Difference between revisions of "Raziel"
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|masters= Defender Mari Tanabel
|masters= Defender Mari Tanabel
Revision as of 04:26, 29 July 2020
- " There is no emotion? Who's idea was that? There's emotion in everything. Cutting yourself off from it is like trying to cut your own name out of you. Sure, you can do it, but you're left hollow afterwards, and that's no way to live."
|Date of Birth:||
14 BBY / 52 years old
|Place of Birth:||
1.90 Meters / 6'3"
90 Kilos / 198 lbs
Salt and pepper, very salty.
Mari Tanabel (adopted)
Tharsis Tanabel (adopted)
Soona Eil, DeeDee, D20, Lucretia
Form 5, Djem So
Lightsaber, blaster pistols and rifles, vibroblades, knives, sharp sticks
|Chronology & Political Information|
Wandering swordsman and problem solver.
Republic, Imperial, Rise of the Brotherhood, Exodus, New Order
Defender Mari Tanabel
|[ Source ]|
There are a lot of blanks that need to be filled in Raziel’s life. Such as, his real name, where he was born, who his biological family is, or was, really all kinds of things. The only two names he’s known are Raziel, as you might imagine, and the one before it, Slave.
It’s this cruel life where his tale truly begins. Raz’s first memories were of service on a Star Yacht, owned by a Neimoidian of less than stellar reputation. His name? Master, so far as Raziel ever knew. Working for his Master, Raziel began by carrying drinks and food, oftentimes as something of a conversation piece.
- "Look! He has no eyes but he knows where to bring the food, and he doesn’t stumble or spill! You really should get one of your own. Oh, this one? No, not for sale, he’s too entertaining."
- ―The Master
As he got older and became more trustworthy, Raziel’s job shifted from food and drink service to crawling through the bowels of the overlarge yacht with a glow rod and a vibroknife, hunting small vermin. As one might imagine, rodents surprising the guests was not good form, and the electrowhip carried by the Overseer was a solid educational tool. When that failed, there were other, more creative teaching tools.
As a headstrong child, Raziel became well acquainted with all of them.
One would think if everyone had common ground, it would be easier to make friends among the slaves. That wasn't perfectly the case, however. Most lacked the spirit to do more than work until they died and as such, weren't the peak of conversationalists. A few, however, stood out.
Teacup, one of the few who had a name before becoming a slave, was an elderly man, but that didn't stop him. It was almost as if nothing could stop him at all, besides time. He loved regaling the other slaves of his time in the Clone Wars, the Jedi he served with, his brothers all just like him, and their noble cause. He was less interested in discussing why he'd become separated from his unit and how he came to be a slave.
A matronly human woman of early thirties named Dallaer was another friend. She liked to talk about the glamour of her life and how she used to be a cut above the rest of the slaves due to being a courtesan. That life ended in her mid-twenties when she'd grown too old to entertain the way she used to be able to, and her youthful exuberance had been replaced with tired routine. Being sent to work service had taught her a lesson in humility, and grounded her. It was she who often cared for the younger slaves, including Raziel, making sure they were fed, bathed, and clothed before the elders. The 180 her life had taken, had certainly left its mark.
Gellie, a teal Twi'lek, and probably Raziel's first crush. She was another vermin hunter, and excellent at what she did. The budding bond between she and Raziel began over competing with one another over who was the better hunter. Before long that competition turned to caring, and then that caring turned to heartache. Gellie was killed while receiving the lash for her spirited behavior.
In his early teens, Raziel hit a growth spurt, and no longer fit the job of vermin hunter. This suited him just fine, but the next task laid out for him made vermin hunter seem a lot more entertaining. Labor of the basic variety, such as loading and offloading cargo, luggage, fuel, and other sundry things, was the order of the rest of his life. Each stop it was more of the same, pick up the heavy thing. Move the heavy thing. Pick up another heavy thing. Repeat until complete.
As he worked, Raziel could see people in the ports, and often wondered about them. Merchants, mechanics, the occasional diplomat, even Stormtroopers every so often. They were the most entertaining of all, but only after they left. Another of his fellows seemed to have the worst opinion of them.
- "Buncha Bucketheads, lookit’em, acting all proud. They wouldn’t know which end of the blaster to hold if it wasn’t labeled on the stock."
- ―Slave friend of Raziel aka ARC trooper 1T11T “Teacup”
It was on one such loading duty in the Outer Rim where life was about to make a sudden and dramatic change. An armored being, plated head to toe, happened to walk by, but they paused long enough to get a good look at Raziel. Believing this person to be a Mandalorian, Raziel watched as he worked, but that kind of divided focus got him more than he wanted; the Overseer’s attention.
The electrowhip struck him maybe three times before the situation changed. After that third lash, a blur of things occurred, roughly in the order of the armored person igniting a rusty orange-yellow lightsaber, the electrowhip getting cut in half, the Overseer getting cut in half, and two security guards being shot. There are some questions as to whether that order of operations is correct, but in the end, the punchline was, Raziel was suddenly freed.
- "”The Way of the Jensaarai isn’t easy.”
“You said nothing worth doing ever is.”
“You’re right, but you need to be ready. Everything I’ve taught you up until this point was preparation. I could cut you loose in the galaxy tomorrow and you’d be just fine. Training you as a seeker of the hidden truth? You have to know it, you have to feel it.”
“How do I know?”
“You’ll wake up one morning and everything will be different. It’ll feel hollow, empty, lacking. When the world is not enough, then you’re ready, because the emptiness within you wants to be filled.”
“There’s an emptiness in me?”
“Well of course, you’ve got no name. Dig through the holodrama library and find one you like. It’s your name after all.” "
- ―Mari Tanabel and Raziel, the day he found his name.
Jensaarai Defender Mari Tanabel, an Echani woman of both skill and compassion had liberated Raziel from his servitude. She had seen in him a mark of Force strength beyond the usual for his people, and felt it her duty to see to his continued survival. It might have helped that her husband Tharsis was a Miraluka.
Life went from hard labor in lugging boxes to hard labor in learning how to move, fight, and operate a forge. This was much more preferable to Raziel as there was variety to the tasks. He could work at that stuff all day, but Mari didn’t make him. She spent time with him, spoke to him, and taught him numbers in addition to his Force training. She taught him how to feel his emotions and when they needed controlled.
But most of all, she taught him how to take control of his own destiny. After he spent a day rifling through Tharsis' holodrama library, he came across a name in a historical documentary. That wasn't the day Raziel was reborn, but it was definitely the day he was reconceived.
The Mysteries of the Force
- "She'd never say it, it's just not her way, but my wife is so deeply attuned to the Force that I often wonder who she loves more, me or it. I suppose if I'm to have competition, some magical energy would certainly be worth it."
- ― Tharsis, talking to Raziel over breakfast one day.
Training in the ways of the Force was unique, to say the least. Mari was never content to sit him down and make him feel the world. Her approach was one that said the Force would be most noticed when the mind and body are too tired to ignore it. As such, his Force training was as much physical as it was metaphysical. Long-distance running made him mindful of his breath, and how the Force was the breath of all life. Climbing a mountain made him aware that the Force was so much bigger than he was. Pushups taught him that being that close to the ground meant he was closer to the planet, which existed within the Force. Squats, deadlifts, the bench press? Those were just to become more fit, but that fitness meant that he was perfecting the matter that the luminous Force within him inhabited.
Raziel learned the uselessness of the Jedi and the wastefulness of the Sith. Both spent so much time arguing theological and dogmatic differences and had completely missed the point of it all. The Force was a living thing, not a deity. It required respect, not worship. It was a part of all living things, and to consider one's self divinity was the height of ego. One should be content to be a vessel for the life of all things.
Not that the Jedi and the Sith didn't have things worth learning. Even a stopped chronometer was right once a day after all. He learned to harm and heal in equal measure, how to fool the mind to deescalate a situation or terrify someone to further escalate it. Some of the most useful things, powers for which he had a talent, included controlling and empowering himself, and allowing himself to be subsumed with a group to become stronger as a whole, through Battle Meditation.
The Art of the Saber
- "You're a big boy, and you're gonna grow into a bigger man. Just like how the Krayt dragon starts as a big lizard before it gets bigger."
- ―Mari Tanabel
Lightsaber training was a world of different for Raziel. His life had been skittering around behind bulkheads before it turned into lifting heavy boxes. Having to learn footwork, stance, breathing, caution, and patience? That was nothing at all he was prepared for. In addition, learning the right posture and attitude that came with the fifth form was foreign. He was supposed to be subservient, that was his whole life. Not to be unstoppable force looking to test every immovable object in his way.
It was difficult, to say the least. The gyroscopic micromovements in the hilt, the lack of weight in the blade. If it weren't for his Miraluka senses, he most certainly would have killed himself a few times over by way of self-decapitation. Time, however, served him. The confidence he'd gained from regaining his own agency in life, his developing skills, all of it meant he did just as Mari predicted. He grew into Djem So and through it, grew even more.
Forging his path by forging his armor
- "The Armor of a Jensaarai is more than just protection. It's a reflection of what's within you. It shows the world just exactly who they're messing with, and you, my Raziel, are an Akk dog. Now don't pout, this isn't an insult. The Akk dog is a loyal, respectful, and loving creature, just like you've become. It's a part of the family. It's also one of the last animals I would want to see coming at me. They chew Durasteel for fun."
- ― Mari Tanabel
Raziel's first lightsaber was nothing special, even by Mari's own admission when she made it for him. His second was similarly just a rod of metal with an on/off switch and a crystal that he liked. Before crafting his third, however, something much more vital was made. Mari had kept him in the Forge from the time she'd brought him home, at first teaching him how to clean and maintain the place before moving onto making small things like nails and cloak hooks for the wall. As he'd gotten older, she transitioned him onto more complicated pieces including weapons and other tools, before moving onto armor. It was the most important lesson after all.
She'd been beside him the entire trip through his training, watching him grow, helping him up or showing him how to help himself up when he stumbled, but this, she'd told him, was a solitary thing, meant only for the Jensaarai. Aside of a recording she'd made explaining the Force processes to him, this was the first thing she'd left him fully alone for. "The final quench reveals all. Does the metal crack, or harden? It's the same with the smith. Either a failed apprentice leaves the forge, or a Jensaarai does. There are no in-betweens." she'd reminded him, and with that, he was fully alone, as his master and her husband picked just that time to take a vacation.
For two weeks Raziel worked the forge, heating metal, pounding it to shape with hand tools. Crucial parts to the press and autohammer had been removed, and if that wasn't enough, the belt sanders as well. Progress was slow, as could be expected, but the lessons he'd been taught kept with him. The Force surrounded all things, bound all things together, even that which was not, nor ever, alive. That meant one thing, one lifesaving thing.
For two days he transitioned to forging the parts to the power tools, parts that were all, quite conspicuously, made of metal. Each piece was carefully shaped, precise, and finished as he'd been taught, and once slotted in, work on his armor began in earnest. The Durasteel that had been a nightmare to forge before, became clay, moving to his whim. Each hit of the hammer brought a rhythm to his work, allowing him to invite the living Force into his armor.
When he emerged at the end of a full month of work, wearing the armor he'd crafted, Mari and Tharsis stood there, proud.
The little details
- " I can't teach you how to fight, Raziel. It's not who I am. What I can teach you, is more about your species. It's not who you are, but it is kinda what you are."
- ―Tharsis Tanabel
While Mari spent the years with Raziel as a teacher, in a great many different things, her husband Tharsis wasn't exactly idle. He and Raziel were both Miraluka, so Tharsis took it upon himself to better educate him in his own species and culture. That being said, the lessons in culture felt far more like anthropology lessons, leaving Raziel still feeling like an outsider, but it was another step towards reclaiming his life and identity. If nothing else, learning the language native to his people was interesting, especially as it wasn't a language that Mari had ever picked up. It might have ticked her off royally when Tharsis and Raziel communicated privately, but it was worth her ire on and around her birthdays.
- "Raziel, I swear, if you had an ounce of grace and a half measure of rhythm, you'd be more dangerous than you could possibly imagine. An Echani you are not. Fortunately, I know a lady who gives as much of a damn about the ancient prejudices as I do."
- ―Mari Tanabel, on trying to teach Raziel how to fight.
One look at Raziel in his early teens was enough to tell anyone in the know that the boy was not put forth in the galaxy to master the Echani arts. Instructing him on how to defend himself when weapons were unavailable, Mari had to resort to calling in a ringer, in the form of Esh-Ti Tenau. Esh-Ti was not a kind woman, but what she lacked in kindness, she made up for in patience and fairness. It was she who introduced Raziel into the martial arts of the Mandalorians. While unarmed combat was not a talent he was overburdened with, Esh-Ti was able to train him to a level she considered competent, and no longer a danger to himself. It was at least a bit of a win.
- "Raz, son, the Jedi forbid marriages, and the Sith leverage loved ones against you. Be glad it was Mari who discovered you first. If you ever want to have a companion in life that isn't a droid, you're going to have to learn how to use your manners."
- ―Tharsis, on teaching Raziel the arts of being a gentleman.
More difficult than moving a landspeeder with his mind, or defeating Mari in a contest of the lightsaber, or polishing durasteel with hand tools alone, was learning what it meant to be a functional member of society. Tharsis broke this down into the four P's. Polite, Punctual, Prepared, and Presentable. Living his life as a slave, and then moving onto training as an armored, Force wielding juggernaut, there was little time to learn which fork to eat each dish with, how to pair wines, and worst of all, dancing. Even the discussion about pleasure vs reproduction and how to go about it safely was less awkward than learning how to dance. Still, in all tasks, Raziel persevered, and while he would never pass for a member of polite society, he knew enough to not look like a complete barbarian.
Getting a lift
Raziel couldn't live with the Tanabel family forever. At the age of 19, the time for him to return to the outside world had come due. The Emperor had been killed not even a full year before, but the Sith were (thought) destroyed, meaning hiding his Force abilities was no longer the issue that it was. He was a trained Jensaarai, armed and armored, educated and prepared. There was just one small matter to see to.
- "I didn't kill your previous owner, that wasn't up to me. If you want closure, he's here again, berth Three Aleph. I'll assume the next loud noise I hear will be you."
- ―Mari Tanabel, showing Raziel where his closure was currently waiting.
That's all it had taken to motivate him. No matter how much love he'd been shown, how much training and discipline he'd developed, there was still a desire for vengeance. Raziel's life had been stolen from him, and there was no getting that back. He didn't want it back, he wanted the reckoning, and so he borrowed the Tanbel's speeder and took off for the spaceport.
Upon arriving, just as Mari had told him, sat the ship that was his home for the first years he could remember. A Kestrel Transport, with a massive fortune dedicated to maximizing the comfort of the occupants and their passengers. It was less a ship and more a luxury apartment equipped with a hyperdrive. At least, the luxury part extended to the free Neimoidan who owned it. The crew quarters were barely a pair of closets into which seven slaves spend their nights. Those spaces he remembered all too well.
When he walked up, guards were there to greet him, but none were familiar. Seven years was enough time to warrant replacement after all. Not that it mattered. "I am Raziel." Were the only words he spoke. Following that, it was every bit of his training and equipment that spoke for him. If they were armed, they were dead. If they went for a weapon, they died. Otherwise, they were ignored. If they weren't a threat, they weren't his problem until later.
- "Who are you?"
"I am Raziel, and I've come to collect on the debt you owe me."
"I don't know you, how can I owe you?"
"You owe the life you took from me. How much is one slave worth?"
- ―Raziel and his former owner, on the matter of last words.
Following the timely demise of the slaver by way of acute asphyxiation, Raziel found himself the proud occupant of his former home, and, he presumed, owner of said slaver's slaves. Since that absolutely would not stand, a comm call to Mari and Tharsis which included an apology for borrowing the speeder, got the slaves started on the help they'd need, and a favor from a codeslicer friend of Tharsis' meant the ship and all it's cargo was suddenly Raziel's.
It was opulent, but it was now home.