty plea of the orchestrators of unrest, a confession of those that would continue to seed turmoil in the lands of Savareen— his home. Before the ramp could close, Aurion hissed and neatly pitched himself inside the hold. The bells and alarms of the craft were louder here, and as he stood to recover balance, he noticed the mess of supplies strewn across the floors. Perhaps he could turn back and cut down those that would arrive with fire, and hand out provisions to those that sorely needed them. This was not how he would have done it, but he could not bend time to his will as he could command the Force around him. "No one can know what I am." The thought just left his mind, and he could feel the transport lift weight from the gear linked to the landing pad. Weightlessness hushed over the passengers, and would feel like freedom, narrowly escaping tragic bloodshed. If he stayed, was that what the dreams warned against? Carnage without prejudice. "Ash! We——". Aurion yelled out-loud, but the alerts sounded off even louder than before. The force of a locomotive punched into the ship mid-flight and blacked the power completely, Aurion hadn't managed to grab hold of anything to brace himself and whipped across the cargo hold into the opposite wall. Red lights, fueled by a secondary source, wheeled ceaselessly while the pandemonium of emergency sounds remained deafening. One of the crew was dead, Aurion could feel when the pressure of impact blew the life from his eyes. He was too shaken to see if he had lost his new friend, with his eyes squinted, the world spun just enough for nausea to take hold of him. The ship was still flying, but for how long was the question. Aurion was slipping from consciousness..
  4. Aurion

    Savareen

    "Psst." Aurion crept low, and rounded the same corner. A hint of distress covered his expressions, perhaps it was panic, but the uneasiness was hard to address. He did not have much to collect for this, but loose ends needed tying, and through his farewells he could sense the commotion that awakened in the settlement. Slowly, his fresh presence here had become welcomed mostly, for he became a beacon of candour in the midst of those in the settlement that were low on the priority list. The low-hanging fruit had a savoir in him, but there was a danger in him that many began to question. "Ash, there is unrest everywhere, I saw a gathering on the way here. They seem to be rallying, but it is nothing festive." Aurion looked over both of his shoulders as he spoke in a hushed tone, his face and features now covered by a kaleidoscopic desert shawl. His darker skin tone was harder to discern while dusk ruled over the land, but his monochromatic optics somehow shed light where no source could be found. "Our window is closing, you sure about this?"
  5. Aurion

    Savareen

    The mention of a dream, one that hoarded blood and fire, such words arrested the attention of the wanderer. Aurion froze, the sound and interest of another relief vessel passed through his ears. He heard what was said, but blood and fire danced inside of his eyes now, as if he knew what Ash spoke of, better than anyone could ever understand. Even the lift of his chest stopped moving, and his breathing slowed to a desperate crawl, was he even breathing at all? There was a quiet between them now, an awkward tension that did not better itself the longer the silence lived. This is where the dead neutrality of color inside of his eyes really made sense, an unimpassioned gaze that saw more than what lips could tell. "How is this possible?" You see, Aurion knew this dream well. It came to him in his first sleep at this settlement. The first moonrise, and the first time he had found decent rest in well over a month. Exhaustion stole him, for the miles traveled and the worlds crossed, Aurion began to lose sight of things. So, when the heaviness of tire forced him asleep, that is where he saw it. The sand drank of blood, and became a tide of red death. The fire consumed whatever it could, from flesh to hope. Yes, Ash was correct, there were bodies everywhere. Men, women, and children burning whether alive or dead. The dream was not a dream, but perhaps a warning. For the man in the dark that held the torch to all of that chaos, standing and smiling in the dance of destruction, was Aurion himself. Did this Zeltron know? "If you'll have me." Aurion smiled, and reached out to shake his hand.
  6. Aurion

    Savareen

    "Don't sweat it. Could just be my stubborn nature." Aurion chuckled lightly, masking the discomfort in learning what it was this individual was capable of. Perhaps his training was the reason Ash was unsuccessful, or an even more clouded reason he was unfamiliar with. Did Ash know what a Jedi was? This was no time to disclose such information, the universe was a much darker place now, and none could be trusted to hold their tongue. Besides, the last Aurion had heard, there was a bold bounty for all practitioners of the force, and he could be the last of his kind. Aurion pressed his palm against the warmth of the sand beneath him, seiving through with the loose terrain as if all the secrets of the land lay just below. "Besides, if others know what you and your people can do, imagine the fear they have of you? These people are a territorial kind, living off of a land that offers scarcity. Be careful with your truths, Ash."
  7. Aurion

    Savareen

    ".. The name is Aurion," Colorless pupils met cardinal ones, the differences between the two were quite noticeable. One from the sands, and one from the stars. Aurion watched for a moment to discern what Ash actually was, but distracted himself so he did not stare for too long. He was a creature he had not witnessed before this, but his physical characteristics closely resembled what was familiar to him. It mattered not, the two were interconnected as bread was broken within their encampment. Eyes were everywhere, and from here, they would have to walk with caution. Aurion shifted his weight closer to where the out-lander sat, brushing the prussian blue from his face, speaking in a quieter tone. "There are some inside the camp that would see the outsiders disappear, will the Alliance come back for you?"
  8. Aurion

    Savareen

    These dreams never end Aurion rolled over on his side, and brushed the sleep from the corner of his cursed eyes, aches and pains still riddled his calves from his hunt. Blinking curiously, he found at his surprise, a hand extended with a courteous offering. Aurion covered his mouth with his left before he could respond, only because the yearning of a hearty yawn could not wait to escape him. He stalled for a moment, wondering if there was purpose hidden behind the gesture, but the murmurs of his own belly persuaded him against better judgment. The appropriation of food had been his sole objective for the last several sunsets, feeding those left underfed. However, when it came to his own rations, he had starved himself beyond belief. “Thank you,” The tradesmen twine that composed his sleeves hung loose as he reached out, and snatched the bread piece from the outsider. Without pause, Aurion shoved the small loaf into his mouth and savored the arid taste that came with it. It was in this moment, that Aurion had painted himself with a mark that would stick with him for the remainder of his time inside of this settlement. He broke bread with an outsider, one that fell from ships not of these sands. There were those that scorned those not of these lands, rejected the instruction to share equal in the plunder that was afforded the encampment. Aurion did not choose sides, for had traveled, and had witnessed a power unlike any that ordinary man could fathom. “I am born of Savareen, what brings you here, stranger?”
  9. Aurion

    Savareen

    The small settlement drew extremely weary with time and the erratic abuse of sand storms that hounded them at every sunfall. He could feel the tension bleed from every tent, and the mouths of the stragglers all around him. Countrymen, refugees, and travelers all blended upon these shores of Savareen, combing their experiences together in order to survive. Aurion was no more than a fly on the wall, wrapped mysteriously in the bleached raiment of a merchant, with no more than the clothes on his back to offer. He was a survivor, with ties to no one in particular amidst the rubble, but an affinity for helping them all. It had been his third night enduring the wild winds, and the harsh thrashing of small stones, in order to operate in the chaos of the nightly tempests. Reports of theft had spread like wildfire, fueling the strain on the ungainly community, but he insisted. Under the mask of pandemonium, Aurion made his way by taking from the rich and lending to the poor. There were men and women who possessed more than what was necessary to continue forward, and hissed at the mention of splitting their hoards. These were the individuals he preyed on, indiscriminate of their reasons. Rationings of food and water appeared to be divided without bias, but as a fly on the wall, Aurion watched an undercurrent of corrupted power begin to slowly surge in the administration. Desperation would reveal the wolves in sheepskin, it was only a matter of time. He suspected the refugee Ash knew nothing of his little excursions, even though proximity to his resting place essentially made them neighbors. For now, the comfort of his cot steadied him to sleep and worked to ease his subtle wounds.
  10. ZRAHU SKARR Identity Real Name: Zrahu Aurion Skarr Alias: Homeworld: Wild Space, Morellia Species: Morellian-Human Physical Description Age: 26 Height: 6'7" Weight: 210 LBS Hair: Prussian Blue Skin: Dark Eyes: Grey Sex: Male Equipment Ӣ Ӣ Ӣ Weapon: Ӣ Ӣ Ӣ Common Inventory: Ӣ Ӣ Ӣ Faction Information Highly Force Sensitive Alignment: --- Current Faction Affiliation: Former Jedi Guardian Current Faction Rank: Jedi Knight (Lost), Imperial Knight (Current) History: Force Side: Light Trained by: Hou-Jo Poleb (Master), Seraphim (Knight), Master Ession (SJK), Aryian Darkfire (Jedi Master / Councilmember) Trained who: --- Background Below the belt of the Savareen sun, there have always been those blessed with the power of spirituality and foresight. The only son of aging trinket peddlers, Zrahu did not realize his gift until his parents had already succumbed to a wasting sickness, leaving the young, traumatized boy to fend for himself across the dispersed cities of Savareen. He read fortunes in the gutter, for a coin or scraps of bread. He sculpted a hustle in order to keep his head above water, and watch others deeply to imitate their way of live. As his premonition proved more and more accurate, his reputation grew. He used his second sight to where targetable men and women could be found, or how the cards would lay in games of chance at the local bazaars. Soon, he began to receive patrons dressed not in dirtied sandals, but jeweled slippers. However, for all this, Zrahu could never see his own destiny. His future was hidden. Increasingly disillusioned with his success, he noted the common disparities of wealth, and witnessed those unhappy with their lives acting out in spiteful violence against one another. It was apparent to him that people were bound up in a never-ending cycle of pain, often of their own making, and no hopeful prophecy seemed able to break it. Zrahu himself soon felt nothing but a sense of emptiness, finally relinquishing his mortal possessions and leaving his home-city for good on the coattails of professed Jedi. This too, did not last long. Learning what he could, he disappeared and returned to the place that called to his heart. For years, he roamed the land, from the trackless wastes of the lesser civilizations to the ruins of plunder and riches. By distancing himself from others, he was alone with his thoughts at last. He divined not just how callous people could be, but also how corrupt the world might yet become. Feverish visions began to plague his waking hours, along with otherworldly whispers of war and strife, and endless suffering. He wandered far, until the sands turned to salt. He could not know that he had arrived in Crowvale, a lost city ravaged in the wars of a bygone age off the coast of the Pnakotic Coast. There, gazing into the depths of a ragged abyss, Zrahu opened his unsteady mind, desperate for understanding and came across a remarkably uncanny community. ======
  11. Survive Nevan drew impatience from the interference that wandered all about them and then relaxed his stance. He could feel the adrenaline bubble like steam throughout his blood, and a heartbeat that pumped like no other. He wanted this. Nevan however, allowed the words of the Master pass him as if he spoke to another because psychological repartee could not affect him whatsoever. Then, the Master vanished in the opposite direction. It was here where he stood confused and wondered if Master Darkfire could find the humour in his new instructions. The challenge was to survive, and yet, if Nevan simply stood here and neglected the temptation to pursue the Jedi Master into the conventional holo-room””he could do just that, survive. He looked towards the ceiling, let out a small chuckle and tossed his lightsaber into the air, snatching it swiftly as it began its fall. ”œI'm not into impressing anyone anyways.”
  12. ”œI wonder what”””œ What had happened, he didn't have the time of space to reassure himself of. Instead, as instinct provoked, Nevan ducked and rolled in the opposite direction as a spill of Force poured towards him and unleashed a coil of color towards where his neck was just a second before. Sparks showered the left of him and Nevan couldn't abstain from a smile; combat enlivened him to mention the least. As quick as he was on his feet, he couldn't measure up to the trained competence of a Jedi Master, this much was obvious. For the moment, he'd have to be innovative. In another hurried manoeuvre, Nevan spun two steps from the Master and then back-flipped to more or less seventeen feet of distance. He withdrew his single-handed lightsaber but did not stimulate the blade””Nevan simply spread himself into a basic defensive stance with his feet equidistant and the tip of his tool pointed towards Aryian Darkfire. ”œYou sure you're ready for this?”
  13. The monarch of Nevans' march was his own as he awakened undisturbed upon a vessel he was most unfamiliar with. He understood Master Darkfire would be crushed with the amount of commissions now put before him with the new recruits, and so Nevan took it upon himself to fade from the scene but remain up to speed. As he trailed the woman ahead of him, he took time in the silence to appreciate the unsullied constructions all about him. The spark buried within his irises was that of interest, and there was enough there to last him the next couple of hours. His pace was still swift and as he wandered towards the few that stood about, he could hear his next task being explained to that same woman that had led him here and as it was so, Nevan took the initiative to complete it before he was finished explaining. The cultured leather sleeve that wrapped his left hand was unravelled and tossed to the side. He brushed the powder white from his face and then leaned towards the terminal. Conveniently, his name was locked into the roster and a soft smile brushed his features. ”œMuch easier.”
  14. The 74-Z pounded with incredible exhaust, even more so with the remarkable boost expansion that drove him at speeds that surpassed five hundred kilometres an hour apiece. Powder white, of the finest ashen ever seen, drew backwards as the wind waltzed with his extraordinary mane of hair. The swiftness of the machine did little to bend the expression of calm painted upon his face, little at all, but on the other hand the hushed tremors of the engine complimented the meditative state he assimilated his mind too. The communication device buried inside of his ear beeped and informed him of his exact destination. A short-lived smile was all he could muster as he considered the possibilities of an ambush. He knew what he headed for, and without the caution of his Master, he was a lion let loose from his chains. The speeder swerved with a powerful clutched turn on the handle and cut sharply into a diffuse alleyway. Nevan abandoned the vehicle and dusted himself off before he scaled the hotel structure with an inquisitive eye. A mental count of floors ticked while he recalled the amount of other vehicles stationed in and around the area. The public still motioned as expected and there were still quite a few of them towards the front and rear, so this was the perfect location. With eyes closed, he lowered himself and summoned what comprehension he had of the Force towards the muscles stiffened within his legs and fired himself upwards. His first intention was the ledge of the balcony that was positioned a pathetic distance above him which he barely managed to take hold of. Before he lifted his own weight, he searched the immediate area as best as he could with his limited experience of the Force. Not one person within sight, successful so far. This continued until he reached the floor that this suite number was detailed to be on, and conveniently””the final outcropping he latched himself onto held the most activity. Suspiciously, Nevan cast himself over the balcony barricade and landed soundly. He smiled as he identified the man known order-wide as Aryian Darkfire just on the other side of the glass. Knowing it was him belittled what he thought was quite an achievement in secrecy, since he had more than likely sensed him long before. ”œOh well, the exercise was worth it.”
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