Dead Things, and Worse Still Dec 13, 2018 4:43:28 GMT -6
Post by Vocado on Dec 13, 2018 4:43:28 GMT -6
Thread Power Level: 92,500
The darkness of Destron was no stranger to a Saiyan. Its poison had permeated parts of Vegeta for years, being one of many reasons why the planet was near-impossible to cultivate life on. Namekians had used their magic to create small patches of life near their capital city of Maestropolis, but without near-constant care the fields would wither and die. It was a blessing, one might suppose, that the Namekian people who'd migrated to Vegeta were so invested in horticulture. Had they been war-loving, then surely the gears of war would have turned for too long.
Prince Vocado, the Once-King of the Saiyan people, leaped from a dilapidated building, landing in a valley coated in thick smog. His face was covered by a mask. Thick and pointed, the breathing machine looked like something an evil space-dictator might employ. The heavy-duty helmet filtered the poison out effortlessly, converting what was once a death trap into a land ripe for exploration.
These masks, though expensive to make, had been developed ages before, and improved since. Though the Saiyan Kingdom had become more insular and peace-appreciative than the Empire it was birthed from, expeditions into the wastes the Tuffles left behind were still few and far between. Surely something could be gained from studying it, but until it became a priority, the bones of a vindictive civilization would still scar the planet.
Maneuvering through the crags were still dangerous though. The Saiyan Prince clicked a button on his mask, and activated a low-light scanner for his scouter. It helped some, but this deep into Tuffle territory, the darkness was enhanced by the overbearing amounts of Destron.
"Surely it must be close..."
Across the valley was another collapsed building. Old and busted, the bones of it looked like some prehistoric beast frozen mid-scream. In all honesty, he wasn't sure what it was he was actually looking for. Myths upon legends upon fantasy was what drove him to leave the capital so early and so secretively. Maybe the stories were true, and he'd get to fulfill his wish without a second trip to Namek.
With a sigh, Vocado walked forward, eyes darting to and fro behind his helmet. He made sure to be cautious; even with his strength, the poison that blotted out the sun could still catch him off-guard. Any manner of beast could be roaming these wastes, after all, and unlike Vocado they'd thrived in this, the thickest of death clouds.