Post by Future Trunks on Mar 26, 2019 16:32:43 GMT -5
Character you wish to be: Future Trunks
Planet you want to start on: Vegeta
(Canons only) Distribute 2,500 points
- Strength:600
- Speed:450
- Toughness: 600
- Stamina: 400
- Vitality:450
Distribute 3 points
- Determination:1
- Charisma:1
- Intelligence: 1
Pick one green fundamental to start with (list here): Beam Ball
How did you find this site: Google
Email Address: Future.Trunks87@outlook.com
Please include a small sample role play:
The wind was hot, and arid. The dust was thick and oppressive, it got everywhere, it got into everything. Teams of sweaty slaves worked to unclog massive world engines of the hundreds of starships that ferried fresh slaves and goods from distant worlds.
Dozens of massive ships sat on landing pads, dozens more descended from orbit to vomit their cargo, clear their engines, and disappear once again into the void of space. All under the watchful eyes of warriors in standard issued armor, jet black hair, and tails wrapped tightly around their armored waists.
Trunks followed the line of hunched figures that snaked down the landing ramp of the ship. He pulled a dusty cloak up over his face to shield his mouth, but it was no use. He gave up with mild irritation, and continued down to the landing pad.
More slaves in long white robes held data scrolls and peered out into the swelling crowd of refugees, and recently captured slaves through the colored lens of scouters. They stood on a raised metallic platform, surrounded by a phalanx of warriors.
The robed figures stood, pointing out with withered fingers at individuals. A thick muscled warrior would nod, and two of his companions would move forward to apprehend anyone pointed at.
They must be screening these refugees and slaves, looking for high power levels… his thought trailed off as three of the robed figured turned a gnarled finger at him. Shit…
“That one!” A shrill voice cried from behind the press of warriors. “Grab him, bring him!” One of the figured raised a small hand slapped lightly at his scouter, as in disbelief at what it displayed.
Despite himself Trunks felt a slight grin creep across his features as four warriors encircled him, singling him out as the crowd of feeble bodied refugees pressed away as if he were a viper.
These were the warriors of legend; stories he had grown up on. They moved with an apparent grace, ready for him to fight, nay, not ready, yearning. They wanted him to make a move, he could sense their barely checked rage, like caged animals they wanted him to resist. Each Saiyan was raised to be a warrior first. To above all else prepare for war, for the glory, for pride, for death.
He considered granting them their desire, but now was not the time for such things. He had not wanted to make his arrival known so soon, and cursed himself for not considering that they would guard against the chance that a spy would attempt to secret themselves amongst the teams of slaves that were deposited on this desolate world. Of course they would, he had been a fool not to see it.
No matter, he would have to adjust. He held up one hand, palm out, in a non-threatening gesture. And reached beneath his cloak slowly with the other. One of the soldiers closing in on him grinned, excited no doubt with anticipation.
Before they could get close enough Trunks withdrew the hand, hold a small brass emblem. All of those who could see what he held knew what it was, as one they dropped to one knee, diverting their gaze. The expressions of indignation and apprehension were replaced with quiet subservience. “My name is Trunks, I am the grandson of your King, Vegeta. I… request an audience.”
Two of the attendants in robes conferred among their group in hushed whispers. “The royal seal?”
“He is of royal blood.”
“Impossible, there is no record of any descendent Trunks.”
More whispers, until their words became inaudible. “Silence!” A deep voice growled from among the throng of Saiyan warriors. “Who, or what he is does not matter. That is a royal seal, the King will want to see him.”
The one who spoke stepped forward, tall and dark of heir like his Saiyan brethren. Muscle like corded streel bulged from beneath the jet black body glove that covered his him. His armor did not match those of the other Saiyans, white with golden trimmed shoulder plates. Artistic scroll work danced ornamentally along the lower torso, and a red emblem had been painted onto the chest plate just above the warriors heart. The same design as the bronze mark Trunks held up, not just any Saiyan, an elite, and one whose sole duty was to protect the King, Vegeta.
He gave the slightest of bows, “This way, prince.”
Planet you want to start on: Vegeta
(Canons only) Distribute 2,500 points
- Strength:600
- Speed:450
- Toughness: 600
- Stamina: 400
- Vitality:450
Distribute 3 points
- Determination:1
- Charisma:1
- Intelligence: 1
Pick one green fundamental to start with (list here): Beam Ball
How did you find this site: Google
Email Address: Future.Trunks87@outlook.com
Please include a small sample role play:
The wind was hot, and arid. The dust was thick and oppressive, it got everywhere, it got into everything. Teams of sweaty slaves worked to unclog massive world engines of the hundreds of starships that ferried fresh slaves and goods from distant worlds.
Dozens of massive ships sat on landing pads, dozens more descended from orbit to vomit their cargo, clear their engines, and disappear once again into the void of space. All under the watchful eyes of warriors in standard issued armor, jet black hair, and tails wrapped tightly around their armored waists.
Trunks followed the line of hunched figures that snaked down the landing ramp of the ship. He pulled a dusty cloak up over his face to shield his mouth, but it was no use. He gave up with mild irritation, and continued down to the landing pad.
More slaves in long white robes held data scrolls and peered out into the swelling crowd of refugees, and recently captured slaves through the colored lens of scouters. They stood on a raised metallic platform, surrounded by a phalanx of warriors.
The robed figures stood, pointing out with withered fingers at individuals. A thick muscled warrior would nod, and two of his companions would move forward to apprehend anyone pointed at.
They must be screening these refugees and slaves, looking for high power levels… his thought trailed off as three of the robed figured turned a gnarled finger at him. Shit…
“That one!” A shrill voice cried from behind the press of warriors. “Grab him, bring him!” One of the figured raised a small hand slapped lightly at his scouter, as in disbelief at what it displayed.
Despite himself Trunks felt a slight grin creep across his features as four warriors encircled him, singling him out as the crowd of feeble bodied refugees pressed away as if he were a viper.
These were the warriors of legend; stories he had grown up on. They moved with an apparent grace, ready for him to fight, nay, not ready, yearning. They wanted him to make a move, he could sense their barely checked rage, like caged animals they wanted him to resist. Each Saiyan was raised to be a warrior first. To above all else prepare for war, for the glory, for pride, for death.
He considered granting them their desire, but now was not the time for such things. He had not wanted to make his arrival known so soon, and cursed himself for not considering that they would guard against the chance that a spy would attempt to secret themselves amongst the teams of slaves that were deposited on this desolate world. Of course they would, he had been a fool not to see it.
No matter, he would have to adjust. He held up one hand, palm out, in a non-threatening gesture. And reached beneath his cloak slowly with the other. One of the soldiers closing in on him grinned, excited no doubt with anticipation.
Before they could get close enough Trunks withdrew the hand, hold a small brass emblem. All of those who could see what he held knew what it was, as one they dropped to one knee, diverting their gaze. The expressions of indignation and apprehension were replaced with quiet subservience. “My name is Trunks, I am the grandson of your King, Vegeta. I… request an audience.”
Two of the attendants in robes conferred among their group in hushed whispers. “The royal seal?”
“He is of royal blood.”
“Impossible, there is no record of any descendent Trunks.”
More whispers, until their words became inaudible. “Silence!” A deep voice growled from among the throng of Saiyan warriors. “Who, or what he is does not matter. That is a royal seal, the King will want to see him.”
The one who spoke stepped forward, tall and dark of heir like his Saiyan brethren. Muscle like corded streel bulged from beneath the jet black body glove that covered his him. His armor did not match those of the other Saiyans, white with golden trimmed shoulder plates. Artistic scroll work danced ornamentally along the lower torso, and a red emblem had been painted onto the chest plate just above the warriors heart. The same design as the bronze mark Trunks held up, not just any Saiyan, an elite, and one whose sole duty was to protect the King, Vegeta.
He gave the slightest of bows, “This way, prince.”
