Author Topic: Mikhail Shorn  (Read 535 times)

Offline Mikhail Shorn

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Mikhail Shorn
« on: 08/31/13 09:33:48 »

Avatar: Ian SomerhalderName - Mikhail Shorn
Rank - Master
Affiliation - None
Occupation  - Vagrant/Rogue Sith Lord

Age - 29
Species - Tapani Human Male/Energy Vampire Hybrid
Height - 6 feet
Weight - 186 pounds
Skin Color - Pale White
Eye Color -  Pale Blue
Hair Color - Raven Black

- Soterios

Personal Skills -
-Fast Healing (Energy Vampire)

-Enhanced Speed (Energy Vampire)
-Enhanced Strength (Energy Vampire)
-Enhanced Senses (Energy Vampire)
-Guile Hero/Trickster

Force Powers (pending):

Basic Telekinesis -> Enhanced Telekinesis -> Force Choke -> Force Deflect -> Force Spark -> Force Lightning -> Mastered Telekinesis -> Force Absorb

Force Sense -> Telepathy -> Force Persuasion -> Dream Tranquility -> Enhanced Force Sense -> Conceal Alignment -> Force Cloak

Luxury Sorosuub Yacht
Beskar Knife Impregnated with Devaronian Blood Poison

Snarky and a bit sadistic, Mikhail Shorn enjoys playing with the emotions of others. He is amoral almost to the point of sociopathy. His self-confidence and charm are often used in a seductive manner. He is passionate, often acting out of impulse. Despite all this, self-destructiveness seems to be his constant theme, perhaps due to a suppressed self-loathing and loneliness.

Mikhail Shorn wears cynicism, snark, and ego as a mask made up of all the negatives to keep others from growing close to him, like a repelling magnet. He does not want to know them, for fear that they would either turn on him, or be harder for him to kill in the future. He attempts to keep this mask on at all times, afraid of what would happen should other Sith see his true self. Beneath the vestige of the mask he is the visage of a broken man, rent by grief, remorse, and self-loathing. He believes he must be evil, or die. Anyone who tries to convince him otherwise treads a dangerous and unpredictable line, for Mikhail is prone to outbreaks of violence and targeted anger. However, he almost never kills without purpose. Occasionally, he loses control and some poor souls are reaped from the galaxy in the mindlessness of his wrath, but he despises himself for it, afterwards. He is prone to cover up his motivations for acts considered to be evil by saying he did them for fun.

A more self-destructive side of Mikhail fuels his snide comments and disregard for authority. Mikhail despises himself and his actions so much that he subsconsciously wishes for his own destruction by a more powerful hand, and thus he tempts fate and flaunts authority with sarcasm and snark. The lack of any love or friendship in his life make Mikhail a lonely man. He often seeks to drown his solitude with casual flings of the flesh, alcohol, or the sadistic pleasure he derives from killing. This sadistic streak is something that terrifies his inner subconscious, as he truly does derive satisfaction from causing others pain.

All of these have formed a man who creates his own little world to escape it all, wherein he has no feelings of regret for his actions. It is an amoral little world. But it is Mikhail Shorn's little world. And he holds onto it with a stubborn grip. This stubborness makes up a whole other realm of Mikhail, which, along with his arrogance, makes him a man who bends very little. He does become angry, though it is often shielded as he pretends it to be a passing irritation and annoyance at the arrogance, or idiocy of some individual or other. His anger, however, derives from and is often caused by his own arrogance.

In terms of mannerisms, Mikhail tends to act with a flippant air of nonchalant cynicism and false charm. Due to his refined upbringing, Mikhail can certainly act with courtly etiquette when he has to, but he rarely, if ever, does and only in cases of extreme desperation, or mockery. When trying to appear intimidating or threatening, Mikhail often gives them a wide-eyed, icy blue stare, his eyes seeming to look through others, rather than at them. He has an alarming lack of personal space when confronting others in an attempt to unnerve or seduce them. He does not smile. He smirks. And he never laughs. He snorts and scoffs, but outright laughter has been squeezed from him.

Unlike other Sith, Mikhail does not wear robes. He favors leather jackets and plain, somber clothes.


Mikhail Shorn's story begins far back in history, with the Shorn family originating from an ancient, but exiled, Tapani line of peasants. Once servants of House Melantha, the Shorn family claimed Shey Tapani as an ancestor. A claim highly improbable and unlikely. They lived in a neighborhood surrounded by fellow Tapani. All of them were forced to move during the last great uprising, which led to the collapse of the Noble Houses and the exile of many families. Since they lived in the Republic Remnant, the feudal system used in the Tapani sector did not apply. However, the families kept the culture alive. They ostracized the lower families and nearly worshipped the higher families. Lords, Barons, Knights and peasants. All titles that were ultimately meaningless. The Shorn family were third generation upriser Knights, former peasants who had done a service to a Lord earning the head of the household knighthood and making his family blood noble from that point on.

However, Mikhail's tale truly starts with that of his father, Casperli Shorn. A proud, stiff man, Casperli Shorn had to deal with the contempt of the other nobles for most of his childhood years. The other noble families despised uprisers, specifically because their blood was not truly noble. Of course, they were in the Galactic Republic now, where no one's blood was really noble, but that didn't stop them from discriminating. Casperli managed to gain the respect of the other nobles through his strict adherence to ettiquette and adept political maneuvering - something the nobles all respected, even in their enemies - by the time he was twenty. By the age of thirty, Casperli turned the Shorn name into one not to be taken lightly. As a man who adhered strictly to law and would not tolerate any foolishness, Casperli expected the same of his sons. They would turn into distinguished heirs of the family name. Proud descendants of the Shorn family. Their star would continue to rise into the heavens, propelled by adept hands, skilled at tactful manipulation and well-bred manners. In short, he expected everything that Mikhail was not.

The eldest of the Shorn brothers, Mikhail took a deviating path from the usual mannerisms of firstborns. Instead of being responsible, he was rash. Rather than quiet, introverted, and book savvy, Mikhail was a quick talking extrovert who lived a life full of action. As a young boy, he was a terror to the housemaids and a horror to be locked away at dinner parties. His father reacted with severe discipline, which only pushed Mikhail farther away and reinforced his disregard for authority. At first Mikhail acquiesced to his father's wishes. He was on the honor roll at school, the star of the sports team, and the idol of his younger brother, Seth, who he cared for deeply. And then Mikhail fell in love. Her name was Alexis. She was a peasant.

Mikhail's father would simply not have it. A peasant? In his house? Dating his son? No. Shorn tried to remind his father that they too had once been peasants, but his father would only shake his head sternly and say, "I will not hear more of this, son. We are noble now. We must behave as such." Casperli shut down the relationship and forbid them from seeing each other, which of course only made matters worse as forbidden love is that sweet nectar filling tales that make the heart weep with both sorrow and joy.

The young boy turned his hate on school, not thinking it worth his time or effort. He almost never went to class, received failing grades, and eventually had to be pulled out and given a private tutor, which didn't help matters at all. He was not an unintelligent boy. Just an unmotivated one. He continued to sneak out and see Alexis. Her auburn hair, laughing smile, and perfume - smelling faintly like strawberries - filling his heart, mind, and dreams. When Casperli found out, for it was bound to happen as these things so often do, he arranged for Alexis' family to be evicted. When Mikhail heard that Alexis had to move, away from him, away from the entire neighborhood, possibly even off planet, he grew furious. He knew his father was to blame. Somehow the old man had found out and burnt Mikhail's love boat down around his ears, even as it tried to set sail. Simple. Effective. Ruthless. A Shorn hallmark.

Mikhail fought with his father. They raged for hours. And hours turned todays. Whenever they saw each other another fight would break out. Seth eventually stepped in, reminding them of their mother, Casperli's wife, who had died of disease so many years ago, almost before Seth was born. The youngest Shorn asked if this was what she would have wanted, to see them fighting constantly. The two stubborn men eventually came around. Mikhail was seventeen. He told his father that when he was eighteen he would be leaving to join the Republic Army. Casperli pretended to be reluctant, but accepting. In secret, he was almost overjoyed that his son would be joining the Army. Perhaps that would teach the boy respect and dignity. Casperli suggested that if the boy must go into the army then at least he should attend officer training school, which Mikhail complied to.

Joining the Army:
Officer Training School was perhaps the toughest point in Mikhail's young life thus far. The days seemed never ending. The trainers were ruthless in their examination, attention to form, and punishments for failure. Mikhail's body hardened with muscle but so did his mind. Thinking muscle. This was something he wanted. True, he hated most authority, but with the right motivation even he could listen and obey. And he desperately wanted to be good at this, leading soldiers. It was what most young boys dreamed of, but Mikhail had never stopped dreaming. He didn't know if he could do it. Be that leader. Strong, but charismatic. Ruthless to the enemy, but empathetic to his troops.

Motivated to succeed, Mikhail did so. He graduated OTS as a 2nd Lieutenant and received a position as a platoon officer. Six months later his platoon was deployed into combat.

His first taste of battle was horrifying. The image of the hot zone, where his platoon had to land, is forever seared into his memory. Countless bodies lay strewn across the ground. Smoke rose in pillars from wrecked vehicles. A never ending, staccato sequence of explosions created towers of exploding dirt and ripped men to pieces. He was the third man to get off the LAAT. He remembered this because the first two died, cut down by an unseen sniper in a spray of pink mist and plasma. He remembered the first blood to splash across his armor, that of the man in front of him when he stepped on a mine and had his legs blown off. And above all these he remembered the terror of his first kill, the simple raising of his blaster, lining up the sights, and pulling the trigger, leaving a man dead, scorching holes in his chest. Perhaps a man not so differrent from himself. But dead now. Dead as the others Mikhail had had to kill.

The Republic was not so old that it already had established dominion over most of the galaxy. Indeed, it was comparitively young, which meant many, many conquests lay ahead. As Shorn began to hop around the galaxy on campaigns, he socialized with the other officers. He was a man now, with a killer smile and a deadly wit. He was a hotshot in the Army who rode expensive speeders through crowded city airways on whims, loved many women, and drank himself under the table with routine pleasure to hide from the miseries of combat. Because if he didn't he might go insane. He saw Seth occasionally. The kid had joined the Starfighter Corps and wasn't doing too bad. His brother was a deeply empathetic man and it surprised him that the kid had transferred from medical to Starfighter. Seth said he'd realized the need for violence in order to achieve peace, even if he didn't like it. Mikhail just shook his head. Peace was an illusion.

His platoon was relegated to pirate mop up. It was a never ending chore, with high casualties and a low success rate, with any progress being nearly neglible. For every pirate group they killed another one would pop up just like it. There are a great deal of skirmishes that Mikhail saw. Recounting them all would take up much time and many words. Suffice it to say that he fought long and hard, until one day he found himself on the edge of large crater on some planetoid. The crater was a massive one, made by some meteor millions of years ago. Below, in the crater, were the armed defenses of the enemy pirates. The pirates knew they were coming and they were prepared.

Mikhail, now a captain, was in charge of a whole company. One hundred and fifty-two men, not including all the auxiliaries. He would be damned if he sent them all down there to their deaths. So far, he'd been a fairly good leader. Charismatic, always. Intelligent? Sometimes. But above all he tried to be empathetic. It was hard, when so many of his men saw him as the perpetrator of their misfortune. He'd had to see them suffer through so much on this campaign to end piracy. The politicians didn't understand the impossible task they'd assigned. All they cared about was giving the order so that they could tell the voters they had a strong anti-piracy stance. They didn't actually care about the lives of his troops. All they cared about was getting re-elected and looking good for the limelight.

He tried to get them to reconsider the orders, but it was futile. Reluctantly, he ordered the assault into the crater and he, along with a hundred and fifty two plus soldiers, charged down. Twenty survived. Mikhail was disgraced and demoted to lieutenant. He began to drink heavily. He disregarded orders and became more rebellious and arrogant. Soon, news came that his brother had died in an engagement. Mikhail snapped. He raved at the officer's bar about it being the fault of politicians and senile senior command. A superior officer laid hold of him in order to calm him down, but Mikhail lashed out. Not with hands or feet. But with his mind. The senior officer was blown back by an unseen force as Mikhail channeled his anger into the man. The man was flung through the plaster of the wall and he fell a whole story into the ground below. The room became silent. Mikhail Shorn left the planet in a hurry, deserting the Republic Army before he could be court martialed. It wasn't his fault he'd killed the man. He hadn't meant to, but he'd just been so angry.

Becoming Sith:
Once outside of Galactic Republic space, he investigated what had happened to him and came across things like the "Force" and "Jedi." Eventually, he learned of the "Sith." Since he couldn't go back to the Republic, he approached the Sith. The usual interrogation followed until Mikhail was approached by an actual Sith. The one the holonet had spoke of. The Sith questioned Mikhail about what had happened and just like that Mikhail was whisked away to training on as a Sith Apprentice.

The Sith were attempting to amplify their numbers in an effort to combat the growing threat of the Jedi and the aggressive Mandalorians. Mikhail was one of many initiates. But he was one of the few who survived. The initiates were a culmination of people the Sith had found who were force sensitive. The training was... severe. Mikhail did not see the outside of the facility for several months as they put his body and mind to the test.

There are many who spend years practicing martial forms. They are good, yes. But nothing can quite compare to the training instilled in an intense year of a gladitorial camp run by sadistic trainers, when learning means living and defeat death. Day in and day out the initiates trained for combat. They were given practice lightsabers, non-lethal, and for endless hours would spar against real Sith who didn't hold back punches or kicks that left a mouth bleeding or a rib bruised. Of course, were it is written "they" Mikhail would think "I." For in this camp from hell he began to think in terms of "I" and "them." No "Us." No "We." Just Mikhail Shorn. Alone. The other initiates couldn't be trusted as all had been told from the start that at the end of the year there would be an initiate-wide fight to the death. Those left standing would be given the rank of Apprentice. So, initiates of a particularly devious run would try to fix the game in their favor. Any opportunity offered to eliminate another initiate would be taken. Poisoned food, an overly rough sparring match that left compound fractures, a broken neck from a fall down a flight of stairs. And the Sith didn't really seem to care. Oh, if they were caught they were executed on the spot. As long as the initiates were clevered enough they got away with it. But the Force has a way of picking those who are neither weak nor stupid to wield its power.

The routine exercise built Mikhail into a lean muscled killer. He would wake up at seven, eat breakfast hurridly at the open cafeteria after checking for poison in his food, then follow the other initiates to the large obstacle course in the middle of the facility - which constantly changed its layout of obstacles - for aerobics and cardio from seven thirty to eleven. They would have a break to eat lunch, then back to work again for lightsaber combat from eleven thirty to four in the afternoon. This was Mikhal's favorite part of an otherwise routinely miserable day as the Sith approached it in a fairly free-form way.

Each initiate learned the basics of Form I, Shii-Cho. They would then choose which of the forms they wanted to study. As this gave them a bit of free will, Mikhail thought of his decision long and hard as it would most likely determine his fate. Soresu was too defensive for him. Against so many opponents he could not count on defense alone. He needed a strong counter-attacking style. Ataru was aggressive, but Mikhail could not be certain of the gym layout. Ataru needed space for acrobatics and Mikhail couldn't guarentee he would have that. Vaapad was too advanced. Niman was pathetic. Djem So/Shien's aggression appealed to him, but ultimately Makashi was the style of the duelist. And it was Makashi Mikhail chose. The form was elegant, precise, and deadly. Few initiates chose Makashi. It was an older style, like Shii-Cho and many preferred the acrobatics of Ataru or the aggressiveness of Shien.

With rapt attention, Mikhail would listen to and obey the Sith instructor in charge of Makashi. He never learned the Sith's name, or saw the face beneath the armor. He only heard that distorted voice issuing instructions that could make the difference between life and death. He practiced Makashi's footwork until his feet hurt. He hated the routineness of it, loathed the kata he constantly had to practice to understand the different thrusts possible, and despised the constant lectures on control and precision. But he struggled for it, motivated by the primal instinct to survive. And with time, he grew to be a formidable duelist.

In matters of the Force, Mikhail was less proficient, getting by on tricks rather than raw power and focus. The Sith trained the initiates in the ways of the Force from four to eight, their exhaustion from lightsaber combat and physical exertion making the Sith push them all the harder. If they found any initiates lacking they would were killed on the spot and a short lecture on non-toleration of weakness was given. Mikhail would have left, but he didn't really have a choice. Besides, he was starting to enjoy this power. Immersed in the presence of the Dark Side, Mikhail became addicted to it surely as if it was alcohol. The indescribable pleasure resulting from channeling that cimmerian strength which resembled nothing so much as an avalanche colliding into a flow of lava made him almost want to stay. He was not particularly skilled at the areas of healing, precognition, feeding off others' rage and anger, telepathic attacks, or enhancing his strength and speed. However, Mikhail thought of new and inventive ways to utilize the telekinesis of Force Pushes and Pulls to his advantage in a fight.

Four days before the final trial, the initiates built their lightsabers. They were given all the materials necessary and told only to build. If they did not build one in time for the final trial, they would enter it without a blade. Mikhail had never been gifted with circuitry. He was not the best pilot in the world and mechanical things seemed to despise him. He, along with many other initiates, did not finish building in time. Though he had stayed up and worked endlessly for four days and nights, with barely any food or water, Mikhail was seized along with the other initiates, thrown into the obstacle course, which now resembled an arena, and told to fight to the death. The final six left standing would be Apprentices.

Without a lightsaber, Mikhail was easy pickings. He almost died during the opening moments of the fight several times, barely managing to avoid the ruthless attacks of sabers. Finally, he got clever and pulled the body of another unarmed initiate in front of a thrust. Callously, Mikhail had used another human being as a meat shield. A year ago, he would have been shocked by his actions, but the Mikhail of the present just wanted to survive. He managed to kill the initiate wielding the lightsaber before she could recover from the thrust. He broke her neck with a violent twist of his arms and snatched up his blade. The wanton slaughter began in earnest now. Another initiate had seen Mikhail's tactic and used it on a saber armed opponent, but for the most part the unarmed initiates died swiftly.

Mikhail wasted no time in cutting down those initiate armed with lightsabers who stood busily trying to cut down the unarmed. Utilizing Makashi's precision thrusts, he squared off against another saber armed initiate. In two parries, a feint, and a thrust, Mikhail found himself staring at a corpse with his lightsaber sticking through its chest. He was surprised at how easy it had been. In a one on one duel, without any blasters involved, Mikhail would have been considered one of the foremost among the initiates.

Within the space of several minutes the blood bath was over. Severed limbs and amputated bodies littered the battlefield, but Mikhail and the five other initiates had survived the training from hell. Shorn lay in recovery for a full day after that. He built an actual lightsaber the day he woke up, working on it constantly for a whole week until it was finished. He would never go unarmed again, if he could help it. Released from the training camp, Mikhail accepted the rank of Sith Apprentice. Why put all those months spent in hell to waste? Why indeed.

Following his apprenticeship, Mikhail went on a series of conquests with the Sith, participating heavily and earning much recognition. Eventually he was knighted for his efforts. However, he soon took off on his own. He went to find Alexis, found her, but she attempted to kill him after some conversation. Her mother had died due to the eviction and she hated the Shorns for that. Mikhail killed her, throwing his lightsaber at her out of muscle memory reaction. He hadn't meant to do that. But he meant to kill her family. He pinned her husband to the wall with curtain rods through his shoulders, then made him watch as he butchered the man's children before his eyes. Finally, Mikhail ended it by cutting out the man's heart and feeding it to him.

Of course, he would later claim it was all due to the effects of the Soulsaber. The Soulsaber, or Derriphan -Soul Eater- as he called it, was an ancient Dark Side weapon. It began to drive him slowly insane. Eventually, during a conquest with the Sith, he found his brother again. By this time, Mikhail was driven utterly mad by the Soulsaber and began to slaughter Sith indiscriminately of enemies. He had to be put down. He struck his brother down, but was later shot and left for dead. The Soulsaber was taken from him.

He managed to survive, though the strain on his body from healing the wounds cost him his Force powers. He was, for a time, utterly without the Force. Blaming the Sith for what happened, he joined a coup attempt on several Sith Lords - himself a Sith Lord in power by this point - however, he was seduced and captured by several female Energy Vampires who took him to their lair, where a crazy Arkanian scientist waited. Through some alchemy and twisted genetic manipulation, Mikhail was transformed into one of them... an energy vampire. However, as soon as the transformation was complete, Mikhail also regained his Force powers. He killed them all, but escaped only to discover that the coup attempt had failed and all those participating were either dead or being hunted down.

Finding his life utterly pointless, Mikhail wandered the galaxy, preying in the shadows and seeking some purpose to his utterly worthless existence.
« Last Edit: 08/31/13 16:41:39 by Mikhail Shorn »

Offline Lauda Cavataio

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Re: Mikhail Shorn
« Reply #1 on: 09/01/13 08:14:24 »
Added to the index! :)