Post by Halmagha on Oct 7, 2020 6:04:59 GMT -5
Character you wish to be: Halmagha (custom)
Planet you want to start on: Earth
(Customs Only) Character Race: Android
(Customs only) Distribute 2,250 points
Strength: 250
Speed: 700
Toughness: 500
Stamina: 300
Vitality: 500
Distribute 3 points
Determination: 0
Charisma: 0
Intelligence: 3
Pick one green fundamental to start with (list here): Eye beam
How did you find this site: Old school dbz rpg player from another site. Wanted to dip my toe back in so came looking for this ome
(Required) Email Address: t-c-grainger@hotmail.co.uk
Example RP:
Roger Liddle chose to make the journey to Snowscar on foot. 40 men, fully half of those who pledged their names to his, make the journey with him. In a depature from their normal upbeat demeanour, the Liddle men marched in silence; they knew Roger did not need their words to comfort him, their mere presence was enough.
Snowscar, as with most of the mountain villages, was bitterly cold. For the Liddles, who made their home amongst the highest peaks, the quiet winds were dosconcerting. It was almost as if the mountain spirits were watching, waiting to see how things would unfold.
As soon as the Liddle party reached the outer limits of Harclay lands, they became aware of men around them. Warriors dressed in the battle raiment of mail and helm materialised from behind rocky outcrops above. If the Liddles had not come by invitation, it would have been all too easy to ambush and slaughter them where they stood. Roger made a mental note of where the men came from. If he survived long enough to ever return here, then he would know precisely where men would be waiting for him. Without a word, a dozen of these warriors formed columns either side of the Liddle men, escorting them with arms bared. Among the mountain men, to demand a man hand over his weapon is a grave insult and only at a man's hearth is it ever acceptible to do so. Naturally, the drawn blades only added to the tension of the day.
The centre of Snowscar had been cleared for the Liddle arrival. Every man, woman and child had come out of their homes to watch the challenge to their chief's rule. As Roger scanned the crowds, he noted men of the Wull, Flint and many of the other smaller clans were present. Good, he thought, let them witness my victory.
At the centre of the village, Brandon Harclay stood alone, his axe and shield in either hand. At over two-score years old, the man was a veteran of combat and the two and twenty years behind Roger left him dwarfed in experience. No doubt, there were knots of hard muscle and twisting scars beneath those furs. Roger tried not to feel intimidated, but there was a piercing ferocity in those eyes that glared at him beneath the salt and pepper hair of the veteran warrior.
Roger stepped beyond his retinue, unbuckling the helmet he had worn for protection from treacherous arrows and casting it into the snow. If the Harclay would bare his face then Roger would not shame himself behind a steel mask. The air was cold, but Roger's blood boiled with adrenaline, warming his belly like dragonflame.
The Harclay brandished his axe, shaking it towards Roger as he accosted him. "Who are you that you dare to challenge my rule?" He roared, his face reddening from the cold air, his dolor or both.
Brandon had, in fact, been a good leader. He had performed his duties with far more aplomb than his predecessors. He was a good leader, but he was not a Liddle.
"I challenge you by the same right any man of the mountains possesses. One of us will leave here in glory, the other will feed the wolves."
The time for words was at an end. With a mighty roar, the Harclay launched himself at Roger, his agility belied by his age. The overarm swing carried enough power to bury Roger then and there, but the Liddle had the wherewithal to raise his wood and hide roundshield just in time. Regardless of the timing, the impact sent a shockwave of pain all the way to Roger's shoulder, which ricocheted back down as a tingling numbness. In that same moment, Roger's left hand swung low, aiming for the fat artery he knew to be at the front of the Harclay's thigh. Brandon had a fighter's instinct however, pivoting clockwise to parry low with his own shield. For Roger, this was not a great start. His shield felt heavy in his deadened arm, whilst his opponent remained limber. With Brandon dominant in the right hand and Roger the left, the fight lacked the rhythmic pace of the average encounter. Both men felt slightly awkward in each exchange, but this was made up for by the ferocity of each blow.
It could only have been two minutes of affray before Roger felt sweat coating his back. His muscles ached and his breath stung with the metallic taste of adrenaline as the pair separate from a particularly vigorous clash. Circling his opponent, eyes open for any weakness, Roger did not feel the tide of battle was in his favour. He had accepted death as a likely outcome from this clash and had made his peace with it. Win or lose, either outcome would be better than barely ekeing out a meagre existance in the hostile high mountains.
"A weak display," the Harclay goaded him, the haft of his axe resting atop his buckler. "I've sparred opponents with more spunk than you boy. It's plain to see why the history books have overlooked your house."
As Brandon rattled on, Roger charged, hoping to catch him unawares as he monologued. This played exactly into the hands of the Harclay, who dashed forwards to meet the charge, getting in and under Roger's swing. He swept his shield upwards, batting Roger's axe up and testing the Liddle's balance. Too close quarters for the killing axeblow, Brandon drove his forehead into Roger's nose, busting it wide open and causing hot blood to trickle down Roger's throat and interfere with his breathing. The Harclay had hoped his opponent would stumble then, giving him an opening to drive his axe into that ob so vulnerable neck, but Roger recovered quickly, hawking up a thick wad of phlegm and blood and spitting it into the Harclay's face. Brandon's eyes reflexively shut against the offensive missile, which was all the time Roger needed to slam the face of his shield into the Harclay, driving him back a footstep. Momentarily blinded and unable to wipe his face clean, Brandon incorrectly guessed at an overhead swing and raised his shield to protect his head. Roger swept his axe horizontally, catching his opponent under his mail shirt and tearing into his abdomen.
Loops if bowel protruded from the Harclay's front and he knew immediately that he was slain. The pain was unimagineable, but Roger was shocked to see him keep his footing, his weapons still raised aggressively. He thought for a moment that the Harclay would rush him again, but Brandon saw the futility and cast his axe and shield to the ground.
"You'd better do a decent fucking job," he spat bitterly, fighting the urge to drop to his knees and lose his pride.
Roger dropped his sword and took a two-handed grip of his axe handle. "I'll make sure they remember," he replied, before rotating the full force of his body into a killing blow that split the Harclay's skull and ended his pain immediately.
(I'll find a faceclaim when I can but whem I search for androids from dbz it's difficult to filter the smut).
Planet you want to start on: Earth
(Customs Only) Character Race: Android
(Customs only) Distribute 2,250 points
Strength: 250
Speed: 700
Toughness: 500
Stamina: 300
Vitality: 500
Distribute 3 points
Determination: 0
Charisma: 0
Intelligence: 3
Pick one green fundamental to start with (list here): Eye beam
How did you find this site: Old school dbz rpg player from another site. Wanted to dip my toe back in so came looking for this ome
(Required) Email Address: t-c-grainger@hotmail.co.uk
Example RP:
Roger Liddle chose to make the journey to Snowscar on foot. 40 men, fully half of those who pledged their names to his, make the journey with him. In a depature from their normal upbeat demeanour, the Liddle men marched in silence; they knew Roger did not need their words to comfort him, their mere presence was enough.
Snowscar, as with most of the mountain villages, was bitterly cold. For the Liddles, who made their home amongst the highest peaks, the quiet winds were dosconcerting. It was almost as if the mountain spirits were watching, waiting to see how things would unfold.
As soon as the Liddle party reached the outer limits of Harclay lands, they became aware of men around them. Warriors dressed in the battle raiment of mail and helm materialised from behind rocky outcrops above. If the Liddles had not come by invitation, it would have been all too easy to ambush and slaughter them where they stood. Roger made a mental note of where the men came from. If he survived long enough to ever return here, then he would know precisely where men would be waiting for him. Without a word, a dozen of these warriors formed columns either side of the Liddle men, escorting them with arms bared. Among the mountain men, to demand a man hand over his weapon is a grave insult and only at a man's hearth is it ever acceptible to do so. Naturally, the drawn blades only added to the tension of the day.
The centre of Snowscar had been cleared for the Liddle arrival. Every man, woman and child had come out of their homes to watch the challenge to their chief's rule. As Roger scanned the crowds, he noted men of the Wull, Flint and many of the other smaller clans were present. Good, he thought, let them witness my victory.
At the centre of the village, Brandon Harclay stood alone, his axe and shield in either hand. At over two-score years old, the man was a veteran of combat and the two and twenty years behind Roger left him dwarfed in experience. No doubt, there were knots of hard muscle and twisting scars beneath those furs. Roger tried not to feel intimidated, but there was a piercing ferocity in those eyes that glared at him beneath the salt and pepper hair of the veteran warrior.
Roger stepped beyond his retinue, unbuckling the helmet he had worn for protection from treacherous arrows and casting it into the snow. If the Harclay would bare his face then Roger would not shame himself behind a steel mask. The air was cold, but Roger's blood boiled with adrenaline, warming his belly like dragonflame.
The Harclay brandished his axe, shaking it towards Roger as he accosted him. "Who are you that you dare to challenge my rule?" He roared, his face reddening from the cold air, his dolor or both.
Brandon had, in fact, been a good leader. He had performed his duties with far more aplomb than his predecessors. He was a good leader, but he was not a Liddle.
"I challenge you by the same right any man of the mountains possesses. One of us will leave here in glory, the other will feed the wolves."
The time for words was at an end. With a mighty roar, the Harclay launched himself at Roger, his agility belied by his age. The overarm swing carried enough power to bury Roger then and there, but the Liddle had the wherewithal to raise his wood and hide roundshield just in time. Regardless of the timing, the impact sent a shockwave of pain all the way to Roger's shoulder, which ricocheted back down as a tingling numbness. In that same moment, Roger's left hand swung low, aiming for the fat artery he knew to be at the front of the Harclay's thigh. Brandon had a fighter's instinct however, pivoting clockwise to parry low with his own shield. For Roger, this was not a great start. His shield felt heavy in his deadened arm, whilst his opponent remained limber. With Brandon dominant in the right hand and Roger the left, the fight lacked the rhythmic pace of the average encounter. Both men felt slightly awkward in each exchange, but this was made up for by the ferocity of each blow.
It could only have been two minutes of affray before Roger felt sweat coating his back. His muscles ached and his breath stung with the metallic taste of adrenaline as the pair separate from a particularly vigorous clash. Circling his opponent, eyes open for any weakness, Roger did not feel the tide of battle was in his favour. He had accepted death as a likely outcome from this clash and had made his peace with it. Win or lose, either outcome would be better than barely ekeing out a meagre existance in the hostile high mountains.
"A weak display," the Harclay goaded him, the haft of his axe resting atop his buckler. "I've sparred opponents with more spunk than you boy. It's plain to see why the history books have overlooked your house."
As Brandon rattled on, Roger charged, hoping to catch him unawares as he monologued. This played exactly into the hands of the Harclay, who dashed forwards to meet the charge, getting in and under Roger's swing. He swept his shield upwards, batting Roger's axe up and testing the Liddle's balance. Too close quarters for the killing axeblow, Brandon drove his forehead into Roger's nose, busting it wide open and causing hot blood to trickle down Roger's throat and interfere with his breathing. The Harclay had hoped his opponent would stumble then, giving him an opening to drive his axe into that ob so vulnerable neck, but Roger recovered quickly, hawking up a thick wad of phlegm and blood and spitting it into the Harclay's face. Brandon's eyes reflexively shut against the offensive missile, which was all the time Roger needed to slam the face of his shield into the Harclay, driving him back a footstep. Momentarily blinded and unable to wipe his face clean, Brandon incorrectly guessed at an overhead swing and raised his shield to protect his head. Roger swept his axe horizontally, catching his opponent under his mail shirt and tearing into his abdomen.
Loops if bowel protruded from the Harclay's front and he knew immediately that he was slain. The pain was unimagineable, but Roger was shocked to see him keep his footing, his weapons still raised aggressively. He thought for a moment that the Harclay would rush him again, but Brandon saw the futility and cast his axe and shield to the ground.
"You'd better do a decent fucking job," he spat bitterly, fighting the urge to drop to his knees and lose his pride.
Roger dropped his sword and took a two-handed grip of his axe handle. "I'll make sure they remember," he replied, before rotating the full force of his body into a killing blow that split the Harclay's skull and ended his pain immediately.
(I'll find a faceclaim when I can but whem I search for androids from dbz it's difficult to filter the smut).
