#sw!verse

I'm going to be making a Verses page, now that I'm getting enough to warrant one (Tolkien!verse, KH!verse, Mass Effect!verse, Wingverse, and now this...) but in the meantime, until I do so, for those of you looking to RP with Star Wars!Verse Auron, here are a few things to keep in mind or ponder:

Race: Firrerreo – two-tone hair (black-and-grey), fangs, otherwise looks pretty much human Alignment: Gray Jedi – once was pure Jedi/Light Side, but having Fallen and then redeemed changed him drastically, and now he treads the line between Dark and Light Fighting style: Djem So (formerly Ataru) Notes: Utilizing the accelerated healing factor of the Firrerreo as an interpretation of his high HP and defense stats in FFX

His appearance is more like his pre-FFX self than his FFX self, due to not being Unsent. His hairstyle is the same as in-game, as he cut it in mourning after Braska’s death and the loss of Jecht, and the grey was already present, as Firrerreo naturally have two-toned hair. The blade of Auron’s lightsaber before his confrontation with Yunalesca was a deep indigo guardian-blue. It was lost during the battle, and the saber he built afterwards – after his Fall, and then walking in Shadow – had a blade of a smoky-quartz silver-grey (based on appearance of Masamune in FFX).

Yu Yevon was a Sith Force-ghost of great power, with the insidious ability to possess Force-sensitives. Yunalesca was a Fallen Jedi that became Yu Yevon’s apprentice, and would lure in Force-sensitives of enough power to be a host but without enough training to resist possession. Jecht was one of these. Auron trains Tidus now to resist such control, that he might never meet the same fate. After Braska’s death, when he went to confront Yunalesca, Auron Fell. The rage and pain was too much, and he let it consume him. Even so, he barely escaped with his life. He was able to pull himself out of the Darkness, but would forever after be in Shadow. He will call on the Dark Side if he deems it necessary, channeling a carefully controlled cold fury, but is ever-wary of letting himself truly Fall once again. It is not something that he does lightly.

Ladybug drifted down the hall, aimless and without a sound. Pale as a sheet, the bony young man shuffled along, dragging a mop behind him to clean up the filthy, gore-dappled footprints he left in his wake. It seemed he was returning to his bedroom; after having spent the majority of his night either screaming, dealing with visitors, or cleaning, he was quite content to slither on back to his hidey-hole.

But something felt… off, somehow. He wasn’t sure why or how, but he was uneasy, trembling as he gripped his mop tighter. The house was eerily silent, now—the bots were either asleep or elsewhere, murdering or robbing or whatever else they did now. He didn’t know. It’d been a long, long time since he’d spoken to them.

“Go away,” he wheezed from his sore throat, raw from screaming so much. His hands dropped the broom with a clatter, as he fell onto his knees on the floor, clutching his hair. Feeling anything beyond his usual cycle of emotions was clearly very bewildering for him.

Ladybug was curled up on top of a dresser, his fingers twisted into the ratty mess of his hair. His mask was dark with blood, the edges of it jagged and digging into his skin--like it was pressed there and didn't want to come back out. He was shaking, just staring into the darkness of his bedroom. The floor was slick with something dark, blood or oil or something of the like.. whatever it was, it was everywhere, and he clearly wanted to avoid it. 

"I c-can hear them talking! Sh-sh-shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!" 

He screamed at the mess, but it bore no response. Stumbling from his perch, he stomped into the darkness, yanking something from the smeared, blotched depths. In spidery fingers, he clutched a partially decayed human skull. 

"I s-s-s-said shut up! I don't--I didn't w-want to hurt you, but you--I--this is what g-g-g-g-good people do!"

Throwing the skull, he careened towards the wall and pressed himself against the dresser again. It was set in front of the door, holding it shut for now. He hadn't come from his bedroom in over a month, now; at least not in front of the robots. Everything was still clean and ready as usual, and the bots always got their repairs done (although they didn't recall when, and one could've sworn it was just something that occured during stasis),  but no one had really seen him. They hadn't bothered to check, either, apparently. Scraping jagged fingernails against the front of the dresser, the ratty-haired boy heaved a shaking sob and sank to the floor, his bony legs sliding in the filth of the mess he'd made. 

"Nnngh.."

He cracked his back, then his arms, and then his neck. Slender fingers groped around the darkness for his flashlight--it was always nearby--and curved around it tightly. His hand jerked upwards to pick it up, but instead there was a metallic scraping, followed by the realization that his hands were rather slick and he was holding a crowbar. The boy yelped and scrambled to his feet, tripping over papers and tools to crash back onto the floor and hurriedly crawl to the nearest wall, pressing up against it as he wiped his hands hurriedly on his shirt. 

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, why's that in my room, oh geez--"

His eyes adjusted to the darkness. The bedroom was a mess, worse than he last remembered, and there was a trail of dark footprints and smears leading to where he'd been laying. The outline of a rod in a dark, stained puddle was likely where the crowbar had been when he grabbed it.

"Why.. what's even.."

He looked at his hands. They were bloody, and one of his palms was bruised as if he'd gripped something too tightly. His shirt and pants were splattered with dried, crusted.. something, and his hair felt like it was matted to his head by sweat and a similar substance. Slowly, his hands rose to his mask. Congealed slickness came off with the pressure of his fingertips, in spatters across the scratched wood. He looked up again, and saw a dark form sprawled near the foot of his bed. The pieces lined up faster than he wanted them to. 

"Oh.. o-o-oh no." 

Without even stopping to come to terms with it, he bolted out of his room and down the hall as if trying to escape the sin he'd committed. He tripped, stumbled, scrambled, pretty much just moving faster than his legs could process down the hall and knocking down several things in his wake. He only stopped when he was exhausted--and given how unhealthy he was, that was when he got about halfway across the house, slowly plodding to a halt and doubling over to wheeze curses past scarred lips.

"M-Mantis? Cricket? W-W-Wasp? Anybody?! I--I, um.. I h-h-h-have a bit of a pr-problem!"