A massive cataclysm has struck the universe, and destroyed most everything in its wake. The survivors are now trying to pick up the pieces, and figure out exactly what has befallen them. Gather together, lightsiders!! The darkness has shattered the peace and calm of the galaxy...and they will do anything to stop anyone from finding out exactly what has been done! This is our first sitewide RP plotline. Lightsiders, you are looking for the source of this massive event. Clues must be found, lackeys tracked down, and bits of memory discovered. Darksiders, you guys don't want that to happen....because of the one behind the whole thing is furthering his ultimate goal. Mandalorians, and non-force users, you guys can decide where you stand on this line....do you side with the Jedi, and try to discover the reasons behind the ruined universe, or will you side with the darkness, and protect those secrets. Will the secret of the cataclysmic reaping be kept under wraps? Or will the Jedi and their allies find out the truth? Your RP and writing will decide the outcome!
BATTLE ARENA
Welcome to The Saga Continues. We have a section called the Battle Arena. Here you can use your characters to fight other characters. Hone your skills and see what you are made of. Don't worry, anything that happens here, does not effect your characters in posts, so if your character dies, you can still use them over and over. Have fun and check it out!
The Saga Continues is the product of the mind of ADMIN ADI; all contents are copyright their original owners. All characters belong to their original creators, and may not be used or replicated without permission. All images are copyright their original owners. This skin Operation Mindcrime was made by pharaoh leap of Pixel Perfect and put together by ADMIN KRYSTAL
The Zabrak remained up in the rafter, her ears straining as she listened to the disembodied voice echo within the warehouse. Finally, the soft pitter patter of footsteps gave way to a man about her size, with dark hair that contrasted sharply with his pale skin. At his last statement, the shifter just shook her head.
What kind of ignorant-ass fool invited a possible stranger to their house for no reason? The kind that doesn't last long, she thought.
Ezan peered down again. Her coat and weapons were right beneath her. There was a chance that, should she stay in her spot, the individual would lose interest and move on. However, there was also a risk of him coming closer to investigate - and then looking up. But if she revealed herself, there was a strong possibility of this being a trap. Perhaps the pirates sent him?
Ach! If he's with the pirates, bring them on. We will slit his throat and run the moment we feel this is a trap. She did not stop to consider what would happen if the time came and she couldn't do so.
Before Ezan dropped, however... She needed a name. And a reason for being in the warehouse. Clinging to the bar, her mind began to race.
Name...name... Vanessa? No. Elyn? No. Something short, and easy. Hal? No. Lon....Lot.... Lok! Lok Maxus. Perfect. Our-- no, no, MY name is Lok Maxus, and... I'm a squatter. Parents died from the plague, been hiding around here since. Dunno how we -- I -- survived.
Perfect. Now, she just had to get down, grab her blaster and coat, and question this new person. Easy peas-- "ACHOO!"
The Zabrak let out a great sneeze and lost her grip. Somehow, she managed to land on her feet, wincing slightly. Oh yeah, she'd definitely feel that in her knees come morning. And-- oh. The burning sensation across her extremities told her the sneeze and the fall had been enough of a distraction to temporarily drop her guise among those parts. Everything was proper again -- but she'd have to pray the man wasn't paying close enough attention.
Scooping up her belongings (and making sure the lightsaber was hidden within her coat), Ezan flicked the safety off and stood there, coat wrapped around one hand, blaster in the other. She'd let this chatty man make the first move.
(Credit to my friend Bambi for the sig)
I wanna tell you what my truth is, but it's buried down inside//Don't be scared, truth is hell
No doubt, the strange noises Makoto heard were the frustrated grunts of Ezan.
Lightsabers were a sophisticated melee weapon, used by Force Users on both sides to fight each other. They were crafted by learners at a young age, and meant to be not only a tool, but an extension of the user - much like the Force itself.
The damn things were also supposed to turn on when you pushed the stupid button.
Ezan had been ready for using the lightsaber. Dressing in relatively non-constricting clothing, setting up the targets just right. They were eager to begin swinging their laser sword. But the damned thing wouldn't even turn on. No matter what the Clawdite did - and have faith, friend, for this one had an imagination without bounds - the stupid hilt was no more than a dated rod of metal.
"Why won't you work?!" they hissed. "Work for us, dammit!"
In a fit of anger, they'd pulled back their arm, ready to throw the thing away (call or no, what was the point if it didn't work?!) when an unexpected voice spooked the daylights out of them.
"Hello?"
Ezan nearly jumped out of their skin at the sound. Never had they ever expected anyone to be here. Scrambling to the metal desk, they threw on their coat and grabbed their blaster-- then paused. The person wasn't close yet, but the door was on the other side, and any attempt at escape would no doubt be noticed.
Their blue, feline eyes travelled upwards. Perhaps, if they were quiet enough... This newcomer, whoever they were, would leave. Tucking the blaster and the lightsaber into their coat pocket, Ezan gritted their teeth together and braced themselves for the shift.
It was always painful, shifting. Ezan had gotten pretty good at ignoring the pain, but that didn't make the sensation of feeling as though their entire body was on fire any less pleasant. Especially when horns were growing out of their head as they were attempting to climb up into the rafters.
The Zabrak woman had made it almost all the way to the top when she dropped her coat - along with her weapons. Ezan peered down, silently cursing themselves out. Would they have time to climb down and get it before the stranger came?
(Credit to my friend Bambi for the sig)
I wanna tell you what my truth is, but it's buried down inside//Don't be scared, truth is hell
Location: Abandoned Warehouse, Slum District G17, Lower City, Coruscant
Ah, Coruscant. The Center of the Universe. The Crown Jewel of the Republic.
Now, just one more barren urban wasteland. Another victim of the plague. But most importantly, largely uninhabited.
Ezan had no fear of infection. The virus, plague, whatever it was had already run its course on Coruscant, leaving only empty shells and rotting corpses behind. Rumor on the winds, this virus was like a flash fire; incredibly lethal and infectious when it was alive, but not lasting more than a standard month in duration.
Ironically, Ezan had to thank the virus for creating such a large yet empty urban terrain in which the Clawdite could play. Despite being given the all-clear, either too many people had died or were loath to return, meaning there were many sectors for the shifter to play in. Whether practicing their skills, or storing merchandise (and hiding it from looters), or simply laying low, Coruscant had been the reliable place to do so.
Not that it'd ever be home. Oh, no. Home was a burned-down building in the slums of Nar Shaddaa. The resting place of their family.
No. Don't think about that now. It is not a safe place to think about that.
Right. They needed to focus on the task at hand.
The Clawdite, still in their natural form, readjusted their shirt and continued to make their way across the district, putting to good use their acrobatic abilities. Ezan never, ever parked their ship next to the area where they intended to work. Too risky, they felt. Besides, they considered this their warmup.
It wasn't long before Ezan arrived to their favorite warehouse in the sector. There were plenty of leftover scraps and broken down junk for target practice, and the beams made for excellent gymnastics practice.
Broken glass and litter crunched underfoot as the Clawdite made their way to a rusted desk, no doubt left over from the original workers. Swiping a hand over it to remove the layer of dust, Ezan pulled out their blaster and the lightsaber they'd lifted, placing it on the now (somewhat) clean surface. They couldn't explain it, but the shifter had felt...drawn to the weapon. There was a sense of enamourment beyond simply admiring a shiny object.
The Clawdite shook their head. They had targets to set up, and a lightsaber to test out.
(Credit to my friend Bambi for the sig)
I wanna tell you what my truth is, but it's buried down inside//Don't be scared, truth is hell
SEX: Though Ezan's baseline sex is female, they are comfortable as both a male and female
HEIGHT: 5'9"
WEIGHT: 187lbs
EYES: Depends (Blue)
HAIR: Depends (None)
SKIN: Depends (Olive green)
FORCE SENSITIVE: yeet (yes)
APPEARANCE:
First thing's first: Ezam is a Clawdite. Which means, their appearance varies, sometimes day to day. Their base appearance is that of an average female Clawdite, scales and all. However, they do have a handful of preferred forms.
Though there is a variety, one thing is certain: the individual Ezan appears as will always be 5'9' (not including horns), and always 187lbs. Their clothes, additionally, are typically in neutral/darker tones. Things which allow them to blend into the crowds, and into the shadows. Nondescript, and unordinary.
FORCE POWERS:
As of now, Ezan is still very much untrained in the Force. Oh, they know they have it, and they know how to use it - but right now, their powers are limited to the basic aspects of:
Force Sense
Enhanced Physical Abilities
(slight) Precognition
(slight) Mind Trick
(slight) Telekinesis
WEAPONS:
Just your basic everyday modified black market blaster rifle, nothing fancy. Oh, and an old-ass (blue, not orange) lightsaber probably crafted by a Jedi, and the Jedi is probably old and fat and smelly ( adi).
PERSONALITY:
Ezan is not a good person. They can be charming, they can have moments of mercy, and compassion. But they are not, nor should they ever be thought of, as a good person. It is important to understand this, and realise that there is a darkness that hides in everyone, especially Ezan. Never forget this, even when they bow to you with smiles and platitudes.
BIOGRAPHY:
What makes a person? Is it where they were born? The blood they share? The people they surround themselves with? Perhaps the skills they have? Or is it some enigmatic, highly complex combination of these?
Or perhaps, it's the person's history that makes them who they are.
If this is the case, then Ezan's recounting of their past most certainly reflects the type of person Ezan is.
To some, Ezan is a suave Mirialan, his piercing blue eyes enough to swoon almost any denizen unlucky enough to be caught in his trance.
To some, Ezan is a fierce, proud Zabrak, her violet eyes ablaze with determination and tattoos decorating every inch of her skin.
To some, Ezan is a cocky human, black hair expertly messy, and their lanky frame more graceful than it should be.
To the rest of the world, Ezan is an aloof, distant Arkanian, sometimes feminine, sometimes masculine, oftentimes neither.
To no one but their own, Ezan is but a simple Clawdite, the last of their line and searching for new meaning.
With each persona Ezan takes on, so too do they take on a whole new history, a whole new being. Their silver tongue has grown skilled with weaving webs of lies and deceit, and their mind is always coveting their secrets.
But no matter who Ezan is, if one were to glance into their eyes at the right moment, they would see a lost soul drowning in the sorrows of the universe.
Cutting through the lies and stories crafted by the Clawdite, the truth is that Ezan grew up with an unsurprising, yet all too common childhood.
Hated and shunned like so many others of their people, Ezan and their family fled their homeworld of Zolan in an attempt to build a better life. Instead, they settled on Nar Shaddaa, and quickly made a living by loaning themselves out for infiltration and partaking in other petty crime. Ezan was taught early on how to control their racial abilities, but their Force powers, while manifesting rather quickly, went entirely unnoticed.
Ezan took well to the life of a criminal, learning plenty of skills such as pickpocketing or picking locks. It wasn't a perfect life, and certainly had its dangers, but so long as Ezan was with their family, they were happy.
But apparently, the universe didn't like that.
Ezan remembered the first one to fall to the plague. Their sister, Nezti. Five hours later, their mother, then their father, then their little brother. One by one, succumbing to the disease. Tears streaming down Ezan's face as they were forced to put their entire family out of their misery, lest they themselves become infected. Taking what little possessions they could carry, and then burning down the entire apartment before fleeing.
That day, watching the blaze from the shadows as the people of Nar Shaddaa largely ignored it, was the day Ezan grew up. But it was also the day they died.
Shortly thereafter, Ezan lived the life of a freelance nomad. Leasing out their services in return for coin, or favors. Never staying in one place for long, never growing close to anyone, selling ships within a few months of purchase.
It wouldn't be long before Ezan's life was turned upside down again.
The job was simple. Some pirates had taken advantage of the chaos and looted several museums and treasuries. Some reclusive, shady individual with deep pockets wanted some of their newly acquired items. Ezan didn't ask questions, and the person offered no answers.
Ezan managed to get in well enough as their Mirialan, even snagging a curious-looking lightsaber and adding it to their luggage. It was the exit that caused complications. In their attempts to leave, Ezan encountered a strange man who exuded an aura never before felt by the Clawdite. The only thing they figured out during their encounter was this man could teach Ezan ...and that their name was Morna.
The Clawdite was awed at this man's apparent power, and though they were split apart, Ezan vowed to hunt down this Morna and convince him to take them on as their apprentice...no matter what.