Post by ZacDunn on Mar 28, 2019 15:10:33 GMT -5
Character you wish to be: Bardock
Planet you want to start on: Vegeta
(Canons only) Distribute 2,500 points
(Plus the +100 all stats and 10 Character traits)
- Strength:700
- Speed:550
- Toughness: 700
- Stamina: 500
- Vitality:550
Distribute 3 points
- Determination:8
- Charisma:4
- Intelligence: 1
Pick one green fundamental to start with (list here): Bukujutsu
How did you find this site: Google
Email Address: SSJ_Bardock@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 dozens 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 the while 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 disgust and fought the urge to spit, then continued once more 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. They stood, gestured out with withered fingers at individuals. A thick muscled warrior would nod, and two of his companions would move forward to apprehend anyone pointed out.
They must be screening these refugees and slaves, looking for high power levels… his thoughts trailed off as three of the robed figured simultaneously 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 figures raised a small hand and slapped lightly at his scouter, as in disbelief at what it displayed.
Despite himself Trunks felt a slight smirk creep across his features as four warriors encircled him, singling him out as the crowd of feeble bodied refugees pressed against one another as if Trunks were a viper set to strike a deadly blow to anyone too near.
These were the warriors of legend; stories he had grown up on. He watched them with interest as 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. He had been taught long ago that each Saiyan was raised to be a warrior first. To above all else prepare for war, to fight for glory, for pride, for death.
He considered granting them their desire, but stopped short. Now was not the time for such things. While he had not intended to make his arrival known so soon, it was clear that there was little choice 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 that whatever the new arrival revealed would be excuse enough for them to attack.
Before they could get close enough Trunks withdrew the hand, holding 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 gazes to anything other than immediately at him. The expressions once full of indignation, apprehension, and fear 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 find the truth of how this one came to own the King's personal seal.”
The one who spoke stepped forward, tall and dark of hair like his Saiyan brethren. Muscle like corded steel bulged from beneath the jet black body glove that covered his body from the neck to his ankles. 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
(Plus the +100 all stats and 10 Character traits)
- Strength:700
- Speed:550
- Toughness: 700
- Stamina: 500
- Vitality:550
Distribute 3 points
- Determination:8
- Charisma:4
- Intelligence: 1
Pick one green fundamental to start with (list here): Bukujutsu
How did you find this site: Google
Email Address: SSJ_Bardock@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 dozens 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 the while 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 disgust and fought the urge to spit, then continued once more 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. They stood, gestured out with withered fingers at individuals. A thick muscled warrior would nod, and two of his companions would move forward to apprehend anyone pointed out.
They must be screening these refugees and slaves, looking for high power levels… his thoughts trailed off as three of the robed figured simultaneously 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 figures raised a small hand and slapped lightly at his scouter, as in disbelief at what it displayed.
Despite himself Trunks felt a slight smirk creep across his features as four warriors encircled him, singling him out as the crowd of feeble bodied refugees pressed against one another as if Trunks were a viper set to strike a deadly blow to anyone too near.
These were the warriors of legend; stories he had grown up on. He watched them with interest as 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. He had been taught long ago that each Saiyan was raised to be a warrior first. To above all else prepare for war, to fight for glory, for pride, for death.
He considered granting them their desire, but stopped short. Now was not the time for such things. While he had not intended to make his arrival known so soon, it was clear that there was little choice 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 that whatever the new arrival revealed would be excuse enough for them to attack.
Before they could get close enough Trunks withdrew the hand, holding 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 gazes to anything other than immediately at him. The expressions once full of indignation, apprehension, and fear 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 find the truth of how this one came to own the King's personal seal.”
The one who spoke stepped forward, tall and dark of hair like his Saiyan brethren. Muscle like corded steel bulged from beneath the jet black body glove that covered his body from the neck to his ankles. 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.”
