Post by Deleted on Mar 15, 2017 21:28:29 GMT -5
Thymelyn
OC art
OC art
Name: Thymelyn
Age: Nineteen
Race: Saiyan-Gerodowr Hybrid, Saiyan Dominant
Gender: Male
Universe: 6
Height: 5'8''
Weight: 121 lbs.
Hair Color: Saiyan Black
Eye Color: Dark Red
Identifying Markers: Red eyes, incredibly pale skin.
Personality: Thymelyn is not like his father's people. Whereas the Saiyans are the protectors of peace and justice, Thymelyn is quite indifferent to such concepts, or even actively scoffs at them. On a surface level, Thymelyn seems like an affable, if arrogant, young man. And in truth, he has a great love for conversation, wordplay, and himself. There is a certain fun loving aspect to him, though his idea of fun is fighting or drinking. However, beneath the surface is another side of him. This side is cool, calculated, and opportunistic, as is befitting a man raised by assassins. With the slightest tinge of sadism, Thymelyn is almost Machiavellian. He is certainly selfish, chiefly concerned with himself. He actively promotes his own interests, though he is often clever enough to hide this fact if he thinks it would serve him better. He is anything but modest; he thinks he is hot stuff, and will not hesitate to sing his own praises. There is a certain unfeeling aspect to him, in which he is fully able to shut out the plight of others. He lacks true empathy, though his emotions flare up when his own are wounded.
Thymelyn, however, does a have a certain, twisted sense of honor. He is capable of respect. The utterly pathetic and defenseless are off-limits, being such as very young and weak children. He is fond of giving opponents a sporting chance, even if he is much above them. Some might consider this toying, but he thinks of it as honor.
Likes/Dislikes: Thymelyn likes many things. Fighting, women, drinking. The assorted vices are all things that he enjoys, sinner that he is. He has a particular fondness for music and poetry, strangely enough. Thymelyn has an eye for weapons and considers the maintenance and study of them hobbies. He loves money, though not enough to save it. Being out among the stars, whether in a spaceship or by himself, puts a certain trembling and peace in his heart. Once he had a kind of ajissa stew from Namek and he really liked that.
His dislikes are just as numerous. Bad booze will upset him, as will being scorned by a woman. He has a hatred for cowards. In an ironic twist, arrogance greatly perturbs him. He dislikes the silent or those who ignore him. He is annoyed when people violate his own code of honor. He hates being in tight, enclosed spaces. And he is not especially fond of law enforcement. Perhaps the two are intertwined. He is not especially fond of extreme heat.
Aspirations: Thymelyn's lofty wants are not especially unique: money, glory, the adoration of trillions, an armada of ships a thousand deep, and power unlimited. For now, though, he simply wants to form his own crew.
Homeworld: Salda
Allegiance: None
Starting Planet: Plant
Appearance:
Thymelyn takes after his Saiyan ancestors by a wide degree. In truth, from a distance, Thymelyn would not look out of place on the Saiyan homeworld. He has the spiked, thick mass of intricate black hair on his head, long enough to fall into his face and past his cheeks. Perhaps his unusually pale skin might set him apart, as the exact color of his skin is not unlike that of paper. It is not until one closes the distance that his Gerodowr heritage reveals itself in full: the intense red eyes of the assassin race are set into his eye sockets. These set him apart from the Saiyan population, at least on a physical level. Beyond that, Thymelyn is a man of lithe, but muscular, build and of a fairly average height.
Thymelyn's manner of dress varies greatly and often depends on the situation that he finds himself in. He occasionally dons the skirt-like armor of his Saiyan cousins, though that is a rarity and usually only employed if he has some need to go undercover. Thymelyn vastly prefers to wear his own clothing of choice: simple shirts and denim leggings paired with boots, or, if need be, some sort of light armor array. The young hybrid has a great distaste for uniforms. Thymelyn has a preference for cool colors, such as blues or greys, and these colors make up the bulk of his wardrobe.
Thymelyn's body is relatively unmarred. He has no distinguishing scars, birthmarks, or anything of the sort.
Backstory:
It is a strange twist of fate that brings together Thymelin’s parents: his father, Cressordo, Saiyan defender of justice, and his mother Moida, Gerodowr galactic assassin. In all began when a squad of Saiyan warriors, led by Cressordo, captured Moida on the scene of a murder. Moida, of course, struggled and fought the Saiyans, but she was eventually defeated due to the sheer number of foes she had to face. However, the Saiyans did not execute her as she had expected. Instead Cressordo, a particularly merciful man, ordered her to be brought into a prison on Planet Salda, much to her chagrin.
Once there, something interesting happened. Cressordo attempted to reform her, rather than punish her. It seemed that the Saiyan had become smitten somewhere along the line and taken a shining to her. He felt she might be redeemed. Unfortunately for Cressordo, Moida had other things in mind. Cressordo, to his credit, spent hour after hour with Moida, attempting to bring her over to the side of justice. Moida, having spent her entire life among murderers for hire, was not inclined to listen. But she was clever. Moida knew well enough that her ticket to freedom was pretending to be converted by Cressordo. So, she made her ploy and it was successful. Only there was one small caveat: she had actually fallen for Cressordo. Not because of his outstanding morals or the like, but his passion was… enticing. The two had a small fling upon Moida’s being freed. The result of that fling was Thymelyn. Thymelyn was born on Planet Sadla, and Cressordo could not have been more proud. Unluckily for him, however, Moida had other plans. Moida bided her time for several months, until the child was stable enough to move. When that time came, Moida broke free. She kidnapped her child and left Sadla in a ship she acquired after dispatching the owner.
Moida and Thymelyn arrived on the Gerowodr homeworld where they rejoined Moida’s family, which belonged to a small sect of assassins. That is where Thymelyn grew up: surrounded by killers. However, it was a pleasant childhood. The family quickly accepted Thymelyn as one of their own and the half-Saiyan child came of age in this world. Though he looked quite different, taking almost entirely after his Saiyan father, Thymelyn fit right in with the culture of hired daggers. From an early age, Thymelyn was trained in the same occupation as his family: assassination. However, he had to work much harder than the rest, due to his inability to utilize the infamous Time Skip ability. Instead, Thymelyn opted to augment his assassination ability with pure ferocity. The hybrid approached fighting with incredible vigor. Thymelyn quickly learned the ins and outs of fighting and killing. His training began at roughly three years old. It was four months in that he first learned how to break most humanoid necks with his barehands. He began to display talent in the combat applications of ki at around four years old. At roughly seven years old, Thymelyn took an interest in weapons. He learned how to wield assorted weapons, though his preference is for blades and spears. It was not long before he began to apply ki to said weapons. All in all, it was happy, if violent childhood. Thymelyn seemed to be on the fast track to becoming a hired killer, just like his mother and family.
However, the tides of youth brought Thymelyn new stage in his life. As he grew older, he expressed dissatisfaction with the rigid life of assassins. At sixteen years old, he left the planet in the dead of night so that he might make his own path through life. He wandered for some months until he chanced upon a small time pirate crew operating in wild space. He quickly joined the crew and found his place among as a fighter, scout, and looter, his unique set of killing abilities and his natural ability to enter the vacuum of space safely making him a powerful asset for any would be pirate crew.
However, time once again brought change. It was not long before Thymelyn began to argue with leadership within the crew. Thymelyn wanted more money, they said no. Thymelyn left the crew in a huff, stealing one of the escape pods during his patrol shift. He quickly made for Planet Plant, thinking opportunity awaited him there. But as he flew through space, an idea struck him: what if he formed his own crew of space pirates? With that idea in his head, he made for Planet Plant so that he could drum up money and possible support. The world was vast and full of riches and glory for the taking. Thymelyn was ready to take his fair share, or even more, consequences be damned.
Techniques
Balanced Tree
Offense Tiers
- [OT-1] Assassin Art: Rook Javelin
[25% of his PL in damage. No additional effects.]
[li][OT-2] Assassin Art: Crow Javelin[/li]
A stronger version of his Rook Javelin.
[50% of his PL in damage. No additional effects.]
[li][VT-1] Assassin Art: Magpie Javelin[/li]
A variant of his Rook Javelin, this one designed to leech the life of his foes and add to his own.
[25% of his PL in damage, with the addition of DRAINING.][/ul]
Support Tiers
- [PT-1] Flight
[Flight]
[PT-1] Ki Sense
Thymelyn can sense the latent life force of others on a regional scale.
[allows to sense ki on a regional level.]
[li][ST-1] Rapid Movement[/li]
Flooding his body with ki, Thymelin moves at extreme speeds to dodge an attack.
[Rapid Movement allows you to dodge up to 100% of your PL]
[/ul]
Unique Tiers
N/A
Inventory:
500 Zeni
Old Spacepod
Roleplay Example:
Space was a vacuum. Space was the black lacuna between the planets and the stars, the place where nothing existed. Space was a veritable wasteland, a cruel mistress. For most people, a venture in that black void meant certain death. Or at least it used to. The various races of the universe had conquered space, at least partially. Some were biologically gifted with the ability to exist in the deadly hollow, while others were forced to turn to more technological methods. The advent of the technological wonders that were spaceships filled to the brim with technology allowed just about anybody to travel among the stars. Since then, the grave sphere of space had become a new frontier. It was a place of business, a place to live, a place to fight, and in an ironic twist of fate, a place to die once again. The blank space between the stars was still a deadly world, despite mortal efforts to conquer it. Perhaps that is why.
Thymelin’s piercing red eyes stared out the space-grade, impact-resistant glass at the front of the spaceship. That clear material, so clean it looked as it were not even there, was all that stood between his compatriots and their deaths at the cold, suffocating hands of the black. Though, luckily, it seemed as if it would not be his crewmates who would be meeting their deaths today; a trader ship was in their sights. The crew had been pursuing the ship for the past twenty minutes or so, taking potshots at it with assorted beam weapons and plasma torpedos. Thymelyn stood in the bridge watching out the window as they hunted it down, cool and efficiently. The trader ship was starting to show external signs of damage; blasted armor and loose debris floating away from it, even more with each teasing, cutting blast of a weapon from their ship. The traders had tried to flee at the first sight of the pirates, preferring not to risk their lives fighting the pirates. A pity, thought Thymelyn, he could have gone for a fight. Instead, the traders had fled like cowards. That did them no good, the pirate ship was pursuing like a massive bird of prey. They had harried the traders, hungry for the ship’s precious cargo, their bloodlust fueled by avarice. That was what pirates did. So there was no doubt when they had come across the ship some distance from a backwater, no name planet that they would take the goods aboard for themselves. Lives for coin, thought Thymelyn. He had left one life like that for another. The young hybrid mused that it was just what he was particularly talented at, drawn to it.
He also mused on what must be happening aboard the trader ship. In his mind, images of anarchy and panic danced across the screen. A smokey, hazey corridor filled with the sounds of crying and the smell of biological waste. The captain sat in his seat, absolutely drenched with sweat and trembling as he recalled the wife and children he had left at home. He was going to die, his crew was going to die, dozens or hundreds of lives would be snuffed out, and for what? A few tons of practical metals? A shipment of wine from Kold? These damnable, detestable pirates! They were monsters! Cold, unfeeling monsters, the whole lot of them hellbound! The captain slammed his fist into the dying control panel in front of him, a shower of sparks and metal flying up, though they were indistinguishable from the chaos unfolding inside. Their ship was a dying behemoth, a great herbivore hounded by the fierce predators of the wasteland that was the void. Space was wild, an empty jungle, this pursuit making a crude mockery of the circle of life. There was predator and prey, and the Captain had become the prey.
Thymelyn shook his head at the fate of the captain in his head and the man’s imagined crew. For Thymelyn had seen it dozens of times before; by now, the pirate methodology was no secret to the hybrid. This crew’s preferred method was coolly efficient. The pirate ship doomed its targets with assorted attacks until their quarry was dead in the water, a floating husk in space. Then, to quickly finish the crew and any resistance, it put a beam through the entirety of the ship, destabilizing the interior. As it went, the sudden change often took any of the men aboard their prey by complete surprise, leaving them with little chance to survive the ship’s death throes. And after the assault was complete, the pirates deployed assorted drones to capture the goods in question, picking over the dead bodies of men and women.
It was a cruel way to go. They would either be vaporized or left to the coldly indifferent hand of space. The lucky ones would have a quick death: either they would be vaporized quickly in the initial assault or the sudden pressure of their ship’s interior destabilizing would kill them in a swift crushing motion. The unlucky ones would be left in twisted, false sanctuaries around the ship: air locks or security checkpoints that were vacuum sealed by design. Though there was no hope for them; they would die before long, either when their little sanctuary gave out or they died due to their biological needs. Some died when the pirate-piloted drones purposely disturbed the crewman’s resting places, making some sick sport out of it. Thymelyn was not especially fond of such methods; he considered them coward’s tactics. The halfblood would much rather take the fight to them in the pitched heat of battle. But business was business, and Thymelyn was in for the coin.
“Poor bastards,” he muttered under his breath, “Never stood a chance.”
Suddenly, one of the nearby pirates stirred. The bridge of the ship was a circular area with multiple tiers of floors, filled to the brim with advanced computers and ringed by various swivel seats meant for the officers and operatives. Thymelin had been standing on one of the upper levels, watching from the floor. In his daydream, he’d become blissfully unaware of his companions. But now, Thymelyn’s head snapped sideways as one of the operators turned to face him: a portly man, black furred and with the face of a dog, albeit a rather scarred and weather worn dog.
“You say something, Thymelyn?” Grunted the pirate.
“No,” muttered Thymelyn, shaking his head, “I was just talking to myself.”
“Mmm. I see,” said the pirate dully, still looking at the hybrid, dull yellow eyes seeming as if they were looking for cracks in the hybrid.
“Don’t you have work to do?” Barked Thymelyn.
“I could ask you the same thing, boy,” growled the canine pirate, “Aren’t you supposed to go in with the drones? You know, carry loot out and deal with the stragglers?”
Thymelyn sighed and rolled his eyes, his face the picture of pointed annoyance. “Aye,” he spat, “But-”
Thymelyn pointed out the singular, massive window at the front of the bow. “That vessel is not ready to be boarded.”
The scurvy dog shrugged. “Not much longer until it is. Order just came in that we’re to cripple it in a few moments.”
“Why not now?” Demanded Thymelyn, “I doubt that ship will get much farther than this. We’ve spent how long on this now? Last I checked it was twenty minutes. Now? It must be at least, thirty, thirty five. We ought not waste time.”
The pirate shrugged once again. “I don’t know. Not my call, you know that as well as I do,” grunted the dogman, “Captain Chero’s orders and all that. Can’t fire the main cannon until he gives the word and he hasn’t gone and given it yet. I think he likes the chase. Gets him going and all that, you know?”
Thymelyn knew the captain well enough. His was the kind that got his jollies from dragging out pain, making things slow and torturous. The hybrid could imagine his own captain up in his cabin, watching out the window as his own ship devastated their target, laughing his ass off and drinking his mind away before dissolving into incomprehensible cheering and laughter. Flecks of spittle flew from his lips whenever he gave a cry of excitement, a gross maelstrom of saliva and alcoholic residue. Captain Chero oft acted like a fool, a jolly Roger, but his crew knew the darkness he belied. The captain was a regular, dyed in the cloth blackguard, his soul sharp and cruel as a serrated blade. The man had cut his teeth on murder and made a business of killing. Just like Thymelyn’s own family.
“Very well,” muttered Thymelyn, “We’ve no choice but to wait until Captain Chero has had his fun then.”
Suddenly, there was a great stirring in the room as each operator rustled in their seat. The dogman turned back to look at his own screen, gave a small chuckl, and turned back to Thymelyn.
“Looks like you won’t have to wait long,” mused the dog, “Order just came in. Cap’n wants fireworks. We’re to fire the main cannon.”
“About time,” sighed Thymelyn. He turned once again to the window, watching the dying ship float helplessly through space, framed by stars. The room was filled with the clicking of buttons and murmurs as the crew prepared for the grand finale. Somewhere someone shouted out that the cannon was up and running at full capacity. The ship shifted subtly through space as it aimed its deadly weapon at its floundering foe. A deep, body-shaking rumble went through the ship, shaking Thymelyn at his core, a funny sort of ticklish quake shaking side to side in his stomach. The rattle of metal took over the room then stopped. All was silent, not a single peep from even the most obnoxious of pirates. The tension could be cut with a knife.
There was light. A blinding bolt of yellow-white energy suddenly shot forth, coming into frame for a solid second. The light was harsh, illuminating the already bright bridge, casting each crew member with stark, white light and sending out deep, casting shadows. The light faded and the true scope of destruction was revealed: a solid hole had been punched through the middle of the trader ship. There was debris everywhere, like they had wandered into a sort of starry scrapyard.
A rowdy cheer went up in the bridge, a primal cry of celebration, as each of the pirates screamed in excitement. The pirates cheered the doom of their mark, knowing a payday was coming. Thymelyn clapped somberly, giving no verbal remark of approval. It had been quite the light show, that much he would admit, at least for a second or two. Now came for his part in the process. Their goods had moved down the monstrous assembly line put in place, and now it was time for Thymelyn to earn his keep.
“I suppose I best get down to the departure bay,” said the halfblood aloud and to nobody in particular.
…
The departure bay was a large room, dim and flanked with rows upon rows of space pods, lined up like balls in a tube. These were the pods that individual crew members took when there was business to be done. Through a series of intricate airlocks, the larger ship jettisoned the pods as needed out into space. There was, he noted, no system in place for landing. Inefficient, perhaps, but wayward members were expected to be recovered on planets when the larger ship docked.
It was also the room that boarding parties were launched from, using a fancy bit of technology. When it came time to board an enemy ship, a series of collapsible tubes were shot at the enemy ship like harpoons. The purpose was twofold: in one, it was meant to bind the two ships and prevent flight. Secondly, pirates equipped with spacesuits pulled themselves along the tubes and towards their prize.
Were they expecting resistance, that would be the method they would be employing. But in a move inspired by laziness, cargo recovery had been shifted onto drones for the vast majority of cases. Well, drones and Thymelyn himself. His hybrid physiology had left him with the unique ability to survive in space with no ill effects, a gift from the Gerodowr. So since he had joined the crew, Thymelyn had been sent as security and insurance. It took no extra effort to send him along, given his maneuverability in a vacuum.
A crackling voice came over the ship intercom, shouting down at him. “Are you ready, Thymelyn? The drones have already been deployed. Make for the airlock and we’ll let you loose.”
“Roger,” shouted Thymelyn. He walked across the bay, the only sound being his footsteps echoing off the wall. The room was so large, he walked for a solid minute before reaching a modest door set neatly off to the side of the bay. The door gave a mechanical hiss as he approached, sliding to the side. Thymelyn stepped into this metal shell and waited patiently as the door behind him slid shut with a resounding thump. There was mechanical noise all around him, the inner workings of the machine preparing for his departure into the void. It mattered, little of course, for his biology had already done all the preparing needed.
Finally, the barrier between him and the void slip open nice and slow, revealing a wall of black peppered with white stars. Thymelyn took a brief moment to stare into the black before casually hopping out into the vacuum. His weight suddenly felt as if it disappeared as the darkness swallowed him and the concrete world of the ship floated away behind him. Thymelyn stared forth, eyes locked on his target. Already, the drones were descending on the corpse of the ship, ready to eat their way through it like maggots through the dead flesh of a fallen animal. Thymelyn followed after them, ready to join the scavenging. The hybrid propelled himself through space, using his own mastery of ki to putter along until he reached the husk of the fallen behemoth. As he closed the distance, Thymelyn laid his hands on the ship, metal exterior cold to the touch. He pulled himself along the body of the ship until he reached the hole left by their grand weapon. From there, he crawled inside a womb of death.
Thymelyn’s red eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness. A single flight flickered overhead, not yet expired. It hovered there without purpose, suspended by the invisible hand of the void. Debris floated all around him, like he was in dirty water. Nearby, one of the drones fiddled with the remains of a computer, surely combing over any data in an effort to make the most of their little expedition. Thymelyn floated closer to the drone for a moment, nodding his approval before setting back off on his own.
It was quiet as Thymelyn floated among the fallen ship, like he was walking among gravestones. In a way he was; this ship had become the makeshift mass grave of a whole lot of people, and more would join them in time. Lives were so easily ended; they had not even needed to lift a finger, much to Thymelyn’s dismay.
Thymelyn ducked into a hallway that had been revealed during the destruction. He floated along it, hand following the path of the wall. A morbid thought suddenly struck him: he had not come across a single body. Perhaps the sudden pressure had sucked many of them into space or more had been vaporized then he had anticipated. Regardless, Thymelyn kept moving deeper into the belly of the beast, working his way through like a worm. The barely held together cadaver was beginning to feel like a prison. At least he could be free of it in time. It would not Thymelyn’s final resting place, though the same could not be said for the other lost souls on the ship. Thymelyn knew there were some. He could sense the energy in the void, a beacon of life where none ought to be, still clinging desperately to their lives. But for how much longer would their little lights shines?
Thymelyn floated down the hallway like a ghost, moving until he was dully aware that he was straying ever closer to one of the dismal ki signatures he had sensed sometime before. He creeped forth, eyes swaying from side to side, looking for some sign of life in this casket. A buzzing in his head grew as he traversed the ship, the radar in his mind going off like mad. The dying light of life came ever closer, as if the man was stumbling upon the last few souls that clung to their existence among the wreckage. They would suffer, he knew it. There would be no rescue; none of the heroes of the universe would make it to the wreckage in time. Did Thymelyn feel guilt? He felt some twinge of primal sympathy that all lifeforms felt for one another, unless they were truly too far gone, but ultimately? It was just business. People died every day, what was a few more? The Saiyan halfbreed turned from the justice of his species only looked for one thing: profit and power. And if the cost of this was a few more deaths, what of it? It was an unavoidable truth that death came for everyone, why not profiteer from pushing it along?
Thymelyn, the fallen Saiyan halfbreed raised by his mother’s assassin people, moved forward through the silent halls of dying, a quiet crow and angel of death, plucking among the remains for both souls and coin.
Reward Requested: Zeni
