Muad Dib
Paragon of Virtue
He sat cross legged in the state room assigned to him. The metallic hued walls vibrated slightly add the lambda class shuttle hustled through hyper space en route to it's destination. The harsh yellow light emanating from the fluorescent tubes affixed along the ceiling cast an old yellow glow upon the man meditating quietly.
He sat unmoving, save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest from each slow, measured breath. Bare, except for the dark brown trousers, he sat all but motionless. Eyes closed, forearms resting lightly upon thighs, the man looked at peace. But he was anything but at peace.
Scars crisscrossed his body, mementos of wars fought, battles survived, foes defeated, allies lost. His body was a road map of his life. A life dedicated to pain. The slight twitch to the corner of his mouth at the thought was the only flicker of movement breaking the serenity on the exterior of the man. Shaggy, dark brown hair fell to his shoulders. Dark beard adorned a weathered face. A scar shaped like an upside down Y stood over his left eyebrow, a parallel line under the same eye was another scar. Bright blue sith runes ran from left elbow to the tips of the fingertips upon his left hand. A scar ran from the elbow to the wrist of his right hand. A slight tightening of both hands showed the tension building in the corded muscles of his shoulders.
But even sitting in apparent meditation, a seemingly endless stillness and silence of inaction, the man radiated danger. Any sentient being who looked upon his body would feel a shiver of fear. How a single being could take that much punishment was almost out of the realm of understanding. The hard lines of his face as well as the defined muscle structure of his body spoke of a man in peak physical condition. A warrior who looked upon the man's visage would feel the adrenaline rush combined with the cold tingle of fear knowing that this man would not stop with any physical pain. This man would not cease until he was dead. And according the the battle scars, this man does not die easily.
His physical appearance was a testament to who and what the man was, but his body was not the only sign of what kind of man he was. He radiated an aura in the force as only those powerful with the force did. Unlike the Jedi who were calm and collected or the sith who were filled with anger and hatred this man was more. And that made him even the more frightening for it. Aye, anger and rage swirled within, but so did loss, remorse, and fear. Yes fear. The fear could saturate another immobilizing them. But it wasn't a simple emotion. There fear ranged from many sources. Fear of loss was there. But the main source of the man's fear was of himself. He feared what was within, geared there man he was born as, the man he had become, the man he was destined to be. Being a soldier, warrior, cold blooded killer, monster, and madman did not make him afraid. The knowledge of all the atrocities and evils he had done did not fill him with fear. It was what he was capable of, what he had yet to do that filled him with fear.
The bulkheads shook lightly as the shuttle exited hyperspace.
Finally his eyes opened. The brightly glowing blue orbs radiated with an inner fire that was more frightening and unsettling then everything else. The madness within him shone brightly from his sockets, a madness he fully embraced.
Rising slowly he padded silently to his bunk to dress. Armored boots pulled on, a tan, long sleeved tunic went over his head. He paused looking at his armor and weapons and shook his head lightly. He did not wish to be looked at as a threat upon arriving. So taking his pack her loaded his beskar'gam and weapons into it gently. Yet he paused, choosing to leave three weapons he would carry on his person as well as his gauntlets.
Picking up his straight sword he slung it over his back before pulling on the dark brown jacket, ensuring the handle of the sword slid through the hole over his right shoulder and within easy access. The curved skinning knife, a replacement for one lost in battle and gift by a vod, was secured on his left hip. The final weapon was picked up, a pitted, silver cylinder and placed in it's sheath at the small of his back. Rolling up the sleeves of tunic and jacket the man pulled on the gauntlets before letting both sleeves gal back over them.
Turning he swung the pack into his left shoulder and moved to the door, pausing only long enough to raise the hood over his head, hiding his features save for the glowing eyes. Leaving the room he went the the hold feeling the ship as it entered the atmosphere. Several beings stood waiting to disembark but as he entered they group skid to one side leaving the hooded man standing solitarily as the shuttle settled on the landing pad.
The ramp lowered with a quiet hiss of hydraulics and the group scurried off heading for the temple looming before them.
With a wry chuckle the Mad Knight of Manda'yaim walked off the shuttle, down the ramp, and onto the planet Voss which the Silver Jedi called home.
[member="Coci Heavenshield"]
He sat unmoving, save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest from each slow, measured breath. Bare, except for the dark brown trousers, he sat all but motionless. Eyes closed, forearms resting lightly upon thighs, the man looked at peace. But he was anything but at peace.
Scars crisscrossed his body, mementos of wars fought, battles survived, foes defeated, allies lost. His body was a road map of his life. A life dedicated to pain. The slight twitch to the corner of his mouth at the thought was the only flicker of movement breaking the serenity on the exterior of the man. Shaggy, dark brown hair fell to his shoulders. Dark beard adorned a weathered face. A scar shaped like an upside down Y stood over his left eyebrow, a parallel line under the same eye was another scar. Bright blue sith runes ran from left elbow to the tips of the fingertips upon his left hand. A scar ran from the elbow to the wrist of his right hand. A slight tightening of both hands showed the tension building in the corded muscles of his shoulders.
But even sitting in apparent meditation, a seemingly endless stillness and silence of inaction, the man radiated danger. Any sentient being who looked upon his body would feel a shiver of fear. How a single being could take that much punishment was almost out of the realm of understanding. The hard lines of his face as well as the defined muscle structure of his body spoke of a man in peak physical condition. A warrior who looked upon the man's visage would feel the adrenaline rush combined with the cold tingle of fear knowing that this man would not stop with any physical pain. This man would not cease until he was dead. And according the the battle scars, this man does not die easily.
His physical appearance was a testament to who and what the man was, but his body was not the only sign of what kind of man he was. He radiated an aura in the force as only those powerful with the force did. Unlike the Jedi who were calm and collected or the sith who were filled with anger and hatred this man was more. And that made him even the more frightening for it. Aye, anger and rage swirled within, but so did loss, remorse, and fear. Yes fear. The fear could saturate another immobilizing them. But it wasn't a simple emotion. There fear ranged from many sources. Fear of loss was there. But the main source of the man's fear was of himself. He feared what was within, geared there man he was born as, the man he had become, the man he was destined to be. Being a soldier, warrior, cold blooded killer, monster, and madman did not make him afraid. The knowledge of all the atrocities and evils he had done did not fill him with fear. It was what he was capable of, what he had yet to do that filled him with fear.
The bulkheads shook lightly as the shuttle exited hyperspace.
Finally his eyes opened. The brightly glowing blue orbs radiated with an inner fire that was more frightening and unsettling then everything else. The madness within him shone brightly from his sockets, a madness he fully embraced.
Rising slowly he padded silently to his bunk to dress. Armored boots pulled on, a tan, long sleeved tunic went over his head. He paused looking at his armor and weapons and shook his head lightly. He did not wish to be looked at as a threat upon arriving. So taking his pack her loaded his beskar'gam and weapons into it gently. Yet he paused, choosing to leave three weapons he would carry on his person as well as his gauntlets.
Picking up his straight sword he slung it over his back before pulling on the dark brown jacket, ensuring the handle of the sword slid through the hole over his right shoulder and within easy access. The curved skinning knife, a replacement for one lost in battle and gift by a vod, was secured on his left hip. The final weapon was picked up, a pitted, silver cylinder and placed in it's sheath at the small of his back. Rolling up the sleeves of tunic and jacket the man pulled on the gauntlets before letting both sleeves gal back over them.
Turning he swung the pack into his left shoulder and moved to the door, pausing only long enough to raise the hood over his head, hiding his features save for the glowing eyes. Leaving the room he went the the hold feeling the ship as it entered the atmosphere. Several beings stood waiting to disembark but as he entered they group skid to one side leaving the hooded man standing solitarily as the shuttle settled on the landing pad.
The ramp lowered with a quiet hiss of hydraulics and the group scurried off heading for the temple looming before them.
With a wry chuckle the Mad Knight of Manda'yaim walked off the shuttle, down the ramp, and onto the planet Voss which the Silver Jedi called home.
[member="Coci Heavenshield"]