Unorthodox

[The White Wolf]

The night was cold this night...full moon shined overhead upon the city. A cold naked eye watching the planet. Cars from distance roads strode back and forth as most citizens where probably getting home to their families. To their loved ones...Turquoise eyes focused on the ground lifted up slightly. A grand staircase leading up to large doors where before the young knight. The wind blew unforgiving chilling the blood that was already cold. Behind those closed doors was something 13 despised. Someone...13 despised. And frankly despite all his raw and utter hatred towards this one being he still could feel no true emotion. 13 did not feel angry but he knew he should have been...he knew he did not like what he was going to do but he had no real feelings about it. No guilt...mercy...or regret. Just a whim drove him forward at this point. For with sacrificing the emotions and ambitions of the heart and mind made it easy. To do the unthinkable...and feel absolutely nothing afterwards.

A breath drew from 13's lips as he thought back. Back when he was a kid. How easy it was for him to get angry and lose control over himself. His mind was like clay back then. Easily formed by whoever wished to sculpt him. But over time that clay simply turned to glass. See through. Although he wanted to know what it was like to truly feel a happy emotion he felt as if he would never get the chance. Even around those he considered close seemed like objects to him. Like if they where to die he would not even flinch...and his former master...13 wanted to care but given the circumstances of his life he just couldn't find the will to care about anything anymore. Now a days everything he did was decided upon his whim...

Pulling a hand out of his pocket 13 began to walk forward. He wore his Black Wanderer outfit. He did not like to look like he belonged to a group or a click...he was there for him. He wanted to be free of authority...yet at the same time he felt he needed it. He did not know how to feel anymore.

Walking up the stairs slowly 13's eyes scanned the corners of the temple...approaching the doors the boy took one hand out of his pocket and pushed it open. His flat hand covered in finger gloves pressed against the door as he slid open. Revealing nothing but a grand corridor with a throne chair in the very back. 13 narrowed his eyes and reached for the back of his shoulder where his lightsaber stayed. Drawing it and walking into the temple, or shrine 13 felt the doors begin to close behind him.

A sadistic chuckle sounded from the other side of the corridor. 13 blinked and walked forward with a rather blank stride. His shoulders slouched and his expression emotionless 13 listened as a mans voice made itself known.

"So your finally here?." The man said amused. 13 blinked and continued to walk forward until he was a fair distance away. The shadows covered his face so only his eyes seemed visible to the man cloaked in a gold garb. The Black Wanderer pulled out a pistol and aimed it at the center of the mans head. The male closed his eyes and opened up his hand revealing a data chip. "Go ahead...take it." He said, holding it out to him in offering...But 13...wanted more. No...he needed more. It was unforgivable what this man did to him right? What he did to everyone in project 0 was unforgivable yet he could night bring himself to pull the trigger. He hesitated...did this make him weak? Of course it did. To everyone else...hesitation was weakness.

Suddenly, a loud bang alerted the young boy and in a instant he was back in reality. Opening his eyes the boy was back on the ship...back in the fringe hanger. Wearing his regular cloths. Lightweight cargo pants with black boots and a black jacket with a fur laced collar. He looked up to see a soldier had dropped a large box full of parts on the ground. Scrambling to pick them up as his fellow soldiers cracked on him. All of them however where smiling...showing the emotions he never could. He put a hand on his face and pulled down trying to remember why he was in the hanger...he recalled he was supposed to be meeting someone. Somone had wanted to meet him for Juyo training. But why couldn't he remember who? 13 leaned up against the wall int he far back of the hanger so he could see all the ships that pulled in. A blank and emotionless look remained tight as his white bangs hung in front of his eyes. His arms where crossed over his chest and his shoulders slouched. One leg parked against the wall behind him and a knee popped out neatly while his other leg was firmly placed on the ground. He wanted to go back to sleep...
@Cronos Aegir

 

[Qhorin Solas]

@[member="Subject 13"]​

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The coordinates provided by Intel brought me to an outpost in Deep Space, to the fringes of known civilization, far beyond the jurisdiction of the numerous galactic regimes. The Atrisian Empire, the Republic, Omega Pyre - they were little more than names here, curses even, spoken of only in hushed corners and dimly lit backrooms. This was the realm of the forgotten, where the unwanted denizens of the universe tread, safe in their anonymity.

This was where I would find Subject 13.

I'd spent months perusing IIB's files, searching fruitlessly for a non-affiliated Force-adept with the knowledge I required. I could go to neither the Sith nor the Jedi; the former because a part of me hated them, and the latter because the Inquisition was its enemy. It was my duty as an Inquisitor to kill or convert Force-adepts, and as time wore on, I found myself becoming more and more disillusioned with my duty. There was no honor amongst Inquisitors, and though we all dealt in death, none save myself were true students of combat, of war; none of them could understand what it meant to fight and die for a cause greater than yourself, for a cause that meant something. None amongst the Inquisition were as dedicated to the art of battle - to the art of death - as I was. In fact, I doubted most of them could wield a lightsaber with any effectiveness at all.

Eventually, I discovered the existence of 'Subject 13'. The file on him had been sparse, but it revealed enough. Subject 13, whoever he was, was proficient in Juyo, the style of combat I'd been hoping to study further. Contacting him had proven even more difficult than finding him, but within time, I got the message out.

And '13' had responded.

I eased my Naginata into the hangar, landing between two moderately sized freighters. As I climbed from the canopy I reached out with my senses to scan the station, loosing tendrils of intent to spread through the immense construct. I had foregone the traditional Inquisitor robes, garish things that they were. I instead wore an IIB issued black shirt, with matching slacks tucked into shining black knee high boots, and a sleek, silver lightsaber clipped to my belt, hidden beneath the folds of my cloak.

I felt what I thought was '13' standing at the back of the hangar, and walked over to meet him. He had never seen me before, but a Force-adept could easily recognize another Force-adept, unless they were hiding their Force signature.

I was not.

 

[The White Wolf]

Time. The line of everlasting existence through events and history? Or what it something more? Fact was time was not something that could truthfully be explained by mortals or even by gods. It was infinite. Just like the mysteries it holds deep within its roots. Many thought of time as a way to recognize the present…but no. Others believed it to be so much more.


A force beyond comprehension doing its work unintentionally and perfectly all at once. The stubborn existence of organization that held the past within a seal. The bringer of the future and the giver of the present. Some believed time to be a god all itself, invisible to the naked eye and unheard through religion. It very well could have been. When phrases are shouted out like ‘we are out of time!’ or ‘Times up.’ To some they are just phrases, to others they are tribute to the all mighty god of time. Whoever it may be weather it was real or not. Or perhaps…for something to be real one must simply believe it to be real? Faith was a powerful substance in many worlds throughout time.

Consisting side by side with time was the gift of memories. A function of history stored within the subconscious of ones mine throughout the period of their lives. Of course…there were always memories better left forgotten. Despite the fact memories would always eventually be forgotten in the downward spiral called time. The memories of the past, of those before us. Never told from the beholder but often from the witness.

Stories and legends passed down generation to generation but with each generation only losing more and more of the truth as the line between reality and fantasy grows ever so thinner. It was the same with the beings that traveled the galaxy. Over time ones blood does not strengthen. It weakens. If one where to make a copy, of a copy, of a copy it would not come out stronger. But weaker. This has always been true. The memories that held the truth where lost…forgotten In time.

13 wondered...very often what would become of him. Would be become some kind of icon that would forever go down in history? Or just another soul lost to the fray of everyday life? It was so easy to stand out but still blend in. So easy to become something big yet be forgotten. Life is as beautiful as as it is ugly...the young man closed his eyes and sighed. Opening them again when a ship suddenly came speeding into the hangar. His expression did not so much as twitch as he watched blankly. A male with interesting hair walked out of the ship and strolled around. As if he where looking for something. 13 looked him up and down as he walked around. He seemed to be rather tall...and wear black clothing. Then again he did not really care. When the man walked up to him 13 narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. His face blank.


@Cronos Aegir

 

[Qhorin Solas]

'13' wasn't what I had expected. He was thin, with the spindly length of youth. He made no move as I approached him, regarding me with narrowed eyes, a tilted head, and a blank face.

"You are 13," I said, my tone polite. It wasn't a question. "My name is Cronos. I contacted you, some time ago. I need you to assist my furthered education in the form of combat known as Juyo. Are you capable of this?"

Intel could always be wrong. Or I'd been duped, and this wasn't the real '13' at all. Only time would tell.

@[member="Subject 13"]​