Character
( This is mainly a melee training topic for my character, Rexus. It's also going to have him getting used to his respirator. )
In one of the temples many training areas, an unprecedented slaughter begins to unfold. The victims of this depraved murder spree are none other than the defenseless and pitiful training dummies spread about. The perpetrator of such a cold, calculated murder is none other than one of the new arrivals. Standing at seven and half feet in height is a behemoth of a creature. It's visage is carefully concealed by a hood that, despite it's best attempts, fails to hide what many would assume to be a re-breather or something of the sort.
A tattered black set of slave rags and crudely made armor manage to cover the rest of this being save for his arms. Curiously enough, if one were to glance at his arms, they would find themselves gazing at crimson skin, a clue as to what exactly was ravaging this temples dummies. In addition to the crimson colored skin, the beings arms were thick muscled trunks of flesh. Whomever it was, they were clearly capable of dolling out the kind of carnage that was present.
Clasped in the right hand is a crudely made sword that, to an average human, would be considered a great sword. The blade itself is dull and chipped, clearly damaged from the senseless violence directed about. An intense hatred could be felt rolling off of the being as he approaches the final dummy in this particular area. He tightens his grip on the blade whilst he paces back and forth, his desire to crush this inanimate object close to boiling over.
He needed a distraction. The hatred and rage were the only things he could count on to dull out the pain that constantly haunted him. It reminded him of the lives that were stolen from him. Years of wanting and promise left unfulfilled. Soon, thoughts of the slaves and how he butchered them drifted about his mind. At the breaking point, Rexus hefts his blade into the air and brings it down upon the dummy.
The crude blade broke on contact though that in itself did little to deter Rexus. Grabbing the vaguely human shape of the dummy, Rexus tears it from the ground and lifts it over his head, an inhuman howl of rage escaping him as he does so. Rexus would slam the dummy down upon the ground then let loose a flurry of furious stomps and kicks. Soon, the respirator emits a series of labored wheezes and breaths, it's owner clearly fatigued.
Ever since he received the wound, none of this was the same. He could once fight beasts and what not for hours. Now, now he was reduced to a hulking mass that needed a contraption to survive. Words couldn't describe just how Rexus felt. None that he knew anyway. If he was going to survive here, he would need to transcend this weakness at any cost. If he failed to do so, any one of the other Sith present would probably pick him off.
He wouldn't allow that to happen. Without wasting any time, Rexus heads toward the next concentration of training dummies.
In one of the temples many training areas, an unprecedented slaughter begins to unfold. The victims of this depraved murder spree are none other than the defenseless and pitiful training dummies spread about. The perpetrator of such a cold, calculated murder is none other than one of the new arrivals. Standing at seven and half feet in height is a behemoth of a creature. It's visage is carefully concealed by a hood that, despite it's best attempts, fails to hide what many would assume to be a re-breather or something of the sort.
A tattered black set of slave rags and crudely made armor manage to cover the rest of this being save for his arms. Curiously enough, if one were to glance at his arms, they would find themselves gazing at crimson skin, a clue as to what exactly was ravaging this temples dummies. In addition to the crimson colored skin, the beings arms were thick muscled trunks of flesh. Whomever it was, they were clearly capable of dolling out the kind of carnage that was present.
Clasped in the right hand is a crudely made sword that, to an average human, would be considered a great sword. The blade itself is dull and chipped, clearly damaged from the senseless violence directed about. An intense hatred could be felt rolling off of the being as he approaches the final dummy in this particular area. He tightens his grip on the blade whilst he paces back and forth, his desire to crush this inanimate object close to boiling over.
He needed a distraction. The hatred and rage were the only things he could count on to dull out the pain that constantly haunted him. It reminded him of the lives that were stolen from him. Years of wanting and promise left unfulfilled. Soon, thoughts of the slaves and how he butchered them drifted about his mind. At the breaking point, Rexus hefts his blade into the air and brings it down upon the dummy.
The crude blade broke on contact though that in itself did little to deter Rexus. Grabbing the vaguely human shape of the dummy, Rexus tears it from the ground and lifts it over his head, an inhuman howl of rage escaping him as he does so. Rexus would slam the dummy down upon the ground then let loose a flurry of furious stomps and kicks. Soon, the respirator emits a series of labored wheezes and breaths, it's owner clearly fatigued.
Ever since he received the wound, none of this was the same. He could once fight beasts and what not for hours. Now, now he was reduced to a hulking mass that needed a contraption to survive. Words couldn't describe just how Rexus felt. None that he knew anyway. If he was going to survive here, he would need to transcend this weakness at any cost. If he failed to do so, any one of the other Sith present would probably pick him off.
He wouldn't allow that to happen. Without wasting any time, Rexus heads toward the next concentration of training dummies.
