- Full Name: Amethyst Sovereign
- Family Name: Sovereign
- Nickname: Ameth | Blue Pepe | Violet
- Alias: Nightshade
- Titles: Prince Sovereign | Son of Winter |
- Species: Sheikah
- Homeworld: None
- Residence: The Reef
- Rank(s): Jedi Padawan
- Master(s): None
- Force Sensitive: Yes
- Alignment: Chaotic Good
- Sexual Conduct: Bi-sexual
- Faction: The Silver Jedi
- Languages: Galactic Standard | Mando'a | Huttese | Sheikah
- Occupation: Jedi Padawan
- Gender: Male
- Age: Twenty-Four GSY
- Height: 6f2
- Weight: 255lbs
- Skin Color: Violet Purple
- Eye Color: Lilac Blue
- Hair Color: Silver
- Voice Sample: N/A
Irrefutable respect given to those most deserving, to those in station upon the hierarchy of Jedi and of family, that are given their own signature and value. Honour the value of hierarchy, and never undermine the superiority or right to rule. Divine judgement and righteous wraith would await any whom would break such virtue. He is a single thread woven on a roll of loyalty and Vanadium blood, therefore to think not less of yourself, but to think oneself less, underneath those who hold such right.
Give credit where due, not unfairly glorifying ones own self. He is to be faithful to all oaths set, and fear not uncertainty, and give not into intimidation. He follows the value of virtue and always falls to the commanding teachings of the divine's right. Devout and unwavering, he is the protector of the people even if his methods may be unorthadox.
An unwavering soldier, a stalwart follower, pale gnarly fingers clutch the rotted flesh of darkness. He is a robust leader and molds and bends to any circumstance for the benefit of his loved ones; selfless and courageous Amethyst is a man of principle and honor.
Vitiated by his antagonism morals and ideals escorts the Vanadium warrior to be vigor and robust for the majority of the time, exceptions coming in the disposition of when surrounded by those he has undeniable trust and devotion for. Here is a steadfast appeal for loyalty, driven by the desire to protect those of blood and bone. Punctilious to the order of silver, those adjudged as outsiders and trespassers are faced with the wrath and intuition of he. Cordial mask is unveiled to that of a beast born from beyond the cusp of divine love, he transitions to that of a callous nature and doesn't hesitate to throw cutting words and poisoning statements.
Merciless and gallant. Think of the war horse, lionhearted and valiant, galloping into the frey - blind by loyalty and bound by devotion, this can tangle the strings of the unleashed monster and bind him into directions unknown. Unnaturally protective of his allies and family, this can cause wrongdoings and merciless acts of violence. He has no qualms for he is a hellion birthed of ice and fire. However, others should not underestimate the mans reach. He is the spider at the center of a very cast and intricate web of connections, a web that he has carefully woven and thus understands just how each and every thread dances. A kiss of control and domination as he plays the game as the Black King, clever and intelligent; manipulative and strategic in his execution.
Deeply ingrained are his coveted traditions, ancient and opulent rituals whose eerie paragon is forever steeled, and willingly clandestine to protect each aspect of his lore from prying eyes and eager lips. Stellar graces enchant with vision and vibe alone, whilst his infinite supply of coiling charisma forces ones mind to yearn in delving deeper. His mother, once the queen bee at the center of the hive, whose honeyed nectar is surrounded by the venomous stings of ten thousand barbs; To reach her bounty is to brave the poison embedded within her very plasma, cells and atoms enriched to the core with a celestial ambrosia that is as toxic as it is mesmeric in which her only son inherited.
And yet by the time one merely roves his tranquil surface, they need not fret; he is refined, fragrant, soft, and exquisite like the petals of the lotus, feminine features inherited by his mother as well. Lain are the bedding of demons in the portion of his soul that remains unhinged in the darkness of decaying yin, and both hungry, and cunning is their discipline.
What was once silken and sweet morphs into the withered flesh of vengeful death, but in rightful sapience she keeps these dark forces at bay, letting them rot beneath the exoticism that is his impeccable semblance. Sleep in the profundity of solitude be he your ever loyal ally – your grand savior when times are ever grim, or be haunted by his shadow of plotting your ultimate downfall. An oily serpent beneath the veil of betrayal. The elusively fickle silver dart, whose piercing tip doth coated in the ebony ink of silent affliction.
Birthed from stone and clay; a tyrannical beauty of sin and succulence, surrounded by the kiss of silk and shadows. He is a pillar, imposing and unyielding in his manner, broad and calloused able wield a sword just as easily they console a child. Malicious artistry, ephemeral strokes of magnificent alabaster upon the bleached surface of grinning bones. Malignant remnant of era past, primeval, elegant gore beneath the savage light of the swinging pendulum, silver, ethereal within the bruised ombré of the gluttonous wayward heavens.
But, nawt despair, for sire's resemblance is prominent across the expanse of the aspens. Strolling, amorous cadaver, violet flesh and immaculate within the catatonic clasp of the searing crypt. Skin is pale, monochrome with the nuanced whisper of something akin to perished demise, an alabaster porcelain that strains within the tantalizing burn of brandished chariot. A hindrance and impediment of silver acts as the no man's land between the duo of dual gradients that clash like titans across the planes of his herculean silhouette.
A lantern crafted by divine hands, rent steel, iron and ore, blazed in violet hues, heated by tongues kissing agile spine and allure. To hail a star within hands, to grace its cool touch, fire neither frigid nor heated, was that of utter bliss, of divine right to those most true. The Vanadium suzerain is no exquisite wallflower; in-congruent cloth of muscle slither like entwining vines around sturdy and prodigious bones. Parallel and precise in pigmentation and structualisation, The man was crafted as a throne keeper and protector of all. Curved steels of ebon swords fold like vulture's wings above a highly set jawline that is jagged and cut across a razor's edge.
Opaque and maladroit as a child, the stages of youth his bodice is pudge of his birth shifts to that of a Herculean silhouette bathed in clothes of titanium muscle and prosperity. A juvenile bloated belly transforms into A lean cloak of succulent and lithe muscle. Gangly and thick limbs elongate into powerfully definitive stilts. As the child breaks through the cocoon, masculine and noble boned, the man is hoarse and masculine in shape, but beautifully handsome and sharp edged when one gazes upon his face.
From his chiseled jaw line flows a sturdy neck, connected in turn to a pair of ample, sacrilegious shoulders. A barrelled chest and a narrow, tapering waistline dips and curves, all ivory bones cut from a samurai sword able to ravage the tip of a fingertip if carelessly touched. His movements, deliberately controlled, definitively precise and at an agile gait - one that lopes and walks of honour. His muscles are honed, and coiled power that impulses and exemplifies his body.
Beholding an acquainted and cordial mask, beneath the silken material of shadows behold the flames and the veiled lies. A man of justice and vengeance blooms beneath a voided cloak. Illiberal and authoritarian, A concealed warrior, a protector of all. Set above chiselled cheekbones, optics behold the cosmos.
Optics rise into existence the edge of the nebula, a whispy snog of the celestial clouds beyond imaging of mortal men. A star exploding, a ring of azure circles the cloak of the galaxy within, claiming his a vision upon itself, a replispendary of Sinclair. To grace the edge of the ring, the soft brush of cheek lay claimed by a bed of stars, pinpricks of ginger soot. They dazzle and gleam, the glimmer of scale on bed of silk, the evening skies stream down bone.
Welcome to the game, oh prince.
Well Educated: Ameth is an extremely intelligent individual thanks to his rather rigorous lessons in childhood provided by his mother and his tutor. Ameth has a profound understanding of the world around him and just how things work, making it easy for him to put pieces together should he ever be faced with problems that require brains rather than brawn.
Diplomatic: Unlike Winter, her son does not shy away from the use of pretty words and inspiring speeches to win over others, especially easily manipulated masses who sometimes need a kind and non-menacing figure to assure them of what they either know to be true or believe to be false. This skill also allows him to negotiate with others who may not share his view of things and gain allies in unexpected places.
Charismatic: Ameth often displays relative ease when it comes to socializing and interacting with others; capable of shifting odds in his favor due to his people skills and knowledge of how others tend to think or feel; a trait that his mother before him was completely void of. Because of this he is sometimes able to earn the favor of those around him and seduce those who may fall under his charms.
Strategist: A highly analytical mind allows Ameth to analyze any given situation and figure out the best ways to approach them with minimum risks and maximum rewards. Capable of gauging his opponents strengths and weaknesses and exploiting them for his own gain; It is this trait that allows him to get in and out of sticky situations that others may fall victim too.
Ambitious: Prince Sovereign is highly ambitious when it comes to the goals he sets his mind too, often unwilling to waver in his pursuit and having 'blinders' while moving forward which allows him to only see the path ahead. He will often stop at nothing to complete his assignments and is too headstrong to throw in the towel when he knows he probably should.
Manipulative: The Prince, while charismatic and honest can be extremely manipulative when it comes to furthering his goals. He may not tell many lies but he is not beyond dodging questions and uttering half truths while spinning webs of deceit which sometimes comes back to stab him in the back should he not cover all his tracks.
Sensitive-Spot: While he may not show it much, Ameth is emotionally vulnerable when it comes to very specific nerves which can be struck to get a reaction out of him. The slandering of his mother or his people will often result in reckless violence as he would feel the need to honor his mothers name; the second would be the harm or abuse of children which has a tendency to set off and remove all rational thought from him. These are only a few examples but others can certainly be possible.
Self-Destructive: Due to his feelings of emptiness and abandonment Ameth is extremely self destructive and sometimes ends up only hurting himself and those around him because of his sometimes brash actions in times he becomes emotional regardless of how 'rare' those moments are. Suicidal actions such as rushing into an unwinnable situation or just being reckless can result in a lot of negative outcomes should a foe exploit his few soft spots.
Prone to Sickness: As a Sheikah Ameth is extremely weak to things such as poisons or other forms of sickness since his body will always reject modern medicine from other sources except from his species home-world. This makes it dangerous for him to be around the ill or be attacked by any kind of poison which can either cripple or kill him quickly.
Combat Adapt: Ameth is highly proficient in most forms of bladed and unarmed combat. Having been loosely taught Lightsaber combat, Ameth is not as well rounded in the several Lightsaber styles as his mother once was but he does find himself rather comfortable utilizing Ataru and Trakata, merging the two into a specialized style which suits his high speed and mobility. Beyond that however, Ameth is very good with vibroblades, daggers, and other forms of melee weapons but tends to preform rather poorly when it comes to blasters or ranged weapons due to his lack of experience with them. Given his tactical mind and experience in combat Ameth is highly adaptive on the battlefield.
Brawn: Despite his 'feminine' appearance and long flowing locks Ameth boast impressive physical strength rivaling that of a wookie. Capable of lighting weights several times his own as well as dishing out devastating damage when unarmed Ameth is sometimes able to surprise opponents who underestimate him because of his age and appearance. This ability does however allow for quick diffusion of situations that may not be overcame otherwise.
Physical Empowerment: A force ability taught to him by his mother which allows him to allow The Force to flow through his limbs and temporarily grant him increased strength, speed, reflexes and ect. Effectively allowing himself to control the flow of battle with relative ease compared to relying specifically on his natural skills. Allowing him to buff himself for a brief moment should he ever find himself cornered and in need of a slight advantage. However, the use of this ability is rather taxing on his body and can result in immediate fatigue after use which is why it is often used as a last stand ability when its all or nothing.
Charmed: Using his alluring nature and devious charisma Ameth is able to harness the force to tamper with the minds and hearts of others, using what some may call 'Mind Trick' on those he focuses on. However, he is capable of claiming their loyalty and affection, creating an effect where those under his influence would obey him willingly. Less of a 'mind control' ability and more of his way of clearing his targets mind to make them see his point of view with such convincing influence that they second guess their own beliefs and align with Ameth on their own accord.
Dishonored & Disgraced Prince; What tragedies lay fleshed out with sin and malice, painted in ethereal shame - eternal glory and sultry lust. grandeur schemes of malignant, ill minds that simper with the very thought of commitment, of adulterated famish of the throne. A perilous game, a damning vexation that draws man, woman, and beasts alive to their grim fates. A cutthroat world of unimaginable malice through the fair looking glass. Dear child of Winter, heir of the Void; you are to pure, to precious for this cruel reality. May you one day find true happiness~
I was born, a fleeting glimpse of happiness, and of untold, bitter sorry left unquenchable to my mothers cold and distant heart. My father perished beneath the stars that night i am told; slain in cold blood during a battle to protect Mother and I, a beautiful nova in her own right i remember. She was a virtuous maiden, a heavy heart and mind resting upon her as she judged me; both a gift and a curse, a flaw and perfection in the same breath. The Ice Queen raised me despite my perplexing existence; Still, despite her darkest shame which was i over time i became her brightest light; instilling a connection with the woman who had once been so cold she could not feel love. And she did love me; Cradling me within her arms as she ran her ice cold fingers through my hair so tenderly that even she was unsure of how such a thing was possible. The first of my nature among our kind...to many an omen, but to Winter? A gift...a sign.
Despite my birthing, I was raised a normal child, running, racing the wind and challenging the stars. I grew up in a small nomadic colony on the outer rim of space, far from the reach of my aunts who would see me destroyed~ We carved ourselves anew in destiny. Blithe, untarnished faerie tale met an abrupt, horrifying ending. The smoggy trails of acrid smoke stroked the obsidian void, the scent of burning, of death crept within my nostrils, burning my lungs until I spat it out in fervid acrimony and disgruntled dismissal. An attack on our home by those i would normally call family.
My mothers sisters had invaded, hoping to wipe away the omen that was i; perhaps it truly was my doing, my wretched fault for having been born. Mayhaps my very existence had forsaken my family to the ruination we now face. Our elders they stole from us, the women they reaped from us, and the children scattered to dust, shadows of their deepest nightmares. Their piercing screams rend me from the insides out, twisting gluttonous innards into a squirming mess of putrid snakes that claw their ways out with malignant torment.
In the blink of an eye, the flutter of sultry lashes, we were a dying people. There is no returning to the blissful peace i had known. War. War was upon us.
The skies were alight, and my friends dying. All around me, I hear them, screams, malignant remnants of past occurrences that refuse to leave my mind unhindered. The memories burn, and yet I cannot stop them from running my mind in unstoppable trek over and over again. I can still almost taste the smoke of the fires, I can feel the heat, the warmth of my blood as it drips across my face. My back burns, but my whimpers, my cries of pain, have long since been silenced by the numbing slash of realization, of anguished knowing. Without even the slightest of news, the sorrowed looks of those who came to retrieve me spelled to my already grieving heart all that I need know. 'How- how many? How many are gone?' My voice caught within my throat, trapped bird wings helplessly beating against the cage of my ribs to escape past my lips in fluttering, fluctuating volume.
They looked between themselves, only silence is my answer. I pushed past them, i had to see for myself. And see i did...i saw much that day. I recognized their frames, the broken, mangled corpses seared by fire and the glistening raze of tempestuous titania steel. Blood and burns. Pain and fear. They warped them, they perverted them. They were destroyed.
The war was lost, our losses great. And in her final attempt to salvage the last thing she had brought into this world my mother sent me away; using the last escape pod to allow me a chance at life beyond childhood. And as i escaped into the stars i watched as my mother stayed behind and perished in the battle.
The gruesome image still haunts me, And it was then i knew i was alone. They would never come back to me...my family was gone. I can feel it even now, eager to consume me, to bury me within its embrace until I smother in a whole as I was with this now almost unbearable weight resting on my shoulders. Everything i knew had been taken right before my very eyes.
What was a young boy to do in that situation? Prevail? Fight? No...all i could do was run away. Run away to safety while my family fought to save me; an insignificant brat.
But make no mistake viewer. That was then...and this? This is now. I am older than i was; wiser...stronger. And i know how this game ends...
Come now audience...you and i both know how this ends.
