A P E X
DARTH METUS | VAR HALO
PROFILE
NAME: Var Halo
TITLE: Darth Metus
FACTION: ---
RANK: Sith Lord
SPECIES: Near-Human
RACES: Human (Corellian), Zeltron
AGE: 23
HEIGHT: 6'0"
BUILD: Middleweight
EYES: Green
HAIR: Brown
SKIN: Fair (Pink)
FORCE SENSITIVE: Yes
STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES
( + ) RESILIENCE: Metus possesses the capacity to withstand traditional, interrogation tactics for prolonged periods of time.
( + ) SORCERY: Metus is capable of weaving complex spells, in addition to creating Masterwork, alchemical artifacts.
( + ) CHARISMA: Metus' Zeltron heritage typically manifests in the form of uncanny levels of charisma.
( - ) GADGETRY: A creature of habit, Metus' arsenal is primarily gadget centric. As such, electromagnetic warfare is a sorely effective.
( - ) FORCE LIGHT: Exposure to Force Light in excess can temporarily cut off Metus' ability to utilize the Dark Side and severely dampen his ability to utilize the Force.
( - ) BACTA: Metus is deathly allergic to the common, medical substance bacta.
RELATIONSHIPS
MOTHER: Yulenka Perl
FATHER: [member="Zef Halo"]
SIBLING(S): [member="Joza Perl"]
APPRENTICE(S): ---
POSSESSIONS
ARMOR: ---
WEAPONRY: ---
PRIMARY TRANSPORT: ---
PROPERTY: ---
MISCELLANEOUS: ---
BIOGRAPHY
The Sigil was always just out of reach.
At a glance, it was simple - crude, even. Oftentimes it was carved directly into a man's shoulder plate with minimal finesse. However, despite how minuscule it seemed, its significance was monumental. To have the honor of bearing that mark meant being a cut above the average man. It meant to be distinguished. Strong. Someone that others could believe in. For as long as can remember, I had wanted nothing more than to stand among those chosen few. And that drive began with my Uncle.
My earliest memories were not of a mother and father, you see. The latter was some Corellian scoundrel while the former...well, she didn't want another burden. It was my Uncle who delivered me from the doorstep of an orphanage somewhere. Instead, he liberated me from the muck of Zeltros and ferried me into his reality: Concordia. I was raised there, brought up in our own little hut miles away from the nearest settlement. My Uncle taught me many things - to Hunt, to Think, and most importantly, why he never took off his armor.
To him, it was more than pieces of metal. It was his identity - his very essence. Every scrape was history. Every emblem a triumph. Yet none put more pride in his voice than the Sigil cut into his shoulder plate. When he spoke of it, and all that it stood for, my mind was filled with wonder. I clung to every word, demanded that he repeat his tales before bed...and ultimately dreamed of obtaining it myself. I asked him, once, when I was a boy if I could have the Sigil right then and there. But I was too Young.
I asked him, twice, once I had completed my Verd'goten. But I was not yet Strong.
I asked him, thrice, during my fledgling days as an Initiate. But I was not yet Experienced.
In those days...those young, rash days...I grew angry. Bitter. I thought myself a capable warrior, worthy of standing alongside my Uncle and his comrades. I took this ignorance to him with venomous words...he struck me down. He told me, yet again, that the Sigil would not be mine. For I was not ready. But after that fight, I resigned myself...I thought I would never be ready in his eyes. If it were up to me then, I would have sank into a well of self-pity; but duty demanded action. So despite the outcome of our "talk", I walked away into the next fight.
But underneath the helm were angry tears. I did not ask my Uncle again after that day, for I truly believed the Sigil to be out of reach. Instead, I swallowed the ache and focused on each day. Each assignment proved to be an excellent distraction...so much so that I put the Sigil to the most remote corner of my mind.
That is, until my Uncle called me home.
In those years, it was exceedingly rare that we crossed paths; and that was a reality not of our choosing. Our duties simply kept us apart, save for the occasional drink aboard a ship or the odd holiday. So, when I received the call, I immediately thought the worst. Was he hurt? Dying? Needless to say, I was home within the week. When I arrived, he said very little before requesting we take a ride out to the nearest settlement. I complied, eager to find out the reason he had urgently asked me home.
I never got the chance.
Between home and the settlement...we were ambushed. It happened so fast that, even now, I can't remember how it happened. One moment my Uncle was speeding along before me, the next there were explosions. Blaster fire. We separated instantly, attempting to shake off whomever had laid the trap...but I got hit in the process. Stunned, rather. Next thing I knew I was waking up to a bucket of water to the face. I was...shackled. My armor was gone. The room was dim and dank. And before me was a single man. Hooded. Draped in black.
He demanded that I tell him about my Uncle. Everything I knew. I spat in his fething face. This...didn't faze him in the slightest. In fact, I think it amused him. It might have had something to do with the fact that he had a red laser stick and I was chained to a chair. I tell you...I've taken a bolt before. I've been tossed around by an explosion. I've ridden out a bad landing...but nothing compares to what I went through in that room. He was slow. Methodical. He poked and prodded with that fething saber until I was out cold.
And when I woke up, he'd start all over again.
I don't know how long that went on for, but it all concluded when the man knelt before me. I had refused to give him anything - even his last name - and was sure that this was it. But, just when I was making peace with Manda itself...the bastard drew back his hood. It was Him. It was my Uncle. I...I had never wanted to harm the man before in my life. But in that moment, I could have torn his face off. He wasted no time in explaining what was going on...with a hand on my shoulder he said that I was ready. This was an exercise - a test to see if I could withstand the worst an enemy threw at me.
But it was just the beginning.
One kolto bath later and I found myself standing alongside maybe a platoon's worth of others. At a glance, they were all about my age...and they all had similar burns. We were all here for the same reason: we all wanted what my Uncle had. And now, we had the chance to fight for it. Over the next few days, the weakest of the bunch were weeded out. What began as around forty men and women quickly dwindled to about a dozen. Yet, only a fraction of the remainder would achieve what we had all dreamed about. What I had dreamed about.
The second-to-last trial called for diving into the rusted skeleton of a downed ship. Our job was to retrieve its black box...without letting anyone else touch it. Of course, we were expected not to kill one another...but that was the only stipulation. To say the very least, the competition was vicious. I clawed through my opposition - punching, shoving, biting until I finally reached the Bridge. Only one other was hot on my heels. I had waited my whole life for this moment, and I was not about to let it slip away. Not now. So I fought with everything I had.
It came down to fumbling over a stray piece of durasteel to decide the victor. I got to it first and he didn't get up.
With blackbox in hand, I deluded myself into thinking I had actually won. But I had yet to get off the damn ship. And that man I downed was beginning to come to. In my elation, I didn't pay him any attention...nor did I notice when he reached for some exposed wires. We didn't realize just how much juice was left in the ship - I don't think he'd have tried this if he knew. But...it was worse than the Interrogation by leagues. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't even scream. All I could do was wait until the bastard stopped frying my life.
I...I was finished.
I could feel myself slipping away. I could see the black at the edges of my eyes. I was going to die there, in the middle of a decaying ship while some bastard achieved my life's ambition. It...It burned me up. I had never felt so much rage, yet so powerless before. Ever. All I could do was watch...watch as he slinked back...and wait for the end.
But I was not alone.
As the cold of demise edged ever closer, I felt...I heard a whisper. A ragged voice echoed inside me, asking if I would let this stand. Asking...that if I had the power...would I act? I couldn't answer. I couldn't feel my face enough to form words. But I knew the answer. It knew the answer. The voice told me that I was diminished...that we were one in the same: on the door of death. Yet, together, we could stall the inevitable. It proposed an accord.
It would save my Life.
I would take its name.
It would grant me Power.
And I...would finish what it started.
I shook that demon's hand and arose from the ash. And that man who stooped so low as to kill me...I saw terror in his eyes. My anger saw him suspended in the air. He flailed. He begged. I grabbed the wires...and walked out with the blackbox. In the end, the weakest were fully weeded out; and I had the Sigil within reach. Alongside fellow survivors, my armor was marred under countless stars - beside roaring flame. There, I became apart of a new generation.
Kyr'tsad.
DEATH WATCH
