Aranai Zo
May 13, 2012 15:12:40 GMT -8
Post by Mhairyn "Aryn" Dirson on May 13, 2012 15:12:40 GMT -8
Profile Information
Name
Zo Aranai
“Zoi” (Zoe)
Gender
Female
Age
18
Faction
Human, Spiritually Aware
Rank
Former Imperial Tactical Unit Recruit
Reiatsu Color
A dull, bland dark blue-black.
Reiatsu Aura
Naïveté
162.5cm
50.8kg (Healthy); 49.1kg (Current)
Black hair in a haggard braid, as though a child did it. Black eyes, hidden behind sunken cheeks, bright with insomnia and paranoia.
When healthy, her soft black hair falls in gentle waves. Her smile reaches her almond-shaped eyes, which twinkle at some secret joke, and the faint, feminine blush across her dimpled cheeks darkens. The scar along her jawline is barely visible to all but the most discerning eye.
Personality
Ordinarily, a generally pleasant woman, both polite and respectful even though the underlying intensity occasionally breaks through. She is very driven, very honorable and proud, the very stereotype of person the army requires.
Recently, scattered, broken thoughts and speech, behaviors wrought with terror and paranoia due to lack of sleep and understanding of the current situation.
History
The Aranai clan was known for producing the finest of soldiers in the Imperial army, the seed of the forefathers producing son upon son upon son. Occasionally a daughter was born, and though she developed the clan’s health and headstrong identifiers, she was expected to produce sons and carry on the cycle proudly.
Until the day a daughter was given to Aranai Chiba. He had many sons, each strong as his forefathers, and his wife’s last gift to him was a daughter before passing on. He rose her in the expected way, as much as he could granted his station in the army. She was to be trained in the arts of homemaking and raising crops while the sons and fathers fought.
From the time she could walk, Zo began to defy her father. She never behaved as any other daughter in the clan, never cried or wailed when she harmed herself. Instead she picked herself up, laughed, and continued on, as though she were a son. She played with the boys, neglecting her duties, and grew.
She insisted, as girls often do, to follow in her father’s footsteps. She was an Aranai, why couldn’t she fight? Other girls were fighting, were soldiering, why couldn’t she? Eventually, her father relented, and Zo entered the army at the tender age of ten and two, two years older than her brothers upon their entrance.
Night and day she trained with the boys, proving her worth and her valor. She reveled in the challenges, surpassed expectations, earned her namesake; she became known as Chiba’s daughter. Unlike the other females in the army, Zo brawled with men twice her size, often winning with her smart maneuvering and smarter mouth.
The day came, her fifteenth birthday, that she was no longer going to be a recruit. She was going to become an official foot soldier. They travelled to the Palace, nerves and excitement permeating the ranks; oh, it was a glorious day! The sun was shining, the birds were screaming....
People were screaming, burning, dying. The smell of blood and fire was strong and acrid, repulsing the most seasoned of recruits. The formation broke, the recruits scattered, Zo pressed on. This is what they were trained for, someone was attacking the emperor, they needed to help him!
No one heard her, no one listened. She fought against those fleeing, pushing her way into the fray to seek her calling. She grunted, swore, cursed those too cowardly to stay and fight, to protect those that needed protection. She made her way into the main hall, fighting and pushing to stay on her feet.
Blood stained the walls, the tapestries, the floor. Faces, frozen in death, jeered and leered, mouths contorted in rictuses of unadulterated horror and pain. Limbs were rent from torso, soldiers were looking for their lost arms. The blood soaked into her knees, her palms, her forehead. She couldn’t take it, the horror, the smells, the sounds of dead and dying. The next surge dragged her outward, away from the evil, away from the dead, away from her screams.
She woke some time later, discarded as though dead alongside the road. She purged until her stomach was empty of its very first meal, then vomited further. She scrubbed until her blood blended with the blood of the dead, trying to escape, to forget. Time passed, spent rocking back and forth and stifling the sobs that betrayed her gender.
She slept, waking at the sounds of screams that no one else could hear, and sat rocking, afraid. At dawn she fled, running as far and as fast as she could, crawling when she couldn’t go farther. She made it to the village, starved and terrified. They fed her, groomed her, and sent her on her way; she was a soldier, she wasn’t to stay. She wandered farm to farm, village to village, slowly coming to terms with her shattered life; soldiering was all she knew, all she cared about, what was she to do?
Sitting in the dark, in the rains of despair, she saw him. He was older, alone, hobbling fast toward her. He kept glancing over his shoulder, panic lacing his every move, every jarred step. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, couldn’t comprehend what he was doing; there was nothing behind him that she could see, but his terror was real. Then he fell.
But falling wasn’t the right word; he’d flung himself sideways, arced in the air, cried out, and fallen in a crumpled heap. The word finally registered in her brain: help.
The effect was instantaneous. She rose and strode forward, into the bleakness. Something was out there, it had harmed this old man, and she had to destroy it. It was her duty as a soldier and as an Aranai. She took a breath, steeled herself, ....
And walked into hell. The pain was excruciating. Whatever it was had laid her flesh open, from ear to shoulder. It had meant to eat her, and would have succeeded if she hadn’t of reacted with a scream of rage and a furiously unrelenting flurry of off-handed attacks; what she could not see, she felt, and what she felt was real.
Pain. So much pain. A burn without fire, a wound with no blade. Her very soul, very core, screaming in agony. Dying.
She came to, bandaged, in a warm, dry hut not far from where she was attacked. She learned of her rescuer, thought not of his abilities nor of the creature that had attacked her -- as far as she was aware, it was a very large dog. For months, she wandered in and out of sleep, the old man keeping her unconscious and restrained so that her wound would have a chance to heal; it had an unnatural resistance to healing on its own, and her nighttime thrashings were of no assistance. Finally, the tissues healed over and she regained full use of her arm. Only a faint scar remained of a blurry memory of life’s lessons learned.
It was then that the man began explain what had happened that night, many months ago, of spirits and sages. Zo listened, but did not hear, as the memories of that night and the day of her fifteenth birthday replayed over and over in her mind’s eye. She fled, denying everything, and ran, ran as she did years ago. Away from the truth.
The Others. Good and Evil. Balance. Protection. Salvation. Retribution.
The truth began to chase her, to taunt her. Monsters dogged her every step, her every turn, and she soon lost herself in the paranoia. She needed to hide, needed to become one with the dark. If she could close her eyes and just will it all away, push it all away....
[[[It was a wild dog, starving as she was. It had followed her through the woods, into her safe haven. She was ill and injured, having twisted her ankle some days prior on a slick log, and perhaps her fear, which was radiating off her, encouraged the beast to strike.
It was heavy, sodden with slick rain and mud. It pinned her, snarling and snapping, jagged maw inches from the delicate skin on her throat. Her body responded, bucking and twisting, evading or deflecting the dangerous claws intent upon disembowelment with knee and elbow. Elbow to throat, knee to gut. Duck head. Twist, turn. No!
Off, off, get OFF!
A momentary sensation of being lifted (was it the lack of oxygen to her brain from the struggle in the mud?) followed the thought, as her very core rattled and exploded. Dazed, the dog rose and shook, malice echoing from his reverberating throat. It charged, leaping and striking. She scrambled, rolling and fighting for her feet. If she could only get up! Be big!
If you are large, Little one, They will flee.
An elbow to the snoot, a paw to the back of the knee. Girl and wolf were in the throes of chaos, a passionate dance determined to destroy one another. They were evenly matched, both injured, both weakening. All she needed was a weapon, something to keep it away. Pinned again, she curled, ducking her head to her chest and protecting the base of her neck with her fists; it snarled and snapped, scratched and yowled. Her hands took the brunt of the attack, somehow managing nothing but the least grievous of injuries.
It pushed her into the mud, claws digging into the tender flesh in the backs of her knees as she struggled, further forcing herself into the mud. Off, off, get it off... Get it off....
A silent prayer to the gods she no longer believed in as her strength waned, a broken sob. Is this the way she was supposed to go? Lost in the woods, destroyed by a raving animal?
“Something, anything, please ... please save me. Please, I don’t want to die....”
Again that feeling of explosion rocked through her body, blowing the dog off. It landed some distance way, giving Zo enough time to pry herself out of the mud and turn over; her back ached, skin torn from the scrabbling she suffered. Her breath was coming out in rasping gasps from nearly suffocating, and still it was coming. Angry.
Dazed, yes, but angry. Fervently she glanced about, looking for some sort of weapon. Adrenaline rushed through her system as her body regained its composure, pain no longer at her forebrain as she regained control. Still, it affected her, and as she scrambled back, away from the beast in the muck and the mud, hope was lost; nothing was in reach, her fingertips just brushing the very edge of the stick...!
All that praying, that hoping, had been for naught. It advanced, rage rumbling about in its shaggy, sopping throat. Eyes boring--
--breath hitching, catching--
--muscles coiling, sinking--
--hands reaching, stretching, willing. Please!
Leaping and snarling, grasping and screaming. Rage, unadulterated and enrapturing, erupted from both throats, desperation and fate playing their final hands. The stick shattered between the two (where had it come from?!), the bodies collided. Bright, white light. Disorientation. Disbelief.
The dog, gone, slinking off with its tail between its legs, unwilling to continue the attack. She rose, wobbly, and sank to her knees in the mud. Her entire body quivered, mind reeling and replaying what had just happened. All attempts to move had been denied, all commands ignored. A branch snapped, adrenaline surged, she scrambled.
Back in the safety of her shelter, after the shaking and purging, she replayed in her mind what had happened. Some otherworldly force had assisted her, of that she was sure. She was not capable of summoning things just out of reach to her hand or forcing a body off her. It wasn’t natural!
Over the next few days, as she fought infection (odd, that she wasn’t quite so injured as she felt) and fever, delirium brought on about from the myriad of wound, starvation, and insomnia, she tried to recreate those feelings, those emotions, those... Instances. ]]]
Alas, it wasn’t to be, to her great sorrow; the abilities were not real, unable to be manifested. As soon as she healed, she came to the (un)fortunate conclusion that nothing had happened, she was insane. She saw monsters.... No one else saw them!
But the monsters were all very real. She couldn’t avoid them forever, but soon learned to recognize them and flee to the best of her abilities. She lived off the land, her body sculpted back to its taut form with wild muscle. It was safer.
One day, after a long streak of monster-free days, she encountered a particularly ugly one outside of a small village. But it wasn’t alone, and it didn’t notice her. It was otherwise engaged with a man in black. He bested the monster with ease, and before departing, seemed to sense the intense stare boring through his very soul.
He bowed to her presumed gratitude before vanishing, unleashing a newfound hope within the shattered psyche. The monsters she saw were able to be defeated! Seeds of doubt soon to worm their way into the healing heart, and not long after the man in black, the paranoia came inching back, rearing its vile head.
Maybe she was crazy? No one else, except for that old man, had seen these monsters. She hadn’t seen the man in black since that fateful day, either. If this was all in her mind, where did that leave her? What was she going to do?
She had to prove she wasn’t crazy.
Stats
Speed [100/600]
Reiatsu [25/450]
Strength
Force [100/300]
Stamina [50/300]
Endurance [50/150]
Skill
Reiatsu Skill [25/450]
Weapon Skill [0/150]
Hand to Hand Skill [100/600]
Skills
Skill 1
Ability Control [0/3]
Skill 2
Agility [0/3]
Skill 3
Reiatsu Control [0/3]
Skill 4
Reiatsu Sensing [0/3]
Skill 5
Unarmed Combat [0/3]
Faction Skill
Will to Live
Division Skill
Gift of Sight
Free Skill
Intact - The body maintains perfect memory of all training it endured, ensuring survival despite fear driving the mind.
Bonuses
Experience
0
Skill Points
0
Exploits
0
Bounty
0
Yen
¥2,000
Inventory
Abilities
Acrobatics
Hand-Eye Coordination
Hayasa AR
Chikara AR
Konkujiku
Spiritual Ability
Name
Teikou - resistance; opposition
Description
The perseverance of the body is the key. The body calls upon forces beyond conscious control (perhaps later it would be able to be called at will) and supplicates them, eventually melding them into a tool designed for protection and salvation.
Attacks
Infant
Protect - A very small, unstable shield of reiatsu forms over vital parts of the body in order to protect it from severe damage. Upon collapse, a sound not unlike that of breaking glass is heard.
Pull - The most difficult of the three to engage, as it requires detailed concentration to maintain and exercise. An object just out of reach of grabbing (no more than seven centimeters) may find itself slightly encouraged to jump into the outstretched, waiting hand. Reiatsu is designed to snake out and ensnare the desired object and pull it toward Zo. Obviously, the weight of the object factors into the success of the ability.
Push - A large, by comparison to the other techniques, outward burst of energy designed to push objects away. The smaller the object, the more of a chance of it flying away; the larger objects, such as another being, would feel a push that may or may not lead to a disturbance in equilibrium. Initial size is within a five meter radius, with the center being strongest and initial power drastically diminishing as the force expands outward.
(Keeping in mind these are in their infancy and are unable to be consciously controlled....)
Juvenile
n/a (a/c lvl1)
Adolescent
n/a (a/c lvl2)
Mature
n/a (a/c lvl3)
Passive
As it is but a repelling force, it will do no direct damage; it is another matter entirely whether or not the intended targets harm themselves in the process.
Name
Zo Aranai
“Zoi” (Zoe)
Gender
Female
Age
18
Faction
Human, Spiritually Aware
Rank
Former Imperial Tactical Unit Recruit
Reiatsu Color
A dull, bland dark blue-black.
Reiatsu Aura
Naïveté
162.5cm
50.8kg (Healthy); 49.1kg (Current)
Black hair in a haggard braid, as though a child did it. Black eyes, hidden behind sunken cheeks, bright with insomnia and paranoia.
When healthy, her soft black hair falls in gentle waves. Her smile reaches her almond-shaped eyes, which twinkle at some secret joke, and the faint, feminine blush across her dimpled cheeks darkens. The scar along her jawline is barely visible to all but the most discerning eye.
Personality
Ordinarily, a generally pleasant woman, both polite and respectful even though the underlying intensity occasionally breaks through. She is very driven, very honorable and proud, the very stereotype of person the army requires.
Recently, scattered, broken thoughts and speech, behaviors wrought with terror and paranoia due to lack of sleep and understanding of the current situation.
History
The Aranai clan was known for producing the finest of soldiers in the Imperial army, the seed of the forefathers producing son upon son upon son. Occasionally a daughter was born, and though she developed the clan’s health and headstrong identifiers, she was expected to produce sons and carry on the cycle proudly.
Until the day a daughter was given to Aranai Chiba. He had many sons, each strong as his forefathers, and his wife’s last gift to him was a daughter before passing on. He rose her in the expected way, as much as he could granted his station in the army. She was to be trained in the arts of homemaking and raising crops while the sons and fathers fought.
From the time she could walk, Zo began to defy her father. She never behaved as any other daughter in the clan, never cried or wailed when she harmed herself. Instead she picked herself up, laughed, and continued on, as though she were a son. She played with the boys, neglecting her duties, and grew.
She insisted, as girls often do, to follow in her father’s footsteps. She was an Aranai, why couldn’t she fight? Other girls were fighting, were soldiering, why couldn’t she? Eventually, her father relented, and Zo entered the army at the tender age of ten and two, two years older than her brothers upon their entrance.
Night and day she trained with the boys, proving her worth and her valor. She reveled in the challenges, surpassed expectations, earned her namesake; she became known as Chiba’s daughter. Unlike the other females in the army, Zo brawled with men twice her size, often winning with her smart maneuvering and smarter mouth.
The day came, her fifteenth birthday, that she was no longer going to be a recruit. She was going to become an official foot soldier. They travelled to the Palace, nerves and excitement permeating the ranks; oh, it was a glorious day! The sun was shining, the birds were screaming....
People were screaming, burning, dying. The smell of blood and fire was strong and acrid, repulsing the most seasoned of recruits. The formation broke, the recruits scattered, Zo pressed on. This is what they were trained for, someone was attacking the emperor, they needed to help him!
No one heard her, no one listened. She fought against those fleeing, pushing her way into the fray to seek her calling. She grunted, swore, cursed those too cowardly to stay and fight, to protect those that needed protection. She made her way into the main hall, fighting and pushing to stay on her feet.
Blood stained the walls, the tapestries, the floor. Faces, frozen in death, jeered and leered, mouths contorted in rictuses of unadulterated horror and pain. Limbs were rent from torso, soldiers were looking for their lost arms. The blood soaked into her knees, her palms, her forehead. She couldn’t take it, the horror, the smells, the sounds of dead and dying. The next surge dragged her outward, away from the evil, away from the dead, away from her screams.
She woke some time later, discarded as though dead alongside the road. She purged until her stomach was empty of its very first meal, then vomited further. She scrubbed until her blood blended with the blood of the dead, trying to escape, to forget. Time passed, spent rocking back and forth and stifling the sobs that betrayed her gender.
She slept, waking at the sounds of screams that no one else could hear, and sat rocking, afraid. At dawn she fled, running as far and as fast as she could, crawling when she couldn’t go farther. She made it to the village, starved and terrified. They fed her, groomed her, and sent her on her way; she was a soldier, she wasn’t to stay. She wandered farm to farm, village to village, slowly coming to terms with her shattered life; soldiering was all she knew, all she cared about, what was she to do?
Sitting in the dark, in the rains of despair, she saw him. He was older, alone, hobbling fast toward her. He kept glancing over his shoulder, panic lacing his every move, every jarred step. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, couldn’t comprehend what he was doing; there was nothing behind him that she could see, but his terror was real. Then he fell.
But falling wasn’t the right word; he’d flung himself sideways, arced in the air, cried out, and fallen in a crumpled heap. The word finally registered in her brain: help.
The effect was instantaneous. She rose and strode forward, into the bleakness. Something was out there, it had harmed this old man, and she had to destroy it. It was her duty as a soldier and as an Aranai. She took a breath, steeled herself, ....
And walked into hell. The pain was excruciating. Whatever it was had laid her flesh open, from ear to shoulder. It had meant to eat her, and would have succeeded if she hadn’t of reacted with a scream of rage and a furiously unrelenting flurry of off-handed attacks; what she could not see, she felt, and what she felt was real.
Pain. So much pain. A burn without fire, a wound with no blade. Her very soul, very core, screaming in agony. Dying.
She came to, bandaged, in a warm, dry hut not far from where she was attacked. She learned of her rescuer, thought not of his abilities nor of the creature that had attacked her -- as far as she was aware, it was a very large dog. For months, she wandered in and out of sleep, the old man keeping her unconscious and restrained so that her wound would have a chance to heal; it had an unnatural resistance to healing on its own, and her nighttime thrashings were of no assistance. Finally, the tissues healed over and she regained full use of her arm. Only a faint scar remained of a blurry memory of life’s lessons learned.
It was then that the man began explain what had happened that night, many months ago, of spirits and sages. Zo listened, but did not hear, as the memories of that night and the day of her fifteenth birthday replayed over and over in her mind’s eye. She fled, denying everything, and ran, ran as she did years ago. Away from the truth.
The Others. Good and Evil. Balance. Protection. Salvation. Retribution.
The truth began to chase her, to taunt her. Monsters dogged her every step, her every turn, and she soon lost herself in the paranoia. She needed to hide, needed to become one with the dark. If she could close her eyes and just will it all away, push it all away....
[[[It was a wild dog, starving as she was. It had followed her through the woods, into her safe haven. She was ill and injured, having twisted her ankle some days prior on a slick log, and perhaps her fear, which was radiating off her, encouraged the beast to strike.
It was heavy, sodden with slick rain and mud. It pinned her, snarling and snapping, jagged maw inches from the delicate skin on her throat. Her body responded, bucking and twisting, evading or deflecting the dangerous claws intent upon disembowelment with knee and elbow. Elbow to throat, knee to gut. Duck head. Twist, turn. No!
Off, off, get OFF!
A momentary sensation of being lifted (was it the lack of oxygen to her brain from the struggle in the mud?) followed the thought, as her very core rattled and exploded. Dazed, the dog rose and shook, malice echoing from his reverberating throat. It charged, leaping and striking. She scrambled, rolling and fighting for her feet. If she could only get up! Be big!
If you are large, Little one, They will flee.
An elbow to the snoot, a paw to the back of the knee. Girl and wolf were in the throes of chaos, a passionate dance determined to destroy one another. They were evenly matched, both injured, both weakening. All she needed was a weapon, something to keep it away. Pinned again, she curled, ducking her head to her chest and protecting the base of her neck with her fists; it snarled and snapped, scratched and yowled. Her hands took the brunt of the attack, somehow managing nothing but the least grievous of injuries.
It pushed her into the mud, claws digging into the tender flesh in the backs of her knees as she struggled, further forcing herself into the mud. Off, off, get it off... Get it off....
A silent prayer to the gods she no longer believed in as her strength waned, a broken sob. Is this the way she was supposed to go? Lost in the woods, destroyed by a raving animal?
“Something, anything, please ... please save me. Please, I don’t want to die....”
Again that feeling of explosion rocked through her body, blowing the dog off. It landed some distance way, giving Zo enough time to pry herself out of the mud and turn over; her back ached, skin torn from the scrabbling she suffered. Her breath was coming out in rasping gasps from nearly suffocating, and still it was coming. Angry.
Dazed, yes, but angry. Fervently she glanced about, looking for some sort of weapon. Adrenaline rushed through her system as her body regained its composure, pain no longer at her forebrain as she regained control. Still, it affected her, and as she scrambled back, away from the beast in the muck and the mud, hope was lost; nothing was in reach, her fingertips just brushing the very edge of the stick...!
All that praying, that hoping, had been for naught. It advanced, rage rumbling about in its shaggy, sopping throat. Eyes boring--
--breath hitching, catching--
--muscles coiling, sinking--
--hands reaching, stretching, willing. Please!
Leaping and snarling, grasping and screaming. Rage, unadulterated and enrapturing, erupted from both throats, desperation and fate playing their final hands. The stick shattered between the two (where had it come from?!), the bodies collided. Bright, white light. Disorientation. Disbelief.
The dog, gone, slinking off with its tail between its legs, unwilling to continue the attack. She rose, wobbly, and sank to her knees in the mud. Her entire body quivered, mind reeling and replaying what had just happened. All attempts to move had been denied, all commands ignored. A branch snapped, adrenaline surged, she scrambled.
Back in the safety of her shelter, after the shaking and purging, she replayed in her mind what had happened. Some otherworldly force had assisted her, of that she was sure. She was not capable of summoning things just out of reach to her hand or forcing a body off her. It wasn’t natural!
Over the next few days, as she fought infection (odd, that she wasn’t quite so injured as she felt) and fever, delirium brought on about from the myriad of wound, starvation, and insomnia, she tried to recreate those feelings, those emotions, those... Instances. ]]]
Alas, it wasn’t to be, to her great sorrow; the abilities were not real, unable to be manifested. As soon as she healed, she came to the (un)fortunate conclusion that nothing had happened, she was insane. She saw monsters.... No one else saw them!
But the monsters were all very real. She couldn’t avoid them forever, but soon learned to recognize them and flee to the best of her abilities. She lived off the land, her body sculpted back to its taut form with wild muscle. It was safer.
One day, after a long streak of monster-free days, she encountered a particularly ugly one outside of a small village. But it wasn’t alone, and it didn’t notice her. It was otherwise engaged with a man in black. He bested the monster with ease, and before departing, seemed to sense the intense stare boring through his very soul.
He bowed to her presumed gratitude before vanishing, unleashing a newfound hope within the shattered psyche. The monsters she saw were able to be defeated! Seeds of doubt soon to worm their way into the healing heart, and not long after the man in black, the paranoia came inching back, rearing its vile head.
Maybe she was crazy? No one else, except for that old man, had seen these monsters. She hadn’t seen the man in black since that fateful day, either. If this was all in her mind, where did that leave her? What was she going to do?
She had to prove she wasn’t crazy.
Stats
Speed [100/600]
Reiatsu [25/450]
Strength
Force [100/300]
Stamina [50/300]
Endurance [50/150]
Skill
Reiatsu Skill [25/450]
Weapon Skill [0/150]
Hand to Hand Skill [100/600]
Skills
Skill 1
Ability Control [0/3]
Skill 2
Agility [0/3]
Skill 3
Reiatsu Control [0/3]
Skill 4
Reiatsu Sensing [0/3]
Skill 5
Unarmed Combat [0/3]
Faction Skill
Will to Live
Division Skill
Gift of Sight
Free Skill
Intact - The body maintains perfect memory of all training it endured, ensuring survival despite fear driving the mind.
Bonuses
Experience
0
Skill Points
0
Exploits
0
Bounty
0
Yen
¥2,000
Inventory
Abilities
Acrobatics
Hand-Eye Coordination
Hayasa AR
Chikara AR
Konkujiku
Spiritual Ability
Name
Teikou - resistance; opposition
Description
The perseverance of the body is the key. The body calls upon forces beyond conscious control (perhaps later it would be able to be called at will) and supplicates them, eventually melding them into a tool designed for protection and salvation.
Attacks
Infant
Protect - A very small, unstable shield of reiatsu forms over vital parts of the body in order to protect it from severe damage. Upon collapse, a sound not unlike that of breaking glass is heard.
Pull - The most difficult of the three to engage, as it requires detailed concentration to maintain and exercise. An object just out of reach of grabbing (no more than seven centimeters) may find itself slightly encouraged to jump into the outstretched, waiting hand. Reiatsu is designed to snake out and ensnare the desired object and pull it toward Zo. Obviously, the weight of the object factors into the success of the ability.
Push - A large, by comparison to the other techniques, outward burst of energy designed to push objects away. The smaller the object, the more of a chance of it flying away; the larger objects, such as another being, would feel a push that may or may not lead to a disturbance in equilibrium. Initial size is within a five meter radius, with the center being strongest and initial power drastically diminishing as the force expands outward.
(Keeping in mind these are in their infancy and are unable to be consciously controlled....)
Juvenile
n/a (a/c lvl1)
Adolescent
n/a (a/c lvl2)
Mature
n/a (a/c lvl3)
Passive
As it is but a repelling force, it will do no direct damage; it is another matter entirely whether or not the intended targets harm themselves in the process.
