Returning player - Goku

Starting Technique: Bukujutsu

Character Bio:

Born under the red skies of the planet Vegeta, seat of the war-faring and blood-lusting Saiyan Empire, Kakarot might have been a force to rend the Worlds asunder. Might have, for despite his birthplace, Kakarot was raised neither as a Saiyan, nor as a ruthless killer. By fortune or ill luck, the babe was dispatched to a once lonely rock in the fringes of space, the sapphire and emerald orb called Earth. Upon arrival, Kakarot cracked his cranium, entering into a semi-permanent fugue state for most of his youth. For the first five years of Kakarot's life on Earth, he went by the name Goku, and trained and lived alongside an elderly martial artist, who tended to him as his own son.

These peaceful years would draw to a close when Goku, just shy of his sixth birthday, caught sight of the full moon for the first time in his young life. All became red; when next the boy found consciousness, his childhood home lay in ruin, along with much of the mountainside he'd come to know and love. This event awakened something in Goku, and led him to discover the small pod he'd arrived in. Inside, he found a Scouter, a small suit of armor, and a simple datachip. It did not take long to find the Scouter fit snugly over his left ear and eye; when he found a slot to place the datachip, a video began to play, illuminating Goku's origins, and revealing to the youthful Saiyan just what had happened the night before, when he'd seen the full moon.

Kakarot would spend the next decade wrestling with his nature; to honor the caretaker he'd slain, Kakarot trained under the Earth's finest Martial Artists. On his sixteenth birthday, he participated in the Budokai Tenkaichi tournament, and found the competition lacking. Thirsting for conflict, the Saiyan returned to his childhood home, and experimented with his Pod until he discovered a means of manipulating its coordinates. It took another four years of trial and error, during which Kakarot landed on several planets between Earth and his home world.

But, finally, just days after his 22nd birthday, while cooking a meal over open fire on the latest semi-inhabited moon he'd landed on during his search for the Saiyan homeworld, Kakarot's Scouter alerted him to a trio of power sources approaching his small camp. Standing and wielding the half-seared leg of some insectoid beast like a club, Kakarot gazed forlornly into the dark, observing the three rapidly approaching dots with a wary sort of interest.

The trio arrived in a flurry of sporadic, anxiously flickering auras, stirring dust and debris as they landed one after the other. Though the air filled with nervous energy, Kakarot and his three visitors each remained jarringly silent. It was difficult to make out any useful details about the three mystery figures; they stood just outside of the fire's light, and their auras were dim, sporadic, and hinted at an anxious, frantic energy- almost as though they operated on battle stimulants and fear, rather than that fighting spirit Kakarot had grown accustomed to from Earth's warriors.

This anxious, drug fueled energy was all too common in the Galaxy's fringes.

The silence continued, and a sense of the unheimlich spread through the prodigal Saiyan's core. With no preamble, a fourth power signature emerged. In the center of the triangle formed by the three strange warriors, a golden aura flared to life, illuminating a figure who stood at an easy 2.5 Meters in height. Eyes of emerald sat as jewels in a crown of liquid gold; a mane, spiked out aggressively in all directions, roiled about the giant's shoulders like a flame. The three anxious warriors around the giant fell to their knees, and only in the blazing light of the giant's own aura could Kakarot finally see that each warrior possessed the tail of a monkey, so very much like his own. As though moving of its own volition, Kakarot's tail unfurled from his waist in that moment. As it did, the giant's foreboding expression loosened into a grin.

 

Sample RP: (This can be previously written for another site, or written on the fly. It might be at least 300 words)

[[Excerpt from a book I'm writing]]

The Lone Star Saloon is the only building left standing in the wake of Devil Knight Ten’s battle with the National Guard. I know this because, despite the drying blood that stains my skin and the shredded field jacket still clinging to my shoulders, my fingers are raised to hail the Lone Star’s draconic tender, a man so thin his skin clings to his bones. He asks what I want. Texas Mule- vodka with jalapeno juice. His hands shake as he scans my Li-Watch, a small datapad I wear around my left wrist that contains my wallet’s address. His hands shake as he guts a jalapeno and drains its juice into my glass. His hands shake as he pours the vodka in. His entire body shakes as he moves to the far end of the bar, where Devil Knight Ten sits, the top half of her armor retracted into the lower half, allowing for greater mobility of the arms.

“Bring me a fresh bottle of your finest scotch,” she says. She leans forward on the bar so that her elbows push her face nearly over the bar’s edge, as though an entity as threatening as she needs to rely on seduction. “And a jug full of water, please.” She bats her lashes to accentuate the sentence. My attention is slipping from her. Despite the sea of bodies less than a mile from the Lone Star. Despite the stench of death that permeates both of us. Despite the understanding that she could remove my torso from my abdomen in a matter of nano-seconds.

I just… Don’t care.

I throw back the entire Texas Mule in one gulp, and hail the tender for another. He sees me, as he’s making his way to the back-end to fetch Ten’s scotch. Holding his gaze, I run my fingers over the handle of the RailRifle that pokes over my shoulder. “Another.” The tender gulps. I smirk as his eyes move between Ten and I.

Which of us is faster? Which of us is more sadistic? More efficient? More-

A fresh coat of blood douses my shirt and face. An eyeball rolls through the air, and comes to rest in front of me, its pupils gazing into mine.
“Pah!” Ten growls. “I’ll get it myself.”

The Devil Knight makes her way behind the bar and, with a twist of her wrist, triggers a pulse wave that topples the wall which stands between her, and her scotch. She puts one foot through the hole, but pauses, and cranes her neck to gaze at me. “You should be running, little boy. Why aren’t you?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I hold her gaze for one heartbeat. Two. Three. Then, I pull myself over the bar, turn to face forward, and begin making my own Texas Mule. A twelve count, not the cheap dousing of vodka the- now eviscerated- tender had tried to shill me. I hear Ten laugh behind me, but I. Don’t. Care. All of this, I’m thinking, is just some bizarre dream. A feverish haze brought on by one too many psychedelic tabs. I’m laying on the floor in my college dorm right now, dreading an exam I didn’t study for.

I throw back half of my drink and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding- and then that breath is immediately sucked back in as I hear the clink of glass on glass, right inside of my personal bubble. I shift my eyes to Ten, the seven foot behemoth of a woman who now stands mere inches from me.

“I knew I left a few survivors,” she tells me, “but all of them played dead or fled. But you… You’re… different. What’s your name, boy?”

I turn to face her, allowing myself to wobble, just a little. I’m not drunk, but I’d rather she believed me to be hammered so that she underestimates me if this escalates. “When I was born,” I say, “the future seemed bright. I thought that I’d have thirty years to figure it out, thirty years to enjoy it, and ten years to watch the next generation grow up. And then…” I paused, raising my glass to cheer with the Devil Knight before downing the remainder of my Texas Mule.

She drains her bottle of scotch in a single gulp, and she doesn’t even flinch. She sighs, seemingly satisfied, before asking, “And then?”

“And then Hale. And, obviously, your precursors.”

“My precursors?” She asks. She reminds me of a cat, toying with a mouse.

I’m the mouse.

“You know,” I say, gesturing vaguely towards the front door. “The monsters. Or… Mutants? Not sure the… Scientifically correct term. Just that one second, everything made sense, and the next, I was watching a fragging Cyclopes eat my father’s torso, while some cheap Sasquatch imitation gnawed on his thigh.”