Sirak Kolar
Balagoth's Herald
Hi everyone!
Just thought I'd begin by introducing myself OOC'ly, and IC'ly.
OOC'ly; I'm Ebon. I was one of the original masterminds behind the Primeval before IRL things came to pass, moderator of their faction, and then due to irl circumstance had to leave once more. This time, I hope to come back to stay, and in doing so recollect the writing skills I once had, now lost to dystrophy.
My Skype, for those interested, is Dualmittens. I respond on there immediately, almost always, unless I'm working.
IC'ly;
Ebon stood at a menacing 6'11", weighing in an a earth shaking 254lbs. He was a massive creature, even for a Zabrak, a beast of war with an amber fire burning in his eye's. In his hand, a worn double bladed lightsaber with faint gold inlay of battles once fought, while a broken piece of leather wraps itself around various parts of it's handle. Cloaked in black robes fitting movement over protection, he snarls his teeth, exposing the broken serrated edges of his yellowing fangs.
This disgusting creature was imposing, if not at all horrifying. In his mind was more carnage than most battlefields would ever see, and in his heart a broken dream of a jedi padawan turned demon by disgust and torture. What constitutes a human, no longer made up what he was.
Ebon was a war machine, and he'd serve his masters diligently, be them gods, or mere mortals.
Just thought I'd begin by introducing myself OOC'ly, and IC'ly.
OOC'ly; I'm Ebon. I was one of the original masterminds behind the Primeval before IRL things came to pass, moderator of their faction, and then due to irl circumstance had to leave once more. This time, I hope to come back to stay, and in doing so recollect the writing skills I once had, now lost to dystrophy.
My Skype, for those interested, is Dualmittens. I respond on there immediately, almost always, unless I'm working.
IC'ly;
Ebon stood at a menacing 6'11", weighing in an a earth shaking 254lbs. He was a massive creature, even for a Zabrak, a beast of war with an amber fire burning in his eye's. In his hand, a worn double bladed lightsaber with faint gold inlay of battles once fought, while a broken piece of leather wraps itself around various parts of it's handle. Cloaked in black robes fitting movement over protection, he snarls his teeth, exposing the broken serrated edges of his yellowing fangs.
This disgusting creature was imposing, if not at all horrifying. In his mind was more carnage than most battlefields would ever see, and in his heart a broken dream of a jedi padawan turned demon by disgust and torture. What constitutes a human, no longer made up what he was.
Ebon was a war machine, and he'd serve his masters diligently, be them gods, or mere mortals.
