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𝑪𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒙 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒔
Forum-Index → Fanmades → Fanfictions → 𝑪𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒙 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒔
Posted: Sun, 01/09/2024 03:43 (6 Months ago)
wip
lysander thread
codex - an ancient manuscript text in book form.
veritas - veritas means “truth” or “reality” in Latin,
constellation name ideas:
first revelation
golden standard
piercing insight
light of judgement
cardinal direction
maximal ideal
Posted: Fri, 27/09/2024 19:23 (6 Months ago)
LYSANDER VORONOVA
ISD HYDRA | STAR WARS SITH INQUISITOR
Character Sheet
xxxxxTheme Song: La gloire à mes genoux - Le rouge et le noir
Etymology:
lysander • luh · san · dr
✧ Latinized form of Λύσανδρος (Lysandros), liberator
✧ Namesake; a greek military/political leader from sparta who fought
in the peloppenisian war and destroyed the athenian fleet at the
Battle of Aegospotami in 405 BC
Demographics
★ Date of Birth: 1/22 | ★ Star Sign: Capricorn | ★ Age: 24 years old
★ Gender: Male | ★ Pronouns: he/him | ★ Sexuality: demi-aromantic
★ Affiliation: The Empire | ★ Place of Birth: Shaliz'na, Shar-ack system
Introduction
"Short version here" - Official description
info
Appearance
info
Personality
★ MBTI: INTJ-T | ★ Star Sign: Aquarius | ★ Enneagram Wing: 5w4 – The Investigator | Alignment: Law Neutral | ref, ref,ref
Lysander is a highly intelligent, introverted character who prefers to keep to himself, often locked in private reflection. His methodical, logic-driven approach to problem-solving isn't for everyone, but he's quick to spot patterns and is skilled at out-of-the-box thinking. With dry wit and sharp humor that can turn dark in tough situations, he's often misinterpreted as insensitive, though he takes matters seriously.
Slow to trust and wary of betrayal, Lysander is guarded, often seen as either reserved or paranoid. He values action over words, staying observant and offering quiet, well-considered advice. Despite his distant demeanor, once his trust is earned, he deeply honors his friendships, though he rarely expresses warmth.
Beneath his calm exterior, Lysander battles paranoia and misanthropy, always investigating and anticipating worst-case scenarios. Though skilled in surface-level conversation, he won't shy from delivering blunt, hard truths. Betrayal turns him ruthless, becoming an enemy for life, and his vengeance is cold and calculated. Afterward, guilt haunts him as he mourns what could have been, caught in a cycle of regret and melancholy.
Basic Fear(s): To be controlled or be forced to use his combative gifts for someone else's gain when he gains nothing in return.
Basic Desire: To keep what's left of his family alive and well
Key Motivation: To find peace with his past
Early Life: tw for kidnapping, past child abuse, familial death, unhealthy relationships, implications of child soldiers: - warriors rendition
info
About: (THE VORNSKR)
info
info
About: (WRATH)
"There's an unspoken agreement that Lysander is a hard pill to swallow, even on a good day. Beneath his mirror-smooth facade, he possesses a unforgiving demeanor and a cutting vocabulary."
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Additional Info
★
★
Posted: Tue, 08/10/2024 14:20 (5 Months ago)
Lysander Voronova
ISD HYDRA
Moodboard
"Reverie Noir"
· · ────────────────────── ·𖥸· ────────────────────── · ·
Posted: Sat, 22/03/2025 02:15 (9 Days ago)
Trapped in the valley of ashes, the boy dreamed of technicolor birds, for his wings once glowed under the sunlight in a dozen colors before settling lame besides him on the earth...
Ashes ashes, we all fall down!”
Just as abruptly as the song started, it came to an end. A quartet of energetic youngsters collapsed into the summer dust, kicking up a small cloud. Their wings went limp as they practiced the age old dramatic art of “playing dead.” There was a chorus of exasperated sighs and groans from the other adults in the market following this display and two browbeaten parents stepped forward to extricate their young. Slightly out of earshot, one of the rambunctious youngsters received a firm scolding. He didn’t catch the exact wording, but judging by how the interaction ended quickly — and the hidden glances between parents - the laughing matter was excused for now. Still he didn’t miss how quickly the voices lowered, how glances became more furtive. There are risks to speaking too loudly in public.
A moment of silence passed, before the young boy with the dark wings—still engrossed in his drawing—finally let out a sigh and tapped his pencil against the paper in thought. His sketch was meticulous, the stoic posture of the guard outlined clearly, a mock version of the official style for the upcoming poster. His fingers, smudged with ink, worked quickly across the parchment, adding a few final details to the rough face. No features that he would call his own, there wasn’t the slender jaw characteristic of the boy’s species, or the graceful curves that would hint at wings. This guard, like many others in his squad — and the empire as a whole — was human. That was the golden standard, the Golden Ratio - the ideal paragon upon which all ideals were rested. Anything other than that was considered ‘subpar’ like a misstroke with a quill upon the earth that would never be erased.
The sketch was taking shape. He could finish by sundown and deliver it by nightfall. Still he couldn’t help but find the entire process particularly onerous, not just in time spent but in terms of the entire artistic process. Carved entirely out of charcoal monochrome, a tough stern material, the slate-faced complexion was alien in its severity. The boy only knew the swirling technicolor dress of his home-region, people clad in so many colors like a flock of migrating birds.
The kingdom on the other hand dressed in pale and lifeless colors, slate grey, navy blue accents, flint, and silver -- to the boy, they bled into one another until it was one body, one face, one mind moving in a stagnant tide.
The boy stopped, cast a glance around the market, and then pulled something from the depths of his coat. This he clung to his breast fervently, and his gaze became more furtive. Once more he checked that everyone around him was indeed occupied with their own matters, he flipped over page by page until he came to one that was blank. He wasted no time; pulling out his pen, the pen flitted with fervor. An image was imprinted there -- pasted from a burned book --captured an essence of the past; elegant script above titled the page and laid bare the risk of possessing it.
The possession of art is like the revelation of an ancient truth after a century of lies. That truth creates fear for art has the power to become a reckoning.
Knowledge is power. Power is freedom. Freedom is a pure ideal.
The entry ended there. The author of this art was of course, long dead. The boy read it four more times as he committed the art to memory before shutting the book. His finger absently traced over the cover absently as his heart raced.
Power. Knowledge. Freedom. Strong words. Forbidden words.
The boy knew these were all things which could be considered a capital punishment. His notebook didn’t just contain studies of avian anatomy, but lists, quotes, messages, names of artists banned politically for “controversial messages.” If this didn’t get him hanged, it would at least be grounds for arrest.
The deprivation of knowledge is a great weapon after all. You can’t have a mousetrap without cheese, nor a garden without an apple to tempt one to sin.
“Do you wish you were strong, like them?” He could almost hear his mother’s cautious voice in his ear. “You must yearn for the power they can wield with abandon, the power to decide, to govern, to weave fates on a whim.”
The number of people in the market was thinning out - and less people meant less people to hide behind. The toils of the day evaporated into the sunset like morning mist. The boy glanced around himself quickly before he departed with haste. Once he was a good distance away from the market, his wings unfurled, carrying him home on a cool night wind. As he stared at the ground, there was suddenly an immense surge of pity in his heart for all the empire’s soldiers who would never once experience the embrace of the sky. They were cursed, like so many cattle, to trod endlessly upon the earth, assaulted endlessly by waves of the dust they trod on until their untimely end.
Colors and dreams are fleeting things, there and gone quicker than a butterfly’s wing. For one inexperienced with their ebb and flow, it may appear dazzling and uncoordinated. Those in power hid their cruelty behind veiled smiles and excuses of power, claiming their rule and ideologies would last forever. The presence of color and free expression was an obstruction, and for that, it was stifled, chased, hunted. But for those who have learned to dance with the rhythm of their shifting hues and whispers, there is a quiet beauty in their impermanence, like a sunset that fades just as you reach the horizon.
Posted: Sun, 23/03/2025 00:50 (8 Days ago)
[ placeholder - sith empire one-shot: lysander and calverus see a flock of ravens feasting upon the fallen soldiers ]