Aluin Tysar


Standing at 6’1" Aluin sports a head of long chocolate brown hair, flowing gently from the top of his head to the shoulders of his thin frame. A pale face holding a pair of piercing cyan eyes stare into the depts of ones mind. Wrapped in a dark brown cloak, falling from his shoulders to pool around his booted feet. The traditonal beige garb of the Jedi suiting the rest of his form.


Atop the renewed Jedi temple, a lonesome figure awaited his destiny. Whispers of the force dancing across the air, landing softly upon his shoulders to speak devstating truths and share unspoken secrets of the galaxy around him. Steel titans clouded the horizon, silver specs jumping between their shadows in an organized fashion.
The soft fingers of the setting sun pushed between the steel titans, gently washing over the crowded city of Coruscant. Though the tranquility of the setting sun and the warmth of the light it shared provided a certain comfort mnothing could sooth the flames of destruction that seethed in the darkest corners of space. Every little cry, every little plea for help echoed back to him, trapped in an never-ending loop within his minds-eyes. Such was the curse of a Jedi.

Waves of wind began to twirl upwards from the crevices below, brushing against his cool skin. Cyan eyes searched the sky for an answer, yet nothing was to be found. Slowly, but surely the whispers of the force faded, another was approaching. Turning back the sorrowful eyes laid upon Tyrael, Alun’s master.
Tyrael’s brute like form of 6’5" would have intimidated most yet Aluin had grown accustom to his masters barbaric demeanor. Rugged skin and over-bearing hazel eyes stared back into the soft cyan eyes of Aluin. Raising a gloved hand Tyrael ran thick fingers across his cheek. “You’ve made your decison?” The question echoed out, leaving a hollow in Aluin’s mind. A few moments of silence where nothing was said, yet everything was revealed. “Of course I have.” Aluin responded, reaching within his robe. Narrowing over-bearing eyes Tyrael nodded with acceptance. “I can’t stop you.” He remarked.

Withdrawing a glimmering cylinder from his robe Aluin gripped it firmly in hand. “I think that’s enough. Don’t you?” Aluin replied, soft words escaping soft lips. “Always, it’s always enough.” Tyrael agreed, unclipping a similar yet larger cylinder from his belt. In the blink of an eye a blade ignited from both objects. Aluin’s a royal blue, hummed with life. Tyrael’s a vibrant orange, crackling and hissing with excitement. Both took their respective stances. “This time try your best, you know I dislike being disappointed.”

Aluin Tysar

Star Wars Zangfang