Toross was born. Toross was found to be force sensitive. Toross was given to the Jedi Order, separated from his family, incapable of knowing even the name of his father, his mother. Robbed of a childhood and, instead, given the training of the Jedi. A youngling, later a padawan; never more or less than what it took to be those things. He was just another one among many, a being that may well have been nameless, if not for the occasional bursts of anger that subtly leaked through the cracks.

It wasn't infantile anger, Toross had never had the chance to feel such a thing. It wasn't pubescent boy's anger either, that too had been robbed from him. It was a pure thing, anger that boiled to surface and popped within mere seconds but released ripples through the force that some masters would sense. In particular, Master Windu took notice of the young man's subtle, yet boiling rage and elected to foster it into a weapon of good. A weapon to be used against the Separatists.

Juyo, a rare form, was taught to the young Toross and Juyo would be the vessel through which he would express himself. Yes, the tognath had the capacity to speak, to scream, to let it all out, but... Such was against the Code. So his lightsaber became his instrument of outcry. He cut a swathe through enemies, letting his anger fuel his rampage but never letting it take hold-- He wanted to allow it, desperately... But the Code, again, denied him that catharsis.

But then, the Code didn't matter as much anymore. His rage was unleashed, he allowed himself to cut through clones and droids alike when the order came- Then he allowed himself to cut through whatever was in his path. Then there was that black-clad colossus-- The one known as Darth Vader.

A clash of angry blades. A conversation. Toross saw the genius of it all. His anger was not only matched, but exceeded. His blade was revealed to be the child's tool that it was. His windpipes being crushed, his life straying towards the dark oblivion that awaited him. He smiled.

But it never came. Instead, he found himself wearing the trappings of the Inquisitorius, subordinate to that magnificently angry being. This was fine. This was perfect.

There is only one thing that gives Toross life in these days, aside from the great work of slaughtering the remnants of an order that stole his life and boxed his anger... That is Recognition. Not some unsavory desire to be known throughout the galaxy, but simply the wish of a pupil to be recognized by his master; he desires nothing more than the recognition of Vader himself, the admission of his strength by a being that could kill him with a thought. That would be enough.

Toross' childhood robbed him of identity, of personality and individuality; now that he has risen above being just another Jedi, he holds onto a sense of pride that demands he exercise it at every opportunity. He is proud to a fault and willing to admit as much, he revels in it, in fact. Pride is not something that came to him easily, once upon a time. Likewise, this Pride leaves to an unwelcome Obstinance, as he does not respect the ways of others. In simple terms: He is above all but those who have proven their superiority. Toross shows no fear, knows no boundaries and will accept no failure. Where there is no victory, he shall make it. Where there is no passion, he will forge it. Where there are chains, he shall break them.