Ary the Grey

"He's not wrong."

Aryian's voice was low, making no effort for anyone other than Tresha to hear him. His eyes were still on the fire, but the Force began to make him acutely aware of the situation he'd caused for himself.

"And in fact, it's one of the greatest shames the Jedi have had to bear. But it is simply the reality of it all. You learn to live with and accept what you can't change...and you can't change the nature of the Force."

There was more murmurs now among those gathered, not even necessarily generated by what he said. He continued, in a more hushed tone, ensuring only Tresha would hear.

"In fact, for nearly a year I was enslaved and bent to the will of a Sith Master to pretty much do exactly what he just described. Just because the Sith thought it was fun, and I was exploited while I was weak. It's probably best to just let me be."

For a long time, things were quiet. It felt...appropriate. A time for joy, a time for grief. Regret tended to drag people down, but forgetting the past was a mortal sin. After all, that's how anyone grew and thrived, they learned from the past. What was anyone if not a collection of experiences and memories?

The last thought stung Aryian harder than he'd liked. What kind of man was he if he wished to dull his memories with alcohol...if he wasn't concerned with the lapses in his memory that were becoming more and more apparent? That wasn't living. It wasn't this shereshoy idea that Tresha had shared with him. It was selfish and cowardly. How could he have fallen so far, that he was no longer even true to himself? Well...no more.

"I guess it's time."

He didn't explain himself, and didn't really have to. He might have been relatively imbibed, but he was one with the Force, and the Force was with him. Like a tidal wave to those sensitive enough to know what was happening, the Force swelled to him, its limitless potential gently gathering to the Grey Master. Aryian stretched out his left hand, palm up, closing his eyes as the broken hilt levitated above him, slowly disassembling itself. Two broken pieces of durasteel piping rose from the mud to softly join the hovering pieces, meeting each other in a perpendicular joining. As they met, Aryian willed the atmosphere to his command, the Force beckoning to his call. Fire rose from the pit, following the line of concentrated oxygen to the new hilt, making appropriate welds that were clean down to the molecular level. The crystal had been barely damaged, but he could tell it would still function.

The process was meticulously slow. Slower even than normal, perhaps, as Aryian had to concentrate harder just to focus on his task. But as he focused, his memories flooded back to him, strengthening his resolve, encouraging him. This is what they would have wanted for him...this would be to honor them. And as that thought resonated in his mind the Force seemed to agree, flowing to him easier, until he was a pyre of Force energy, a beacon of hope in the face of a foe that threatened to extinguish them all.

After a while, the last few parts slowly slipped inside the new casing, completing the lightsaber tonfa. The Force calmed, and the hilt rested itself softly in his left hand. Aryian hefted it, testing the weight, and swung it a few times before it was ignited for the first time. He was no stranger to a tonfa saber, but it had still been some time since he'd used one. Standing from where he sat, he depressed the ignition button, and a brilliantly bright but slightly unstable silver blade cascaded light across his surroundings. It felt...right. And for the first time in a long time, he felt right. Tresha might have gained his old lightsaber, but she had given him something far more valuable in return. He turned it off, clipped it on his belt, and took his seat at the fire, either oblivious or apathetic to any onlookers the ceremony had managed to draw...his mind was focused, even through the now fading haze of the Mandalorian liquor.

He would reclaim what was lost to him.

Aryian stifled a chuckle. So they were all talking about food? Everyone around here must be starving with all they talked about food. As she tossed him the ration bar, he went to catch it with his right hand...which was still the arm in the sling. Thankfully she didn't see it hit him in the face and land on his lap, completely his fault. He could have caught it with the Force were he paying attention, or put the bottle down...or...

He passed her the bottle again as she continued, explaining to him a new word. It wasn't a feeling foreign to him, but with all his experiences and losses, it was hard to find joy in battle. But...maybe it wasn't even that. She said it was more about life, about living it to it's fullest. Freedom? Freedom to experience life as one chose it, to choose to live to the fullest. Perhaps. He certainly had made many bad choices in the past, this war likely just the latest link in the chain.

For a moment, there was silence between them as he contemplated all this, but before she got up, he started speaking again.

"The Jedi are an ancient order of warrior-monks...more monk than warrior. They study and place their faith in the Force, an energy field that permeates the known universe, tying every being and object together on a very intimate level. They value patience, emotional restraint, and diligent rote practice. They learn to tap into the Force and listen to its will, using its gifts to help those who are in need. At one point, they were powerful enough to help and protect people on a galactic scale. Now..."

Aryian exhaled, his eyes staring into the fire, wet but not shedding a tear as memories came back to him. After a moment, his left hand went to his head, massaging his temples.

"...Now, they are few in number and can barely help themselves much less anyone else. A long time ago I might have called myself Jedi, but my path twisted and wound far from their teachings. I don't...I don't regret doing so...but I miss those I lost along the way. Parts of myself I lost along the way. If that makes sense."

Another long pause, and the Grey Master took another short swig from the bottle. "I think...I know this shereshoy. Finding it again may be difficult, but...I'll try. And, uh..." He set down the bottle, and unclipped his good lightsaber hilt from his waist, holding it out for her to take. "Here. Consider it tangible appreciation for keeping an old Jedi company. Careful using it, it has a strong gyroscopic effect that could cause you to cut yourself bad if you aren't careful. Force knows I need to make a new one anyways. And, uh...now you know a little about the Jedi."

The Grey master grinned a bit at the line of questions. "And you are unlike any Mandalorian I have ever encountered. Well...you kind of look familiar, but I don't quite mean that."

Aryian took a pull of the bottle, the liquor numbing his tongue a bit.

"I'm just a crazy old man is who I am. I used to be a lot of things. Jedi, warrior...husband...but now I'm only who you see before you. You can call me Aryian."

He channeled the Force once more, guiding the breeze into the base of the flames, stoking the fire so she didn't have to.

"I appreciate you using Basic with me, as well...I know a little Mando'a, but for the most part I can't understand most of a conversation without struggling, and the Force doesn't help much anymore. I mostly just hear skraan, skraan-skraan, skraan skraan skraan, skraaaaan skraan, skranny skraan...what does that even mean, anyways?"

He was dodging her second question, and hoped she wouldn't notice. He didn't really have a good answer for her, anyways.

"Su'cuy . Mind if I join you?"

The voice jostled Aryian from his daze, and though well imbibed by this point, he was still coherent. For a moment, he wondered if she was a figment of the alcohol, as almost every other Mandalorian here had treated him with scorn and derision. But after a brief pause, he determined she was, indeed, real.

He gestured at a nearby seat, inviting her to a place at the fire, and noticed as she paused briefly gazing at his lightsaber. She motioned for the bottle, and he passed it over. Instead of questioning the companionship or her intentions, he simply tried some small talk.

"Crazy day, hm? Looks like we might be in for more rain."

It was uncomfortable conversation at best, but at least he tried. He reached out with the Force, pulling another two nearby logs onto the embers.

Some time later, Aryian woke with a start as he was jerked off the ground. Several Mandalorian groups were combing the battlefield for survivors. Though they were just trying to put him on an antigrav stretcher, the disoriented Grey Master began flailing wildly for a moment, mad with lust for battle. Four men had to hold him down before he realized where he was. That was when the pain finally returned to his arm.

The armor plating on the side of his chest plate was still shattered, and his right arm was mostly intact but looked as if he'd put it through a wood chipper. Of course the medics wouldn't be able to do anything for him except amputate and offer an android replacement limb, the rehabilitation period for which would have lasted far beyond the end of however long the war was expected to last. Aryian knew it was pointless...he'd been in a healing trance and the limb hadn't healed. Either it was damaged beyond repair, or the Force had a will to leave the arm crippled.

Aryian sat by himself for a long time for the rest of the day, contemplating what had happened. Even the lightsaber in his right hand had managed to take a glancing bullet, rendering it inoperative. What little he knew of the Jedi healing arts merely rendered it numb enough to not give him a headache from all the pain. The evening found him with his arm in a sling, sitting by himself in front of a campfire, lightsaber on his hip, blaster at his side, Mandalorian liquor in his hand. For a long time he did little more than stare into the flames.

With every last chunk hurled, a new memory cropped up, one that he seemingly forgotten, but was now rising to the surface. His wife leaving him. His son's looks of confusion, not knowing who his father was after coming home from assignments the Order had given him. Losing friends he'd cared deeply for. Being torn in half to fulfill the whims of a sadistic Sith Lord and turned into a killing machine. Destroying everything his name had ever stood for. He might as well have been a sustenance farmer. Irony.

But through the hailstorm of death, there was a small flash, like that from a muzzle, and the Force hit him like a sack of bricks with an impending sense of danger. On instinct, a Force barrier flew up, but an instant later a light flash and a deafening noise caused him to lose concentration of everything. Pain ricocheted through his right arm and side as he dove left, hitting the ground with a dull thud. What seemed like leagues away, a jetpack lowly activated, getting softer quickly, the threat felt through the Force fading.

For a long time, Aryian lay sprawled in the mud, bleeding. The pain was intense, two bullets were still lodged in the rear of his arm, having been stopped by the backside armor plating. His first real foray into combat in what felt like forever, and he'd been laid low by one person. Humiliating, and humbling.

Up in the sky, the light show continued on as starfighters shot other starfighters down, or outright destroyed them. It was beautiful, but melancholy. So much sacrifice for such a spectacle. At some point, Aryian passed out, either from blood loss, or by will of the Force into a healing trance.

His dreams were turbulent.

The insult had stung more than she'd probably realized. One of the memories Aryian had clung to, and a large reason his wife had left him, was grovelling before the Emperor for a pact of nonagression, and in return Aryian would become a farmer on some imperial back world. In trying to secure protection for those he'd loved, he sacrificed everything, and still received nothing. Well, no more. Memories bring pain, better to let them go...right?

"I guess we're just gonna stand here like a couple of ***holes, then? Fine. I'll end this for you."

Aryian reached out with the Force, intending to simply snap her neck...but couldn't. In fact, he quickly realized he couldn't feel anything close to her. The lizard thing on her shoulder...so, she had an ysalamir. Clever. Even out here in the most hostile planet to Force Users that existed, someone had thought there were going to be some, and so had brought a kriffing ysalamir. For a very brief instant before he moved, he wondered if she also had a backup contingency for every other avenue of attack, like so many people he'd faced before. He had? Which people?

The Force swelled as the Grey Master instead reached out telekinetically, beginning to grab small debris, a pebble here, a small rock there, a chunk of shrapnel over here. The bits and pieces began to levitate from their resting places as his eyes softly glowed silver. Then, like a storm crash, they began to zip forward as Aryian hurled them with impossible speed, practically turning them into a hailstorm of makeshift bullets, many deliberately aimed at the ysalamir on her shoulders, but most simply in her general direction. The Force was with him, and he was one with the Force. Forgotten skills, found anew...

"I'LL TELL YOU WHAT KIND OF FARMER I AM, I'M A LEAD FARMER, MOTHER****ER!!!"

((Directed towards Terra))

In the cacophany of battle, Aryian barely noticed when most of his small unit was wiped out. Laughter refocused his attention, though, causing him to retreat from his forward position and fall back to the walled emplacement he was supposed to be guarding. Instead, he was greeted by the littered bodies of the Mandalorians he was supposed to be serving with. His stomach sank at the sight, reminding him of all those he'd failed to protect before. He sighed, raising his blaster rifle to his right side and firing twice, catching two charging mercenaries in their chests, leaving smoking holes where flesh and lung should have been. He didn't care about head shots anymore...he was irritated.

Aryian dropped the rifle, unclipped his lightsabers from his sides, and ignited the twin silver lightsabers. Softly, the rain began to hiss and steam off the blades. He walked over to the mercenaries, deflecting a wild shot from the more alive one before severing his blaster in two. A quick deathblow through each of their foreheads sent them to eternal sleep. Looking up, he called out to the hidden attacker.

"I know you're still here...I can feel you. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way...the choice is yours."

((1))

Kol was busy cleansing Theed by blowing up civilians in his T-16 skyhopper when he noticed a lone figure outside the city on one of his passes. Feeling that this was someone of some importance, he flew closer and ejected overhead, doing several flips and spins before landing deftly in front of them. They were impure, he could tell right away, and they needed to die.

Kol summoned his caelestum to his hand, a burning bright yellow shining sword erupting in his right palm as he focused his empath skills, giving his foe a mild headache that could likely be fixed with two acetaminophen and waiting thirty minutes, not to be taken on an empty stomach, however. In his left hand, a vile cloud formed as the gift of Nurgle made itself manifest, the raw essence of putrefaction and vile decomposition ready to be unleashed in an unholy yet wholly vague manner. With his thighs, he brought his sonic blaster to bear, charging a shot and crotch thrusting for full effect. High in the clouds, his T-16, piloted by his artificial intelligence CC-8 began to angle downwards, warming up all its weapons as it was about to rain a completely unfair hell onto Roene's position for seemingly no reason at all except it looked hella cool and was nearly impossible to dodge or block without suffering a severe, severe fatality.

And then, Kol jumped up his own ***hole, taking his ship with him in the resulting nullspace POP as his overpoweredness collapsed in on itself, clearly too meta to function properly. His last words were a prayer to his patron saint, Slicer, to help him, but the prayer went unanswered.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, a slight waft of flatulence on the breeze. It was over.

((I forefeit. This was a joke. YOU STILL GET THE PRIZE!* *See store for details.))

HT'IM SEILI KOL'S CHARACTER SHEET

Identity

Real Name: Ht'im seili kol

A.K.A: Kol

Homeworld: Gen'Dai homeworld (destroyed)

Species: Gen'Dai

Physical Description

Appearance: http://i.imgsafe.org/d2d55024fb.png (but with a glowing yellow face tattoo, usually covered by helmet anyways)

Age: 1,138

Height: 6' 9"

Weight: 275 lbs

Hair: None

Eyes: Red

Sex: Male

Equipment

Clothing or Armor: Heavy ancient Mandalorian armor procured when the Mandalorian crusades were first put down. Steadily upgraded over the years to keep up with technology, repainted with drab atypical Mandalorian colors. The helmet protects from bright lights and loud noises, as well as serves as a comlink and interlink with an implant so he can send commands to his ship via thought. The armor is made from an older version of Mandalorian iron that is much heavier, but sturdier versus blasters and lightsabers. It is insulated and temperature controlled to protect against thermal attacks, and provides for a small supply of oxygen (30m) in case of zero-atmosphere environments.

Weapon: Sonic rifle, Stokhli spray stick, heavy-caliber slugthrower pistol (think desert eagle on steroids) with armor piercing poisoned rounds. Gloves equipped with stun knuckles and palms.

Common Inventory: Lack of a sense of humor.

Faction Information

Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Non Force User (Pariah)

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Current Faction Affiliation: None (Bounty Hunter/Lone Warrior)

Current Faction Rank: None

History:

Force Side: N/A

Trained by: N/A

Trained who: N/A

Known Skills: N/A

Background:

For many, many years, Kol had followed the path of his brethren, to blend into the background of the galaxy. It wasn't until he met with a Sith follower of Ason Antilles that his life changed. Sensing the potential in Kol, the Sith violently reached into his mind, restructuring it with vile Sith magics to see the truth of the galaxy, that most humanoid life was a cancer leeching the galaxy to death.

Three gifts were bestowed upon him, the first was modifying his neural connections so he was empathic, and the second was removing his connection to the Living Force from him in such a way that it avoided him at all costs, making him into a void in the Force. The third gift was a knowledge of the Blademasters and learning how to suppon his caelestum weapon, which manifested as a glowing yellow tattoo over his eyes, but usually hidden by his helmet. Over time, he learned to hone his empathic skills, able to read intents and some thoughts, as well as injecting his own thoughts into the minds of others, but this usually manifested as a painful overload of thought for the other being, usually disrupting the concentration of Force Users. Finally ready to venture forth and scour the galaxy clean from its sickness, Kol sets off to pursue his goals blessed by Nurgle, the Chaos God of pestilence and decay.

Ship Registration

Name: Bo'vid Ordure

Class: Modified Starfighter

Model: Modified T-16 Skyhopper

Manufacturer: Incom Corporation

Length: 5.2m

Armaments: Chin slung chain slugthrower with EMP rounds, Plasma torpedo launchers, diamond boron missiles, concussion missiles, more diamond boron missiles, twelve heavy laser canons tandem fired with ten ion cannons, proton torpedoes, medium phasers, EMP missiles, and a close range taser for nonlethal takedowns.

Armor: Molecularly bonded hull, phrikite interior hull.

Anti-Personnel Defenses: AI coupled with exterior short range disruptor turrets.

Appearance: http://i.imgsafe.org/d2998c2667.png - But with hella more guns.

Modifications: Pretty much everything in the weapons, plus it is spaceworthy and has a hyperdrive. Also an AI that can pilot itself and generally flies better than any carbon-based life form. Kol can communicate with it via his implant and tell it to divebomb his opponent for an incredibly gay instakill move.

"Oya!"

"Oy. Yeah."

Aryian's voice was, of course, drowned out by the barrage of gunfire at the figures in the treeline, figures that slowly began to take form as they rushed the city. Briefly, he made eye contact with his commanding officer, before raising his rifle and firing at the oncoming soldiers. They were barely within maximum range, but they began falling, one by one. It was hard to tell, but Aryian mowed down his fair share, usually with a head shot, the Force guiding his hand. Merciful, quick deaths. Whoever these poor fools were, they had little idea of the Hell they were about to be sent into, real, bloody warfare, as this tactic was an idiot's tactic. Whatever this was, it wasn't going to be a deciding point in the battle. Just another bloodbath.

The Grey Master ducked left a second before a blaster bolt whizzed by where his chest had been, and he fired back, catching the marksman cleanly between the eyes. Something was coming, though, he could feel it. Maybe he should have worn a helmet after all.

-2 Hux, +1 Luuuuuke

Poe Dameron 23

Kylo Ren 26

Luke Skywalker 36

Chewbacca 20

Admiral Ackbar 12

Maz Kanata 12

General Hux 7

Lusef, harvesting on your own with a few NPCs nets you 7 ysalamir for the 7 days on Myrkr.

Terminus Station

Astrographical Information

Stationary or Mobile: Stationary, with occasional drifts

Current Location: Unknown Regions – Outside the Galactic Plane

Grid Coordinates: A-7 << varies slightly >>

Physical Information

Hyperdrive Capabilities: None

Size: 3.8-kilometers (12467.2 ft) Length (Spinal Construct)

1-kilometer (3280.84 ft) Width (Diameter)

Physical Description | Exterior: Shiny plated Black exterior. The metal of the exterior hull reflects the space around it by refracting the light radiation back out. (Ships use a series of comm pulses to locate and communicate with the facility – specifically tailored series of pulses).

Physical Description | Interior: A great deal of the interior is based on what quarter of the station you are in.

• Q1 – Very utilitarian. This is where the maintenance, power, and utility facilities are.
  
• Q2 – A great deal of the interior is hygienic looking. Stark white is used a lot. Low lights, air filtration systems, etc. Each lab is carefully maintained by a suite of electronic helpers and complicated programs. These helpers and technological elements have different settings to allow for adaptation and change over time. Lead scientists can also manipulate the parameters and limits of their labs and helpers (with the assistance of the station A.I – Idarah).
  
• Q3 – Hangar and Manufacturing; basically, warehouse-esque interiors. This is where the ABS handle their production and shipping.
  
• Q4 – is very much like Q 2 (Labs, white, hygienic).
  
• The spinal construct is a large hollow rod that runs through the center of the station. It is basically laid out as if you are walking inside of a huge communications relay. (Because it basically is a giant communications relay that connects to almost all of ABS’ other stations.)

Dormitories are designated in certain areas of the lab quarters and they operate on a different atmospheric setting and preference than the labs do. However, the top scientists and visiting officials have dormitories in the top 3 levels of the facility.

The top 3 decks (3 out of 33) – Administrative. The rooms are darkly furnished and very well cleaned/maintained. The lighting is kept low to avoid overly damaging anyone’s eyes and intellectual property/words are well documented.

Physical Description | Other:

Hangars: 10 Hangars total. Quarter 3 - - - (one every 3rd deck (out of 30 decks)).

Tactical Information

Faction Affiliation: N/A

Crew Complement: 30,000 personnel. (85% Arkanian – 15% Other)

(1000 Officers/Leads)

Fighter Complement: N/A

Shields: N/A

Armaments: N/A

Defense Protocol: Terminus Station has a strategic and very comprehensive ‘kill switch’ program - - - (A.I - Idarah)

- If computer systems are hacked, the program assesses the level of the hack and begins to break down important information. All leads carry physical backups for relevant data. So, if an invasive hack occurs, the systems format themselves and erases/resets all passwords attached to each system.

- If the Lead Scientists or the station is threatened in any way, any relevant data is transmitted through heavily encrypted channels. The program uses a series of smokescreen channels to protect the main information transfer. Once the information transfer is completed and the level of threat is assessed, the station explodes, killing everyone inside and anyone within a few lightyears of the structure.

JediRP Canon History

The ABS has been a subtle staple in the backbone of intergalactic scientific discovery. They have quietly done work to uncover benchmarks in sentient evolution for years. Since the fall of the Republic and the failings of sentient beings to comprehend their individual failures, the Arkanian Bio-Engineering Syndicate has done its duty to search for perfection in any and every facet possible.

They believe they are the spearhead piercing through time, pulling ahead with brilliant minds and inspirational discoveries in Bio-Engineering, Robotics, Weapon design, and many others. Their practices are not morally cut and dry. Their methods are harsh but efficient. And they aren’t afraid to take a Machiavellian approach to life and the pursuit of discovery.

The Terminus Station was founded with subtlety in mind. They built where no one would think to look, to protect as much of their enterprise as possible. The station is a way to conduct their most unorthodox experiments away from prying eyes and share those results with other facilities across the galaxy, using the large communication array built into the cylindrical station.

“Perfection, at any cost…”

((Summary compiled by Idarah. Thank you!))

The two weeks Aryian had to prepare were rough on the old man. He trained in the sparring pits like he used to when he was younger, and while he still managed to withstand the punishment, it took a far larger toll on him. For the most part, he abstained from using the Force, and simply rolled with the tough Mandalorian fighters. They knew about him, and gave him no quarter. But despite it all, Aryian was happy for the first time in a long time. Battle loomed on the horizon, the glory and trials of war, and among the soldiers the grey master had found a calm that he hadn't enjoyed since he was much younger. It wasn't the Jedi way to enjoy battle, and he didn't, rather Aryian much enjoyed the chance to test himself and his skills, and a battle was the primary place to do it. Besides, a few less Sith in the galaxy was a good thing, right?

His armor fit well enough, though it was mismatched colors, several pieces borrowed from three people, his chestplate actually being a family heirloom from a smaller family in Keldabe. It wasn't completely comfortable, but Aryian had learned to work around it, though he still refused to wear the helmet. To push himself past the limiting movements and find his flow once more. He spoke little with anyone, but every day brought back memories, reminding him of how he used to fight alongside his friends. The memories were bittersweet, many of those friends having long passed, but he was still glad to have them, and so they warmed his soul.

Today, they had received word that the enemy was upon them. Aryian was a foot soldier, assigned to a small unit guarding the eastern walls where the river that bordered the city met the forest and branched away. The grey master held no rank, and was fine with it, though he could still feel the resentment of the others from having to abide him in their unit. He'd already been warned about not following orders, and using the Force, but Aryian paid the warnings little attention. He could hold his own. And now, rain ran down his face as he watched the forest. He didn't blink, he was focused on his task, hand gripping his blaster rifle loosely. The Force told him the enemy wasn't upon them quite yet, but they would be.

Very soon, they would be. Softly, the rain continued to fall. It was a good day to die.

Updated sheet 25/04/2017

ARYIAN 'O.D.B.' DARKFIRE'S CHARACTER SHEET

Identity [!ident]

Real Name: Aryian Darkfire

A.K.A: The Grey Hermit

Homeworld: Coruscant

Species: Human

Physical Description [!dscrp]

Age: 56 physically, mentally 300ish (only 46 years conscious)

Height: 5'10"

Weight: 190 lbs

Hair: Silver in sheen, with black strands slowly fading

Eyes: Silver with a faint tint of blue - due to his over-use of the Force

Sex: Male

Equipment [!equip]

Clothing or Armor: Plain robes, normally.

Archived armor:

Weapon:

Twin interlocking silver lightsabers, most commonly used

Archived weapons:

Common Inventory:

-Implant (links to his ship, currently forgotten about but still in his head):

-Enhanced comm unit w/ship remote:

Faction Information [!factn]

Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User: Force User

Alignment: Light side/Grey

Current Faction Affiliation: Officially Unaffiliated, Unofficially, Jedi

Current Faction Rank: Master

History: [!hstry]

Force Side: Light

Trained by: Ben'a Solo (Goodwood)

Trained who: A bunch of people. I don't remember any who are active and are Knights. I knighted three people a LONG time ago.

Known Skills: He's extensively trained in practically all combat Force skills, as well as others meant for hiding and subterfuge. The only skills he's ever had trouble with are healing and alchemy, though he can do them, he's certainly not as good as others. As a cross Guardian/Consular class, most of his Force techniques are meant to be used in combat. He is the master of using Force barriers, especially defensively, his favorite style. He's also come up with a few of his own techniques, simply combinations of other techniques (click spoiler):

Aryian is highly proficient in the following specific canon techniques, as well as cross applications of them (see above):

Primary Character skills:

Background:

It's long, hence the spoiler:

An update for current history purposes:

Aryian is back to being his 'old self', that is, no longer tainted by Sith magicks, no more Darth Ares. Due to his gary-stu status of typically being wildly overpowered, and because of the nature of the RP has shifted, he has misplaced most of his cool gadgets and in his old age is suffering from minor memory loss. While he does retain his lightsabers, he no longer wears battle armor, has misplaced his ship and can't remember how to recall it (I might bring it back later, it is the only thing held in 'reserve'), can't remember the server ship or Mechis III, can't remember the base he and Armiena established on Phu, can't remember the Farstrider's Rest (or even how to find it or access codes), and can't remember most of the hidden Jedi bases scattered around the galaxy. Along with all this, he can't reliably remember half of the Force techniques he's learned (specifically the custom ones he's created over the years), but this is most noticeable in a combat situation where split-second decisions and reactions are crucial (so for training, if he takes a minute and focuses, he can remember most of what he knew). Think borderline senile Aryian.

Possessions

Spoiler possessions are technically no longer his. The Server ship is reintegrated with Mechis III, and the Enigma's ownership has long since passed. Only including them for archive's sake.

Ship Registration [!ship]

Name: Blur

Class: Starfighter

Model: StarViper

Manufacturer: MandalMotors

Length: 21 meters

Armaments:

-Four twin laser cannons

-one Ion Cannon

-two torpedo tubes, capable of launching a myriad of missiles, 5 ordinance each

-an AI programmed with expert piloting skills and techniques from the best pilots known to the galaxy

-A Jedi Ace pilot

Armor: Dual-phase (double layer) shielding, the emitter matrix has been modified with alchemic lightside Ilum crystals to prevent direct influence by Dark Side energies while the shields are activated.

Anti-Personnel Defenses: The AI...it can fly the ship by itself and recognize Aryian easily. A masterpiece product of the original Server hivemind of Mechis III, it is nearly hackproof and foolproof. Over the years, it has evolved near-sentience over Aryian's lack of erasing memories.

Appearance:

Unmodified StarViper:

Modifications:

-Enhanced Engines (Both hyperdrive and sublight)

-Enhanced shields

-Dual layered shields (Second set)

-Two more twin laser cannon arms

-Ion cannon

-torpedo tubes extended to carry 5 each instead of three

-Extended cargo capacity

-extra two power generators (Internal), totalling six in all

-AI, programmed by Aryian himself, created by Mechis III server hivemind

-EMP shielded

Ship Registration [!ship]

Original description post of the Wolf Spiders (Or see below spoiler)

Name: Saladin

Class: Wolf Spider

Model: Assault Variant (Modified)

Manufacturer: Armeina Draygo Darkfire

Length: "roughly up to the knee and half the length of an AT-AT"

Armaments:

-"Mandible cannons": a pair of railguns that fire either solid metal slugs or explosive ammunition.

-Modified Chin-slung Grenade Launcher

Armor: Phrik plating on durasteel, modified with alchemized Ilum Force Crystals to constantly generate a fairly strong Force Barrier just above the plating.

Anti-Personnel Defenses: It'll step on you.

Appearance: See Above Link, appearance not originally provided.

Modifications:

-Chin-slung grenade launcher

-Alchemized Ilum crystals, generate an extra layer of Force-barrier armor

-Has been modified to be spaceworthy plus a small hyperdrive, repulsors/jump jets have been added to get it from surface to space, though the jets are powerful enough to do the job themselves. The smaller repulsor units were added only for low-power situations.

Original Wolf Spider Description Post:

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Darth Ares' Character sheet (now defunct):

-2 Finn, +1 Skywalker

Finn 1

Poe Dameron 21

Kylo Ren 23

Luke Skywalker 33

Chewbacca 22

Admiral Ackbar 15

Maz Kanata 18

General Hux 11

Finn -2, Skywalker +1

Finn 5

Poe Dameron 21

Kylo Ren 22

Luke Skywalker 31

Chewbacca 21

Admiral Ackbar 15

Maz Kanata 18

General Hux 15

"Uhhm..."

Aryian was unsure about the offer. He knew the word, one of the hand full he'd recognized, it meant the armor the Mandalorians wore. The armor might prevent some range of motion, and inhibit his speed. Then again, even getting to wear a spare suit was an honor for most non-Mandalorians, or at the least highly expensive, and Aryian certainly didn't like the prospect of being shot at by those he was fighting alongside.

"...Sure. I'll wear it, I suppose. You don't think they'd still shoot at me if I used my sabers, though...? Ah, doesn't matter anyways."

Maybe after this war Fett could help him. Maybe. The holes in his memory weren't getting any better. He didn't think the technology of the Mandalorians would help him with that, but at least he'd be around someone who knew him and would likely treat him well. He hoped. Looking up, he began to shoo Fett off.

"You've got a war to lead, I can take care of myself. I...uh....appreciate you bailing me out here, though. For a while there, I was doubting my own stories."

Aryian intentionally left out that is was because he couldn't remember more than fragments of his stories anymore. But it wasn't important.

Aryian narrowed his eyes. It was like he didn't belong, and he never liked that feeling.

"Neither. Like I said, I left Coruscant looking for a bottle to find myself at the bottom of. I didn't care where I found passage to, and didn't even realize this was Mandalore until you just told me. But now that I'm here, you tell me you have a problem with a Sith, and don't want my help? I'm hurt, Fett."

His voice was coy, but it belied his irritation at being swept away, brushed off like a useless nothing. He might be old, but he was still useful for something. Maybe.

"No...no I think I'll stick around. Remind those young pups how a real Jedi fights. I can still hold my own, and I can damn sure fly. At the least, it'll just be another body on the battlefield at the end of the day, right?"

Again, Aryian scratched at his face. He needed a shave.

"Now where's my stuff? I'm not too keen on the prospect of my lightsabers becoming trophies for one of your boys."

The next morning was rough. Aryian woke, but was still sluggish, and still had a decent headache, hydrated or not. He wasn't entirely sure if it was because he'd caught a blow to the head in the ensuing brawl from the night before or it was the speeder fuel the Mandos called alcohol, but at the least his captors had tried to hydrate him, a needle buried in his arm delivered much needed saline to his wracked system.

For a while, he simply lied there, unsure of what he should do. He could attempt to break free, but the lack of a guard seemed to indicate they were less worried about him. This meant that either they were confident in their abilities to confine him despite inadequate measures to subdue a Force user and escape was highly risky, or they didn't consider him nearly as much of a threat as they did the night before. Considering that his senses weren't brow beating him to get the hell out of dodge, it was likely the latter scenario, but to be honest he didn't care much.

And then an armored Mandalorian entered, addressing Aryian by name. A Mandalorian whose armor was dark as night. Fett? Fett. That was his name. Something about an oracle. No...Augury. Aryian knew him. Relaxing a bit, the Grey Master responded.

"I was looking for the bottom of a bottle. I think I found it."

A moment of silence, clearly not the answer Fett expected. For a moment, Aryian contemplated if he'd changed, realizing he wasn't entirely sure.

"Can I ask why I was treated so harshly? I get there's a bounty out on Force Users, but that was a little uncharacteristic for local muscle, even Mandos. And I don't mean the bar fight, I mean after I was brought...well...wherever this is."

Aryian scratched his face, realizing he was fairly grizzled, having not shaved in a few days. Probably not showered either. He felt bad for Dahar, cooped up with him in that shuttle...that may have been why the guy went comatose.

Everything spun. It was like riding a carousel, except less enjoyable. In fact, it more or less was a carousel. Everything was blurry, but for the most part he could tell he was riding round and round on a fake vornskr with a comically large saddle, slowly bobbing up and down. For the most part, it was nauseating. Everything outside of the carousel was so bright, Aryian was already squinting hard trying to see anything. After a bit, though, his eyes adjusted. Or his subconscious did. One or the other.

Hoth. He was on Hoth, at the base he found himself at when first waking up again, all those years ago. He had served his time in purgatory, and was given a second chance to do good, to learn the ways of the Jedi, to make a difference in the galaxy. How naive he was then. Right? He was unsure. So unsure of himself lately. The galaxy had proven to be a terrible place, and it had worn on his soul in more ways than one. Feeling a sharp pain in the dull vision, he looked down, his arm was bleeding.

Aryian opened his eyes, a trooper standing over him, the muzzle of a heavy blaster maybe a foot off his face. As he was, Aryian was still too groggy to really do much, but he understood. He wasn't exactly a liked person. But that's also when he noticed the other person wearing medical scrubs, adjusting a needle she'd just administered to his arm. Slowly, the Grey Master groaned a protest.

"Wait-..."

The trooper hefted the blaster, and Aryian sort of froze as the drugs kicked in, sending him back into a dull sleep. For now, he was helpless. At least the drugs kept him comfortable and warm, wrapped in the sweet blanket of unconsciousness.

[url=http://jedirp.net/forums/viewtopic.php?f=64&t=38924][img=http://i17.tinypic.com/2zee3hf.jpg][/url]

Copy and put in your Sig.

Aryian was drunk. More than that, he was in a fight, or so he thought.

The tale of how he wound up on Mandalore wasn't that interesting, he had paid a man to find passage off Coruscant, and didn't quite care where he went. Apparently, he was booked on a ship filled to the brim with Mandalorians answering the call Mand'alor had sent out not too long ago. But, of course, Aryian didn't really realize much of this as their armor and weapons were packed in the storage section of the transport vessel, and as Aryian wasn't a Mandalorian, nor really paid much attention to galactic events, he hadn't heard about the call. Still, no matter where he went, as long as it was a civilized planet, they would have alcoholic beverages, and a place that served them.

Mandalorians were known for having some of the strongest swill in the galaxy. That is an important point to note.

To say the Grey Master had been feeling down as of late would be an understatement. He felt useless. Nobody wanted him, it seemed, those who sought him out quickly abandoned him, if falling into comas counted as abandonment. More than that, he was having memory problems. He could almost remember certain things about his past, but more and more he struggled to remember details, and it was beginning to become a large cause of frustration. But he did know he once served with a Mandalorian with black armor. Never really saw his face except through the Force, but he was one hell of a fighter. And that was all Aryian remembered as he sat at the bar, drinking his drink.

He had been trained by...Ben something...Ben'a? Ben'a Single. No...Ben'a Solo. It was amazing he could remember so much about the Force but barely anything about the man who had instructed him. His philosophy was impeccable, but useless in a galaxy he continued to struggle to recognize, and ironically one that struggled to recognize him. With the bounty, Darkfire was no longer a name that people had heard of from holonews reports as a famous Jedi, it now drew looks of confusion as people had never heard it before. He took another drink.

It was when the bartender asked if he was okay that Aryian began into a long diatribe of how he knew the black armored Mandalorian, Fett something. This gained the attention of some of the others at the bar, who disputed that the frazzled grey haired man had anything to do with who he claimed. Aryian wasn't sure who threw the first punch, it might have been him, but for certain he wasn't the one who threw the last one.

He remembered drooling a bit of blood as whatever passed for the local authorities dragged him off to spend a night in a cell, but passed out shortly after.