Post by Trumpet on Jan 1, 2017 22:48:55 GMT
It was a weird sensation, attempting to simultaneously mask his power while also using it to maintain flight. He kept imagining a measuring act to keep his ki signature at a specific point. Tip it too low, and he'd fall to gravity, tip it too high and the sensitive namekians would detect his presence. Trumpet decided the best approach had been to fly above the clouds and maintain a steady approach. It was a slow journey, but it gave him the opportunity to survey the landscape. A bunch of islands separated by stretches of water, nothing he didn't already know since he was a namekian, himself and had grown up on the green and blue planet.
"Finally..." he grunted as he came within sight of a village far below him. With this bird's eye view, he could see its entire layout, and the positions of all the inhabitants. It would have been easy to simply wipe the village out by raining ki blasts from the clouds, but his mission was not to destroy them, if that was within the realm of possibility. Today, he was here to observe and report, gauging the strength of the planet's inhabitants since Xylo's disastrously failed attempt to conquer New Namek.
"Better hide these." the corrupted namekian said, caressing a finger across his forehead. He did not have antennae like ordinary namekians, but instead a pair of horns grew from his forehead, and his eyes were solid red. They'd recognize him for a demon instantly if he just dropped into into the village like this; he needed something to blend in and avoid identification. Thankfully, he had come prepared, and reached into his supplies bag to pull out a drawstring hood, as he slipped it over his head and tightened the strings. The hood closed enough to obscure his horns and eyes in shade, while still leaving his mouth and nose exposed. Taking a moment to test out the hood and make sure it wouldn't shift out of place, he nodded in approval before starting to descend to the ground.
He began to run through his alibi in his head for the 7th time this morning: he was a warrior namekian who needed to restock his supplies to continue isolated training away from the village. It was a simple excuse and one that many would find believable, as plenty of warriors enjoyed training by themselves to avoid distractions, or so they woldn't harm others. So long as he didn't openly reveal his mazoku heritage, there shouldn't have been any complications in observing how well supplied the villagers were.
The villagers finally recognized him as he touched down gave them a wave of greetings. Already, the villagers were gathering around him, curious as to his business as the elder presented himself. A stout, fattened namekian with dark green skin and pale yellow patches on his body. He was carrying a wooden staff, but it didn't seem like he needed it to support his weight.
"Greetings, traveler. What brings you to our village?" the elder asked. The question was supposed to be a friendly one, but Trumpet could detect the faint sense of suspicion in his tone, most likely due to the mazoku obscuring half his face from view.
"Greetings to you too, Elder." he replied with a polite bow of his upper body, "I've come here to restock on some basic supplies and essentials." he passed a glance around at the other villagers, not recognizing any warriors present at the time.
"I've been conducting my training in solitude, you see, and I often find myself needing to visit nearby villages to restock when I run out." that seemed to ease the tension out of most of the villagers, as the elder paused and stared at him for a few moments.
"Very well, young warrior, we shall spare what we can for you. And I hope that your training serves you well in protecting our people." the elder said, tapping his staff on the dirt before turning around and heading back to his hut.
"I hope so, as well." Trumpet commented as he began to head for the village's storehouse, being escorted by a couple dragon clansmen who would oversee his supplies.
Trumpet had his report for now. The Elders were wary of suspicious characters, but as long as he did not openly exhibit hostility, they seemed willing to let him be. A foolish policy that might get them all killed one day. Clearly, this planet needed mazoku leadership if it wanted to survive long term.
Twenty minutes later and Trumpet had what he needed. Most races would have considered the paltry supplies in his bag to be minuscule, but namekians could survive off shockingly little food and water. With his bag now full of things he didn't truly need, he took to the skies once more, flying back towards his private island to prepare for his next assignment.
"Finally..." he grunted as he came within sight of a village far below him. With this bird's eye view, he could see its entire layout, and the positions of all the inhabitants. It would have been easy to simply wipe the village out by raining ki blasts from the clouds, but his mission was not to destroy them, if that was within the realm of possibility. Today, he was here to observe and report, gauging the strength of the planet's inhabitants since Xylo's disastrously failed attempt to conquer New Namek.
"Better hide these." the corrupted namekian said, caressing a finger across his forehead. He did not have antennae like ordinary namekians, but instead a pair of horns grew from his forehead, and his eyes were solid red. They'd recognize him for a demon instantly if he just dropped into into the village like this; he needed something to blend in and avoid identification. Thankfully, he had come prepared, and reached into his supplies bag to pull out a drawstring hood, as he slipped it over his head and tightened the strings. The hood closed enough to obscure his horns and eyes in shade, while still leaving his mouth and nose exposed. Taking a moment to test out the hood and make sure it wouldn't shift out of place, he nodded in approval before starting to descend to the ground.
He began to run through his alibi in his head for the 7th time this morning: he was a warrior namekian who needed to restock his supplies to continue isolated training away from the village. It was a simple excuse and one that many would find believable, as plenty of warriors enjoyed training by themselves to avoid distractions, or so they woldn't harm others. So long as he didn't openly reveal his mazoku heritage, there shouldn't have been any complications in observing how well supplied the villagers were.
The villagers finally recognized him as he touched down gave them a wave of greetings. Already, the villagers were gathering around him, curious as to his business as the elder presented himself. A stout, fattened namekian with dark green skin and pale yellow patches on his body. He was carrying a wooden staff, but it didn't seem like he needed it to support his weight.
"Greetings, traveler. What brings you to our village?" the elder asked. The question was supposed to be a friendly one, but Trumpet could detect the faint sense of suspicion in his tone, most likely due to the mazoku obscuring half his face from view.
"Greetings to you too, Elder." he replied with a polite bow of his upper body, "I've come here to restock on some basic supplies and essentials." he passed a glance around at the other villagers, not recognizing any warriors present at the time.
"I've been conducting my training in solitude, you see, and I often find myself needing to visit nearby villages to restock when I run out." that seemed to ease the tension out of most of the villagers, as the elder paused and stared at him for a few moments.
"Very well, young warrior, we shall spare what we can for you. And I hope that your training serves you well in protecting our people." the elder said, tapping his staff on the dirt before turning around and heading back to his hut.
"I hope so, as well." Trumpet commented as he began to head for the village's storehouse, being escorted by a couple dragon clansmen who would oversee his supplies.
Trumpet had his report for now. The Elders were wary of suspicious characters, but as long as he did not openly exhibit hostility, they seemed willing to let him be. A foolish policy that might get them all killed one day. Clearly, this planet needed mazoku leadership if it wanted to survive long term.
Twenty minutes later and Trumpet had what he needed. Most races would have considered the paltry supplies in his bag to be minuscule, but namekians could survive off shockingly little food and water. With his bag now full of things he didn't truly need, he took to the skies once more, flying back towards his private island to prepare for his next assignment.