Omen Tenichilyar
Jan 21, 2014 21:48:19 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jan 21, 2014 21:48:19 GMT -5
Canon or Original: Original
Character Image: Billy Campbell, LADIES and GENTLEMEN!
Name: My name is Teni. It's short for Tenichilyar. I've been called other names, by other people, for reasons I don't want to talk about at the moment. But long ago, before my people died, in the last days of the Last Great Time War...in those days, they called me Omen.
Age: Thirty-five thousand standard years, using the Reformed Gallifreyan Calendar.
Gender Male
Species: I'm a Time Lord. Not that anyone knows what those are anymore.
Planet of Origin: Gallifrey. Planet of a thousand untold stories, home of a billion legends.
Time of Origin: I was Loomed in the century before the Last Great Time War, in the last years of the Golden Age.
Occupation: What am I, really? An ex-military time-travelling homeless philanthropist? Doesn't sound like the most glamorous job this side of the Spiral Politic, but I suppose it's a better description than "petty, sarcastic, reformed, formerly genocidal Time Lord."
Physical Description: Well, I'm tall. There's that. This incarnation's gone to rubbish, really. His face-wrinkles and scars like you wouldn't believe. All these renegades and survivors running about with bodies that look like they just graduated from the Academy. As for what I wear-I like m'suits, thank you very much.
Personality: I'm better than I could be, after what I've seen. I try to keep things on the light side, make people laugh. I try to steer away from violence-despite my proclaimed title of assassin, because I've already seen too much war. Some people have made the very silly mistake, however, of thinking that that means I'm weak. War curdled my brain, and I've got no touch for fighting anymore.
I've seen the Last Great Time War, and I've been held prisoner on the Dalek prison worlds. I was a War-General of the Time War, the Decimator of the Gelth, and the things I have done, by Omega, Rassilon, and all the threads of the Web of History, I regret them. But I can never forget them. No. I will avenge them. I committed some of the greatest war crimes of the Time War in the name of Gallifrey, and I will make up for that, however hard it must be.
The worlds I ruined with my bloodlust, I will recover them to their former glory. I will drag this broken body to as many galaxies, as many worlds, as many systems, as is needed to make up for my mistakes. Because you cannot fathom, truly, what I did, to my enemies, to my family, to my friends. I trusted Rassilon. I trusted the Council. That was my greatest mistake, and I will make up for it now, as long as I live.
History:
Ha. That...ooh, where to begin? I was loomed a few centuries before the chronological start of the Time War. A cousin of House Oakdown, I believe. I lived a fairly normal life. I gazed into the Schism when I came of age. I saw strange things swirling in there, stars being born, worlds dying, men burning, life ending and beginning. I didn't understand all of what I saw, and I still don't. But when I entered the Academy, something changed. I became enamored with the...how do I put this...grandeur of our civilization. I wanted to be an architect, build the world around me, the beauty of Gallifrey.
But fate had something else in mind for me. I was a strategist. Not a prodigy, not a master, just better than most. I would feint-leave weaknesses to big for my enemies to ignore, then go for the goal. I had losses, but the cost was worth the gain. I sacrificed the few for the many. That became my mantra later on in life. It was a stupid one, but it saved my life a hundred times over-and ruined it, too.
The military ran tests on me, ran me through a hundred drills or more. They said I could be a prodigy, a new breed. It was during this time that I met someone at the Academy. Her name was Isel-oh, her name was far, far longer, but she called herself Isel. Hair like the fire of the suns when they sank below the mountains, and eyes like rolling thunder. Too good for me. Too good for any man.
Eventually, I was drumrolled out of the military testings-I was just plain old me. I passed from the Academy, though I never became an architect.
The night we graduated, Isel and I left Gallifrey on her parent's TARDIS. We were young, idiotic. We wanted to see the stars. For a few years we bopped around the Spiral Politic, and Isel and I got married on the fields of Lormet IV, a small moon on the far side of a gas giant. Those were the happiest days of my life, and they were the last before the Time War.
When we returned to Gallifrey, almost a full century after we had left, the Time War had begun. The Daleks had attacked, and the Time Lords were at war. The military, the War Council-they remembered me. The near-prodigy from the Academy. They needed all they could get. I was forcibly recruited into the Time War. I believed in Gallifrey then. The Time Lords were all I'd ever known, and now Rassilon was back, to lead us into a new Golden Age. All we had to do was kill the Daleks.
I was nothing for the first years of the War, an aide to some pompous fool of a commander. When he was destroyed leading a raid in a pointless show of bravado, I took over. Using a few men as bait, we were capable of capturing the planet, destroying the entrenched Dalek forces. They promoted me, then, and I began to rise through the ranks.
Soon, instead of a unit, I led an army. I was assigned to deal with the intravenous species working alongside the Daleks or against the Time Lords in that last, great War. I fought the Deathsmiths of Goth, and I battled the Silurian hordes. The Bowships of my fleet destroyed the enemies of Gallifrey with terrifying power. I fancied myself a hero, a man fighting to protect his world.
But then there came a day....a day when I did something monstrous.
A race named the Gelth had been staging raids on our ships. Attacking, stealing supplies, and retreating back into the shadows before anyone had time to react.
An order came from my superiors, one I was told not to question. They had ordered an instantaneous temporal extermination-a war crime, in the days before the Time War. Now, it was simply a means to an end. For me, it meant I had to destroy them. Eliminate the Gelth. The death or life of an entire race lay in my hand then, and I made the wrong choice My loyalty blinded me, then. The War-TARDISes of my fleet scattered themselves through the timestream of the Gelth Race, and began the great extermination. Their entire species was exterminated, a hundred times, simultaneously, throughout their entire timestream. Not simply destroyed physically, but temporally. Their race died a thousand times over, th I learned, later-much, much later-that the resulting paradoxes allowed a few Gelth, just a few, to survive, as echoes of echoes, lost in Time, without bodies or physical form.
I was lauded a hero on Gallifrey, while our enemies, and the rest of the known universe, demonized me. I was renamed as Omen, War-General of the Time War. To the Time Lords at large, I was Omen, herald of the shining victory of Gallifrey, one of the heroes who would lead us to victory in the Time War. To the universe as a whole, however, I became Omen, harbinger of death, decimator of the Gelth, and a thousand other titles, monstrous and evil all. As the Time War progressed, I became madder in my frantic loyalty to Gallifrey. Isel pleaded with me-leave the war, run away with her. But my judgement was clouded with bloodlust. I threatened to turn her in for treason, and plunged even further into depravity.
The Last Great Time War. Oh, the atrocities I committed in the name of Gallifrey. Worlds burned. Skies, choked with smoke and ash, while the suns above died. Worlds, unmade by my hand, as Time itself screamed, as I reshaped it to fit the whim of Gallifrey. The anguish, the horror I caused in those black days. The days of the Time War. It hurts to think about it, the man I was then-a traitor to all my principles, a destroyer of worlds. Some things are better left forgotten.
And then, it all began to come crashing, down, down to it's final end. The tyrant creator of the Daleks, Davros, plunged to his doom in the maw of the Nightmare Child. The Daleks began to advance on Gallifrey with the full might of the Deathsmiths of Goth behind them. The greatest aberrations of the Time War were born as Time split open, and darkness spilled from that gaping maw. Entire galaxies, obliterated by the ripples and shifts in Time. And against that terrifying storm, that mighty wave, stood the Time Lords at their end. Hope began to fail. Soldiers deserted by the thousands, many of them prisoners, freed by the Council to fight for Gallifrey.
I was but one of a great force sent to hold off the brunt of the Dalek army. We were nothing but sacrificial lambs, to buy the Council more time. We were armed with the latest and greatest War-TARDISes, a fleet of Bowships massive enough to blot a hundred suns, an infinite army churned out by a billion never-stopping looms. The pinnacle of Gallifreyan warfare.
Against the Daleks, and the aberrations of the Time War, we lasted three days.
My army, the twelve hundred Bowships under my command, was one of the last to fall. But slowly, the Daleks decimated us. My men, my army, burned around me, and as everything I'd worked for, fought for, for countless millennia burned around me, it was as if a fog lifted from my eyes, and I saw the folly of my ways. Too late-far too late. The Daleks captured me, the infamous Omen, slaughterer of the Gelth, decimator of untold billions. The things they did-the things I saw and felt as a prisoner of the Daleks-the agony I suffered in a moment of capture would take a thousand lifetimes to describe. Three times I regenerated, inching me through my regeneration cycle, killing me, only to wake me and kill me again.
And then, it stopped. I woke, alone and in pain in the bowels of a Dalek ship. I was bound by my chains to the walls of the prison, with no way out. For thel ongest time, I struggled to escape. At last, I realized there was no way to free myself. So I waited. For hundreds of years, I waited, as the steel rotted, and turned to slag. Twice I went mad, and regenerated once, of old age. By the time the chains wore away enough for me to cast them aside like so much dust, I was on my sixth incarnation. Starved, and half-mad, I staggered through the Dalek ship, walking over the husks of ancient travel machines and rotting metal and machinery. And at last, I gazed out the viewing port at what lay outside. My skin like paper on my bones, I stared through the dust-coated glass, at the ruined army that lay like so much rubble around the ship I had wasted away in for countless eons. Two twin suns I would recognize even in the darkest madness slowly orbited one another. But in the center of the system, where mighty Gallifrey once lay-was the darkness of space.
In the ruins of the ship, I found my old War-TARDIS, sealed impregnably, hibernating away the centuries. A tap from my fingers woke her. Her systems were rotting, but I fixed them with scraps from the Dalek ship.
It took me over a thousand centuries, but I have realized my mistakes. I will avenge the monstrosities of the Time War, and make the universe a better place-I will atone. I am an Omen of a new age. An Omen of hope.
Additional Medical Information:
Writing Submission:
Teni stretched his shoulders, his wiry frame rolling under his thin wool jacket. With a pronounced flourish, he stepped over the smoking husk of the Dalek travel machine. The metal and debris crunched under his grey boots as he spun, firing his modified staser twice. The Daleks rounding the corner behind him were blown backwards, their travel machines smashing into the far side of the hall. The Time Lord heard the familiar humming sound of a Dalek laser from behind him and dropped, narrowly missing a malicious blast of green energy, heat searing the back of his neck. With a vindictive cry, he launched himself at the Dalek faster than it could react. With a ferocious backhand from his staser, he smashed it's eyestalk off, sending the creature's primary means of sight flying into a pile of debris. He cocked his staser and placed it on the domelike head of the Dalek. It whined, a sinister mechanic squealing, the sound of creature that knows it's about to die.
He pulled the trigger, sending the Dalek spinning backwards and nearly obliterating the top half of the travel machine, exposing the withered slug inside the husk. Without stopping, Teni turned to face down the hallway the Dalek had come from. Almost instantly, he was met with a barrage of green blasts, which splashed harmlessly on the far wall, searing the silvery facade of the Dalek ship. The smell of ozone and broken metal filled the air, along with the vile sulphuric aftersmell of the Dalek blasts. Teni's face twisted into a grimace as he drew a smaller, almost pistol-like staser from within his jacket. A whirring, humming sound began to fill the air. Teni lept from his cover, firing both stasers rapidly, as the humming sound grew larger. One of the four or five Daleks attacking him spun back, it's travel machine seared open by a staser blast, and crashed on the floor with a loud clang.
As the Daleks let loose another barrage of hailfire, the war-scarred Time Lord dropped both his weapons and leaped forward into the path of the laserfire-and vanished. A cacophony of shrill, incredulous mechanical screams issued from the several Daleks as they advanced slowly down the hallway, searching for their lost prey. Slowly, something began to materialize in the center of the hallway, a glassy grey orb taking form, as if from a formless mist. A War-TARDIS, a relic of the Last Great Time War. From either side of the TARDIS issued two small cannons. They began to issue a constant, repeated fire, blasting the Daleks with unnatural precision, until all that was left were several piles of still-smoking debris.
The side of the TARDIS slid open, and the Time Lord known as Omen stepped out. Calmly, he picked up his staser and began his advance further into the bowels of the Dalek ship. Behind him, his War-TARDIS slowly faded away into the formless mist from whence it came, waiting till it's master called it once more.
Character Image: Billy Campbell, LADIES and GENTLEMEN!
Name: My name is Teni. It's short for Tenichilyar. I've been called other names, by other people, for reasons I don't want to talk about at the moment. But long ago, before my people died, in the last days of the Last Great Time War...in those days, they called me Omen.
Age: Thirty-five thousand standard years, using the Reformed Gallifreyan Calendar.
Gender Male
Species: I'm a Time Lord. Not that anyone knows what those are anymore.
Planet of Origin: Gallifrey. Planet of a thousand untold stories, home of a billion legends.
Time of Origin: I was Loomed in the century before the Last Great Time War, in the last years of the Golden Age.
Occupation: What am I, really? An ex-military time-travelling homeless philanthropist? Doesn't sound like the most glamorous job this side of the Spiral Politic, but I suppose it's a better description than "petty, sarcastic, reformed, formerly genocidal Time Lord."
Physical Description: Well, I'm tall. There's that. This incarnation's gone to rubbish, really. His face-wrinkles and scars like you wouldn't believe. All these renegades and survivors running about with bodies that look like they just graduated from the Academy. As for what I wear-I like m'suits, thank you very much.
Personality: I'm better than I could be, after what I've seen. I try to keep things on the light side, make people laugh. I try to steer away from violence-despite my proclaimed title of assassin, because I've already seen too much war. Some people have made the very silly mistake, however, of thinking that that means I'm weak. War curdled my brain, and I've got no touch for fighting anymore.
I've seen the Last Great Time War, and I've been held prisoner on the Dalek prison worlds. I was a War-General of the Time War, the Decimator of the Gelth, and the things I have done, by Omega, Rassilon, and all the threads of the Web of History, I regret them. But I can never forget them. No. I will avenge them. I committed some of the greatest war crimes of the Time War in the name of Gallifrey, and I will make up for that, however hard it must be.
The worlds I ruined with my bloodlust, I will recover them to their former glory. I will drag this broken body to as many galaxies, as many worlds, as many systems, as is needed to make up for my mistakes. Because you cannot fathom, truly, what I did, to my enemies, to my family, to my friends. I trusted Rassilon. I trusted the Council. That was my greatest mistake, and I will make up for it now, as long as I live.
History:
Ha. That...ooh, where to begin? I was loomed a few centuries before the chronological start of the Time War. A cousin of House Oakdown, I believe. I lived a fairly normal life. I gazed into the Schism when I came of age. I saw strange things swirling in there, stars being born, worlds dying, men burning, life ending and beginning. I didn't understand all of what I saw, and I still don't. But when I entered the Academy, something changed. I became enamored with the...how do I put this...grandeur of our civilization. I wanted to be an architect, build the world around me, the beauty of Gallifrey.
But fate had something else in mind for me. I was a strategist. Not a prodigy, not a master, just better than most. I would feint-leave weaknesses to big for my enemies to ignore, then go for the goal. I had losses, but the cost was worth the gain. I sacrificed the few for the many. That became my mantra later on in life. It was a stupid one, but it saved my life a hundred times over-and ruined it, too.
The military ran tests on me, ran me through a hundred drills or more. They said I could be a prodigy, a new breed. It was during this time that I met someone at the Academy. Her name was Isel-oh, her name was far, far longer, but she called herself Isel. Hair like the fire of the suns when they sank below the mountains, and eyes like rolling thunder. Too good for me. Too good for any man.
Eventually, I was drumrolled out of the military testings-I was just plain old me. I passed from the Academy, though I never became an architect.
The night we graduated, Isel and I left Gallifrey on her parent's TARDIS. We were young, idiotic. We wanted to see the stars. For a few years we bopped around the Spiral Politic, and Isel and I got married on the fields of Lormet IV, a small moon on the far side of a gas giant. Those were the happiest days of my life, and they were the last before the Time War.
When we returned to Gallifrey, almost a full century after we had left, the Time War had begun. The Daleks had attacked, and the Time Lords were at war. The military, the War Council-they remembered me. The near-prodigy from the Academy. They needed all they could get. I was forcibly recruited into the Time War. I believed in Gallifrey then. The Time Lords were all I'd ever known, and now Rassilon was back, to lead us into a new Golden Age. All we had to do was kill the Daleks.
I was nothing for the first years of the War, an aide to some pompous fool of a commander. When he was destroyed leading a raid in a pointless show of bravado, I took over. Using a few men as bait, we were capable of capturing the planet, destroying the entrenched Dalek forces. They promoted me, then, and I began to rise through the ranks.
Soon, instead of a unit, I led an army. I was assigned to deal with the intravenous species working alongside the Daleks or against the Time Lords in that last, great War. I fought the Deathsmiths of Goth, and I battled the Silurian hordes. The Bowships of my fleet destroyed the enemies of Gallifrey with terrifying power. I fancied myself a hero, a man fighting to protect his world.
But then there came a day....a day when I did something monstrous.
A race named the Gelth had been staging raids on our ships. Attacking, stealing supplies, and retreating back into the shadows before anyone had time to react.
An order came from my superiors, one I was told not to question. They had ordered an instantaneous temporal extermination-a war crime, in the days before the Time War. Now, it was simply a means to an end. For me, it meant I had to destroy them. Eliminate the Gelth. The death or life of an entire race lay in my hand then, and I made the wrong choice My loyalty blinded me, then. The War-TARDISes of my fleet scattered themselves through the timestream of the Gelth Race, and began the great extermination. Their entire species was exterminated, a hundred times, simultaneously, throughout their entire timestream. Not simply destroyed physically, but temporally. Their race died a thousand times over, th I learned, later-much, much later-that the resulting paradoxes allowed a few Gelth, just a few, to survive, as echoes of echoes, lost in Time, without bodies or physical form.
I was lauded a hero on Gallifrey, while our enemies, and the rest of the known universe, demonized me. I was renamed as Omen, War-General of the Time War. To the Time Lords at large, I was Omen, herald of the shining victory of Gallifrey, one of the heroes who would lead us to victory in the Time War. To the universe as a whole, however, I became Omen, harbinger of death, decimator of the Gelth, and a thousand other titles, monstrous and evil all. As the Time War progressed, I became madder in my frantic loyalty to Gallifrey. Isel pleaded with me-leave the war, run away with her. But my judgement was clouded with bloodlust. I threatened to turn her in for treason, and plunged even further into depravity.
The Last Great Time War. Oh, the atrocities I committed in the name of Gallifrey. Worlds burned. Skies, choked with smoke and ash, while the suns above died. Worlds, unmade by my hand, as Time itself screamed, as I reshaped it to fit the whim of Gallifrey. The anguish, the horror I caused in those black days. The days of the Time War. It hurts to think about it, the man I was then-a traitor to all my principles, a destroyer of worlds. Some things are better left forgotten.
And then, it all began to come crashing, down, down to it's final end. The tyrant creator of the Daleks, Davros, plunged to his doom in the maw of the Nightmare Child. The Daleks began to advance on Gallifrey with the full might of the Deathsmiths of Goth behind them. The greatest aberrations of the Time War were born as Time split open, and darkness spilled from that gaping maw. Entire galaxies, obliterated by the ripples and shifts in Time. And against that terrifying storm, that mighty wave, stood the Time Lords at their end. Hope began to fail. Soldiers deserted by the thousands, many of them prisoners, freed by the Council to fight for Gallifrey.
I was but one of a great force sent to hold off the brunt of the Dalek army. We were nothing but sacrificial lambs, to buy the Council more time. We were armed with the latest and greatest War-TARDISes, a fleet of Bowships massive enough to blot a hundred suns, an infinite army churned out by a billion never-stopping looms. The pinnacle of Gallifreyan warfare.
Against the Daleks, and the aberrations of the Time War, we lasted three days.
My army, the twelve hundred Bowships under my command, was one of the last to fall. But slowly, the Daleks decimated us. My men, my army, burned around me, and as everything I'd worked for, fought for, for countless millennia burned around me, it was as if a fog lifted from my eyes, and I saw the folly of my ways. Too late-far too late. The Daleks captured me, the infamous Omen, slaughterer of the Gelth, decimator of untold billions. The things they did-the things I saw and felt as a prisoner of the Daleks-the agony I suffered in a moment of capture would take a thousand lifetimes to describe. Three times I regenerated, inching me through my regeneration cycle, killing me, only to wake me and kill me again.
And then, it stopped. I woke, alone and in pain in the bowels of a Dalek ship. I was bound by my chains to the walls of the prison, with no way out. For thel ongest time, I struggled to escape. At last, I realized there was no way to free myself. So I waited. For hundreds of years, I waited, as the steel rotted, and turned to slag. Twice I went mad, and regenerated once, of old age. By the time the chains wore away enough for me to cast them aside like so much dust, I was on my sixth incarnation. Starved, and half-mad, I staggered through the Dalek ship, walking over the husks of ancient travel machines and rotting metal and machinery. And at last, I gazed out the viewing port at what lay outside. My skin like paper on my bones, I stared through the dust-coated glass, at the ruined army that lay like so much rubble around the ship I had wasted away in for countless eons. Two twin suns I would recognize even in the darkest madness slowly orbited one another. But in the center of the system, where mighty Gallifrey once lay-was the darkness of space.
In the ruins of the ship, I found my old War-TARDIS, sealed impregnably, hibernating away the centuries. A tap from my fingers woke her. Her systems were rotting, but I fixed them with scraps from the Dalek ship.
It took me over a thousand centuries, but I have realized my mistakes. I will avenge the monstrosities of the Time War, and make the universe a better place-I will atone. I am an Omen of a new age. An Omen of hope.
Additional Medical Information:
Writing Submission:
Teni stretched his shoulders, his wiry frame rolling under his thin wool jacket. With a pronounced flourish, he stepped over the smoking husk of the Dalek travel machine. The metal and debris crunched under his grey boots as he spun, firing his modified staser twice. The Daleks rounding the corner behind him were blown backwards, their travel machines smashing into the far side of the hall. The Time Lord heard the familiar humming sound of a Dalek laser from behind him and dropped, narrowly missing a malicious blast of green energy, heat searing the back of his neck. With a vindictive cry, he launched himself at the Dalek faster than it could react. With a ferocious backhand from his staser, he smashed it's eyestalk off, sending the creature's primary means of sight flying into a pile of debris. He cocked his staser and placed it on the domelike head of the Dalek. It whined, a sinister mechanic squealing, the sound of creature that knows it's about to die.
He pulled the trigger, sending the Dalek spinning backwards and nearly obliterating the top half of the travel machine, exposing the withered slug inside the husk. Without stopping, Teni turned to face down the hallway the Dalek had come from. Almost instantly, he was met with a barrage of green blasts, which splashed harmlessly on the far wall, searing the silvery facade of the Dalek ship. The smell of ozone and broken metal filled the air, along with the vile sulphuric aftersmell of the Dalek blasts. Teni's face twisted into a grimace as he drew a smaller, almost pistol-like staser from within his jacket. A whirring, humming sound began to fill the air. Teni lept from his cover, firing both stasers rapidly, as the humming sound grew larger. One of the four or five Daleks attacking him spun back, it's travel machine seared open by a staser blast, and crashed on the floor with a loud clang.
As the Daleks let loose another barrage of hailfire, the war-scarred Time Lord dropped both his weapons and leaped forward into the path of the laserfire-and vanished. A cacophony of shrill, incredulous mechanical screams issued from the several Daleks as they advanced slowly down the hallway, searching for their lost prey. Slowly, something began to materialize in the center of the hallway, a glassy grey orb taking form, as if from a formless mist. A War-TARDIS, a relic of the Last Great Time War. From either side of the TARDIS issued two small cannons. They began to issue a constant, repeated fire, blasting the Daleks with unnatural precision, until all that was left were several piles of still-smoking debris.
The side of the TARDIS slid open, and the Time Lord known as Omen stepped out. Calmly, he picked up his staser and began his advance further into the bowels of the Dalek ship. Behind him, his War-TARDIS slowly faded away into the formless mist from whence it came, waiting till it's master called it once more.
