Post by Deleted on Mar 21, 2017 2:03:01 GMT -5
Calla Elaine Kyrn
<Velvet Crowe (Tales of Berseria)>
Name: Calla Elaine Kyrn
Age: 16
Race: Saiyan
Gender: Female
Universe: <only complete if you are creating a character for Universe 6>
Height: 5 feet and 5 inches
Weight: 120 lbs.
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Hazel (dark brown/green)
Identifying Markers: Jet-black hair that trails down to her rear. Her tail as well of course.
Personality:
Formerly a carefree and optimistic individual, granted wary of her past and ancestral heritage, Calla, once considered herself native to Earth. Raised by humans – with their values and culture – and treated as a part of a loving family. She was warm, albeit shy, and receptive to new ideas (despite the aggressive streaks hallmark to her race). Yes, she could be quick to anger, passionate, spiteful and most of all stubborn, but ultimately she was a product of environment, rather than racial origin. She was loved, so in turn she loved her life and the others that were a part of it. She changed though.
Her parents’ deaths fractured her self-image. She dropped out of the local school, became isolated and lonely, possessing a hatred for the evils present in humanity, and by extension those of her own race. The heavy burden she places on herself weighs on her self-esteem, and has developed into a tendency for explosive behavior. What was once passion, has instead become a tired repression of emotion; to numb the pain she blocks off everything else.
Despite this, she retains many of the traits that defined her. Curiosity, ambition (the arrogance that comes with it as well), and unwavering loyalty are some of the positives remaining of her upbringing. Although, she still is quite easy to annoy, and usually ignores people entirely that get on her nerves. After all, she has grown used to the whole loner title with all the perks and rumors that come with it.
She doesn’t like her new family (still a minor by human standards she was bounced into the equivalent of a foster program), and in fact spends as much time as she can manage away from their home – rebelling mostly against them but also against the idea that she needs to act human at all anymore. She refuses almost all of their suggestions and still hasn’t returned to continue an education. The caution she once held in dipping into her bloodlines traits has all but vanished. Instead, the identity of who she is as a Saiyan has slowly begun to form inside her mind. The pride that comes with that knowledge, and the shame for turning her back on her heritage for so many years, now weighs heavily into the decisions she makes.
Likes/Dislikes:
Calla loves to run. In fact, she often uses exercise as an excuse to get away from her foster siblings and foster parents. While she can fly, she feels more stress relief from the act of jogging. Plus her foster family doesn't consider her flying to be exercise despite her explanations of how it ebbs away at her energy reserves to a greater extent. As she isn't a morning person by any stretch of the word she loves afternoon and late evening jogs as twilight looms on the horizon.
Speaking of which she hates mornings. If she was allowed she'd stay up all night and sleep in way past noon. However, her schedule usually isn't as forgiving to allow that. Nor would her behavior exactly be encouraged - in fact it would probably be assumed that she was just lazy which is quite far from the truth.
Her adoptive mother before she passed often said that taste-buds like to mimic personalities. Likewise she would have attributed Calla's love for all things spicy and bitter to her passionate and sometimes overly ambitious (arrogant) disposition. Just set some curry in front of her, anything tinged with pepper for that matter, and a person could probably quell a building storm of emotion within her (albeit temporarily).
Lastly, it wouldn't be right not to mention the love-hate relationship she has with herself. On one hand what she considers her identity hasn't been fully developed, and at times she feels like she doesn't even know who she is. But on the other, when she does accept parts of herself provided by her Saiyan blood, she finds herself calmed, comforted by the idea that she isn't human simply because she was raised that way. That there is more to her than the environment she was brought up in, and that the idea of defining who she is by race alone, is faulty to begin with and downright dangerous.
Aspirations:
Simply to figure out where she fits in the universe. As a Saiyan raised by humans she struggles a lot with her own self-image and true desires. She doesn't crave power for its own sake, but nor does she not appreciate the abilities granted by blood. In fact if she's being truthful, she quite enjoys expressing herself through them (fighting). It's a fine line to dance upon, but at the end of the day she wants to find a purpose she can believe in with all her might, and maybe herself along the way.
Homeworld: Raised on Earth born on Planet Blehbarry
Allegiance: None
Starting Planet: Earth
Appearance:
Calla is of average height: standing at 5 feet and 5 inches tall. She keeps her hair extremely long (past her butt), and more often than not wildly unkempt – not bothering to tie it up in a pony-tail or something similar. It’s jet-black and wavy; a stark contrast to her eyes which are (though still dark) of a lighter hue – hazel with flashes of deep browns and greens depending on the lighting and the angle upon which they are viewed. Her body is lean athletically built and slender. While her calves are well-toned from countless hours spent running (figuratively and literally) away from her problems.
She favors black and red colored clothing – often wearing blouses and corsets that are cut to expose her midriff, and black trousers. Over-top she likes to wear jackets (also black or deep burgundy), and practical footwear that enhances maneuverability. She’ll wear gloves and boots as well, although don’t expect her wardrobe to be incredibly varied. If she could get away with it, she’d probably wear the same outfit every day. But, then it’d start to smell bad and get all torn up. Also doing laundry every day would get on her nerves.
Usually she keeps her tail coiled around her waist within her pants (although there is a hole she can slip it out of to expose it), mostly because her foster siblings are jerks and know it as a pretty obvious weak-point; they like to tug at it. Calla learned rather quickly it's better to be in slight discomfort than crippling pain.
Backstory:
Calla doesn't like to talk about her past. In fact, sometimes she wishes she could just forget it. If you forget something terrible has happened that pain goes away right? Probably. Maybe not. Memory is subjective after all. Two people can experience the same exact event and retell it in completely different ways. Who is to say that the impression of a horrible one wouldn't exist in one whom cannot recall it? Likewise, her earliest memories have been distorted by time, and the love of her adoptive parents.
She knows she's not human - born a full-blooded Saiyan on the Planet Blehberry. You know, the tail is kind of a dead giveaway. Humans don't have tails. Well, unless they're abnormal. It's normal for Saiyans to have tails, and Calla learned pretty quickly that it is proper to protect hers. Regardless, her human parents raised her well; put her into Earth's education system and treated her as though she is (was) their true daughter.
They couldn't conceive on their own, and Calla fell into their laps after being abandoned by her birth parents for reasons she doesn't even know. Although given the culture of Saiyans it's rather easy to guess: she probably wasn't "good" enough for them. They found something wrong in her and sent her away, simple as that. They couldn't have a daughter that didn't live up to the blood in her veins. Sometimes the truth is harsh. However, Calla always called both her adoptive parents mom and dad. They were the only ones she could remember after all, and when they died her heart broke for them.
It's a rather depressing story, and one that has been heard over a thousand times - mainly because the sort of thing happens a lot. Clichés are only clichés because there is a kernel of truth in them. Vehicular manslaughter. That was the sentence he got: the one that killed her parents. Driving under the influence - a tale told in every age since man first figured out they could alter their perception of reality with drugs, booze and other manner of enhancements.
The man later died in prison. Shanked Calla had been told by the police chief. She had no reaction, merely nodded and left the station after having been called there. Shell-shocked to say the least, as she had just moved in with her foster family. A family she couldn't stand, but according to the governing bodies of Earth had to have. She was a minor of sixteen - by their standards. Some Saiyans die in battle at that age, but Calla hardly had the heart or the inclination to argue the decision. She could have put her fist through a wall there to emphasis her point, but, she restrained herself. She was raised better than that, and her parents wouldn't have wanted that.
She accepted them. She tolerates them, but no more. She has several brothers and a few sisters now - none though tied by blood and most tossed into the system as well. Her foster parents only had one 'real' child of their own, and the rest were a paycheck to them. Hatred is such a strong word, but she feels it every day now. She wants to leave and one day she will, but for now small rebellions of not attending their school, and coming and going as she pleases is enough to get her by. After all, there's a whole universe out there to discover, and eventually, she'll find a purpose that will pull her away from all this bullshit that has been raining down upon her.
Techniques
Tree: Balanced
Offense Tiers 3/3 slots used
- [OT-1] Tempered Wave
[Deals 25% of Pl in Damage]
[li][VT-1] Tempered Flare
[/li]
In a variation upon her Tempered Wave, Calla, lowers a hand to her side; opens her palm and begins to gather a rush of crimson energy there. For whatever reason however, she unleashes the contained ki faster than usual and the energy explodes outwards in a shorter burning flare of raw discharged ki.
[Deals 25% of Pl in Damage and inflicts Burn Status]
[li][OT-1] Tempered Fury
[/li]
Calla focuses her crimson ki around her hands and legs; her aura fluctuates around them sparking and dancing like fire. This enhances her next combination of physical strikes against her opponent.
[Deals 25% of Pl in Damage]
[/ul]
Support Tiers 3/3 slots used
- [PT-1] Ki Suppression
[li][PT-1] Ki Sense
Calla is able to discern the auras of people around her and gauge their relative strength.
[Allows her to have a general notion of people's PL as long as they are in the same region]
[/li][li][PT-1] Flight
[/li]
Calla is able to manipulate ki around her body in order to levitate above the ground and fly.
[Allows her to fly]
[/ul]
Unique Tiers
N/A
Inventory:
500 Zeni
Old Spacepod
Roleplay Example:
Calla knew when she arrived home they'd have questions: where had she been, did she think of anyone one but herself; the usual as if they needed to keep up the facade that they gave a shit. Newsflash, they didn't. Well to be fair, they did, but only in the sense that they were responsible for her. If something happened, they lost part of their golden ticket. But, beyond that, they didn't really care. The Saiyan knew that. They feared her and probably hated the ill fortune sprung upon them when they realized that their next foster child not only was an alien, but one from such a despicably heartless race of killers.
Earlier in the day, she heard the bells ring. The streets crowded with children, school buses and the like as time trekked on. They mostly went to places they considered home, while she, wandered the streets slipping out and in between those leaving their jobs behind for the night. It wasn't late. She peered up and saw the sun still high in the sky. It nearly blinded her as she crossed an intersection; looking both ways and noting the cop cruiser as she went along. They wouldn't follow her. She was just another teenager in tight pants and a blouse. With her tail hidden wrapped around her waist she could pass as human without much effort.
There wouldn't be much to do - at least not until later - so she window shopped. She passed by several town centers still walking with no real purpose in mind. Her feet carried her halfway around in a circle and back whence she came before the sun began to dip underneath an overcast of graying clouds; not heavy enough to bring about a storm, but certainly dark enough to make the early 'eve dreary. Calla shivered crossing her arms close to her chest as she stepped on, barely glancing at those that stared at her. Most likely they wondered why a girl of her age was alone and not with her friends or safely at home.
She couldn't understand how they could be so content with barely living. A whole universe was out there waiting, and these people read books, went to classes constantly, ignored their lovers and shopped in malls. It disgusted her, and yet the worst kind of folks, the ones that rebelled against convention, were also the ones she sought as it grew dark. In any major city there were streets that a person couldn't walk down alone, and she went down them all as it grew darker; dark enough for her shadow to blend in and mesh with the others that stared her down. At least she knew where she was going. Here eyes flashed, glimmered hazel and shone like a cat's through the veil of twilight.
The neon lights didn't tell her where to go, instead they told her where not to go. She looked past them further beyond into the decrepit alleys where drugs were peddled, and boozers were starting to sleep the night away only to wake up hungover the next morning. Eventually, she stopped near a place where the smell that alcohol wrought outweighed the vomit in the trash cans, and fresh blood painted and dried on stone walls. Loud jeering, cries of anguish and shouts shuffled with hands that exchanged money, greeted her as she descended down the stairs and into what could best be described as a hole in the wall place with a cellar.
Calla stepped into the dim lighting eyeing the fight at the center of a ring of gamblers. She had already begun to wrap her hands in the bandages she carried with her. Methodically, she made sure each piece of cloth wouldn't slip with rapid motion. She balled a fist and slammed each into her own palm adjusting the wraps slightly each time she repeated the gesture. Although she had never been trained to fight, she would step into that mosh pit without hesitation, determined to feel a rush that she long ignored in its entirety.
They glared at her as she shoved her way past. "I'll fight," she said. "Please let me fight." She almost pleaded, but she didn't need to, there was already line of people waiting for an easy mark; she was an easy mark. They sized her up; the determined stare, the stern expression, folded arms and jet-black hair down to her butt told a story. Someone pushed her through into the ring. They started place their bets. The first blow she never even saw coming. She staggered as a fist struck her gut. Stumbling she brought her hands up. The next strike struck her face, and the bruise started to form instantly. She took the beating again and again, always advancing in an untrained and unrefined form as she swung haphazardly against her foe, missing quite wildly each time.
"Don't stop," Calla said. "Come on, I'm fine." Her face was bloodied, but she stood perfectly well enough. The woman approached her again sending jab after jab into her; the crowd cheered, shoving money into each other's faces. They kept upping their wagers, changed positions and shouted as the fight continued and the teenager kept standing up after a pummeling. The Saiyan spat blood and wiped her face.
I just need to hit once. One direct strike and she'll go down. She's tired - who wouldn't be after beating an opponent down so viciously? I don't know how to fight but I can throw a punch. Her breathing is almost like ice. She slower each time she rushes me.
The next barrage came swiftly, and Calla cried out. That was until she caught a fist finally with a palm. She gripped it and crushed it with all her might. Her opponent shrieked, face contorting with excess pain as she slumped down unto one knee. Calla then drove her opposite hand forward in a blur - a single strike into the chest. Bones cracked and the lady fell forward face first and out cold. The crowd stood silent as the Saiyan turned and walked away from them. A few came up to her and shoved money in her face. She shook her head and exited the Fight Club.
She had begun to heal by the time she walked to her foster home. That didn't stop the questions. They couldn't or wouldn't help stop the pain, and she didn't so much as say a word in reply as she brushed past them and crawled into bed. Her heart still raced. It took her forever and a day to fall asleep. By the time she did the sun had already begun to creep back up and pierce the hazy and puffy white clouds above the city.
That didn't help. I wish I felt something. But, my mind just replays her bones breaking and the blood I threw up on the floor. Why did I even go there last night?
There were tear stains in her pillow as she rolled out of bed - just another day. She glanced into the mirror, taking a few moments to even identify herself.
Great I feel like death, and, my hair's a mess . . .
(Pl please)
Earlier in the day, she heard the bells ring. The streets crowded with children, school buses and the like as time trekked on. They mostly went to places they considered home, while she, wandered the streets slipping out and in between those leaving their jobs behind for the night. It wasn't late. She peered up and saw the sun still high in the sky. It nearly blinded her as she crossed an intersection; looking both ways and noting the cop cruiser as she went along. They wouldn't follow her. She was just another teenager in tight pants and a blouse. With her tail hidden wrapped around her waist she could pass as human without much effort.
There wouldn't be much to do - at least not until later - so she window shopped. She passed by several town centers still walking with no real purpose in mind. Her feet carried her halfway around in a circle and back whence she came before the sun began to dip underneath an overcast of graying clouds; not heavy enough to bring about a storm, but certainly dark enough to make the early 'eve dreary. Calla shivered crossing her arms close to her chest as she stepped on, barely glancing at those that stared at her. Most likely they wondered why a girl of her age was alone and not with her friends or safely at home.
She couldn't understand how they could be so content with barely living. A whole universe was out there waiting, and these people read books, went to classes constantly, ignored their lovers and shopped in malls. It disgusted her, and yet the worst kind of folks, the ones that rebelled against convention, were also the ones she sought as it grew dark. In any major city there were streets that a person couldn't walk down alone, and she went down them all as it grew darker; dark enough for her shadow to blend in and mesh with the others that stared her down. At least she knew where she was going. Here eyes flashed, glimmered hazel and shone like a cat's through the veil of twilight.
The neon lights didn't tell her where to go, instead they told her where not to go. She looked past them further beyond into the decrepit alleys where drugs were peddled, and boozers were starting to sleep the night away only to wake up hungover the next morning. Eventually, she stopped near a place where the smell that alcohol wrought outweighed the vomit in the trash cans, and fresh blood painted and dried on stone walls. Loud jeering, cries of anguish and shouts shuffled with hands that exchanged money, greeted her as she descended down the stairs and into what could best be described as a hole in the wall place with a cellar.
Calla stepped into the dim lighting eyeing the fight at the center of a ring of gamblers. She had already begun to wrap her hands in the bandages she carried with her. Methodically, she made sure each piece of cloth wouldn't slip with rapid motion. She balled a fist and slammed each into her own palm adjusting the wraps slightly each time she repeated the gesture. Although she had never been trained to fight, she would step into that mosh pit without hesitation, determined to feel a rush that she long ignored in its entirety.
They glared at her as she shoved her way past. "I'll fight," she said. "Please let me fight." She almost pleaded, but she didn't need to, there was already line of people waiting for an easy mark; she was an easy mark. They sized her up; the determined stare, the stern expression, folded arms and jet-black hair down to her butt told a story. Someone pushed her through into the ring. They started place their bets. The first blow she never even saw coming. She staggered as a fist struck her gut. Stumbling she brought her hands up. The next strike struck her face, and the bruise started to form instantly. She took the beating again and again, always advancing in an untrained and unrefined form as she swung haphazardly against her foe, missing quite wildly each time.
"Don't stop," Calla said. "Come on, I'm fine." Her face was bloodied, but she stood perfectly well enough. The woman approached her again sending jab after jab into her; the crowd cheered, shoving money into each other's faces. They kept upping their wagers, changed positions and shouted as the fight continued and the teenager kept standing up after a pummeling. The Saiyan spat blood and wiped her face.
I just need to hit once. One direct strike and she'll go down. She's tired - who wouldn't be after beating an opponent down so viciously? I don't know how to fight but I can throw a punch. Her breathing is almost like ice. She slower each time she rushes me.
The next barrage came swiftly, and Calla cried out. That was until she caught a fist finally with a palm. She gripped it and crushed it with all her might. Her opponent shrieked, face contorting with excess pain as she slumped down unto one knee. Calla then drove her opposite hand forward in a blur - a single strike into the chest. Bones cracked and the lady fell forward face first and out cold. The crowd stood silent as the Saiyan turned and walked away from them. A few came up to her and shoved money in her face. She shook her head and exited the Fight Club.
She had begun to heal by the time she walked to her foster home. That didn't stop the questions. They couldn't or wouldn't help stop the pain, and she didn't so much as say a word in reply as she brushed past them and crawled into bed. Her heart still raced. It took her forever and a day to fall asleep. By the time she did the sun had already begun to creep back up and pierce the hazy and puffy white clouds above the city.
That didn't help. I wish I felt something. But, my mind just replays her bones breaking and the blood I threw up on the floor. Why did I even go there last night?
There were tear stains in her pillow as she rolled out of bed - just another day. She glanced into the mirror, taking a few moments to even identify herself.
Great I feel like death, and, my hair's a mess . . .
(Pl please)