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Rinne Korin

"Since when aren't bullets a form of currency on this planet... you people are strange."

0 · 274 views · located in The Outer Rim

a character in “Star Wars: The Gilded Age”, as played by Gray

Description

[url=music if applicable]
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"Discount surgery! Get your discount surgery!~ Now, watch as I do it blindfolded. "


































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"My name's Kiske. Clown first, surgeon second. Freelance magician somewhere in between.


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"Boredom, plain and simple. I had lots of it, and your cause offers less of it."


[B A S I C S]
Nicknames: Blue Bloodletter Kiske.
Gender: Male.
Age: 30.
Race: Human.
Origin: Airedale.
Voice:Typically high pitched, and a bit whimsical.
Class: Mage.
Offensive/Defensive: Offensive.
Magical Affinity: High.










































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[A P P E A R A N C E]
Hair: Kiske has red auburn hair, it's a family trait which has been passed down. He loves it! Wouldn't trade his frumpy locks for the world.
Eyes: His eyes are deep set, though it's hard to notice behind a fortress of makeup. The color is unmistakably dull green, with a set stare that has seen plenty of death.
Complexion: He's honestly a bit pasty. Kiske doesn't care too much about his "natural beauty," insisting everything and anything can be fixed by adding more powder.
Height: 6 foot. He's tall for a human, but so are most in his family.
Build: Kiske has the build of someone who was sentenced to life in a damnable prison. He's muscular, although it was mostly for show, and to keep others off his back in the pen.
Weight: Somewhere close to 180 pounds.
Body Markings: Enough make-up to make a princesses seem like common swine.


[P H Y S I C A L L Y ]
The circus is in town! Or would be, if there were any make-up left! Kiske can be easily spotted from a mile away. His bright red hair and flushed face, which would normally make any person stand out in a crowd, are completely overshadowed by the fact that this human likes to be noticed. Clowns are a popular profession for those seeking attention from nobles, and it's easy to see where Kiske's comically over-application of cosmetics comes from. Kiske typically starts with a white base, which completely seals off his natural complexion. If it weren't for times spent bathing, this would never be removed, and as elves are the sole practitioners of tattoos, Kiske can't get it stuck on permanently. While the garish makeup is the first thing that people notice, it is not the last.

Kiske's wardrobe looks like an art student had given up on the design halfway through. Sure, some things match, but it's largely lost by Kiske's fascination with hot pink. In short, just looking at Kiske is enough to give most people a migraine. This isn't remotely helped by the rather large smile which crowns the clown's face. It hangs there, just beneath the tip of his nose, in the most obnoxious and annoying way a man can smile. It mocks anyone and anything that is within walking distance, begging for a nice slug in the face. However, it is a clean face, and a clean body for that matter. Kiske enjoys bathing. He never smells of anything other than that annoying Byda perfume, and his nails are always short and crisp. His teeth are perfectly white, evidenced by the lack of contrast between they and his pearly countenance. Perhaps enviably, he stands out even among other clowns.

Strangely enough, for a mage Kiske doesn't seem to carry anything magical on him. He holds neither wand nor staff, and many would probably assume he's a hapless jester who walked onto the wrong battlefield. A warrior would know differently. He stands proud, his waist rail thin but certainly muscular; it's the kind of muscles people develop when they're used to carrying their body in delicate situations. He possesses grace with each step, and his movements have a flow of calmness to them not found in a civilian. Sure! Some see the clown paint and get the heebie-jeebies, but a true warrior sees something different that gives them the chills: his body language. Kiske carries himself as if nothing in the world could touch him, as if he were immortal. Neither fear nor hesitation are present in his step, and there are times that some would find this disconcerting.
























































Moral AlignmentChaotic Egocentric.

MENTALITY

[P E R S O N A L I T Y]
Ever have that guy who gets on your nerves all the time just by existing? That's Kiske. There's just something weird about him, aside from his appearance of choice. Kiske has a rather untrustworthy nature, apparently at the wrong place at the wrong time all too frequently. Fights occur around him more than they should, and if he were in a bar, he'd be the center of attention while the entire place devolved into chaos. Again, weird. What's also bizarre is the fact that he seeks this like the queen bee in school; Kiske loves drama, chaos, and more specifically, Kiske loves a challenge. Raised by a noble family that wanted the world in their hands, Kiske gained his father's rather severe sense of drive. It's as if he weighs two choices in his head, and always picks whichever one is more difficult to manage.
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Kiske also is commonly seen around dead things. He doesn't much care for gore, or splatters, or guts; just the dead. Their calm, tranquil state would stand at complete juxtaposition to the madman with his gaudy smile and beaming eyes. If anyone wanted to make him happy, they'd probably just have to bring him some recently dead flowers and he'd be chipper as a woodpecker. The man also loves flirting in addition to his instigations. Male, female, whatever genders orcs happen to be; he'll flirt with them and make them redder than his rosy cheeks.

Friends? Kiske doesn't have them, and probably won't get many. It isn't as if he actively discourages them, or is too broody or moody for them, or anything silly like that. Simply, most folk don't prefer the company of a perceived loon. But that's just the thing! Kiske is far from crazy! He's intelligent, quick on the uptake, and composed. Sure, most people wouldn't walk around town with a "punch-me" sign glued to their faces and call themselves sane, but he does because he's a rampant narcissist. Kiske also prefers to "baby talk" once in a while. He finds making words more fun makes his life more fun. He'll probably never stop, much to the dismay of everyone around him.

[F E A R S]
There aren't many things that terrify this man, but bats are one of them. They're disease carrying rodents that fly, bump into you, and bite you. Fucking freaky.

[Q U I R K S]
  • Juggler: If there are three or more of any alike object, Kiske will juggle involuntarily. This is a skill most certainly beat into him by the head clown at the royal palace. Oftentimes, the clown will not realize he is doing it.
  • Makeup Addicted: Kiske must have perfect makeup at nearly all times of the day. He will stop in the middle of battle to reapply it if he must.
  • The not so killing joke: Surprisingly enough, Kiske isn't very good at telling jokes. He's pretty awful with the delivery, and while he might be humorous to some naturally, he's no master of punchlines.
  • Slight of hand Any good magician knows slight of hand. Kiske's natural grace and fluid movements make him an expert at tricking the eyes into falling for old parlor tricks.

[E T H I C | V A L U E S]
Slay all those who stand in his way, befriend everyone else.

[A G E N D A]
Entertainment. Getting out of jail was up there, too, until recently.


[L I K E S]
    • MOTHERFUCKING TOYS AND SHIT! Ever seen a child in a toy store? Ever seen a full grown man, dressed in full clown attire, eerily peering through a toymaker's window, maximizing the view and staring longingly?
    • Kiske is an entertainer at heart. He involves himself heavily in pranks and slapstick comedy on a regular basis. The problem usually arises that the clown never seems to tell his audience in advance that they're going to be part of his stints. He finds this hilarious.
    • Believe it or not Kiske is a Kirill, and as a Kirill he is incredibly knowledgeable. How'd he get that way? Books of course. Kiske collects books to a fault. As his story goes on, he might get exhausted from all the books he collects. However, he normally is fine just browsing them. This trait does come in handy though, because Kiske can read, he can also understand maps, and typically knows answers to problems which a layman would not.
    • Shoes. Most importantly, princess shoes. Those curly, dainty, silk, impractical shoes are Kiske's favorite. And, as they're impractical, princess shoes tend to wear down quicker than a sturdy pair of boots. This causes Kiske to procure more shoes, and leads to an endless cycle of shoplifting purchasing all of his fine footwear.

[D I S L I K E S]
    • Dull knives. You know the sound--nails on a chalkboard? That's a dull knife to the clown. A dull knife as useless as it is grating. The way it can't cut shoestrings, the way it fails to open a package from the post. It's irritating, and it makes life so damn hard. Kiske will cry about this. Big crocodile tears.
    • Frail things. Strong things. See a pot, break a pot. See a strong thing making life too easy, break a strong thing making life too easy. Basically if you're on either end of the spectrum, there's a fair chance that Kiske hates you. Kiske likes to live life on the edge, it gives him a satisfying rush. That sort of thing can't happen if he's too busy babysitting or getting his hand held. "Well, what about frail objects?" you might ask. Kiske will always have a sense of loathing for them.
    • The skin on fruits. Living in the lap of luxury means that Kiske has never (and will never!) peel his own fruit. Unfortunately, this also means that Kiske refuses to eat fruit with the skin on them. It just tastes so icky, ya know? So... he's probably gonna get scurvy. Sucks bro.
    • Boredom. Yep. Like being eternally trapped at your mother-in-law's house.




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PROWESS













































































[N A T U R A L | T A L E N T]
  • Flexible git: [Average] - ★★★☆☆☆ Ever seen a man who can bend his body like rubber? It's an old entertaining trick: the contortionist. Kiske is incredibly flexible. This becomes rather annoying for things that try to hit him. He can bend his body in all sorts of ways, and its enough to turn a stomach just by glancing at him. Kiske finds it rather exciting to see how far he can twist his body. It's better than most, and certainly better than anything wearing heavy armor. This skill allows Kiske, who otherwise isn't exceedingly fast, to dodge techniques which are close or far rage pretty reliably.
  • Spiritual sensitivity: [Poor] - ★★☆☆☆☆ His widdle secwet: Kiske is highly spiritually aware. This adds for some interesting changes in his life. First, he can see the recently deceased. He cannot talk back to them, but he can hear them. Secondly, he can sense when there is death in an area, or otherwise a gathering of spirits. Like a moth to a flame, Kiske is drawn to their presence. This means very little in battle, but he can get a sense of what ambushes might lie up ahead, or how something died by the way they appear to him.

[C L A S S | S K I L L S]
  • Smoke bombs: [Poor] - ★★☆☆☆☆ Smoke and mirrors are an entertainers best friend. As such, Kiske is proficient with the former. Kiske can create incredibly potent smoke bombs which blind the eyes, sting the nose and mouth, and fill the air with the most obnoxious smoke one can witness. The smoke he typically uses is so intense it can fill entire rooms in a flash. In its undeveloped state, it is a thick powder, when plied together it becomes a perfectly round sphere, a little smaller than a ping-pong ball. When crushed or otherwise broken, it fills rooms quicker than the slash of a sword or the movement of an arrow. This powder comes as a byproduct from mining ore. It's incredibly cheap to obtain, and is found in almost every city. A canister no larger than an barrel would easily consume a town. Kiske prefers to add a few additions to his smoke bombs to make them especially obnoxious. Firstly, the smoke produced is thick pink. Secondly, he adds his favorite annoying Byda perfume. Lastly, he adds just a hint of pepper powder. This weapon can easily change the flow of battle, as the smoke hangs like a thick fog, rendering sight, smell, and taste pretty useless save for a tiny area around those inside of it. It also lasts quite a while, making escape or moving the smoke the only real options for getting rid of it.

  • Muscle reading: [Average] - ★★★☆☆☆ A well trained eye can guess how a ball will fall from a hand, an even better trained eye will know how to catch it before it lands. This is the basic principle behind Kiske's muscle reading ability. Basically his attention to detail and the human form had come together to give him something of a predictive edge. He can utilize this with his flexibility to quickly dodge, or his knife skills to counter, or throw a well placed blade. It's a useful skill, and one learned through endless monotonous meditation and people watching.


[SPELLS | POWERS]
  • Instastitch: [Competent] - ★★★★☆☆ Perhaps, Kiske should have been born a surgeon, because he certainly has the capability. Instastitch, or Crazy String, as Kiske affectionately calls it, is probably Kiske's only self-created technique. By saving up a bit of magic, Kiske can turn pure magic into a ball of string, single strands or many. From there he can use the arcane art to seal up any wound, set broken bones, reattach full limbs, and although he's never tried it, Kiske believes if he acted quickly enough he could reattach a severed head. The string can be any color, or no color if he chooses, and since it is magic it seemingly bends or outright breaks the rules of traditional medicine. With a simple cut, Kiske can force his instastitch into the hole and the skin will be bound together. This will leave no scaring of any kind, and the pain will all but vanish. For a deep tissue wound, or organ damage, Kiske can send in a heavier dose of magic which will bind all of the pieces correctly together in their place. This will fix a deep wound in around five minutes, and stop bleeding immediately. Pain will stop around the three minute mark. It's about the same for a broken bone, or crushed bone. The string goes into the body, connects the pieces, and then tightly wraps itself around the broken bits. For a severed limb, partial functionality will return within the first few minutes. Full functionality restores in around three days. Pain can be stopped within an hour or two.
    But healing is only half of this skill. The other half is a bit more twisted. First, Kiske's stitching can be incredibly flexible, rigid, sharp, or soft. It can extend for as far as Kiske has magic (which is quite some distance) but is pretty useless without Kiske seeing or imagining where he put the string. Typically, he keeps it colorless, and lays it loose, attaching the ends to the tips of his fingers. When snagged, Kiske can cause tension on the line and use it to slice through armor, or create enough torque to snap limps and break shields. Kiske has also been known to sew enemies legs together, or their limbs to one another. Kiske utilizes the wire for all sorts of traps, preferring to make a battlefield a literal maze of his creation. The string can lift human weight with ease, as well as stop falling objects,or incoming baddies if there were enough strands lined closely together.


  • Illusion: [Poor] - ★★☆☆☆☆ Reinforced by Kiske's natural slight of hand, Kiske's illusions rely on those he's fooling not knowing he has an illusion active, or not realizing there was more to an otherwise harmless action. His illusions can be used to make objects out of place, or hide his instastitch. Far more regularly, they're used to change the color of his garish clothes to something more unsightly. However, he can also use them to expand a smoke screen, or hide a knife in an open looking hand. While Kiske isn't as powerful as some master illusions, he's learning, and it's the craftiness of his illusions which are undeniably better than the illusions themselves. Like all illusions though, it's mostly smoke and mirrors. Kiske's illusions have some serious draw backs, for now they're limited to a single target. They can be dispelled through pain, or realizing that it's simply a parlor trick. This is mostly the reason for Kiske's craftiness and good placement of his illusions.

  • That's not a knife...: [Competent] - ★★★★☆☆ Oh but it is! Kiske has trained under professional sword swallowers for years to learn this trick. By expending some of his magic, the clown can summon a knife out of thin air, or any other orifice of his body. Kiske has been known to shoot a knife out of an open wound before. So far, his knives come in one flavor: a dirk knife with a straight blade and handle, and a ring at the bottom of the pommel. The dirk is a perfect weapon for slashing and stabbing. Knives can be summoned quickly and cheaply. Normally they're used as projectile weapons, however if given a close quarters fight, Kiske will use them just as effectively.


[W E A K N E S S E S]
  • Running speed: Kiske wins no medals in regards to running. His love of silk princess shoes shows, as he refuses to wear anything else. They aren't made for all terrain, and his refusal to find more adequate footwear means he's ultimately quite slow.
  • Quite weak Kiske's body, while imposing, isn't all that tough. Someone used to dodging probably can't take more than a few blows. He also can't punch very hard for this same reason. His muscles were built from building roads and lifting rocks, and he has no formal combat training.
  • The path of most resistance Kiske plays life on hardmode. He'll normally give the enemy a handicap if he can afford to. There's just something fulfilling about a hard fight, and Kiske likes to feel fulfilled.


































ARMAMENT


[A R M O R] None.


[C L O T H I N G] Noble clothes, dyed more colors than fine art.


[I T E M S] Smoke bombs, and a single claw-blade knife.


[T O K E N S] A perfect mirror. A wand.
(please see Character Skeleton Companion, or PM us!)

[P R I M A R Y | W E A P O N]
Weapon Name: Round-cuty.
Weapon Type: Claw-shaped dagger.
Length: Six inches.
Weight: One pound.
Origin: Kiske found that this dagger can circumvent armor, when going against bodyguards. Typically he hides the sheath and blade in the sleeve of his clothes, and will pull it out as a last resort.

[O T H E R | W E A P O N S]
Weapon Name: Smokey the Bomb (only you can prevent eye-sight!)
Weapon Type: Smoke bombs
Length: .5 inches.
Weight: .05 pound.
Origin: These are crafted daily, to ensure that he has more than necessary. They're incredibly easy to whip up, and can be made even in the heat of battle.








BACKGROUND


[M A R I T A L | S T A T U S]
Single, making Kiske a sad clown.

[F A M I L Y | T I E S]
{ -100 | 0 | +100 }

    | Roman and Jeneva Kiske| [ 100 ]
These might legitimately be the only people who Kiske cares about. As their only son, he loves them, and prefers no one knows they exist. It's no secret that he's a great shame, but if anything were to happen to them, Kiske would ensure that consequences were dealt out.

[O C C U P A T I O N]
Clown.

[S O C I A L | R A N K]
Ranges rather drastically, but usually he's friendly enough. Still, he looks like a weirdo, which can make his presence come across as unpleasant.


[O P I N I O N S]
  • Humans: Nothing wrong with humans! They have an easy anatomy, they're mighty different from one another, and they are his own.
  • Elves: Pompous, unusually rich, and seem to have enemies everywhere? Sounds like Kiske's family. He has no hatred towards this race.
  • Orcs: Kiske has never met an Orc. But he's also never met one he didn't like.

[R E L A T I O N S]
{ -100 | 0 | +100 }

    | O r c B r o | [ 70 ]
Oh captain my captain! Kiske knows this man controls the ship, and it's in his best interest to ensure that ship stays on course. Thus, Bo is going to be seeing a very good side of Kiske. On a sidenote, Pastor Bo seems to be the shepherd to all of the Orc ladies around here. That's no good.

    | A d r i e l | [ -100 ]
Hates. I'm not your friend anymore. With your dumb spiky hair, and your stupid lightning magic. Why do you have to be so competent? I thought this was a death sentence!

    | G r e t c h B e t c h | [ 85 ]
[/list]
Besties for life! Who else could appreciate the loveable clown other than someone who hates everything?


    | T a n e| [ 20 ]
Do we have to have him? Could we leave him at the next townsies please? With all that armor he's going to take so much damage defending us all. Oh and he's SO sweet. Cheeky git.

    | K i r | [ 98 ]
Ya know what, I like his style! He's asfierce as a lightning bug He's fast!at running away and he's stealthy. Hide and seek world champ! Let's have fun, kid.

    | L a e t y a | [ 60]
Oh, she's lovely. Could do with a bit of makeup though. Oh? She's whose cousin? Never mind, no longer interested.

    |E z r a | [ 1 ]
No. No. No. No. No. I refuse. Where are you finding all of these competent people for a suicide mission? Plus he's too fucking pretty. He's prettier than me, and Gretchy combined. Who did his hair? Magicians? Adriel? I'm going to steal that damn comb.

    |B e r l i o z | [ 80 ]
I could get lost in his eyes, and he's kind of in love with his sister. Plus the elf seems annoyed that he's got magic. I like him. I'll be his bride.

    |G u l f i m | [ 50 ]
She's scared of strangers! OH NO! This is exactly what I didn't want to happen today. Think she could use a new bff. Hrm? Why's Bo watching us like that? Abort mission, abort mission!

    |A r a y e l | [ 80 ]
This girl really plays with the Kiske strings. Hopes she likes balloon animals and puppies! Oh and she casts shame on all of Elven kind with her wittle dark market empire? I love it. I embrace this concept.

    |A u r i l e i t h | [ 30 ]
Oh? A healer? She's quite normal isn't she. She can arch, she can heal, but she takes all the funsies away from everything. I hope she and Adriel get married, settle down, and have little elf boys and girls so I don't have to deal with their nonsense.

    |I l l e r e n | [ 40 ]
Surprise, surprise! Another elf? What are you all multiplying or something? Look we get it, I'm sure you're way better than you should be, and will make this whole "nature walk" too boring, but I'm sick of it! I just wanted a satisfying blood bath with my bestie Gretchie, and you're ruining it! I AM POUTING, MISTER, IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?

    |V a s h a | [ 45 ]
Ohohohoho this one is interesting he breaks and comes right back together on his own! Like the humpty dumpty of the elven kingdom. I want to take him apart, over, and over, and over again. For now I'll just stick to healies the elf.
    |K i s k e | [100 ]
Look at this beautiful man. Part butterfly, part flower, part elephant, and part clown. He is a piece of history, a man who will be remembered for eternity. He's a man who will one day rule the lands of Airedale, and take every woman in the lands as his bride.

[B I O | H I S T O R Y]
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One would be hard pressed to find someone who hasn't heard of the Kirills, the large noble family of Airedale with more money and soldiers than the rest, the ones who takes what they want from other nobles, be it possessions, land, political power. And why not? The Kirills had amassed a sizable army, and enough bloodthirsty soldiers to fend off the King if they really had to. Technically, the Kirill house should be 16th in line for the throne, which makes them very powerful and very arrogant. But what you’ve probably never heard is that the Kirills have a son.

Born into a life of prestige and luxury, the Kirill's only son was named Kiske. He was a smart young lad with a somewhat weak constitution, which kept him out of the public eye. This was to be expected for most nobles; living a life of luxury is something that softens the body. However, Kiske, by all accounts, was a pretty normal boy. He attended large parties, making friends with some of the nobles, and some of them had even considered marrying him into their families when he got a bit older. Kiske was polite, friendly, and most of all, well-liked. His manners were impeccable, his poise was precise, and he always was fond of making both children and adults laugh. If there was one snag in his life, it was being born a Kirill.

The Kirills were well-hated. Their family line was considered “new money” by all the other noble folk, and their initial power had come through piracy, taking merchants money and goods, and killing the sailors aboard the ships. Kiske’s great-great-grandfather was apparently a hell of a pirate, as he was able to not only accrue a vast fortune, but get away with it too; settling down and become a noble in a country far away from his exploits. The trail of bodies would eventually wash up in Airedale, when the Kirills would continue the family trade on land, this time as highwaymen, still robbing merchants and nobles alike. As their wealth increased, so too did their power, eventually they had a standing army.

For the most part, the Kirills employed bandits and anyone else willing to join an unofficial army. They were put to good use, too, taking lands from noble houses. Eventually, enough gold, land, and power was attained that a contract was struck and the Kirills managed to marry into the royal family: his great-grandfather managed to wed himself to a duchess, which gave them a legitimate--albeit distant--claim to the throne of Airedale. While all of this information might seem useless to Kiske, who was several generations removed from the long deceased butchers ravaging the other noble houses, the old wounds suffered by the lords and ladies who were currently in charge still seemed very fresh. Tainting their opinions were stories told by their grandfathers about the horrible, ruthless Kirill house, and revenge was fresh on their minds. Of course, none of them could do anything about it. The Kirills had the largest army, the most money, and were known to devastate houses which tried to mount any kind of attack.

It was the Queen of Airedale who would eventually come up with a plan to humiliate the nobles. Sure, they could have executed the entire family, but for crimes long past? The peasants who the Kirills lorded over might rebel, as all things considered, the Kirills had become decent lords.

Every few years, the reigning King graces all of those with claim to the throne, no matter how distant, with a chance to make something of themselves. For some young lords and ladies, he gives them extremely good positions in the government where they have room to grow and flourish. The most coveted of these positions was the role of an adviser. Because young lords grew into these positions, it kept the nobles close, and away from fighting one another. Most nobles accept these positions in an instant, as good fortune comes to those who send their only heirs to serve the reigning king. However, the Kirills seemed to be in a bit of a bind. Their only son, Kiske, was starting to show signs of magic at the young age of eleven, and word quickly reached Rhiosia that a noble of Airedale was graced with "the gift." As with anyone gifted with magic, Rhiosia sent an offer; "Join us in our magic academies, and your son will live a life blessed with prosperity," he said. It was a tough choice. Serve the king of their nation, or send their son off to become a very powerful mage?

They chose the former. Young Kiske was off to the capital of Airedale and couldn’t have been more pleased. With the public knowledge of his magic combined with and his intelligence, he was a shoe-in for an adviser role. When he arrived, however, he found that the King and Queen had chosen a different role. Kiske was to join the circus: an interesting spectacle, a menagerie of entertainment held in the city. This was Airedale’s new and improved coliseum, an event of entertainment so large that the entire population was entranced. It kept the masses under control and entertained, and kept their love for the monarchy at high levels. At first, Kiske believed his job would be to oversee the circus. That would have been a difficult job, which would involve managing multiple shows, finding new creatures for amusement, and learning to appease crowds; a task both suitable and crucial to every lord should know. This vision would be shattered on his arrival.

ImageThe circus was held in the largest tent Kiske had ever seen, large structure composed of yellow and red cloth near the outskirts of the capital. It was so large, it made the castle seem tiny. When Kiske arrived, wearing his best smile and clothes, he was sent around to many people until he reached the head entertainer. Kiske had everything wrong, it seemed. He was not to manage the show, or find new entertainment, and he was certainly not going to find new animals or learn to appease crowds either. No. He was to be in the show as a clown. It was the ultimate disgrace for any noble to be made into an entertainer, a job composed entirely of peasants. Of course Kiske had tried to vouch his own status, tried to deny the job he was given, but his servitude was guaranteed for years to come. The jobs doled down by the King were set in stone until one reaches adulthood, to ensure that any noble learned skills that would help in their later life. With this position, the monarchy had ensured that the only heir to the house of Kirill family would be lost to obscurity, and the house would fall with him. There would be no chance to meet a noble girl working as a peasant.

The worst part for Kiske was that there was to be no chance to learn magic. Magic was a sought after gift in Airedale, let alone the rest of the human civilizations. If any family were to possess it, it would make them extraordinarily powerful in the coming years. Upon his first day of clown training, Kiske would witness the antics of these people, which were strange and unfunny. Big shoes, colorful faces, and silly feats like juggling were all so simple they were used to entertain the peasantry, and in no way could be entertaining to a group of people like nobles. After his first week, things began to change. He learned the basics of face painting and how to sew. His first month, things began to change even more when the clowns became his friends. They were simple peasants, and when they realized he was a noble, they were expectedly enchanted. It was even more surreal when they found out Kiske had magic, but as it turned out, he wasn’t the only one.

Many peasants possess magic, usually discovering it later in life. Tricks that are done in the circus are often done through magic. The tightrope walker dangling in the air attached magic to his feet so as to never fall. The lion-tamer was using an illusion to calm the creature, and make it think of her as its mother. When Kiske joined their flock, he began to learn all that they had to teach him. The performers were not only able to teach him arts which were distinctly his, but taught him arts of their own, and began the process of teaching him ones that he could develop over time. His true magical gift was that of mystic strings: impossible to break and infinitely useful, Kiske quickly learned to use them to patch up the injuries his friends sustained. He became their doctor, and over time, he’d become quite competent. He also studied under a sword swallower. As it turns out, the man could create the swords and dissolve them. The sword never went down his throat at all, simply vanishing before it touched his tongue. It was very unusual for someone to pick up three spells in such little time, even if he hadn't yet mastered them, the performers were quite impressed.

As his passion for magic and number of friends grew, so too did Kiske’s passion for the show. Kiske was beginning to love being a clown and mesmerizing the audience with his performances. And really, he was good at it. His skills with makeup and decision to use smoke made him a class act, and for nearly fifteen years Kiske forgot he was even a noble. While beneath the canopy of the tent, Kiske felt he was a God, soon snatching the title of star of the show, the clown and contortionist who had card tricks, knife throwing, sword swallowing and beast taming. He could do it all.

All dreams must die eventually. On one occasion that the royal circus was in the capital, all those of noble houses were invited personally by the Queen. Those from Airedale came far and wide to see the spectacle which the King boasted of, including Kiske’s parents. The opening night was on Kiske’s 26th birthday. They were entertained by the best, and it was a show which no one would soon forget. At the end of it, the Queen summoned Kiske alone onto the stage. Then, she asked him to wipe off the paint on his face. When he obliged and looked out at the crowd, there were faces of laughing nobles all around… and the two horrified faces of his parents in the front row.

It was then that Kiske realized the depths of depravity which the throne had sunk. They had planned this, all of this, for the one night where they would humiliate Kiske’s family in front of all of the other nobles. While the clown stood there smiling, a fire burned in his chest. To see his family’s hearts break in that instant was enough to send Kiske over the edge. When he retired to his room, he began to formulate a plan. Kiske would get revenge on the King, and all the other nobles in his path. Since Kiske was 16th in line for the throne, he’d aim to shorten that number. He would make those who’d embarrassed his family know what loss meant. For losing his chance to go to the world’s best magical academy, and he would take revenge for the life that never came to be by killing all 16 nobles which stood between him and the throne.

Not that his goal was to become king of Airedale; simply, he would make his great-great-grandfather proud. Cause enough of a loss in assets to have a new charter drafted. Perhaps his eventual son could become king. That night Kiske left the Circus with two oaths: The first was that he’d cut a path of blood between himself and the throne, and the second was that he’d never again remove his face paint in front of others.

Kiske was en route to two noble houses that very night. As their sons studied for tasks the King had assigned to them, Kiske moved in behind them. With his unbreakable threads he hung them from their balconies. Investigations were slow, as it looked like suicide. Kiske would manage to kill eight others before the month was up, with each one becoming more and more gruesome. Some would find their bodies riddled with knives. Others were driven insane his illusions bashed their heads on the walls. It wasn't long before he earned the name “Blue Bloodletter,” the mysterious rogue who was murdering all the firstborn noble sons and their families. In total, nearly forty bodies were scattered in his wake. It was his attempt on the ninth in line that would get Kiske caught.

His capture was simple. As he entered the manor, Kiske was swarmed by Silver Knights with drawn blades. Kiske tried hard to run from them, but clown shoes proved mediocre, causing him to trip. Having never been in so much as a physical argument, Kiske was unable to put up a fight, and was sent to a tower in Autumour.

It was the worst prison in the three kingdoms, and it was where he would await his eventual death. Guards watched his every move. Yet prison, as it turned out, was a lot like being born into nobility. There was little freedom, and your path was chosen for you. One meal a day was guaranteed, but it was quite easy to beat someone with a brick for two more. His job, too, was chosen for him, and Kiske was assigned to the monotonous task of breaking rocks in Rogland Quarry. But it wasn’t the worst that could have happened; his body got a bit bigger, and his intimidation factor increased.

The clown’s execution was set for ten years from his incarceration. At first, the hazing was ridiculous, and early on Kiske had his first time slaying a man with a plate. While his magic was subdued through specialty wrist cuffs and bars, he learned much watching the anatomy and mannerisms of his fellow inmates, and his ability to aim through throwing knives came in handy. Fights ended quickly, and while the clown still couldn’t punch through a paper bag, Kiske could certainly make use of a weapon's edge. Ten years was eventually reduced to seven, and it was only after six of them that Kiske finally found his way out. A town crier making rounds was loud enough that even he could hear the news from the top of his tower. [i]“All those daring to combat the Pestilence! A new band of men wish to seek out the cause and destroy it once and for all. Any crime will be forgiven, any sin will be resolved! Go to the Ebony Bridge in a week's time.”

The boredom was the worst part. Kiske had never been bored before. After only two years, even the toughest criminals came to avoid him. He’d become too bulky to try and bully, and he was flexible enough to avoid most of their blows. Perhaps new this organization could provide him a challenge. He summoned a guard at once, and explained that he wished to speak with someone representing this order. He expected the initial hostility, but within a few days, an elven woman awaited him. She was his test, a woman those favor he needed to win, in order to escape the dreaded boredom. And oh, he'd had quite a bit of experience winning favors. Yet the elf, "Celeste," he soon learned, seemed unamused with his offer, but nonetheless she waited to be impressed.

She asked Kiske to show her his powers. Once his cuffs were removed—not without reluctance from the attending guard--he demonstrated just that. He could attach and reattach his own arm. Summon daggers and create illusions. The clown insisted that he would be useful as a healer, just as he'd done for his troupe before, and that any wound could be healed with his magic. He explained that he would be dead in a year if he wasn't released today, and he would rather spend that year giving back to the world. An attending guard protested that he was a psychopath, one who clearly “craved power” as he’d killed many in the line of succession. However, Celeste decided the human would be useful. Now, mere footsteps remain between Kiske and the Gathering.

Image


[F L A G S]
Kiske's one and only flag is that you must go on a date with him. This is open to anyone of any sex or race! It has nothing to do with romance, or how much you particularly care for Kiske. You will have a great time.

So begins...

Rinne Korin's Story

Setting

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Character Portrait: Zinis Moraak Character Portrait: Rinne Korin Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Gray
Rain. The kind of rain that pours on for days and days covered the expansive underworld of 1313. This was a city so bleak, its walls had never seen sunlight. Deep beneath the reaches of Coruscant lay this abandoned, cluttered, waste of space. It breathed life into the most foul beings on the planet, and here in the depths where they called home, they flourished. Today was about an average day here. The small doctors’ clinic that Rinne stayed entrenched in had been all but abandoned by clientele today… and for good reason. This city didn’t have any way of getting natural rain. If it was raining here, it meant that a pipe had burst somewhere beneath Coruscant. If the denizens of 1313 were lucky, it’d be a recycled water plant. However, more often than not, they were treated to the horrid odor of a sewage mane which had corrupted after decades of neglect. This time appeared to be the latter, as a noxious smell covered the already rotting fumes of the literal junk heap. This rain was now covering the city in something like a fog. The smell that accompanied it had stayed since the rupture happened, three days ago. It was also why four men stayed put inside a small medical clinic.

The clinic was rough, to say the least. A rusty-looking chair sat firmly in the center of the room. Above it hung a light that was missing two of the six bulbs, and looked to have seen better days. The walls had trace amounts of blood on them, and the floors appeared to be covered in a dark residue. Despite all these blatant health-code violations there were a few treasured objects hung about the walls. Limbs. Most of them appeared to be robotic in nature. They were all shapes and sizes, displayed on a wall the way a classic speeder or naked Twi’lek poster would be hung on the wall of a teenaged boy. They were treasure, and each were worth a kings’ ransom down in these depths. Through the clinics’ only window, one could see those who were unlucky enough to have jobs where being outside was required. The city prostitutes were out in full force. Rain would not stop these women. Most of them had outstanding debts to pay off. Even more of them were slaves. A few of the eyes in the room watched them as they meandered about the corner like stray cats. They did their best to stay underneath awnings; a smelly whore would sell about as well as a rank fish. But down here, men would eat just about anything.

A single refrigerator had kept all four occupants fed for three days. Now, there was only idle chatter in the room, these men who had stayed for days were running out of conversation pieces. Almost everything had been exhausted. One particularly loud Rodian was complaining almost incessantly. “At least let us get a couple a’ whores. Even a Twi’lek will do, I just need something” Rabble was starting to form abound two of the three others. It appeared that the group was almost in agreement. All save for one man. “No. Whores don’t have the money to be in my shop, and if they do, it’s to fix the kinds of problems you don’t want to find on your own bodies.” He was a shaggy man. Human from the looks of it. His long tattered hair looked more like the scraggly mane of a feral dog, than that of a man. His voice was calm, and firm, and a large puff of smoke escaped his lips as he spoke; a death-stick clutched firmly in his left hand. The men were getting riled they needed something to escape the fact that they had been trapped in a small box of a room for the last few days. Beer cans were everywhere, other assorted trash littered the ground, shelves, and tables of the office. Never was this place clean, but Rinne could never remember it being so dirty.

Nearest the other men, a Mon Calamari spoke next. His words cut the air like a knife, but his voice seemed the most anxious of the men. “How about a game of Dejarik? We’ve got stuff, we can bet it all.” There was a cringe that shot through Rinne’s face. How he hated that forsaken game. In the parlor, where many of these men had been sleeping, a Dejarik table had been installed many years ago. At the time, Rinne had loved it, but the more he played the more these men wanted to play for keeps. Now, in three days of pure boredom, the stakes would be high. Of course, Rinne would lose. He always lost. He also had the least to bet with. These men, even if they risked it all, would never go after his shop or limbs though. They were simpletons, seeing more use in a blaster or whore than a replacement limb or roof above their heads. Before the game started, a voice appeared in Rinne’s head. The sensation was much like that of a nail getting struck by a hammer. “ Go for it. Bet you'd like to feel like a winner today, don't you, Rinne....? Go all in on the last turn. Trust me.” The game would play into the night. The rain too would stop upon nearing completion of the game. A pack of death-sticks would be almost exhausted by the time the final round appeared…

The Calamari held an expression of anger and fear on his face. The Rodian and human had him cornered. There was only one tactic he could use in such a scenario. “I’m all in, and I raise three grand more!” Raises in Dejarik were not the same as in poker or black-jack. Anyone who wanted to win not only had to gamble a presumed equal amount, but also beat the raise. The person to go last would have to bet something generally perceived as a metric fuck ton of value. Thankfully Rinne was next. Slowly he pushed all of his chips into the center, and then left the table to go to his office desk. Opening a small drawer revealed a picture of a dainty tagruta woman. She was scantily clad. There was a message on the picture sealed with a kiss. “This is Copina. She’s a dancer at the emerald palace. On the back of this picture is her number. I’ll give her a call and set her up for the night with whoever wins… but it’ll be me.” From his pocket, Rinne pulled out a nearly crumpled pack of death sticks. From the metal table, he struck a match and lit one of the last ones. The smoke quickly engulfed much of the table, turning the holograms slightly foggy. Next came the human. He looked displeased that he was actually about to throw into this pot, but it was the only way to keep playing, and to not lose his money. A small key was produced, as the human smashed it down into the table. “I’ll be winning anyways, I’m not even mad.”

The human was one of the only people to leave this city on a regular basis. A smuggler for the Vanguard, one who’d surprisingly done well at it. He piloted a ship known only as the Mantis. A powerful, quick ship that had bested the new council several times. It was a galaxy-class smuggling ship. To bet this would generally mean that the Rodian would be screwed. There was almost no way he could outbet this item, therefor he’d lose. The Rodian was prepared however, from beneath his coat came a small silver object. It was just large enough for his hands, and he handled it with the utmost care. Everyone knew what this was… a saber. Here of all places a lightsaber had found its way. “All bets are in. Play your last move.” There was no voice in his head advising him this time. Rinne played the best move he could. In just 30 seconds his life would change. “All opponents defeated, winner… Rinne Korik.” There was a look of envy, jealousy, hatred, on all of the players. But the items were quickly scooped up by the young twenty-something, who pocketed his new possessions. Whether it was through the force, or through displeasure, all three of the other men would soon leave the shack. Zinis had helped him win that game… but why, and what was with the telepathy?




A month had passed since that game. There were, on occasion, transmissions from Zinis. Sometimes they were simple things, such as fixing an engine to the Mantis, but on this day it was something completely different. The sensation no longer felt like getting hit with a hammer. Now it was more subtle, like a whisper in Rinne’s ear. “Ever heard of Iego? I'd like you to pay it a visit, in exchange for the spoils of that game. You need to leave 1313.”Just like that, transmissions stopped. It was as if Zinis had just popped into Rinne’s head for a spell, and left him with little more than he’d come with. Rinne had never left 1313, though he knew how to fly. This vast underground city housed several skyports. Perhaps now was the day. The ship had been stocked with rations, and the engines had been fixed. It was an interesting task; one that both surprised and drove Rinne, who loved challenges. If anything, this was little more than an excuse to test Rinne’s mettle. The male climbed aboard his ship, and had the vehicle chart a course for Iego. Even though most ships wouldn’t have it in their memories, this was a smuggler vessel. It was made with using shortcuts in mind. It was an odd feeling seeing the expanse that was Coruscant. Never seeing the surface had left the male to dream of what it must look like above. Strangely, it looked little different than 1313, just more colorful. If one listened closely, they could probably hear Rinne’s dreams crashing. Even more strange was seeing space, but for the next week Rinne would get used to it. The only other Transmission Rinne would receive told him to use the lightsaber, just get accustomed to it. And he did, by fixing pipes in the Mantis, or cutting holes to access ports. The ship was junk, there was no better word for it.

In exactly one week, the ship lie adrift amongst a sea of moons and gasses. The giant planet Iego lie before him. From here, Rinne had no clue where to go. He simply steered the ship the way he felt. It was almost like being a puppet. Letting his emotions guide him till his ship steered through wreckage, and finally onto a small moon that appeared to have forest and water. This, as the ship would tell him, was the moon Dathim. Why he was here, or what his purpose here was unknown. Though the moment the ship touched to earth, Rinne felt the presence of Zinis once more “Wait. Um, you arrived faster than I thought you would." The disembodied voice paused, almost as if his message ended there, but then betrayed the notion with a hearty chuckle. "You’re the first here, but expect more in time. You have a bigger role than you think.” This cryptic bullshit again. It wasn’t as if Rinne had much of a life left in 1313, and while the clinic might suffer for him leaving, perhaps the fresh air would be good for a change…




Then it hit.

~BAAAAAAAAAAAM~

The ship crashed into the solid earth with a loud thud. Clearly the landing mechanism had been busted by impact, it was obvious to Rinne as his body was hurled through the air and tossed about the cabin. The shock from the impact left the male’s body sprawled out against the corner of the cockpit. Blood trickled from his head, and his left arm might be out of socket. Through blurry, bloody, vision Rinne focused his thoughts on the wounds he could feel. A strange glow emanated from his fingers, and the blood stopped pouring from his head, about the same time his arm was nestled back into socket. Slowly, the man stood. He had a fair bit of weaponry, and some food… it might last him about a week on this planet but with broken landing gear and, God knows what else, wrong with the ship he’d more likely die out in this alien world.

Meandering about the cabin, Rinne pulled the lever that lowered down the exit ramp. Through some exhaust vents in the interior of the ship, black smoke could be seen wafting up. More than likely this was from a turbine, motor, or lift overheating somewhere in the bowls of the ship. Sure, he could fix it, with enough parts and knowhow, but time would be the key to it all. Finally Rinne reached the last step of the gangplank, it was surreal. Never before had Rinne been on an alien world. Never before had he seen anything so beautiful, so foreign. There were trees here as large as skyscrapers. The ground was covered in grass softer than any carpet, and the air was… clean. 1313 couldn’t even begin to compare to this and with the warm glow of gasses around the planet, one would generally assume it was the “daytime” cycle of this planet. But amidst all this vastness, it would be easy to feel alone.

Smoke from the exhaust was now starting to tower over the thick green layer of canopy. It would only be dangerous at night, should there be predators here that’s more than likely the time they’d strike. Iego’s moon was beautiful, whatever this planet was, Rinne might not feel too badly staying here for long.

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Character Portrait: Rinne Korin Character Portrait: Darth Solus Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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It had been decades since Enceri had returned to the planet of her birth, leaving assumedly for the last time after the memorial service of her parents. Now here she was again, only this time she was here to claim what was hers.

The freighter the group of Mandalorians had acquired for their current task was inconspicuous amongst the ragged ships of the yard it had landed next to. While thirty armed Mercenaries raised a few eyebrows, the most attention grabbing thing was the heavily modified armor that the Sith Lord was wearing, though few said anything beyond an impressed whistle or an offering of condolences to the young woman. When they came time to check with one of the officials of the shipyard, so as to prevent any more unnecessary attention, markings similar to those on her armor were covering the Mandallian's arms. As Enceri stood before the massive man, a great smile on her face, she swung her arms out to invite the potentially deadly embrace of her clansman. Laughing, he took the woman into his arms and lifted her off the ground as the two shared several moments together.

Patting his shoulder submissively, the Giant set the Sith Lord back down and let out another series of laughs. "Last time we saw each other it was you who was lifting me into your arms; that must have been fifty years ago."

"It's been far too long brother. Sometime soon we will have to settle the contest we started before, but today I have this collection of pansies to look after."

"That's disappointing, but whatever you're doing does seem important. Just remember not to ride them all too hard, not everyone can endure you like I can. But you need to make sure to come visit next year, Ijin's finally found someone who's willing to slum it for him and get married."

"Send the details to the number I gave you a few years back and I'll make sure to find someone worthy to replace me for a few days." With the small exchange between clansmen completed with a confirmation of contact information, the delayed squad of Mandalorians left the shipyard and split into two groups, one heading for a certain government office, one that apparently once housed the cloned reject that liked calling himself Mand'alor and currently held a few of those loyal to his memory, and the other heading towards a media station.



After taking in the sights around the city, relishing the chance to see Mandalore once again, Enceri came before a little rustic cantina. Since it was something that could be found on every backwater planet across the galaxy for the drunk to drown themselves in, the unofficial Mand'alor held no quam about destroying it and everyone inside. Understandably the heavily armed guards at the door–can't let just anyone in to see the boss–took issue with thirty people walking up to the door, but the moment their blasters raised they found a blade of light carving through their bodies. With the outer guards dispatched, a solemn "Go" scattered the escorting commandos around the building, all of them taking position around the assorted windows and planting charges on the back walls; none of this was likely to be necessary, but there was nothing wrong with taking precautions.

With a sudden movement, a heavy boot crashed through the front door, splintering the wood and shattering the glass. Once Enceri and two of her commandos entered the humble building, they traversed a short walkway before encountering another guard who had no doubt heard the destruction of the door and, as such, had his rifle readied when they rounded the corner. He only managed to fire one shot before an invisible hand lifted him off his feet and tossed his body into the tangible hands of the Sith. Instead of using her boot or any of her other limbs to break through the door separating her from the current Mand'alor–simply opening it normally wasn't an option–she used the newly acquired limbs of the door's guard, and, with the full motion of her body, flung him against the hard wood. The resulting sounds of snaps, crunches, and groans signified that a good number of things had been broken when those two had met at such force.

Now, with the way open, she and her two men strolled in casually; making sure to step over the body that now occupied the floor. In this room sat Loyalists to the long-dead Fett, whose names she, with her vast collective knowledge didn't know. Blasters were raised, demands of disarmament were raised, and a group of armed commandos were anxiously waiting to break through every possible entry they could make. This all ceased when, like the, finally unconscious and quiet guard, the blasters held by Fett's followers were ripped from their secure hands and cast upon the floor; only three people retained their weapons.

With a hand outstretched to one of her companions, Enceri now wished to show these men of the previous age who it was that was about to kill them. The companion, after reaching into a small pouch he had strapped to his side, retrieved a detailed mask and set it in his leader's hands. Donning the simple mask that could be recognized by every citizen of Mandalorian Space, she addressed her, soon to be dead, people.

"Mand'alor the Infinite has sent out her call; a call for the return to glory of her people and the end of any who would call us their enemies. My call has been spread for months now, and yet, here you are, getting drunk in the shithole my predecessor liked to call an office. Hopefully others will not be as foolish."

With the end of her statement, the choking officials were gunned down by Enceri's companions as her commlink began to rattle with the voices of the other squad. After a small confirmation of the situation of their end, a small crate was carried into the cantina and set down in the center of the room before being opened. Inside rested a large amount of explosives that were more than capable of destroying the building they were in. Once these explosives were properly primed, one of her commandos with a camera walked out in front of her as she addressed her people who were still alive.

The sound of an explosion could be heard off in the distance as a moment of static appeared on the screen before the signal was finally connected and the inside of a, somewhat ransacked, cantina was displayed across every screen possible. There, before the people's eyes, stood a striking figure in distinct gray armor who wore the mask of their traditional leader. "Mand'alor sends her call to all those who would claim to be Mandalorian. My call is simple and resolute, gather at my side brothers and sisters, so that we may make our way through the galaxy once more and remind them all who we are. Let my Crusade be that reminder, and let my Crusade be your ascension to glory!"

As the surrounding populace looked on as war was declared against the entire galaxy by someone who they had only heard of through whispered rumors, the person who made this declaration boarded her inconspicuous ship and began making her way to her fleet so as to securely assess the results of her expedition home.



"Enemy craft immobilized."

It was one thing for a ship to pass by Lego to use it as a shortcut around more popular routes, but to actually attempt to land on the moon of Dathim was an offense that would not be handled lightly. The cheap craft had managed to find its way through the dark and dangerous space that made up the entire space surrounding the planet, even breaking into the atmosphere without suffering so much as a visible scratch, not that you could tell on such an old thing. It was then that action became a necessity. With guns scattered throughout the forested world, hidden from even the sharpest of eyes, disabling the ship would be simple; what happened afterward would depend on what such a lost ship contained.

To prevent the loss of anything important that might be found inside, none of these guns were used to destroy the trespassing ship. A group of soldier's, several Mandalorians amongst them, were close enough to the ship's projected landing site to have a visual on it, and with this visual one of them raised their hand into the air and, with the power of the Solus Hive supporting him, he brought the ship down. There was no need for anything overly flashy or powerful, knowledge of the ship's inner workings, no matter how heavily modified it was, allowed for a simple manipulation of a few parts to cause the engine to fail; a piece of bent metal here, a stalled turbine there, and the fragile thing would drop. And drop it did, likely causing more damage to the ship and giving whoever was inside the opportunity to feel like one of those crash test dummies.

There was some air of disappointment amongst the Mandalorians present at not being able to open fire on the ship; they weren't unnaturally bloodthirsty, but defending an urban legend of a planet from non-existent intruders wasn't the most exciting task for a warrior. Even so, there was still a chance that someone survived and that meant there was the possibility that some amount of action, no matter how beaten and easily defeated their prey might be. Unfortunately, their enthusiasm was once again crushed by their Mandalore. "You will remain one hundred meters behind me, I wish to investigate the ship myself." Before the ship had even entered orbit of the planet, Solus had felt a change in the Force, Jedi. After the Piece finished descending to the ground, dozens of Killik emerged from the forest and gathered around him. "If the Kind are not able to handle this, you are to attack and kill everything you find at the crash site."

The Jedi had survived the crash, but that wouldn't make much of a difference when a horde of Killik washed over him. Jedi were one of the few things that actually infused the Sith with the passion one would expect from her title, the hate, the anger, all aimed at those who took something from her, and one of them had just decided to land in the middle of in the middle of her army.