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| [PS/OPEN] Reflections | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 4 2011, 01:18 PM (85 Views) | |
| Deleted User | Apr 4 2011, 01:18 PM Post #1 |
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Deleted User
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The planet Namek is a land of cool, calming colors; green skies and waters, and vegetation that came in different shades of blues. Round-topped trees and grass swayed gently in the breeze generated by the heat of the planet’s three suns, whose locations were currently hovering almost at the peak of the skies. Night does not exist here, so light-loving flora especially flourishes on such a planet. After the climate shift decimated most of the varieties of vegetation a species of short grass had spread everywhere it could, but in this area the trees only grew in small, scattered forests. Nicknamed the “high country” by its main sentient race the Namekians, this massive area was mostly covered by obscenely high plateaus and deep, impressive valleys. Its real name roughly translates to “Flat Mountains” in English, a nod to the interesting geography of the lands. A turquoise river ran through the area as well; its roaring, fast-moving waters winding like a massive snake through grass. On one of the lower plateaus in the center of one of the sparse clumps of trees, there was life. A Namekian was sitting cross-legged in the air, his eyes closed. His clothes consisted of a dull red vest with a white scarf-like piece around his neck, as well as dark blue pants held up by a yellow sash; they weren’t anything too special and were fairly generic for his race. He was meditating to prepare and clear his mind for anything that might come along, be it friend or foe. The area was quiet but far from completely uninhabited. He knew of the locations of maybe a couple of very small villages in this area, but as far as he was concerned he was currently the only one around for a few miles. It was the perfect place to train—and especially meditate—in peace to the dull roar of the river. The lone Namekian’s name was Timbrel, one of barely over a hundred of the race still alive on the planet. It was a humbling thought that they came so close to completely dying out simply because the weather decided it was going to change and become pure hell for Namek’s inhabitants. He had heard of how other planets were stuffed to the brim with loud and bustling beings, where the landscape was just completely covered in what was described to him as massive villages as far as the eye could see. No matter how hard he tried the green-skinned man couldn’t imagine Namek as anything other than the spacious, nature-dominated planet he grew up on. Maybe someday he could visit such a planet and compare it to Namek, but that dream was far away. His meditation time officially over, Timbrel slowly drifted down. He came to a rest on the grass-covered ground, then stood up and took the time to dust his pants off. Walking to the very edge, he looked over the side into the waters below. Even while his plateau was dwarfed by the height of much taller ones, the drop from here was still deadly to anyone who fell over and didn’t have a way to stop themselves. Staring into the rapids Timbrel vaguely remembered having heard tales as a child of beings—mostly ones from off-planet—becoming mesmerized by the waters and leaning over too far over, falling to their deaths on the rocks the river undoubtedly hid below the surface. They would think the water that was approaching them fast was just the product of an optical illusion, until they came to their senses during the descent or when they finally hit the turquoise liquid. Of course, he didn’t have that problem; for one Timbrel knew better than to stare at the water for too long and two, he could fly and that certainly helped in not dying from a fall. The Namekian retreated from the edge and headed back to the center of the plateau. He then started to stretch to prepare for a quick bout of training to keep his fighting skills sharp. Timbrel had been taught that, despite his race being a peaceful one, the Namekians who knew how to and could fight were still very important. After all, a peaceful race could be a very tempting target for much nastier beings; not everyone in the universe could be as agreeable as his kind. Timbrel took up a fighting stance. He could probably stand to brush up on his ki skills, but it seemed like such a huge waste to destroy the landscape just for his sake. Well, that could wait for now since he wasn’t in any rush. Eventually he’ll find a place more suitable for using ki techniques, but right now honing his physical body seemed like the better option anyway. The Namekian stood in that stance for the longest time with his eyes shut and his body completely still aside from his deep, slow breathing. He was slowly closing himself off from the world around him, letting his mind cut out the roar of the river and the sounds of the wind. Once the world was silenced and he could completely focus on training, Timbrel started to punch, kick, and move like he was fighting some kind of invisible enemy. Despite the fact that his eyes were closed, he seemed to be able to vaguely tell where there might be obstacles. For one thing, he seemed to be avoiding the edge well enough, but he would likely be unable to detect anyone if they so chose to come near him. [WC: 928] |
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| Deleted User | Apr 13 2011, 05:49 PM Post #2 |
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Deleted User
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For the next few hours or so he moved like he was blocking the punches from an invisible enemy, then moving in to counter with his own attack. Everything had gone well so far, as Timbrel hadn’t been interrupted during his training just yet. That was perfectly fine by him; sometimes he just liked a little solitude when honing his skills. Quite a few Namekians were like that, actually. His race mostly preferred to train alone, or simply be alone in general. Maybe it was in their blood, or some kind of gene. He didn’t know exactly why, nor did he really care. Even for the normally social Timbrel, friends could be a little distracting at times. This was especially true when he was heavily focused on something and so interruptions would annoy him the most. And more importantly—well, maybe it’s the most important point to the ego—when you were alone no one was around to notice your glaring and often hilarious slip-ups. Unknowingly to him as his eyes were still closed and he had fallen into the rhythm of his movements, Timbrel had been easing closer and closer to the edge of the plateau in the heat of his training. One step, then another; a foot was now on the very edge. He kicked wide with the other leg and when he went to rest his foot on the ground that wasn’t there, Timbrel pitched forward and his eyes snapped open in surprise. In a panic he tried to regain his balance on the tip on his other foot, doing the one thing you should never do from a high place—look down. Timbrel almost succeeded in pulling back, but the edge fell way and he slipped, and the Namekian fell over the edge with a startled yell. He free-fell for a split second, forcing the claws of one of his hands into the side of the cliff to slow his descent. Finally Timbrel started to slow down and then he came to a stop, his hand almost completely dug into the rock. Five long gashes had been left on the cliff, showing his path down. Lesson number one; be aware of your surroundings. He waited for a few moments to calm the rush of adrenaline, and then he started to climb back up. Flying wasn’t his first instinct to get him out of trouble like this, and it was the last thing on his mind at the moment. The climb was fairly short and Timbrel easily pulled himself back over the edge he had fallen over earlier. Walking over to one of the trees that his things were near, he sat down under it and relaxed. “That was somewhat exciting.” Timbrel muttered. Despite this he didn’t sound very ecstatic, though it had been the most notable thing to happen to him recently. He mentally thanked whoever was listening that no one had seen that slip-up as far as the Namekian could tell. Deciding that it was time for a short break from training he pulled out a canteen from his nearly empty bag. He traveled very light and didn’t have much on his person, only carrying his staff and the canteen full of water. He didn’t carry food since it was completely unnecessary for him, as Namekians didn’t need any sustenance besides water. But if for whatever reason he needed water and there wasn’t any around, there was still some moisture to be found in eating food as a last-ditch effort. He took a long gulp of the cold, refreshing liquid and wiped his mouth off with his forearm, then recapped it and placed it back into the bag. The world around him was still and calm, as creatures were calling to each other. For the moment he was done with training, so Timbrel stood up and stretched. It had been a couple of months since he had left his tiny little village behind and so Timbrel was probably behind on news. There is a village around, now that he thought about it, I’m sure they’d be willing to catch me up. Timbrel picked up his bag and staff, situation both on his back. The area was too treacherous to walk on foot, so instead he focused his energy. Slowly he lifted up off the ground, hovering above the grass with little effort. He was massively thankful for the flying lessons thanks to Master Jhal; except at first that involved being thrown off a cliff and being forced to fly. Once he was clear for takeoff, Timbrel shot off like a rocket in the direction of the village. -------------------- Meanwhile, in an overhang near the village two figures waited, hidden from view from both above and below. One was obviously much taller than the other; the smaller being was dressed in white and silver clothing, while his taller counterpart was in blues and blacks. Both had visible augments on their bodies, a clear sign that they were cyborgs, and were dressed in clothing reinforced with some degree of armor. “Are you sure this is the one?” The smaller one who was sitting on the floor of the overhang, obviously a young boy, asked. Mixed in with his voice was the distinctive echoing tone of metal. “You know firsthand how strong the Namekians are. If we slip up with this—“ “Silence.” A calm, older voice replied with a touch of irritation. He too had the same metallic accent. “I know what the consequences could be, but orders are orders.” “But sir! I—“ “Are you disobeying our orders and by extension, our great leader?” The man interrupted. His voice still kept its cool tone, but one could feel the venom behind those words. His rigid posture as he stood, hands behind his back, was an imposing and authoritative look to the younger cyborg. “N-no sir..” The boy shuffled his feet and tried his best to look nonthreatening, shifting his eyes downward as he fidgeted. “That’s a good Franz.” In the dim light he kneeled down and reached out, patting the younger cyborg on the head much like one would to a dog. Franz visibly brightened up and smiled, enjoying this rare show of attention that wasn’t yelling or threats. “But Barrton,” Franz started. “What if we fail?” At this the hand pulled away and went behind his partner’s back with the other one. “We won’t.” Oh, he could happily tell the child that failure was rewarded by death, by either the Namekians or their irritable leader. But he was in a spectacular mood today and decided not to fray Franz’s nerves any more than they already are. Barrton looked down at the tiny village below. But for now, we simply wait.. [WC: 1124/2054] |
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