Vynn Frost
May 30th, 2003, 12:40:18 PM
:: I enter the recruitment facility, smoothing over my suit as I take in my surroundings quietly, noting everything. Having just graduated from the officer's academy, my uniform was still as new looking as it had when I got it, the small line of awards given to me from graduation lined the side of my chest. Nothing in particular of importance but I was deemed to wear it on such an occasion.
I, Vynn Frost, son to an Imperial spy killed by the rebels that caught him would officially join the Imperial Sovereignty today. There was no question to it. I had graduated first in my class, done things others hadn't before. All for one thing, vengeance. Built on it, my entire philosophy of life was filtered through the gathering of information, all to solve the solutions to problems that stood in my way. And my way led to the eventual destruction of the rebels and the restoration of the Imperial Throne, where it had been in my grandfather's age.
I craved knowledge yet didn't require it. I calculated everything into my plans. Rarely did I miss something. I had no friends, I didn't require them. I had been hated by my classmates at the academy for easily understandable reasons. Making the highest possible grades, never losing in an atheletic situation, never getting caught up in their scams and pranks, and yet still looking like I was sick all the time.
My skin was unusually a bluish pale and my eyes tended to be bloodshot more than less of the time, while my ice etched irises stayed violently brilliant. The scar along my face, earned in the only fight I had gotten in was well deserved, I earned it.
Some had made the rumors that I'd killed the real Vynn Frost to get this scar. The Imperial Intelligence had wasted their time to see if I was anything but human. To their confusion, I was still 100 percent human. I was a mystery to them. The actual history of the scar came from my grandfather.
The man who taught me everything I knew. He taught me from childhood complex boardgames, strategies and mental games. He had been some form of an Imperial informant. I later came to discover that he had been a force user, of the darkside, to explain the strange illness that befell him often. He'd tried to teach me even and gotten angry that I couldn't perform the simplest. At the age of 17, he tried to kill me. He tried to use the force on me, to make me unstable, but his mindtricks didn't work and he quickly died after my blaster finished burning three holes in his head. Before he had been shot though, his lightsaber had grazed my face, leaving my last gift from my family. I wouldn't say the force doesn't work on me, I'll just say he taught me how to resist it.
My superiors at the academy had been wary of me, not giving me comments of any sort. My appearance made my success seem doubtful to them but my performance gave them hope. There had even been an issue that I might have force powers and was cheating but my medichlorien count was almost ridiculously low. Low enough in fact for a jedi to consider me a dead man walking.
My ice blue eyes carved their way across the room. My views weren't ridiculous. My ambitions were great, that just meant I would be required to do great things to achieve them. I had made the first steps. My gloved hand lifted to my pale face and felt the scar on my left side. Many a great thing had been done to get here. And I could only expect the magnitude of the greatness required to exponentially grow, I was ready. ::
I, Vynn Frost, son to an Imperial spy killed by the rebels that caught him would officially join the Imperial Sovereignty today. There was no question to it. I had graduated first in my class, done things others hadn't before. All for one thing, vengeance. Built on it, my entire philosophy of life was filtered through the gathering of information, all to solve the solutions to problems that stood in my way. And my way led to the eventual destruction of the rebels and the restoration of the Imperial Throne, where it had been in my grandfather's age.
I craved knowledge yet didn't require it. I calculated everything into my plans. Rarely did I miss something. I had no friends, I didn't require them. I had been hated by my classmates at the academy for easily understandable reasons. Making the highest possible grades, never losing in an atheletic situation, never getting caught up in their scams and pranks, and yet still looking like I was sick all the time.
My skin was unusually a bluish pale and my eyes tended to be bloodshot more than less of the time, while my ice etched irises stayed violently brilliant. The scar along my face, earned in the only fight I had gotten in was well deserved, I earned it.
Some had made the rumors that I'd killed the real Vynn Frost to get this scar. The Imperial Intelligence had wasted their time to see if I was anything but human. To their confusion, I was still 100 percent human. I was a mystery to them. The actual history of the scar came from my grandfather.
The man who taught me everything I knew. He taught me from childhood complex boardgames, strategies and mental games. He had been some form of an Imperial informant. I later came to discover that he had been a force user, of the darkside, to explain the strange illness that befell him often. He'd tried to teach me even and gotten angry that I couldn't perform the simplest. At the age of 17, he tried to kill me. He tried to use the force on me, to make me unstable, but his mindtricks didn't work and he quickly died after my blaster finished burning three holes in his head. Before he had been shot though, his lightsaber had grazed my face, leaving my last gift from my family. I wouldn't say the force doesn't work on me, I'll just say he taught me how to resist it.
My superiors at the academy had been wary of me, not giving me comments of any sort. My appearance made my success seem doubtful to them but my performance gave them hope. There had even been an issue that I might have force powers and was cheating but my medichlorien count was almost ridiculously low. Low enough in fact for a jedi to consider me a dead man walking.
My ice blue eyes carved their way across the room. My views weren't ridiculous. My ambitions were great, that just meant I would be required to do great things to achieve them. I had made the first steps. My gloved hand lifted to my pale face and felt the scar on my left side. Many a great thing had been done to get here. And I could only expect the magnitude of the greatness required to exponentially grow, I was ready. ::