| Arisha Serranova | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 31 2009, 06:22 AM (80 Views) | |
| Karayan | Dec 31 2009, 06:22 AM Post #1 |
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Name: Arisha Serranova Race: Saiyan Physical Age: Early 20s Actual Age: 22 Hair Color: Dark Red Eye Color: Deep Blue Skin Complexion: Tan Alignment: Chaotic Good Body Type: Athletic Description: Standing at a good five foot seven inches tall, the woman's hair is something to stand out. Full, a bit past shoulder length, and a darker shade of red. It stays straight...most of the time...and enhances the view of her face. With deep blue eyes, a cute little pointed nose and a bit of a pointed chin, the woman might look good if she didn't have that smirk all the time. Like she knew she was good at what she did, and didn't mind showing it. Moving down to her torso, the woman's arms and shoulders are well muscled, though not to any point that would get in the way. The swell of her chest is moderate, nothing to sneeze at, but nothing that would give her lower back problems either. Her stomach is rather toned, with the hint of a six pack underneath the otherwise smooth skin. Down to her legs, they are much like her arms, muscle visible without making her seem bulked up. However, something that may draw the eye around the waist is a saiyan tail, and she makes no notion to hide it either. Her clothing normally consists of a red tanktop that dips just below her collar bones and a pair of black cargo pants that are usually rather baggy. Finishing out the clothing is a pair of black combat boots that she wears almost constantly. History: The cry of a child removed from safety it had known as it grew from a simple two cell organism to the baby it had become. The village was gathered for this, and at the first cry, it had been echoed by all those present who heard it. It was the cry of a warrior, a pure blooded saiyan. Though the child was female, it didn't matter. All knew battle sooner or later. She would be no exception. Ever since their small village of saiyans had been founded away from the major areas of civilizations that the humans preferred to congregate in, they had been somewhat harassed, though they generally kept to themselves, as they needed no assistance from those many among them considered a weak race. They made or caught their own food, and while they did expand somewhat as they began to grow, there was none around them to conquer, so to speak. But tradition was hard to break, and once the child grew steady on her legs, she was trained. Obviously it's difficult to train a two year old mind, but it started simple. Punch. Kick. It was what she was taught until she grasped the concept of those two simple actions. By the time she was three, she had the most basic form of fighting down. They trained her in the various ways to punch and kick until she was four, and then they started teaching her to block and dodge. Still a child, she often came back from her training with cuts and bruises, which were given a nod when she walked in the door. Life's not easy, and she was learning that by the day. Around the time she was six, the villagers began pitting the children of around the same ages against each other in fights. The adults were careful not to allow them to outright kill each other, but the streets often rang of blows being exchanged as the children sought to better their opponents. Friendly rivalries broke out, and the thrill of the fight was shared by all. By the time she was eight she could fly, which added an entirely new dimension to how to fight. Not only did she have to watch around her, she had to make sure that nobody came at her from above or below. Groups started to form, to mimic a larger scale battle with allies and enemies. Obviously friendships grew strong out of these. And while Arisha enjoyed the company of most of the other children, she had none that she preferred over the others. She was perfectly capable of handling herself. The day she turned twelve, her parents sat her down at the table they had eaten from so many times. Her father spoke first, a saiyan respected for his own ability to fight well. "You've grown strong, Arisha" She smirked at her father, letting that answer for her. "But you still have a long way to go" Her mother spoke up next, and gave one of her softer smiles, as she knew what was coming next. "Fight well, because this is going to be the hardest fight of your life so far" Arisha blinked, not understanding...until her father punched her square in the face. She flew away from the table and through a window, hitting the ground and rolling a few times, gathering her feet under her as her fists clenched and came up into a stance out of pure instinct of all those years of fighting. "What the?" The confusion was obvious across her face as her father came flying out the broken window to continue the fight. "Let me see how far you've come!" Even from the get go, it was obvious who was the better fighter. Arisha was holding her own, but her father was easily battering aside her defenses, scoring hits against her body. Several people came out to see what was going on, and when children tried to rush to her aid, they were stopped by their own parents. Some fought to try and aid her, all lost. She was on her own. She did try. She did manage to hit her father at times, even going into a short combo once due to slipping a shot to his jaw past his defenses and stunning him momentarily. It didn't last long, and she paid for that one hard. Finally she'd had enough, and in anger slammed a hard shot straight in his center of mass. Much like she had when he had first hit her, he went flying backwards, and she chased to give him more of a beating before her mother stepped in, pinning the young girl's arms behind her. "That...the anger, the rage....that is your strength, that is what you must learn to control. You have all learned to fight, now learn how you can become stronger still" Arisha was still rather angry, her father standing up from wher she'd hit him and dusting himself off. "Not bad...I actually felt that" The next day was spent in silence from the young woman. It was obvious she was mad, and her parents gave her room to cool down. Nor was she allowed to participate in the fights outside until she did. While they all loved the fight, there was no point in needlessly injuring each other. They didn't have the regeneration pods that some did, and all wounds had to be healed naturally. They all had that lesson learned already. When she finally came back to the dinner table, her father said only one phrase to her. "Learn to harness your anger, and you may surpass me yet. Until then...you can only strive in vain for what you cannot attain" She listened in stoic silence, her expression still angry. Her training from that day forth was more intense than before, both in part due to her parents training her as well as continuing to fight the other adolescents, and the fact that she strove to do just that. Beat her father, who showed rather easily that he could defeat her if he chose. When she turned sixteen, her father waited for her in the back yard, dressed only in a simple pair of pants that would easily allow full range of motion. Sent there by her mother, she looked at him. "Yes, father?" He cracks his knuckles, smiling. "Let's see if you learned anything, shall we?" She surprised him by blocking the first shot. What followed was a quick and constant back and forth between the two of them, both of them silent and serious in their expression. They weren't playing around, both of them were aware that one of them would likely have to take a few weeks off to heal...if not both of them. About fifteen minutes into the fight, he started taunting her. "come on, did those four years just go to waste? I can barely feel it!" It continued for two minutes, her face steadily becoming more and more angry until she lands another hard shot to his stomach, doubling him over and then backhanding him into a tree. He grunts when he lands, anger flashing in his own eyes, though he doesn't act rashly. She takes her stance again, breathing deeply as her nostrils flare. "You've learned what we meant back then. Good. Now let's finish this" By the end of it, both of them needed about a month to heal from the various assortment of broken bones, bruises, cuts, scrapes, and fist sized impressions the two left on each other. As they sat there, they talked about many things, though mostly of her. Her technique, how it could be improved, and what she was doing right and how to keep it that way. On the last day, her father said to her. "You are ready to go forth into the world and make your impression. Come home when you wish to settle down" She nodded once, and bid farewell to her parents and childhood friends, and set off to find her niche in life. |
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7:27 PM Jul 10