Namekian Warrior Rp

Lute's eyes drifted open slowly. His vision blurred. He'd move his arm to his eyes, blocking the feeble rays of sunlight peeking through the cracks of his coffin.  He had been dreaming, for a long, long time. . . Having just been "Awakened" (A namekian right of passage for those truly gifted, who study under the elder. The right, awakens the user's mind. ANd then puts them to sleep as compensation. Buried as if dead, their heart beat stilled. The rest like this for fifty years. In some cases up to a century.)  Moving slowly to a sitting position, his soft green lips would quickly curl into a smile. He'd shout with glee! Or try to, the only sound escaping a raspy cough. He was still weakened from his hibernation. And although he knew it had been many moons since he'd last seen his family, his friends, the elder. He still held the image of Namek, and its people fresh in his head. He was ready to meet them, a new Namekian. Awakened and strong. He was the new bastion of the sacred lands, and he couldn't wait to enjoy the company of his loved ones once more. He got up. . .And opened the door to his coffin. Stepping into the outside world for the first time in a century. . .  He looked. And fell silent.  He was home. The familiar airs of Namek filled his nostrils, as he took in the lush blue grass, the wonderful emerald skies. . . But. Something was different. Something was terribly wrong. As  Lute looked around, and felt outwards for life signs. .  for any signs of his brethren, he felt a chill run up his spine. "No. . ." Lute would gasp. "NOOOOO!"  He would spend his next few days, moving around. Recuperating, searching for ANY life. The elder, his children, his friends. . . All were gone. And he was all alone. Namek had never looked so large and uninviting to him. . .He was in hell.  In despair, he spent many nights alone, cold, on the ground. Sobbing. Wondering his new purpose. What sort of ordeal must he now endure, oh great Elder?! What more must I suffer for?!" Thought Lute.   But in that moment, his resolve hardened. He recalled the reason for his training, what the elder did in ages past. He realized he could not give up. . . His race would live on!  His training would never finish, it wasn't over yet! No matter the adversity. . . Lute would carry on!  He'd resume his body's training, fine tuning his martial arts, his chi, his reflexes! He constructed a monastery. A training encampment for himself. Planted flowers to make the land pretty again, drank its water. He would then use his people's hidden and special technique, the split form! Fighting against himself day after day, week after weak. Tuning his body into a sculpted masterpiece. Working on his ki control as well, he would continue. He allowed himself to fully go into his training, devoting himself to them. In doing so he could escape the pain and emptiness he felt of loneliness. . . And as he trained a thought crossed his mind: "Our last elder saved our race from extinction by laying the eggs of our fathers, he was the last Namekian. And he revived the race. . . "  Nodding to himself, he'd train harder.  He too would revive his race! And to do that. . .He had to be strong. And wise. Like his elder  before him. He was Lute! And he would preserve the teachings of Namek!