Joining

Planet you want to start on:

(Customs Only) Character Race:

(Canons only) Distribute 2,500 points

Strength: 300

Speed: 750

Toughness: 300

Stamina: 650

Vitality: 500
Distribute 3 points

Determination: 0

Charisma: 2

Intelligence: 1


Pick one green fundamental to start with (list here): Bukujutsu


(Aliens & Changelings Only) Stat you wish increased by +100: Vitality


How did you find this site: Google.


(Required) Email Address: ruchyapkmn@gmail.com

A muted dawn approaches, and encroaching sunrise spills smattering hues of orange, red, yellow, and blue against a still dark canvas of misty sky. A breeze, howling gently across the plains, stirs the once sleeping natural scenery into activity. The time is three-thirty in the morning, and not even the birds are yet awake to sing.

But she is.

A boot, yellow as a hornet's stripes with black geometric details, swings freely aloft; swaying to and fro, suspended above the stirring fauna of the plains, it comes precariously close to striking the stone upon which its wearer sits with each returning stroke. Its twin sits perched upon the rock's face, her legs spread almost brutishly apart in what would be a decidedly unlady-ike fashion were it not for the airy pants of soft cotton-like fibers she wears.

Her elfin, emerald, countenance is a mask of tranquil passivity; her delicate and supple flesh is like the surface of water whose tension is yet unbroken. Her eyes, lethally piercing even in this state of calm, seem bewitched by the dawn even as a delicate hand unconsciously traces wild, flowing, ringlets of fire.

And then...

Those piercing eyes narrow to baleful slits and carry suddenly to one side.

"...And here I thought today was going to be boring..." comes a hiss like a serpent's warning as her lithe, doll-like, figure levitates lazily upwards, lifted as though she were a marionette on invisible strings. She slides gracefully backwards and upwards even as she orients herself to face the oncoming danger, thin limbs purposefully snaking themselves into a defiant interweave. "...I'm not going to bewitch this one, and I'm not going to win... I'd better figure something out. I thought I'd done a better job of hiding than this! What a persistent mosquito..."

Avian singing, at this time, slowly begins to fade-in against the backdrop of silence; the life of the morning has come even as death swiftly approaches...