Post by jediofrealms on Jan 5, 2013 21:08:42 GMT -5
Character Name: Zagato
Name: Tarble Zagato
Nickname: Zagato
Gender: Male
Age: 14
Race: Half-Saiyan
Aura Color: Dark blue with a white tinge on the outline of the Aura. The white seems slight at first but then builds the longer he powers up. As if his pure of heart nature is busting through at the core of his being. It is said that when he performs a powerful move, his eyes glow a slight white for a minute. But he can't confirm this. The stronger his power Level rises the more white that surrounds the aura.
Description:
He is still growing into his body, as it is you can tell he is a warrior. Standing small a 5ft even and weighing just 120 pounds, his slender build and compact muscles give me a wirey and lanky build. He wears a black and white Gi most of the time when training and is not found of shoes. Loving to go barefoot most places. He wears a green crystal necklace on a golden chain that is a gift from his foster family that he lives with on earth. His hair and eyes are both black like the typical Saiyan, but much softer and lighter. His hair growing in every direction on top of his head. Spiky and flat at the same time. His eyes are hard and narrow when in the presence of bullies. But other then that are soft and gentle.
Alignment: Good, Food, Earth.
Personality:
Stubborn does not even begin to cover how his Saiyan pride functions. He wants to be a great fighter, but has found the Saiyan way to not be the way for him. Is too gentle in heart and spirit to function as a ruthless warlord or Alien Conqueror. So he broke off from all that and became a defender for peace. Choosing to ally up with the Earth Defense Force and protect the planet he has come to love. He is much younger then other Saiyans and do to some unique training in his past has developed a never give up attitude. He shows mercy to his allies which is a strange trait for a Saiyan, one he is not sure where he got it from. Certainly not his father who is the barbariac idiot Saiyan that would make King Vegeta proud. No matter what happens or how the odds are stacked against him, Zagato will never give up and never surrender. Somewhat loud and uncouth.
Abilities:
Near Death Gain - A Saiyan's body is built for battle. While each and every fight allows them to grow stronger, it is only when their bodies are brought back and recover from a brutal experience/battle in which they barely survive. In this situation a Saiyan gains 10% more of a power level gain than they originally would from a fight. Does not work if damage is self-inflicted. Also, this only applies when you are in a Player versus Player Rp. With this, your opponent also has to be at least 2x your own strength throughout the course battle.
Mimicry - Refers to the coveted ability to copy another fighter's technique after seeing it used only once. Saiyans can only mimic techniques that are similar to their own a ki based.
Flight - The ability to use one's Ki to levitate or fly.
History:
Prologue
Every parent wants to believe that their child is special or different. But truth be told we are all cookie cutter cut outs of someone else. Not made as a special snowflake, but some type of mixed up batch of random effects and abilities strewn together from different people in the past.
This much was true and it wasn't for Tarble Zagato. A Saiyan with a PL of 8 at birth, considering his parents were low classed Warriors who lived only for the cause, they could care less of their 5th youngest son being born. Once they read his power level was 200 points below any child born within the past 10 years, they gave up on him. Never going to see him or caring what happened to him.
So as what happened with most children, Zagato had a somewhat normal childhood. Except fro the fact that he was different, his parents didn't love him, he grew up in a society that caring for the weak and having a sense of wonder was punished with violence. Zagato spent his formative years training and exercising with other forgotten children. Shadowing missions and training against Saibamen until he could grow strong enough to beat them. He never conquered a planet, and nothing special ever happened to him. He never had any very special friends and nothing of wonder or unique happenings ever occurred during his early childhood. All until one day, in which someone took a notice to him and he finally showed his worth. Who knew that the Saiyan misfit Zagato, would find his true home among a planet called Earth?
Part One
“Get out of here, you worthless runt!” roared a brutish Saiyan, the roar accompanied by a heavy kick which landed square in Tarble’s face, flooring him. “You can’t dodge, you can hardly control your energy, you can barely even throw a punch, why should we even bother training you? It’s hopeless!”
The burly Saiyan and his companion, an equally well built but slightly higher ranked warrior spat at Tarble before turning their backs to him and leaving. If he were any other Saiyan they probably would have killed him and called it a training accident, but they were responsible for keeping the younger low class warrior alive as well as ‘training’ him.
Wiping the saliva of the other Saiyans off his brow, Tarble began to rise to his feet only to stumble down and land on his back once more. Gazing at the ceiling of the training room, he wondered what would happen if he told his father, the King, that instead of being trained, he was just being beaten to within an inch of his life. It’d probably just make everything worse, but he had to figure out something soon, his father was expecting him to join the Saiyan military soon and swiftly rise to an elite. It was no secret among Saiyans that one day they would be free and then the galaxy would have to deal with their might planet by planet. No doubt King Vegeta wanted Tarble to instead be responsible for cleaning pots and urinals, for his worth was seriously underestimated.
“Urgh my face,” moaned Tarble, sitting up and rubbing at his nose. It was bleeding but not broken, for that he was thankful, he really didn't feel like paying another visit to the recovery tanks. As if it wasn't bad enough he got pounded every day, the commander of the recovery facility would give his usual greeting to Tarble. ‘Well if it isn't the Prince of all Cowards!’ followed by a hearty laugh and a distasteful grin. Typical Saiyan ways, adding insult to injury.
Standing and making his way slowly out of the training room, he wondered how he would fare in the initiation test. Saiyans stronger and wiser than him had never returned from some of the King’s tests and no doubt his would be particularly challenging. His father knew he was weak, but thought he was being trained to the standard of some of the most elite warriors in the army. Sadly he muttered to himself Why couldn't I be more like you, big brother?
There were a lot of things that set Tarble apart from most Saiyans. In short he was the opposite of the typical Saiyan. He was short, scrawny, almost no muscle to brag about. He couldn't control his ki properly although he’d been able to fly since he was younger, his offensive prowess meant he could barely take on a child with proper training. Though despite all his shortcomings, the thing that truly set him apart was experience. He had never fought a true battle, never felt the rush of adrenaline that supposedly all Saiyans feel when they destroy their opponents. He had no scars of battle like most Saiyans and although he possessed the most powerful tool of Saiyans, a tail, he’d never transformed into an Oozaru.
Planet Vegeta only experienced a full moon every 100 years, and Tarble was not alive to see the last one, though the stories of it were Saiyan legend, and until he was strong enough to actually lead a team off world, it was likely he’d never experience the Oozaru form. This left him nothing but the armour he wore for protection. When the time for his initiation came, he would surely be killed.
Sighing, he walked down the corridor, peering in to the next room along watching two Saiyan elites sparring one another. Blood and sweat dripped off the two elite warriors as Tarble walked past. He didn't even want to be as strong as them, just strong enough to be respected as a Saiyan. He wanted to be strong enough to not have to hide behind his allies, but to fight alongside them, to protect them.
Closing his eyes he sighed once more, walking around the corner that led outside the palace and away from the cruel eyes of his peers. No sooner had he turned the corner he felt himself land once more on his back, having impacted against something and feeling papers land over his face. Realizing the meaning of what just happened, he immediately got on his knees, holding the papers and begged forgiveness to the man he had bumped into.
“What a strange sight,” the man began to reply “a Saiyan low class dirtball begging forgiveness from one of his subjects, when in fact I should be apologizing to you. However if you truly feel you have wronged me, perhaps you would assist me in carrying some of this.” The man gestured to the stack of paper he was carrying. Surveying him, Tarble noticed he wasn't as well-built as the average Saiyan, but wore the armour of an elite.
Glad to avoid a fight he’d surely lose given his lack of strength or training, he obliged to help the elite, sneaking a glance at the top of the pile, he saw a drawing of an Oozaru, gazing not at a moon, but at a strange ball of what he guessed comprised of Ki.
Spying Tarble glancing, the elite smirked, “Not the kind of thing they’ll be teaching you yet, young Tarble. Very useful to know but you’ll still be learning the basics for your initiation I assume.” Tarble stopped at this, wincing at the thought of his initiation. It seemed all the Saiyans knew about it, and yet he was totally unprepared, and even if he survived he’d be the laughing stock of the Saiyan homeworld, he’d probably have to leave in shame.
Finding his voice, and mustering all his courage to this elite just to get if off his chest, he quietly stuttered, “Actually, they…they haven’t taught me a thing. My training is just a beating, I doubt I’ll ever be ready to pass my initiation, let alone learn a technique like that.”
Part Two
They walked in silence for the rest of the trek, out of the palace and into a large area, void of life other than the two of them, desolation defined. “Young Tarble, part of my duty as a Saiyan elite is to protect the royal family from all threats,” the man started, putting his stack of paper down and indicating for Tarble to do the same.
“Included in protecting you from all threats includes your own weakness. I do not believe you are truly as weak as you believe. Come, let us spar until my squad arrives, if you have the time, my friend.” Nodding, almost shyly, the young Saiyan ran toward him, arms flailing in punches with no rhythm or style, which the warrior easily dodged, pinning Tarble to the floor with a single hand, gripping onto his tail with the other.
“Unh…” moaned Tarble, feeling the little strength he had drain away, barely able to concentrate and completely at the mercy of the elite Saiyan. Moving his hand to over Tarble’s heart, the elite began to charge a small ki blast. “If I was your enemy, you’d be dead. You’re really not a fighter are you?”
“I want to be!” yelled Tarble, as the elite released his tail from his grip allowing him to stand once more. “I want to be a true Saiyan Elite like my big brother, but I can’t if no one teaches me any techniques!”
At that moment, three Saiyan pods landed close to the two of them, and from each emerged a warrior, not as highly ranked as the man stood near Tarble, each slightly more muscular in build but still not particularly strong compared to average Saiyans.
“Men, this is Tarble, youngest son of Aldar Zagato. Tarble, this is my squad, there is no reason for me to tell you their names, they amount to nothing as far as you are concerned, I’m sure. Pick one of them to spar against, if you would. That is if you're not afraid?”
Tarble looked shocked, his weakness had just been displayed once already, and now they were asking him to fight again. This was just as bad as his daily ‘Training’, and just like that he refused to quit or run away, no matter how much he wanted to. “Umm, I guess I’ll spar, umm…the one on the right?” came Tarble’s reply, phrased more as a question than an answer as he pointed to what was possibly the most muscular of all the Saiyans gathered there.
Within seconds of his reply, the Saiyan that Tarble had pointed at charged at him, launching straight into a ferocious kick. Without thinking, Tarble swung his head to the side, narrowly dodging the kick. ‘That was a lot slower than when they kick me in training,’ he thought to himself, idly forgetting about the Saiyan who was still attempting to spar with him. Bringing him back to reality was a badly aimed punch that whizzed past his cheek, the force of which sent Tarble stumbling a few steps, behind the larger warrior, and as an elbow came his way, he felt himself drop to the floor to avoid it, gazing now in fright at the back of the warrior he was fighting.
Suddenly, something stirred within him. It was not anger, it was realisation of a sort as he lunged forwards and grabbed the other Saiyan by the tail, causing his opponent to fall to the ground almost completely incapacitated. “Victory to the young Saiyan known as Tarble!” shouted the elite who had led him here. Releasing the other man’s tail allowing him to stand once more, Tarble looked dumb-founded, he had actually beaten another Saiyan in combat.
“You’re pretty fast, I’ll give you that Runt,” grinned the Saiyan he’d just defeated, “Shame you’re never gonna be able to out-muscle a low rank Saiyan, let alone your enemies. Unless of course…”
“Satsumai, that’s enough!” snapped the elite, to which all three other men stood to attention quickly, they might out-muscle him but he outranked them by seemingly quite a large amount. “Sorry Commander Kabu!” replied Satsumai. “I was not thinking straight.”
“He’s not even passed his initiation yet, teaching him such a move now would be too dangerous, he could die,” pondered Kabu, who actually looked like quite an aging Saiyan compared to many of the others Tarble had seen. “I’m sure he doesn't want to risk his life, just to learn a technique most elites cannot even perform. Isn't that right Tarble?” Though the question was phrased to set him up to say he did not want to risk his life, the look in the older man’s eyes suggested that it was an open question.
Tarble already knew what the technique entailed; it was the ability to transform into the fabled Oozaru state at any time. Not once had he ever experience that rite of passage that many Saiyans younger than him were able to brag about, due to him being sheltered for his royal bloodline. He began to wonder whether it was his royal right, or even his duty to learn this technique and prove he was as capable as any other Saiyan.
His tail began to wriggle around behind him as the thought of transforming both inspired and terrified him. Even his own father had told him that the true potential of Saiyans was unlocked in their transformation and although that referred to the fact they increased in strength monumentally, Tarble wondered whether it was also a key to becoming equal to other Saiyans.
As the young Tarble gazed around the desolate landscape away from the palace, away from the training, the drinking, the endless fighting that was Saiyan custom determination formed in the Saiyan’s mind. He might never be King, but he absolutely had to become an Elite soldier, or he’d forever just be the runt Low-Class Warrior that couldn't fight.
“No,” he called out with determination he’d never shown before, right fist clenched and raised to chest level “You’re wrong, I want to learn this technique,” he called out, the four Saiyans surveying him, remaining silent forcing Tarble to step forward “Please, I MUST learn this technique, I have to pass my initiation and prove them all wrong, I just have to!”
Part Three
In the eyes of the four gathered Saiyans, Tarble saw a small gleam, similar to one most Saiyans had before a large battle, a large meal, or a large drinking festival. For what Tarble would not understand for some time yet was that these Saiyans were more like him than he knew. Once considered unfit to be part of their society they perfected a technique that made them more powerful and more useful to the Saiyan army than most burly elites. To their eyes, it was now time to make Tarble part of their small, select group of fighters, capable of manipulating the battle as they saw fit, and increasing their influence into the Royal family.
“Very well, though as a caution, you must only use this technique under certain circumstances, especially since given your experience you cannot possibly have mastered control over the Oozaru form,” began one of the men who had yet to be named or even spoken so far. “Indeed,” continued Commander Kabu, “You must never use this attack unless you are prepared to face the consequences. Which means it must never be used in the cities of Planet Vegeta as that would cause the entire population to transform and rip each other apart. Additionally, only use it as a last resort when part of a squad as if any of you are unable to control your Oozaru state, it is certain one of you will die.”
Tarble nodded, accepting the terms. He might be weak in body but he was strong minded and responsible at least. Commander Kabu nodded to the smaller stack of papers, silently telling Tarble to begin reading from them. Finally, Tarble thought to himself, I’m actually going to learn something and prove myself to my father, to everyone!
The Saiyan prince’s hair and tail quivered as a light breeze blew over him while he studied the papers. They told more of the theory of the technique than the practice. How the creation of a ball of energy could transform any Saiyan who looked at it into their Oozaru form. As a side note, it cautioned against using it unless necessary, due to the added fatigue compared to using a natural full moon and advised planning invasions in a way that would allow for natural transformation where possible.
“If you understand all of that, we can move on to the actual training,” smirked the Saiyan that Tarble had miraculously defeated earlier. “Now, charge a ball of Ki as you normally would,” he commanded, approaching Tarble as the prince frowned, about to say he didn’t think he could do it, given his lack of experience using ki attacks. Then, determination returning he stuck his arm crudely out and began to power up a ki ball. As the purple ki swirled to form a sphere, Satsumai shook his head. “No, you’re almost there but it needs to be purer, calmer,” he commented, placing his hand around Tarble’s wrist and channeling energy into him, turning the ball of ki into a solid white colour and then letting it fade. “Think you can imitate that?” he asked, returning to stand with the others.
Nodding in determination, Tarble began to power his ki once more.Purple ki began to emanate from his hand once more, forming a ball. Closing his eyes and breathing out deeply he began to focus and upon opening his eyes he saw that color was fading to the pure white of the ki ball. “Ha, I did it!” yelled Tarble, by no means hiding his joy at his success. The three second class Saiyans frowned but Commander Kabu smiled heartily. “Not quite sire,” he called out, “if you’d ‘done it’ we’d all be giant apes right now!” he noted, causing Tarble’s celebrations to stop as he gazed at his ki ball, noticing that indeed, he was not transforming.
Remembering the papers he’d read, in particular a diagram pertaining to the transformation, he remembered that the ball had to be in the air, and in a certain position at that, otherwise the technique would be no secret at all and the Saiyans would have either conquered the galaxy by now, or destroyed themselves to the point of extinction with the power. Calmly, he glanced down at the diagram once more and then into the sky, choosing where to place the ball. This was the true key to the technique, and a tremble formed throughout Tarble’s body as he realized how close he was to becoming one of a select few. For the first time he was glad of his royal blood giving him special treatment, instead of just higher expectations.
“When you throw the ball, make sure you don’t look. The last thing we need is an untrained Oozaru rampaging out here,” advised the commander, at the same time pointing to a spot in the sky just east of where Tarble was considering placing the ball. “Aim it there, and then close your eyes and look down immediately!” he commanded, causing a puzzled look to emerge on Tarble’s face. “If I don’t look, how will I know if it works?” he questioned, where most Saiyans would have simply obeyed. “ You've listened to us so far. Have a little trust,” the elderly Saiyan said, a slight hint of being offended in his tone. To that statement Tarble nodded, thrusting his hand into the air and his face down to the ground, eyes tight shut as the ball of ki flew into the air, his hand holding steady until he felt the ball was hopefully where it was meant to be.
“Now look at me. Do not take your eyes off me for a second unless you want to risk losing your tail for good,” instructed Kabu, with a serious look on his face as Tarble stared him down. “Now, shift your eyes slowly onto Satsumai.” Tarble did so, trembling a little as he realized how easily one mistake could turn this from an exciting new technique into a funeral, likely his. As he looked at Satsumai he saw that his pupils had dilated to a reddish tint and he was beginning to have convulsions, his body changing, growing larger and hairier until fully transformed into an Oozaru.
Jovial as ever, Tarble grinned to see his technique had worked. The threat of a giant ape was nothing compared to the joy he felt at that moment. The joy of finally having a special technique that could help him survive and pass initiation and maybe, just maybe, become an elite some day and live up to everybody’s expectations.
“Do not worry, he is fully in control of himself,” stated Kabu calmly as Satsumai in his giant ape form began to slowly wade away into the distance. “However that doesn't mean he can’t go on a little bit of a rampage away from the city,” he smirked, knowing full well that Satsumai was going to let his primal side out while he was waiting for the form to wear off.
No sooner had the ape wandered off did the two Saiyans which Tarble was training with earlier appear, with more serious looks on their faces than he had ever seen, which reflected in their dramatically altered tone. “Prince Tarble, come with me immediately,” ordered one while the other turned to confront Commander Kabu. “Prideless scum!” he yelled at the commander in an unusual clash of equally ranked warriors. “What revolutionary ideas have you been planting in the Prince’s mind? Our job is to protect him, not to corrupt him!” Tarble heard him yell as the other Saiyan guided him back to the palace.
Tarble did not understand what was meant by the clash between the two Saiyans outside, and he was sure it would not end well, but his thoughts drifted onto his new technique, and the fact he was finally ready for the initiation test. In fact, he felt ready for anything, save perhaps the fist of the Saiyan who guided him inside, which landed squarely in his gut.
Staggering back, without falling to the floor as usual he tensed his body, ready for a possible second blow, which came surprisingly slow compared to what he was used to. Swiftly moving to the side, similarly to how he had done it earlier against the Saiyan form of Satsumai, he moved round to grab the Elites tail.
“I did it!” he yelled happily as he grabbed on to the tail, only to be sent flying by an elbow strike to his face. “Hmph,” called out the Elite, “I don’t know what they taught you out there, but it seems you’re finally paying attention, which is more than I could ever say for our sparring practice. Maybe it’s time to teach you a few fighting moves after all. Tarble...”
And with that first sign of respect, followed by a salute, the Elite walked off, leaving Tarble to consider how far he’d come, and how he’d gotten to the point that he knew his first technique and might soon learn some more in time to begin his ascent to becoming an Elite commander in his own right.
Part Four
Tarble was 14 now. His own Saiyan pod and 6 other Saiyan Warriors, all Low Class, but warriors still the same. He didn't remember the name of the planet nor care, he was not the leader. Some fat arrogant ugly henchman named Dodoria whom worked for Frieza was. Tarble never made it to the planet though. He was attack in mid air with the other Saiyan Space Pods and if it was not for some faulty wiring in his cheap pod he would of been killed with the other Saiyans, by Dodoria's hands. But because of the faulty wiring, his ship ended up jumping to twice the speed of light and ended up on a collision course with Earth.
Once he landed there, his pod was destroyed and he was taken in by some kind strangers whom lived in the outer mountains of West City. He had never experienced kindness before and it awoke the inner good inside of him. It didn't take long before he ended up offering his services to the Earth's Defense Force. Doing whatever he could to protect this planet he had come to love. No longer did he feel like an outsider among his peers. He was treated well for being different and talented. Being kind and showing mercy was not a punishment on this place but a reward. Even if he was a bit loud and uncouth, no one seemed to mind that much.
Rules Password: None
Other Characters: None
RP Experience: 10 years
RP Sample: ((OOC: This is from a WW1 Trail of Cthulhu Horror RPG I am currently playing in. My character is a 16 year old Private who was just injured in his very first combat.))
Ben sighed and looked at the roof of the ambulance. Every bump making the bayonet wound on his lower left leg scream out in protest. Meanwhile inside he was having a war with his conscience and survival instinct. Like two brothers arguing over their favorite sled. Over it all was the same phrase running through his mind. I am not a coward, I am not a coward. I AM NOT A COWARD!
As the next jump jarred him out of bed, he looked to the ambulance tech in back with him an winced as the man fell on top of his legs. Causing him to cry out in pain. His mind went back to the battlefield and what got him into this situation.
It was early nightfall and he had been following the Sarge willingly. Ben looked up to the man and loved working with him. Never pushed too hard and never too much. But wasn't so soft you judged him as inferior. Ben knew he was green and it showed. But his rifle marksmanship was very much up to par. Sliding his M1 Garand off his back he adjusted the leather strap and took a crouch behind the fallen log. He was talking up a small nest to provide covering fire for Sarge and his men leading the charge into the trench. Ben's orders were simple, just shoot and provide cover. Then come in with the second wave.
So Ben did just that. But he froze, he couldn't help it. The blood and the smell of gunpowder was more overwhelming then he could ever imagine it to be. Within the first wave, the young man next to him was shot right through the left eye. Blood an eye fragments splattering Ben's face like the mist from a tree limb as you walk under it and a frightened bird takes flight on a dew covered Autumn morning. Except it was coppery and warm and it made Ben want to slide down into the ground and just live there. Perhaps take up a residence and small house in a nearby ant farm. Then he wouldn't have to fight. Ben just layed there on a log for what seemed like hours. But before he knew it, the second wave was up and running and someone was yelling at him to move. A Cpl from the look of his uniform was dragging him along with him.
Ben finally kicked it into gear. He ran down into the trench and fired at an enemy soldier manning a mortar launcher. The shot took the Soldier in the shoulder and he spun falling backwards on some barbed wire. Ben knew to look away from the death he caused would be cowardice and dishonest to what he had done. So he forced himself to watch the horror unfold. Taking a crouched position from behind an food ration case. He racked the bolt in his rifle and fired another round. This one taking a running soldier in the upper back. Meanwhile his eyes grazed back to the soldier with the shoulder wound fighting to get out of the barbed wire. It was horrible and it was almost as if the screams could be heard over the sounds of all the other screams and gunfire. It wretched at Ben's soul, taking him to a whole new level. Ben just racked the chamber of his rifle and kept firing. Going through the motions. Reload, fire, reload, fire. It was all he could do to hold onto his Sanity.
Then a dull pain started in his lower leg. He turned to look down and there was an enemy soldier with a bayonet in his hand, his left arm burned off and half his torso covered in burned flesh. A mad look in his dull dead eyes. The soldier was choking up blood and had buried the Bayonet into Ben's leg. Ben stared down and looked horrified, as if staring into the eyes of a monster. Ben fell backwards and dropped his rifle. The soldier who stabbed him finally let out his last gaps and fell forward onto the ground dead. Ben then started to feel the pain. He looked down at the bayonet and knew to pull it out would damage him far to much at this point so he kept fighting.
Ben deciding walking was going to be too painful so he kept his perch behind the box and just kept firing until his rifle went click for the final time. Checking his ammo pouch for ammo, his vision blurring. Ben looked down and suddenly the ground was rushing to his face, or his face was rushing to the ground. He couldn't make sense of it. One minute he was firing his rifle and the next he was face down in the mud. The bright red cross on a dancing bucket running towards him. Almost s if out of an old cartoon. Before he realized he was in shock, Ben had slipped into a slow and comfortable sleep.
The question of what his blood type was, brought him out of the flashback and then he could smell the blood and gunpowder again. He started to dry heave and before he could answer the paramedic tech Ben was leaning over his gurney and vomiting up his K-Rations all over the floor. His whole body shaking with trepidation and fear. As if the evil of war and battle was fleeing his body in a visceral way. Ben fell back onto the bed, his face pale and his forehead feverish. Shaking as the tech put a blanket around his throat Ben whispered to the man.
"I am not a coward..."
Then Ben's eyes rolled over to the side of the van and he begin to hyperventilate. Ben seemed to be succumbing from some psychological symptoms the paramedic couldn't explain. Ben just thought back to the battle, wondering what he did wrong, wondering if they won? Not sure what was going to happen to him. Ben tried to look down at his left leg, it felt strangely numb. Like it was no longer a limb attached to his own body. His hands gripped the cold metal railings of the gurney as the ambulance tech brushed a cold washcloth across his forehead. Relaxing now that his breathing was back under control. But he couldn't stop shaking from fear.
:Items:
200x Zenie
2x Senzu Beans
1x One-Use Space Pod
Jorlaxl, master of crane.