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Specialist Ronon Dex

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fandom_muses: Topic #16 - Goodbye [Apr. 12th, 2006|10:38 pm]
Specialist Ronon Dex
[Tags|]
[mood |draineddrained]

He sat in the middle of his quarters, head bowed as he knelt inside a circle of rock salt, a candle burning at his feet and a white crystal in his hands. The salt was the earth below, the candle flame the fires of Purtia, and the crystal the bright and vibrant essence of life itself.

It wasn’t the pyres of Sateda’s holy temples, but it would do.

Praying in his native tongue, Ronon gave careful contemplation to his worship as he lay down his weapon inside the circle, just before the candle, and took a pinch of salt from the ring, sprinkling it into his palm over the crystal.

“The earth on which you lived…where you loved and fought.” He murmured before passing the crystal over the flame. “The fires that tested your spirit, the forge in which you were tempered like fine steel.”

On Sateda, it was believed that life lived in memory…a dead man that was given no funeral would cease to exist in the afterlife without final acknowledgement that his life had, in fact, been lived.

Ronon lowered the crystal towards the candle, letting it scorch the bottom of the glossy stone. “Into the night I send you…remembered and reborn.”

When the base of the stone was black with soot, Ronon carefully turned it over and laid it at the base of the candle. To complete the Satedan funeral rite, it would remain there until the wax drippings of the candle had covered the stone.

“Goodbye, Kell,” he finished, staring darkly into the candle flame, “and good riddance.”

Without a funeral, Kell would cease to be…a soul eradicated.

Ronon would give him his final farewell…he couldn’t give Kell a slow death, but at least he could make sure the bastard burned in the fires of Purtia for the rest of eternity.

Either way…his revenge was complete.


Muse: Ronon Dex
Fandom: Stargate ATLANTIS
Words: 310
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fandom_muses: Talk about losing control. [Mar. 24th, 2006|10:33 am]
Specialist Ronon Dex
[Tags|]
[mood |cynicalcynical]

[locked to everyone without security clearance needed to view classified information re: Atlantis, the Stargate program, and all offworld activities]

Control is something that’s drilled into all soldiers on my homeworld. I’ve seen evidence of the same on Earth, but not in the same fashion as on Sateda. Our training is strict, but discipline is the most basic thing we learn. We’re taught to fight and serve based on the philosophy that we give ourselves over completely to our calling...to be strong in mind, body, and spirit. We learn to keep all aspects of ourselves finely honed and ready for combat...we’re taught to love the joys of battle and to learn how to handle its more grisly aspects.

When I was culled by the Wraith and turned loose as a Runner, I dealt with my situation as best I could. I did not falter in my struggle to survive.

But in basic training, we were not prepared for the horrors of what I endured...and I lost control of myself on many occasions.

One of my first losses destroyed an entire village because I found a night’s rest within its borders. Until the coming of the Atlantis team, I never again sought sanctuary anywhere inhabited. Soon, I stopped seeking sanctuary all together.

In the city of the Ancestors, when I learned of Sateda’s destruction, I dealt with my newfound isolation as best I could. Worlds away from the life I had known, there was nothing I could truly call my own but the clothes on my back and the weapons strapped to my body. My second loss came a while after...when I found Solen and Kell. What I did on Belka wasn’t a good thing...but it was the right thing. It was justice as I saw it, as everyone else saw it. Even Teyla, in her anger, knew I had done what was needed.

But killing Kell wasn’t my greatest loss of control on Belka. Finding comrades, countrymen...it stripped something inside me raw, something I didn’t even know was there. It’s why my rage came forth in death rather than violence. I should have beaten Kell before he died, made him bleed and suffer as thousands of others did at his hand...but I was beyond a thirst for blood by that point.

My joy the night before his death moved me to tears...in Teyla’s presence. Three hundred Satedans...it’s not a big number, but it’s a number greater than one. It’s a *good* number.

On my homeworld, soldiers learn to live for battle. They learn to train their minds, bodies, and souls for combat. They learn to be strong no matter the cost...but the one thing I was never strong enough to do was control my emotions.

[/locked]

Muse: Ronon Dex
Fandom: Stargate: ATLANTIS
Words: 445
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fandom_muses: Introduction [Mar. 2nd, 2006|11:29 am]
Specialist Ronon Dex
[Tags|]

My name is Ronon Dex. I’m from a planet called Setita in the Pegasus Galaxy not from this country, so forgive me if I seem a little out of touch. I guess.

Anyway, where I came from I was military...a Specialist in my battalion. Now I’m working with the US government, but I don’t spend a lot of time here. Still, Dr. Weir and Colonel Shepard thought it was a good idea to familiarize myself with computers. Dr. McKay helped...showed me a whole bunch of stuff to get started. Then he started talking about things that involved dungeons, and creatures called dragons...but I pretty much stopped listening by that point.

My home was destroyed in a war by a race group known as the Wraith. They brutalized and murdered everyone I know and love...all but three hundred of my people escaped from their attack...what we refer to as a culling. These attacks...they always happen every hundred years or so, until recently they became more of a threat.

Thing is...there’s nothing left of my home for that to matter.

The Wraith took me as a prisoner...they kept me for a long while. They tried to kill me.

But they had different plans.

To make a long story short, they put a tracker on me and set me free...then hunted me like a dog. I ran from them for seven years until I met the people on the Atlantis team. They got the Wraith off my trail...but they’re still out there, still a threat. Still destroying other people and other worlds countries like mine.

If you want to know about me, that’s all you really need to know...Shepard says I’m not exactly a social butterfly, whatever that means. All I know is that there’s certain things I don’t want to share, and I’m not going to share. If I have something to say, I’ll say it...if I don’t? I won’t.

When it comes to the important stuff, I let my actions do the talking.
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fandom_muses: Application [Feb. 13th, 2006|01:48 pm]
Specialist Ronon Dex
[Tags|, ]

1) What is one thing you have learned from your past?

Only real thing I’ve learned from my past is that home is where you make it.

My people are great storytellers...we recorded our history, but above all else, oral tradition was considered the most important form of history on Setita. Stories and legends were told in story beads...strands of wooden beads, each one carved into an image from the story. Children would get them from their parents, and adults would keep them to remember the fables of their own family. Every great event in our history was usually recorded in a set of story beads.

For me, home used to be Setita...it used to be going through my paces at the training grounds, drinking with my fellows at the local tavern and making bets to see how long it would take us to get kicked out for being unruly. It was quiet nights at the barracks, exchanging stories and lewd jokes. I still remember them...but I haven’t told one since the day the Wraith took me. Some of those jokes and stories even had their own set of beads.

After I was turned loose by the Wraith, I couldn’t stay anywhere for any length of time. Home became the old stories, the memories...I made a set of my own beads over time, telling my story. It took seven years, but the beads were finished, wood polished to a shine by restless nights spent rubbing them smooth with a stone, and simply running my fingers over them time and time again.

But unlike traditional Setitan story beads, mine are blank. I carved no images into them...but I still know what every single bead represents. I kept them blank because I lived in those beads...and like any man who locks his front door behind him, I kept my story to myself.

Now on Atlantis, I feel closer to having a home than I have since the Wraith culled Setita. And yet...I still wear my story beads all the time...I get asked about them by the Ethosian children. I’ve been to the mainland a few times...I’m teaching some of them how to make their own. When they ask why my beads are empty, I tell them all the same thing.

I tell them that some stories are never meant to be told.


2) Describe a dream that you've had. How did the dream make you feel?

He woke without a sound, the rapid step of his own feet pounding the ground echoing in his ears. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t even blink as he waited for the threat to pass.

It took a full two minutes before he remembered there was no threat. Not on Atlantis.

He finally relaxed, rubbing his hands over his features, slick with the cold sweat of his favorite nightmare. For a moment, he guiltily luxuriated in the mattress beneath his back...softer than the solid earth he sometimes found a night’s rest on. The air in his quarters was cool, dark, and quiet in an artificial manner that comforted him far more than he cared to admit.

The Wraith ship was never so still...so calm. Plus the air was always dry and cold, not filled with the gentle moisture of the sea.

Realizing finally that he was shivering in his own sweat, Ronon flipped off the covers and rolled out of bed, ambling into his bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, just gazing at his reflection. His dark features were ashen, and his eyes seemed to glow, set off by the dark rings testifying to his sleepless nights.

Add to that the glistening sheen of sweat even now forming a bead of perspiration on the end of his nose and the fact he was still catching his breath, and he looked like he’d just run a marathon, as Colonel Shepard would say. He’d explained a marathon to Ronon...and Ronon knew he was right.

Fitting, because in his dream, he’d been doing just that.

Pushing away from the sink, Ronon shed the lightweight pants he slept in and turned on his shower, stepping inside. He let the water beat down on his skin, facing away from the spray to let it run down his back...hot as he could stand it, hot enough to burn. It was the only way he could get the icy lump of fear in his gut to melt, the cold pinprick of the tracking node to fade from deep beneath his skin.

He still couldn’t stop the Wraith from chasing him, even in his dreams. Before, there’d been no nightmares, just blissful *nothing* in the rare moments he stopped to rest. Now, he didn’t even have that. He was relatively safe in Atlantis...he wasn’t running, and he had his cloak of anger and violence to protect him when he was awake.

But sleep...that belonged to them now. It was the only place they could get to him...he fought them in the light, and in the dark they hunted him again.

No matter how many nights went by...he was still running in his head. And he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to stop.
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