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Old 04-18-2006, 07:30 PM   #1
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Default Kazuo Kiriyama

Name: Kazuo Kiriyama
Age: 15
Sex: Male
Height: 5'9

Character Type: Shinobi

Country/Village: Cloud
Rank: Genin


Physical Description:
Kiriyama has a face that tells a lie that is his age. It’s constructed in a way that looks like he is much older, maybe 18 or 19. His lips are always in a pursed look, and always having a look of his bottom lip is protruding, jaw the same way. His nose seems to get larger as it goes down, however it only really comes out at the arch of it. Due to times of broken noses, there are small almost invisible to the human eye abnormal cracks and slants on his nose bone. His face is free of teenage puberty signs, no pimples little facial hair. Small lines of hair runs down from his sideburns, to around his jaw line.

He has down set eyes, deep cracks around it, black blotches running around his eye, sometimes either from either literally having a black eye, or just his own mysterious sleeping habits and long periods of not blinking. The white of his eye is broken up by piercing black pupils, usually with the hint of vein red right before his eyelids. Though narrow, his eyes always have a look of glaring anger to them. His hair isn’t well groomed at all, wild and tangled all over, sticking up over his ears, slanting every which way. However to the touch it has a nice soft feel, and though not at first reaction through sight, combs and his own hands can run through it without getting in the way of one tangle.
It has a hint of tangerine redness to it, almost a red color going from light from the ends, to dark again at the center.

His neck is scrawny, and pale along with the rest of his body. He’s rather scrawny, not having much body mass, not even muscle or fat. Under his clothing and inside of himself tells a tale of many fights he gets into due to his own personality. He has rigged sharp teeth, broken various teeth, a broken bottom canine tooth, shattered to only a small nub that cant even clamp down on the food he chews due to the other teeth holding it up.



Clothing: His clothing is fairly simple, black button up over shirt, a white loose under shirt, and long black pants. Its fitting of that of a school student, however unlike most he wears it for easy maintenance and his un-superficial and frankly caring attitude. He has his mind set on it looking rather snazzy, as it has the look of a black suit. Although sometimes he wears the coat open, due to heat or just pure anger and that’s what it calls for, he keeps his shirt buttoned up normally all the time

Around his scrawny neck, is his forehead protector, kept shined and bright as oppose to the rest of his black and white attire. Its also a way to literally put to use of this protector, to keep his neck safe. He wears two belts, worn in a helix manner, on the belt that crosses north west to south, his sheath which holds his sword is buckled down. On the other belt, north east to south west holds his pouches of multiple weapons, and even his gourd of oil and strings lay. His rather ironic and somehow intimidating bag of knives is a bad spattered in blood, oil and paint. Two little button eyes, a mouth using a vanity of zippers to give it a mouth, and a button to pin it down and give the look of a mouth.

On his hands he wears wool with metal plate tops, shined to perfection just like his fore head protector. Around his hand he wears a black wrapping, wrapping between his pinky and ring finger, and middle and index finger. On his feet he wears large black boots, also with a metal plate on top.



Personality: In short Kazuo’s personality is a web confusing, complex and infuriating proportions. Half the time he doesn’t understand what he’s thinking half of the time, whether convincing himself he’s normal or knowing he’s not. He has a sadistic side to him, however he doesn’t derive his pleasure from seeing others get harmed, but rather his pleasure comes from the release from other people. Literally rather than letting out a mew of pleasure from wounding someone, he projects his pleasure in the form of a shrill from someone else, the weep of someone else.

There was a time where he had some emotions, some happiness and outward emotions, however that time has passed. He shows a great evidence of mental retardation, not being able to comprehend basic human emotions, not able to understand how someone would feel if they lost
their best friend, or their child, or witnessed a grisly attack themself. He has a mental social deficiency, not able to talk grammatically correct when he does talk, to people. Because he is not
social, he doesn’t enjoy company, or the ability to make friends, which he cannot.


While smart, showing evidence and bits of intelligence and I.Q. spurts that even make that of the Nara look sub par, his sentence structure normally is by replacing the next word with where
another should be. For example.


“He talks like this.”


Would translate into; “ Talks he this like “


This is not to say that there are times where he talks normal, but when he does its rather slow and he takes his time to vocalize what he’s going to say.


He has an anger that shows no favor to anything specific. Not just males, not just females, not
just humans, it’s a hate he has of everything. However he does take a liking to Unkindness. Unkindness in the sense of a flock of Ravens. And ironically Rabbits. But they aren’t an exception of his violent tendencies.

Nindo; Way of the Ninja : “I don’t have a driving force, just im it in the for exceptions to the law.”
Blood type: O

Primary Archetype:


Daredevil
Special: When taken as Primary Archetype, the character can defy the laws of damage once during each thread.
Primary: Physical
Secondary: Mental
Tertiary: Chakra
Stat Merit: +2 to Stamina, +1 to Willpower
Stat Flaw: -2 to Tactics, -1 to Intelligence
Description: A physically determined character, these fighter's have quite a good amount of stamina, and can take quite the beating from someone else. They are pretty much always frontliners and have more energy than most fighter's. Not quite as large in the defensive area as a human tank would be, but very useful otherwise.

Secondary Archetype:


Blade Dancer
Special: When taken as Primary Archetype, gain 2 extra item points to spend on a sword.
Primary: Physical
Secondary: Own Choice
Tertiary: Own Choice
Stat Merit: +1 to Strength, +1 to Speed, +1 to Tactics
Stat Flaw: -1 to Willpower, -1 to Reserves, -1 to Power
Description: These are taijutsu specialists who master techniques of the sword. They practice a style that bases are the sword and use only that for their main means of power. Unless they are fighting other Blade Dancer's, they cannot be beaten in terms of skill with a sword. Unlike most weapon specialists, Blade Dancer's usually have a lot of stamina to be able to fight up close.



Decription: These are people who choose to use throwing weapons as a main source of combat. Unlike any other class, these fighter's carry a wide variety of weapons and use them all to their advantage. Their eyesight and aim with a weapon is extremely high, people who usually have this
archetype almost never seem to miss their target's. They practice some ninjutsu, but only the style of ninjutsu that can cause them to use their weapons to the best of their ability.



Statistics

AP points: 11

Physical (10)


Strength: 1+ 2(Arch. 2)+3+ 2 (AP) +4= 16 (+2 Style)
Speed:1+1(Arch. 2)+3+4=9
Stamina: 1+2(Arch 1)+4 +4 =11 (+2 Style)

Mental (8)

Intelligence: 1-1(Arch 1)+3= 4
Tactics: 1-2 (Arch 1)+ 2 (Arch 2)+3=4
Willpower:1 + 1 (Arch 1)- 1 (Arch 2) + 2 =3

Chakra (6)

Power: 1 - 1 ( Arch 2) + 2 +3 (Thread) = 5
Control: 1+2+3AP= 6
Reserves:1-1 (Arch 2)+2 =2


Jutsus and Techniques



Academy jutsu:

Name: Raikou Bunshin no Jutsu (Lightning Clone Technique)
Requirements: Power 3, Tactics 2
Description: This technique makes a simple clone of the shinobi however unlike the standard bunshin, which is a genjutsu, this bunshin takes an actual physical form through the use of electrically charged chakra. One can easily touch and hold this clone like it was in fact an actual person, however when it is attacked it quickly disperses into smoky, hot air. It is also able to attack using taijutsu, however it's ability to attack is around 1/10 in perspective to the user, in return for this weakness it's attacks deliver shocks of electricity to the opponent's body that are comparative of 3 Power for a specific stage of electrical shock. The technique by itself creates one bunshin, but an additional bunshin can be created after every 3 Reserves.

Base Duration: 1 post

Name: Seiteki Suji no Jutsu (Static Strings Technique)
Requirements: Control 3, Willpower 2
Description: This skill allows the user to create strings of electricity that can either act physically as strings, or as a medium that can send small shocks to an opponent. One of this technique's most useful features is its ability to allow the user to detect outsiders. When the strings are placed around an area, they are often fairly difficult to see, and unnoticed by the quick eye. But when the string is used to detect outsiders, they can adapt a quality that is string-like and electrical at the same time. This quality makes the static strings into a string of electricity, but with such a weak current that it is rarely noticed by Shinobi who accidentally walk through the strings. However, when this happens, the user at once will feel a small shock in their fingers, or where ever else they are keeping the strings intact. But unless the opponent felt the weak current as they walked through the strings, the opponent will usually never know the strings were there. But beyond its ability to detect outsiders, this skill can be used as a normal string when it is needed but none is around, or it can be used to create small shocks to other people. However, the shocks are only a little bit stronger than static electricity, and usually do no damage at all.
Duration: 3 Posts

Name: Teikou no Kuntou (Passive Ability: Electricity Resistance Training)
Requirements: Willpower 3, Intelligence 3
Description: While not necessarily a technique that must be taken, most Cloud-nin are taught this at the Academy. As most know electricity in general is a deadly and somewhat scarce element, generally one could only collect the necessary electricity necessary to perform techniques if they were fighting in the middle of a thunderstorm, or near an electrical source. However current training standards in the academy show how a cloud-nin tends to make electricity through the use of chakra, turning most Cloud-nin in to human capacitors, technically. The process is generally quite painful and requires about 5 months of mental and physical conditioning to resist the charges you activate onto your body.

As it is written, this technique is optional. A person who doesn't take this skill will generally feel pain when even performing their own electricity based techniques, also one who tends to take this ability tends to notice that minor shocks generally do not hurt them as badly.

Chigatana no kenbu (Dance of the bloody sword)

Stage One:
Stat Requirements: Strength 5, Stamina 3
Stage Bonuses: +2 Strength +1 Speed +2 Stamina (+3 Strength +1 Speed Saved)(Special Techniques Sacrificed for additional points)

The user learns the basic theories behind fighting with a sword, but has yet to actually use it in practice. While they can use the sword without risking hurting themselves they have yet achieved complete control over their weapon and can only perform a set of a few basic swings. On the other hand they usually complement their limited skills with the sword by using other means to attack. It is also important that the student begun to learn how to use both of their hands with the same ease.

Stage Two:
Stat Requirements: Strength 7, Stamina 7, Speed 6
Stage Bonuses: +2 strength +0 speed +4 stamina (+3 Speed Saved)(Special Techniques Sacrificed for additional points)

Having hopefully used his skills in an actual combat situation with a real sword, the user has now beginning to grasp what it means to fight with the sword. Learning that one’s own skills are not all in a fight, it is important that the user learns to know what happens around him. Therefore they have begun to learn how to somewhat read thier opponent. Another imortant aspect of the teaching at this stage is that the student must learn how to change their attack patterns regularly.

Regular Techniques:

Hikyousenban Shoumenkougeki (Sneaky Frontal Attack)
It is counter technique that generally works best on opponents wielding weapons. The user parries the first blow and then proceeds to move toward their opponent, plunging their knee into the user’s abdomen/groin. It is cheap, unsportsmanlike and terribly effective


Assassins Projectile tree


Stage One:
Stat Requirements: 5 Speed, 3 Stamina
Stage Bonuses: +4 Speed, +2 Strength, +3 Stamina

Velocity: The velocity of the projectiles thrown aren’t anything special and can only reach speeds of 50 mph.

Range: The shinobi can maintain accuracy for 30 meters, after which the projectiles will not be accurate any longer.

Control: By focusing chakra into the projectile when it is thrown, the flight of the projectile can be altered by a foot in any direction (it can curve and swerve as long as it goes straight forward this allows the projectile to weave back and forth and gives a total 2 foot diameter weaving area.)

Quantity: Only two projectiles from each hand may be thrown at peak skill, though the assassin may hit with accuracy two separate targets.


Inventory
Cage handle blade (7)
Happy knives (3)

Strings (1)
Razor wire (2)
Sm. Gourd full of oil (1)
Hooks (1)
Explosive tags (4)
Makabishi (1)


Weapon Points Remaining: 0

Biography:
Both parents of Kazuo lived in a small house, leaky drainage pipes, dishes laying all around, infestations of all kinds, between mice and roaches. His dad had a severe case of dyslexia, and not even his mother seen him much. They lurked around the house and didn’t talk much at all to each other. The father spent his time at his type writer, hours upon hours of clinking
and the ting of a bell, skipping to the next line. One of his famous grunts when in his study his mother would recall would be a low pitched grunting curse to himself, nearly by the minute.

Because he was an avid worker, juggling through being a jounin and working for days at a time, sunrise to sunset, and a writer for literally every hour he wasn’t on duty. The family begun to drift
apart, even weeks before the mothers conception of Kazuo the only few “Words” the father spoke
were slurred grunts of “Is dinner done?”. It would continue to go on a progress like this even after the birth of their son. It was possible that it was because of his anger that money began to get tough to come across.

Because of his dyslexia and him being a writer, none of his scheduled works were ever finished on time. Half of his work was riddled with typographical and grammar errors. While on duty as a shinobi it would be told that he would be a bitter man who was no one any one would choose to
work with. His skill as a shinobi began to become limited to his own anger and violent tendencies. There would times he would asked to be excused from tasks even when there wouldn’t be available shinobi to take his spot, just because the task seemed mundane to him. However coincidentally every time the mission was expected to involve combat with an enemy where killing while not recommended was collateral .

Finally the big day was there, the birth of their son. She was rushed to the hospital immediately, both scared and feeling sick she remembered through this pain that Kazuo wasn’t expected for
another month. In pure ignorance when the mother screamed out her pains before being delivered to the hospital by a neighbor with a wheelchair handy, and contorted her body in both anger and agony: “I-It’s happening He’s here ”, The father answered: “..Not now I’m busy”

He was born premature, skinny and gasping for air, not one tear shed, only red eyes and black
vomit being puked up from the post-birth fluids. He was cleaned up, vitals checked where he spent the next few weeks in a hospital, mother worrying in her hospital bed. He was born with
nearly a full head of hair, even if it was extremely thin. And stringy. Finally after weeks of anticipation Kazuo was laid into the arms of the mother, the first soft words uttered out of her lips were, “ Hey there little guy..I’m your mommy..”
He was brought home wrapped in a blanket, mother being wheeled in by means of a wheelchair by a nurse from the hospital. While being wheeled to her bedroom to lay with the newborn, she turned to the side to see the slightly cracked door of her husband clacking away at the type writer. He turned around his shoulder, piercing through his high refracted glasses to his wife and the
newborn. His first words to both of them:

“Let don’t get him into my stuff..” before going back to his work.

After months of his birth his father began smoking, the house getting the distinct smell of nicotine. Even the crib Kazuo slept in smelled of smoke. He sat in his bed day by day listening to the loud clanks clinks and ticks of the type writer from in his room, then the almost rhythmic curse after about 10 punches of the key, rip, and start over. He lay in his bed, grasping at his
teether that he barely chewed at, only grasping it every time his dad would loudly rip the paper from the type writer.



When he was about 1 the screaming began. Loud screams and crashed of the two arguing as he lay in his bed, not even getting taken out of his bed to get changed of his diaper. He would lay on his side cringing every time something would break or someone would scream, his eyebrow twitching in anger. Then it happened. A rare visit from his own mother who was usually in the next room anyhow. A loud crash, scream and cry echoed through the small house. After hours of silence in the house beyond the clanking of his dads type writer literally minutes after the loud crash and shrill in the house, she jerkedly walked in his room forcing a smile.


She kneeled down so that she was eye to eye with him. She had a recent cut along her lips, top to bottom, purple all around. She forced a smile to him and said a few slurred words “Hey bud.. I love you.” Apparently Kazuo thought this as the perfect time to say his first words he had heard from his father.
“I hate you.” He said. Her mouth fell open and her eye brows crunched upward, and her eyes began to water up, and rushed out of her own sons room crying, tripping over her own feet and
things just laying around. Things would go like this for some time, it was incredibly rare if Kazuo said one word to both of his parents in a month his father began getting more and more angry, more fights would break out, and occasionally around the time Kazuo was 2 he began seeing knives lying around the house, and broken wall pieces accompanied with blotches of blood.

The only real figure Kazuo would remember of his father would be a slumped over figure with
glasses typing away at his writer, cursing every few seconds. His mother was skinny and always had her hair slumped in front of her face, nearly every time he seen her full face she had a new bruise.
Finally on one random day his fathers anger reached a new level. During an argument while Kazuo sat in his room and attempted to block it out, his dad kicked open his door, stomping towards him, the only thing he could see was bright glimmering metal before he picked up the small, skinny boy from the ground, holding him by the collar, literally dangling him from the ground. After moments his mother finally walked in screaming at the so called father who was holding a large meat cleaver to her 3 year old sons head. He was in full ninja uniform, face covered my a large black scarf. Finally after negotiation between the two, silence was covering the room. The boy hanging there limp, staring at the floor without a real look of emotion on his face. Finally with a grunt of anger he opened up his palm, sending Kazuo plummeting into the barely carpeted floor.

For a few minutes Kazuo sat on the floor holding his head, little whimpering of pain, as is dad stormed off, throwing the clothing that disguised his face to the floor. His mother ran her hand through hair, before slowly opening her eye to look at her son sitting there, grasping his head and staring off into the distance. She walked away crying before her son slowly got himself up off the
floor and burrowed himself into the multicolored, stitched blankets, staring out his door to the silent arguing that went on between his two parents.

For weeks on in it was only him and his father at home, his mother constantly trying to release herself from the bind on her life that was her own home. Kazuo would get random conversations with his father every morning instead of hearing his dad clacking at the type writer he would hear random groaning to himself as his wife wasn’t home, complaining about her. Finally once while getting a drink from the kitchen, he witnessed one of his dads many disgruntled rants. He’d grit his teeth and remain by the window as he drank his awful smelling beverages, still nothing but the glare of his glasses showing through the shadow.


“ Son Y’see... I resent my existence.. Maybe okay a that’s harsh bit.. Wait no true its.. Really I despise my life you’re and major factor in that.. Whew It feels good get to that off my chest..
He took a few drinks after casually stabbing his childs already crushed confidence. “People there are hate who me.. What’s more I this have job I which hate.. “ He took a few breaths as without even realizing it his anger was starting to effect his sentence structure where it was incomprehensible. “Me and your mother were happy a while until I decided I would get a job because I wanted you. A baby. But between being obligated to being a shinobi and being a writer.. Stress was created.. You then born were.. And your mother began to call me horrible person.. Which I was for a while before I got control over it.. I was real angry for a while but I controlled my self for your mother.. You brought that anger back..”


He took another drink of what was in his dirty flask, letting out a small sigh. “I’m a failure. I realized this walking home today. I clank away at a type writer all day to accomplish nothing but allowing killing of trees and building up a collection of paper wads in my study. I’m sorry about what happened the other day.. I think you remember.. With the knife.. Well anyway I got you
something. “
Out from his green slacks which were visible through some moonlight he pulled out a cube shaped box poorly wrapped in brown paper baggage. He held it out for Kazuo to grab only to get a infuriated glare. He shrugged and lay the box on a chair that sat by their breakfast bar. Kazuo
went back into his room, sat down and quietly drank the warm beverage he got from the fridge. It was around the time for Him to be going to sleep, so he rest his head on his pillow, slowly trying to get some sleep for the next repetitious day. Hours after he had went to sleep a loud crash echoed through his house. He tried to block it out but slowly the booming voices of others could be heard. He opened his eyes to see his dad pacing around the house, picking up various weapons.

Finally his dad would walk out in nothing but a wife beater, slacks and armed to even his back pocket. Slowly the curious Kazuo crawled out of his bed, shifting into a face paced run to a place under a night table, looking out the window to the uneven brawl that was going on. Clangs of metal could be heard from outside the house, the silhouettes of men running at what looked like his fathers shadow against the window. He witnessed his father pick up a sharpened meat cleaver and slam it clear into someone’s face, before replacing the lost weaponry with a large horse cutter.
Louder screaming began, it almost was like a screaming contest, and his father was winning. Incomprehensible screams of “ He’s mine ” “GAHGRG GET OFF ” His words began getting slurred by foam exiting his mouth. Though it could not be seen through Kazuo’s point of view, his father was in between having a fight and a mental break down. The same word was repeated
over and over after each disgusting wet beating to the flesh of the knife slide into meat and bone: “Mine Get off He’s mine ”. The house shook with a quake, loud booming echoes clamoring from the outside. Finally without any anticipation a small shiruken shot straight through the glass window, not even breaking the glass around it as it went it so perfectly.
The throwing knife like a disk cut so perfectly across his cheek he would barely recognize it as a cut. The anger and fighting and the sounds of grown men fighting with knives, stabbing him began to get him angry, violent and wanting to just scream. He bit his lip and let out a loud droning grunt. His father remained outside slicing at the men around him, until finally a pike slammed into his stomach, the wielder pinning him the house siding. All went silent in Kazuo’s mind as he witnessed this, only the side of his fathers shadow involuntarily being lifted into the air with a pike in his stomach. His dad slowly turned around while on the wall, a shadowed opening and closing of his palm signifying a “Good bye” To his son which he had no idea was in the room or not.
A piercing “Shink ” ran through the ears of all who were in the area. But a torso on the wall, held up by a pike could be seen. The falling clump of meat that was his fathers silhouetted decapitated head fell from the air. Kazuo sat under the table stunned until almost immediately the men who had previously just fought him rushed into the home, picked him up and dragged him out of the home, listening to his screams of terror and anger. He would look over to the side only to see his dads lifeless head staring off into the distance.

After weeks of waiting in a stale, smelly office, Kazuo was finally given to a doctor by the name of Gunther Pon. He was a professional shrink who specialized in adult psychiatry, but had some experience. He was a quiet man who could usually be found reading a book during his free time, or working on “My next greatest seller” as he referred to it. When Kazuo was adopted into his home he spent his first day of many days he would spend in the doctors study. The house resembled a library, long spiraling stairs, large beautifully framed and painted pictures of various great figures of the past, very rare would there be a picture of a martial artist.

The doctor folded his leg over his other, and folded his fingers together on his knee. After about 2 minutes he took out a series of paper clipped files, looking through them, the boy who had just been evacuated from his home after seeing his father die just sitting there, holding a small marble he had found under the series of perfectly aligned books and shelves. Moments of silence, only hinted with the shuffle of papers as the doctor looked through literally everything he could know beyond actually living in the home with Kazuo. Pon finally cleared his throat and opened up his pursed lips to begin droning out the words to Kazuo, various numbers and words he wasn’t near learning.

“- From what I can tell Mr. Kiriyama. It would seem that your father was seen as unfit for raising a son, and was abusive to both you and your mother. He was to unmentally stable to remain a shinobi, one w ho relies on silence and self certainty to complete tasks others wouldn’t. His work for his papers he was to be writing was becoming insufficient and when delivered didn’t qualify as well written or to the point at all. This being said he didn’t have the money or the mental stability to be a member of society. So it was decided to deliver him to a mental hospital.”
“..So you him killed..?” Kazuo forced out angrily.

“No, from what I can understand the guards delivered him safely to the mental institution. If they DID injure him in anyway im sure it was his own fault.”
Kazuo didn’t respond. He simply bit his bottom lip, scrunched up his eye brows as if forcing back a train of anger, and dwiddled his fingers back and forth, eyes darting back and forth. More discussing continued, the only mentioning of Kazuo’s mother was that she was no longer able to take him as her own any longer due to stability problems built up from her husbands own. The doctor explained that Kazuo would now be adopted and taken in by him, and the conditions were laid down in that one sitting, as if right after witnessing that grisly event involving his own dad, he was to adjust immediately. He was given his own room, which turned out to be nearly another section of the house, own bathroom, own kitchen, a small library in the walk way to the room. It was an attic in reality though, hot and no shades to keep the bright sun beaming into his room, times of shifting of the bed due to no sleep at night even from moonlight.

There was regular conversations and the doctor tried to assess the boys feelings, see what ached him to make him so silent, so angry that he would some times hear breaking of objects from Kazuo’s room. He suggested expressing himself better, writing, drawing, music, playing, throwing a ball around, reading a book daily, exercising, talking, anything but bottling up his feelings. He attempted drawing and writing out his feelings. He spent his time laying on the floor, picking up random, unsharpened crayons to dig into the paper, making deep sloppy splotches of color in the form of stick figures.
He had all forms of art supplies, assumingly from the doctors other child patients who he suggested to express themselves in the same way. Paint, pencil’s, pens, crayons, brushes. None of the drawing, writing, or listening to music would help him. However he did take a liking to classical music that would play on the old, barely working stereo set in his room, blotched with stains of the past, and a thick layer of dust.
It was until one day Kazuo had no friends. Nearing a half a year of living in the house, he realized a old wooden puppet behind other wooden figures and crates. The puppets large, open eyes stood out from the shadows and the boxes. Kazuo pushed the boxes and various other nick nacs out of the way to examine the old, worn puppet. It wore a once was black suit, though had the taint of brown on it from years of uncleanness. Its mouth was half way open, bright painted lips, and air brushed rosy cheeks. Curious , he tugged around on the clothing, the eyes, and the shutters that made up its eye lids.

He thought to himself this small human figure was just like him.. Eyes, hair, though panted and carved, hands, legs, mouth. Heck he even had a name as Kazuo had read slowly, and incorrectly. He pulled down the shirt behind the Tux, and looked at the stamp pressed tag with large red letters: BUDDY.

Kazuo spoke the word out loud “..Ba..Bah-dee?..Boo..Dee..? ..Buh-dee?” He finally got it right. They were both pretty much the same.. But the puppet wouldn’t talk.

He ran his fingers along the old wooden puppets face, and like a trap his finger was cut into by a wooden splinter, a thick crimson droplet with a following trail dripped out of his finger. He didn’t wince, didn’t cry, didn’t meep, only looked down at it. Finally he processed it.

“So.. You’re missing your water red..?” Kazuo uttered to the puppet. He nodded. It was decided if he gave him the parts and things needed he would talk. He would have someone to insult and release his anger upon. For days he would save the meat from his dinner, typically bits of red meat after studying books on anatomy. Finally he molded from the saved meat, a brain shaped slab of meat to rest in the hollow head of the puppet. It still wouldn’t talk. He decided to start pouring the red paints collected and not used for art into the holes and hollowed out parts of the puppet, allowing the puppet to both have a brain and blood. No talking.
Time went on an Kazuo soon learned the purposes of daily things such as eating and sleeping, so every day Kazuo would close the eye lids of the puppet, and fill it with any thing that passed as something to eat. It use to be ham, or whatever he didn’t eat in order to save up, but the doctor began to stop preparing meat to eat as Kazuo had a streak of just saving the meat for later, never really eating.
This resulted in other means of attaining things. On random occasions would he go out and collect patches of grass, and more frequently the bodies of things he had just killed. He started off quickly catching the wings of a butterfly, ripping them off and putting them in a clear bag, the blood and other oils forming a small puddle at the bottom. He would search corn fields, dressed in a school outfit that he had picked out himself. His hair was more tamed, molded into a bowl cut at the time. He would wear gloves to prevent diseases from retrieving the bodies of the mice he had just thrown small pins through the temples of. Routinely he would fill the stomach of the puppet with the carcasses of the collected dead things.
He would sometimes find himself traveling great distances in an attempt to find more mice as he lived in a place of snow and deserted buildings. The doctor however didn’t know anything of these violent juvenile tendencies that Kazuo did moderately secretly

As he went on with these grotesque activities, the daily therapy continued, never making a break through, always coming down to find out Kazuo’s favorite things which even then wasn’t much, utters and grunts of things he’s seen. Another half a year had continued after Kazuo started the violent habit, the meat in the puppet completely rotted and left to dry, slithers of dust and spoiled, gray remains of what once was pink. Though this was constantly refreshed with new meat of mice and the strong scent of paint and ink, it slowly became less about making the puppet real, and more on the sub conscious glee he got out of the small squeak, snap, crackle (I bet you’re thinking pop) and growls as he threw the sharpened ice picks through the brain and meats of the harmless animals.

His mind was heightened , bigger and smarter than most his age, he was developing at a rapid age, using incredible words that a highschool student would at the age of 5. Though his vocabulary was extraordinary, it was nulled by the fact that he never talked. His outward appearance also started to form into the kind of person he would be for the future. Hair looking uncombed, constantly having a scowl on his face (Which frankly isn’t to far from what his facial expression was set to in his infantile years. His social awareness increased as well. For once he realized there were people who walked the grasses and land of earth, it wasn’t limited to 4 walls that people barricaded themselves in. He seen older children walk the streets, sometimes dressed in common clothes, other times in all black, a mask covering their face, almost perfectly like he seen his father walk by occasionally walking through the hallways of their small home

He expanded his knowledge to the aspect of martial arts, the way of defending yourself, the way of making snapping someone’s neck flashy with bright colors and long lore. Their were many styles that interested him, but the one that got at him the most was what surrounded him, Ninjutsu. The force of the location he lived in, and nearly everywhere else are given permission to kill people for the sake of protecting land, killing people for the sake of being promoted, even when they can be as mentally trained as a tomato. He would start his life as a ninja.
The doctor pon had no objections, he signed him up after filling out papers and paying the admission fee. After a year of waiting, Kazuo who was now 6, had entered the academy for the first time, decorated with paintings of recognized shinobi of the past. He walked in on his own, hands in his pockets, kids who had been trained years in advance for this, starting with even push ups or daily meditation by the age of 3. Kazuo was a child who just liked the fact that the way of life had such violent undertones. He wore the same black suit, hair barely combed and strung out everywhere in the spiked Afro he had developed. He sat in a random chair, not to far back, forward, not near to many people, and folded his arms as he kicked back in his seat to the desk behind him.

The year went on, not talking, not making friends, even nodding his head as a response to a question he was to orally respond to. He started to become more agile, more skilled, more violent. He would wait on tree’s, knives and pins held in his hand, waiting for the first thing in his eye to catch something that was living, breathing, and could feel. There it was.. A moving white bird caught the corner of its eyes. Two of them to be exact. They seemed like a lump of white, their little beaks nuzzling each other, looking down to the spotted eggs in the huddled twigs and hay that was their nest. Finally the eggs began to crack, loud chirping.. After what seemed like a half an hour featherless birds squeaking in hunger and mostly to hear their own voice looked at their mother and father. With a twitch of the eye brows, and a cut of wind, the father and mother were taken down, two knives cutting in, and through their heads. In the what was presumably the father’s case, the knife went clean through, the white puff of fur which was its head plummeted towards the ground, its still flapping cloud white body becoming soaked in its own blood, before stopping, and slumping over on the smallest, most fragile bird.

Uncompromisable , ruthless and blood thirsty as always, the boy pulled out a shuriken, and a pin in the other hand as well. With another gust of wind the shuriken was thrown, two of the edges sliding into the fresh meat of the birds, their flesh still clung to the knife, and with their weightlessness, were carried along with the knife, spinning wildly with a spray of blood everywhere before hitting a tree across the area, coming to a halt with the knife cut into the bark deeply.

Alls was left was the smallest. With the pin in hand, he cocked his arm back, and with all of his force, he shifted his weight and flung the pin straight toward it. Too much of a shift. His boots slipped, and before he knew it he had thrown himself, and plummeted toward the ground as he had just forced countless other creatures before with his new climbing skills acquired from ninjutsu. He squeezed his eyes shut, and with a loud Clap of wind, weight and ground, he lay there unconscious for a few moments. He awoke with a bloody lip, limp leg and unfunctioning arm.

More and more he was filled with anger by the fact that when he stood he stood slowly, and jerkedly, the feeling of weakness and resent. He wrapped himself around the tree, and with two knives scaled the tree, he blamed his problems on something he caused himself. It wasn’t the newborns fault, heck birds have nearly no reasoning to what they do even as full-growns. Half way up the tree to finish what he started he was interrupted by the heckling and chortling by the kids behind him. He grunted and slowly he found more desirable targets. He yanked out the knives that held up firm in the tree, and slid down quickly, and without even comprehensible words, swung knives blindly at the children that were in the same academy class as he.


Finally a wet and loud sound signified he had hit his target. He dug the jagged knife into the skin of the boy who stood out from the others in the group. The other knife left small lacerations all over the boy. The fight was broken up by the other two boys grabbing their friend and running away, the now injured boy crying and screaming after every step, knife still deep in his flesh. Minutes later Kazuo picked up his kills and dropped them in his plastic bag.
He went home to his now horrid smelling combination of paint and blood . What use to be made up of paint, was becoming his own makings. Blood from animals was literally bleeding through the out of place eyeballs of the puppet. Occasionally Kazuo would need to spoon back remains of dead animals back into the puppet. He had warped his mind so much to hear from the puppet, that
occasionally he would hear whispers from it, speaking so faintly and distorted that only few words could be understood.

Nearing his last year of the academy, he showed some interest in the girl by the name of Yoiku. She had dark black hair and wore glasses. He had watched her from sometime, folding his hands around his mouth as if examining her. She drew a lot in class, so he mostly payed attention to her not paying attention. In what literally was his first act of affection, after weeks of consideration, he handed her something wrapped in a white handkerchief. She curiously opened it up only to find a bird, with a pin deep with in it, with a note attached on the pin that was stapled to the bird.
She stared for a few seconds before dropping it to the ground, horrified and screaming.

The note read a simple “ Hello.”

He spoke out in a monotonous voice, “So I you heard birds like...”
She ran away crying after dropping the bird and crushing any confidence he had within him self to even mutter words to other humans. He put his hands in his pockets, and slowly walked a way,
on passers looking at a bird with a note pinned in it.

He returned home infuriated, grabbing knives out of the chest he held for restocking in his room. He took the sword he was given for specialization out of the sheath, and went to work on it with bolts and bars. After a whole nights worth of work he picked up what he had created. The Cage handle blade. He stood up and with the multitude of knives in his pockets, he slashed and gashed at the puppet that simply sat there all those years having such insanitary things stored in it. He swung his blade into the face of the puppet, paint and meat flying out and splattering all over his floor. For an entire 4 hours he stabbed at the puppet, leaving it alone for a few moments to vent. With more than 10 knifes in its stomach, leaking rat intestine, and bird brains, Kazuo picked up the puppet by its shirt...
“Don’t do it..” He clutched the shirt of the puppet harder. The voice spoke out again, only louder

“Put me down..” It echoed in his brain. He repeated over and over


“Stop.”

“Don’t do it.”

Kazuo squeezed out words from his grinding mouth. Before screaming the words “YOU’RE NOT REAL ” and launched the puppet through his glass window, sharp glass fragments cutting into the puppet, large quantities of the past, the dead past slapping sloppily out of the puppet. A large thump could be heard from the top of the house. He resheathed his sword, sat down on the chest that he had restored his knives in, and breathed heavily, wheezing and grunting. Finally he fell asleep where he sat.

“Today..I killed a puppet”..
Soon he was passed as a genin and was placed on a team made up of a male sensei, one male counter part and another female. The team was rather distant from each other. The female had a distrust for males, and the other male was perverted and always has his mind on hitting on the ladies. Days of missions were completed, little training involved. They had a full year until what they were to be up for would be learned and improved on. Only few jutsu were taught, the sensei rarely seeing it as necessary for the team to know how to defend itself whenever he normally waited for the left over missions, the D missions. While these didn’t pay great, the days went on where their would be random high classed missions, resulting in a pushing of the limit to the team


Kazuo’s violent tendencies began to increase further with his outlook on life and social interaction. He began to see humans as creatures of habit, sin and all followers of each others footsteps, only some great philosophers breaking the chain in order to allow further evolution. His prime examples were with him in his team every other day. Everyday he would sit through the male of the team, Iji, slapping his lips around in order to get a kiss, only to get a flying kick to the face. It was pathetic. It was completely obvious the girl did not like males, or even being treated in such a flirtatious mood. However the boy continued every day without fail to flirt constantly. The sensei seen no use in training beyond specialization training, every week was a turn system where the teacher would take one of his students in personal and train them in their specializations, in Kazuo’s case a blade user along with long ranged projectiles.

Finally after a full year (skipping the mid year exams) the cloud team that Kazuo was apart of was registered for the exams. They had more than enough missions, collecting a small fortune which was mostly saved, while the other amount on Kazuo’s part was spent on various weapons and various pieces of ceramic art of which would collect dust sitting in the sun bathing room by the window.

Finally the exams started, the groups poured in to go through the vigorous trials and tribulations in order to become a chuunin. As everyone went through their writing exams, some using pen, some using a pencil, Kazuo decided to go through with a fine pointed pen he seen Dr.Pon using favorably when writing his book, while not on the type writer. He seemed calm enough, straight face and looking down to the paper, going through, in reality getting nearly every answer right.

Until finally for no reason beyond his own anger and confusion, he finally jabbed his pen into the wood of the desk, slamming his fists down in anger and grinding his teeth. People would turn around and observe what was going on, only to see Kazuo grunting and mumbling to himself a
series of mumbles, grunts and curses. He was finally taken out by the examiner, being told that people were trying to focus and cursing and mumbling would only annoy and disallow others to get the test done. He shook his head and went back in, his questions began to slip up, answers becoming more frequently long until he calmed himself, finishing the last questions like before.

He and his teammates finished the test, the grades while not all equal stood out as above average.
Another examiner entered the class room silently after the tests were graded, children still sitting in there desks, waiting and resting. He wore a large overcoat, covering his jaw and mouth, large round glasses poking out from his clumpy, dark black hair. He announced the true torture would begin, the elimination period would begin.

While to most this would be seen as a test of survival, to Kazuo it was a time to finally release all of his anger, through the years though he had gotten in many fights, none of them resulted in death of either side, just pure anger and lacerations. The team was released in a dark forest, around the perimeters of the island guard shinobi lurked, Large random walls would erect from the ground, large mesh nets hung all around, hanging by trees and bushes.

It was time to set up a camp, password, and battle strategies. Well. Logically thats what it would call for. No, however Kazuo walked out into the dark, dank forest incased by walls, on his back carrying a heavily wrapped sarcophagus in the shape of a small human like figure. It reeked horribly, it would give of to even the most lacking of olfactory senses. The travel went on, Who would be Kazuo’s first victim if any?

He stepped through the forest, team walking behind, complaining and grunting about how incredibly selfish Kazuo was being with his foolish actions. This all started to agitate him until few giggles and the sounds of vocals ran through the area. Finally the angry boy threw his arm to the side, and ducked, walking through and behind shrubs silently, along with the rest of his group. His white eyes pokes out from the bushes, staring menacingly into who was speaking . It was a boy with well groomed hair, a black suit and glasses, laughing and patting the back of the one girl who he had shown his affection for not to long ago. There was another, scrawny child who was setting up the coordinates of walkie-talkies, while casually talking about how goofy and proud their parents were acting before the exams started

Numerous times did Kazuo rustle his grinding foot into dead leaves, his teammates confused as to what was going on..Until the blind rage occurred. Mid-sentence, the unnamed lover to Yoiku, Kazuo stood up, his teeth grinding together before opening to a echoing, booming battle cry. He grabbed the black handle to the figure on his back, and flung it over his back. It slammed into the ground, a cloud of dust forming around it and the group who sat on pushed over logs. The sarcophagus Started to inflate, even rip out of its wrappings to reveal the red, cut up face of the puppet named Buddy. Large blurts of insect and rodent insides were being vomited out of the mouth of the puppet, as something inside inflated. Then it happened.

The puppet was filled with not only paint, and dead animals, but explosive tags. A large booming crack exploded through the area, everything becoming white, hot, and the air becoming horrible to even opening ones mouth to due to the residue spraying through the air. When vision became clear of most, the area was engulfed in flames, all around a hell fire could be seen. He held the child who was speaking with Yoiku, obviously her partner in a head lock, a hooked knife being held to his throat, with each breath the cold steel pressing against the skin. He laughed insanely, opening his mouth to reveal a bloody lip and mouth full of drool, which fell out and ran down his chin. “Mu...MAUHAAAAH HAAAH ” He laughed loudly, grasping the knife tightly. All around the people screamed, even his own teammates. The boy who worked on the communicators held his chest screaming and rocking.

Finally the knife punctured the flesh, a large squealing fit of death and pure fear boomed out of the childs mouth, until finally he began gasping for air like a vacuum. Large gasping, winded breaths fell out of the mans mouth, dark, crimson blood spitting everywhere. The boy had been sliced on the knee by a quick draw of the blade during the bright explosion. The scream only continued as Kazuo dug the knife deeper through the childs throat, then finally yanking it to the right, making a jagged cut . The ground was soaked in blood, even the childs shirt. The screams of everyone only fueled his anger as he committed this murder. The boy who sat doing the tech work for the team by this time had urinated in his pants, and vomited all over his legs and ground, crying and face becoming red.

With some popping of the bone, and gristle, the head finally came lose off the boy. He yanked the hooked knife out of the throat of which he had just stabbed, then reinserted it via through the childs mouth, the end exiting the back side of the cranium. He threw the head after grasping it by the hair into the face of the vomiting child, until the small smiley face capsule expanded with explosive tags it had been previously stuffed with. Two kills so far. The boy fell over, face blown up with blood and brain matter laying all over the ground.. One more target spotted.

He got up off his knees, walking with a limp, one hand armed with a knife, the other dragging the long blade he owned along the dirt, laughing slowly and waiting for the girl to respond. She got up off her knees, and began running, unsure of where to go. She looked around, scared and gasping for air, literally giving out dry heaves and trying to formulate the words to scream out at the boy that was giving a slow paced chase to her.

Finally she turned around, trying to s top herself, but half of her weight was already down the cliff that waited infront of her. She fell over, digging her hands into the ground that remained. Below her rest bedrock, and swashing water against the rocks and rock walling. She screamed, stuck on the line of wanting to kill herself after witnessing all of this, or wanting to survive for herself, and attempting to fend off the insane child. Finally Kazuo reached the cliffs edge, and dropped to his knees, His bottom resting on the backs of his Achilles. He sighed and grabbed the girls hand. He stared at her red face, screaming and crying in angst.

Finally with a deep jab of the metal into the main vein of her wrist, Kazuo dug the knife around, cutting through vein and muscle, sawing at her hand until finally she ripped the girls entire hand off, therefore taking what he had holding her up; off. She plummeted toward the water and rocks before Kazuo raised his hand and beamed the sawed off hand at her, hitting her in the face once more before she slammed into the rocks, every bone in her body shattering, and blood leaking from her eyes and mouth. Finally the dead figure was dragged into the ocean by the water, and nothing remained but a large, dark bloody spot.

Without another word, he stood up and began investigating and looting the bodies of the two he had just murdered. He took their comm units, food and weaponry, then walked out with his hands in his pockets, his teammates watching, mortified. The day turned into night, and the night unfolded into the morning that the guard shinobi would evacuate any survivors off the island by means of boat. There was no further encounters that night, no kills by Kazuo or his teams part either. The semi-finals were next.

The match however would prove to end short. After about 7 matches, it was Kazuo’s fight. He fought a hooded figure, one known by many in the group as being dangerous and unpredictable, literally the one they all feared they would have to fight. While Kazuo was violent and ruthless, this child was skilled, violent and ruthless. He carried a freakishly long blade, and wore chain upon chain on his black attire, only strings of hair falling out from under his hood. The ref after precautions, finally shouted to the two in the ring. “FIGHTARU..NOWARU!”

Without even a hint of anticipation, the hooded figure unsheathed his sword, and with a blinding clack of light, cut into both of Kazuo’s lips. He stepped closer.. Kazuo now scared jerkedly went to go unsheathe his sword only to get the bottom end of a boot to the chest. He fell back, hitting a wall, before his shoulder blades had even connected, the blade cut through his shoulder, cracking into the wall he lay on. It went clean through Kazuo’s shoulder. All went hazy, and after a 10 second count down, he was removed from the ring and put into the care of the hospital.

He was cared for in the same room he was born in ironically, for days just laying in the bed as his mother did for the time he was born premature. He was released from the hospital, left to walk home himself, though healed, wearing bandages from his wounds. His entire right shoulder and partial arm was wrapped, and he wore an adhesive medical strip right above his lip. He roamed, disappointed, not because he had failed the exams, but because he never got the chance to shed the blood of the one he was to fight.

As he roamed the streets, he looked around at the houses. Apparently he had been released after the exams were over because the people did not walk the streets, assumingly celebrating with their children, or even trying to make them feel better if they did not pass. His walk came to a halt when he finally came across a house, small and windows boarded down. It proved to be extremely familiar..

He approached the house, looking around at broken glass bits, and followed where they had come from to a hole in the window. He opened the main door to the house which was no missing a knob, and looked around the house, all of it looking familiar, it was his house. He approached a box, wrapped in brown paper that could have easily had gotten from a grocery store long ago. It lay on the floor, so he brought himself to that level. He kneeled down and picked up the box his father had given him so long ago, and spun it all around to examine it. Finally began to up fold the wrapping, and slowly lift the boxing to see what was truly in the box...
Other Info:

Mission Log:
Brutally Cool Training- Earned one point, received Teikou no Kuntou
The Origin of Alpha Squad - Saving the 2 points until end of Lockdown, Point Officially Used on 2 Power
Hazing The New Guy - 2 Power

Last edited by Mr. Hicks; 11-21-2008 at 10:54 PM..
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Old 04-19-2006, 12:17 AM   #2
EnikkiShizune
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Haha, I like the looks of this character so far. A bit... creepy, but I'm sure you wanted it that way. Smiling daggers are an irony like I said, happiness in the face of death. Truly twisted, with a crazy homelife so far. Can't wait for you to finish up the rest of your biography, yeah? Until then :3
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Old 04-22-2006, 02:31 PM   #3
Nara
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Okay, I'm done with everything, if this could be moved into the Registry please.
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Old 04-22-2006, 09:42 PM   #4
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Approved, there's nothing wrong I can see statistically, although it could be cleaned up a bit, with spacing and bolding and the like.
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Old 04-22-2006, 10:47 PM   #5
Taro
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well that was a long bio...anyway. approved.
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Old 04-22-2006, 10:50 PM   #6
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Is his first name Kazuo or Kiriyama? You first start off using Kiriyama, but then switch to Kazuo. The way it is now, his first name is Kiriyama and surname is Kazuo.
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Old 04-23-2006, 02:15 AM   #7
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Kazuo. You obviously didnt see it as a mistake but rather made it seem like you were truly confused by a mistake.

Last edited by Nara; 04-23-2006 at 02:21 AM..
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Old 04-23-2006, 06:12 AM   #8
Roan Shinen
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Looks good, unless I missed something, Half-Approved
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Old 04-23-2006, 12:34 PM   #9
Daft Morgan
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Alright, I dare say I can approve 'n' move this.
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Old 05-16-2006, 11:47 AM   #10
CannonBall
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Character hasn't been used: request to edit granted.
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