Onix

Hey, Ezekiel asked me to post here letting you all know that she's going to be camping for the next few days, so she won't be able to participate. She's quite sorry she forgot to mention this earlier. -Onix

[SIZE=1][B]Name:[/B] Nicholas Sypher, but everyone calls him "Nick." [B]Gender:[/B] Male [B]Age:[/B] 22 - Just young enough to be stupid, and just old enough to be dangerous, as he's so fond of saying. [B]Appearance:[/B] [URL=http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y48/UnbornLordXion/pe2-pierce.jpg]Nicholas[/URL] is often called a hippy by his peers, and not without reason. Tall and rather on the skinny side for a warrior, Nick is usually stained with dirt, motor oil, or a combination of the two. His fair hair is usually view as unnecessarily long, but he keeps it tied back in his stubby little ponytail, so doesn't often see the problem. His habit of keeping his brown eyes half-lidded and the naturally sardonic quirk of his lips also tend to make superiors and, well, everyone think he's mocking them - or at least not taking them seriously. Dress wise, Nick is just as scruffy. His usual attire consists of a white t-shirt, thoroughly grease-stained, and a pair of ragged, frayed jeans. Vests or jackets often complete the ensamble, generally of a dark faux-leather. Never-changing are the dark aviator glasses he wears, though, and the dog-tags that bear the name Artemis Sypher. [B]Specialty:[/B] Though mainly a combat operative, Nick also has a head for technology, earning him the title of Los Angeles' resident grease monkey - or mad scientist, depending on who you talk to. A weapon designer, he often acts as his own field tester, occasionally to disaterous results. [B]Weapons/Spells:[/B] Nick has an ever-changing arsenal, always shifted in the name of upgrades or a brand new test to run. This makes him relatively unpredictable; both for enemy and ally. His current weapon of choice is the [URL=http://hyung-taekim.org/albums/userpics/10001/%5Bwog-concept-sketches-vr%5D72.jpg]Flare Edge[/URL], a combination sword-gun with a lockable blade and a hefty kick to the barrel. The blade is standard steel, but tempered in holy water and mixed with a silver edge. His specialty rounds for the weapon, on the other hand, are his Sorcery Shells, shotgun shells backing powerful light spells in a clever little trigger mechanism he's very proud of. Of course, he also packs the standard silver-mixed shotgun shells, just in case he runs out of the Sorcery Shells. As a back-up weapon, he wields his veteran sawed-off Shotgun, strapped to the small of his back at all times. He nevers knows precisely when weapons will or won't work, so he always enters battle with "Sonia," as he calls it. [B]Personality:[/B] As said, Nick is oft referred to as a hippy of sorts, being generably peaceful and very laid-back when it comes to anything other than his "toys." He tries to avoid confrontation with his teammates as much as possible, and defuses tense situations when they arise. Some wonder why he's even part of the group when he's so nonviolent, but the simple fact is, he's fascinated by the various new discoveries made along the lines of battle as part of the Order. He treats war as an experiment, testing his new weapons, new devices, and new theories against the dark armies. Some might find his almost childish take on things bitter in taste, but he likewise finds an overly serious outlook boring and almost apalling. [B]Writing Sample:[/B] [Later] [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][B]"Whatever,"[/B] Ginmaru says bitterly, turning with every intention of striding away in a huff, of storming off with coat billowing. But he stops, and turns sharply, drawing his wooden sword in a flash with the tip pointed dead at Imi. [B]"I didn't use this,"[/B] he hisses. [B]"Because you aren't [I]worth[/I] it. And you'll [I]never[/I] be worth it."[/B] Then he's gone in a flicker, not giving her a chance to retort, not lingering to see her expression. He's had enough of her for one day. More than enough. A sick rage stews inside him. Part of him wanted to scream at her back there that at least he [I]had[/I] parents, but sometimes he couldn't the miserable orphan lucky. There was no one to be ashamed of her - except, of course, for him. He doesn't go bother the Genin like he'd said. Instead, he goes to the Zensei compound, lingering at the gates. With a heavy sigh, he walks inside, and quite suddenly bumps into someone. It's a cousin, a smaller boy, hair dark unlike Ginmaru and his direct relatives. He looks fearful, and the blind hate that is in Ginmaru's eyes only worsens it. With a sick smile behind his mask, Ginmaru shoves him against a wall. [B]"Grab a bokken,"[/B] he says, sneering cold. [B]"We're going to spar. And if you're very, very lucky, cousin, I'll let you [I]walk[/I] away."[/B] Ginmaru has every intention of forcing him into the room where the practice weapons are kept, but then a harsh voice echoes across the wooden pathways that connect the various builds of the Zensei compound. Zensei turns, the rage turning to a cold ball of ice in his gut. The tall, wiry form of Zensei Shinzaburo glares at him, eyes cold as always, chips of granite in his head. [B]"Ginmaru!"[/B] he booms, wooden blade already at his side. [B]"Leave the weakling alone. [I]I[/I] will gladly be your sparring partner today."[/B] [B]"Father,"[/B] Ginmaru murmurs, dropping his head instantly so his bangs hang in front of his eyes. [B]"I do not think that wise, with the advent of battle. The more Zensei swordsmen fit to fight, the better for Konoha, is it not?"[/B] [B]"You fear defeat?"[/B] Shinzaburo asks plainly, no smugness in his tone but condescention dripping from his words. Ginmaru's fist clenches and his head snaps up, bloodlust flaring up in his heart. [B]"I fear for [I]you[/I] old man!"[/B] he snaps. It's barely out of his lips when his father stands before him, towering, daunting, bringing with him a chill of ice. Faster than Ginmaru can even track, his hand swings out, not a fist but the back of his hand. It cracks against Ginmaru's cheek, deafening. His face snaps to the side and his eyes go wide. It is not pain that robs him of his voice then, but shame. If there was any respect for him in his father's heart, he would be bleeding on the ground. [B]"Watch your tongue or I will take it, boy,"[/B] Shinzaburo growls. [B]"Don't be a fool like this around the enemy, or the first Shadow you meet will take your head."[/B] [B]"They will [I]not[/I] best me!"[/B] Ginmaru cries, twisting to meet his father's stern gaze. Shame leeches from his voice, desperation too. For a long moment, they merely stare, Shinzaburo cold and unfathomable in his silence. At last, he speaks, no expression readable on his face. [B]"Kill a Shadow on your first mission,"[/B] he says just as dryly as he looks. [B]"Or you will never have honor in this clan. You will be nothing but a disgrace."[/B] Ginmaru doesn't speak a word until he turns to leave. His cousin is still there, behind him, timid and pathetic. He reaches out tentatively, voice wavering. [B]"G-Ginmaru-senpai...?"[/B] His bokken is drawn in an instant and he whirls, the word smashing into his cousin's jaw, sending him sprawling. Fluidly he spins, chakra flaring and then he looses it with an animal cry, all rage and hate and hollowness. The sword stabs into the stone pillar of the Zensei Gate, shaking slowly. [B]"Just you wait, father,"[/B] he spits, soft, venemous under his breath. [B]"I will kill more Shadows than you will believe. And then, I will kill [I]you[/I]. Just you [I]wait[/I]."[/B] In a whirl of cloak and shadow, he's gone, disappearing again into the wilds of Konoha. Later, alone, he stands in the stadium, awaiting others arrival. In his heart, there is nothing but hate. In his heart, there is the need to kill.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]My weapon of choice? Two words. Christopher. Walken. End.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]So. Yeah. Here's the underground. I never know how to open these threads so, uh, fire away? Also, for those who are interested and want to field their knowledge banks, here's links to the Wikipedia articles dealing with the recorded paranormal phenomena of [B][URL=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Eyed_Kids]Black Eyed Kids[/URL][/B] and [B][URL=http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shadow_people]Shadow People[/URL][/B]. Obviously, I have added and changed bits of the legend to make them more interesting, putting my own spin on things, but there's probably enough other details there that you might get inspired on your own. Who knows? Anyway, hit me with any and all questions you have. Cheers![/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=Silver][CENTER]Don't turn around.[/CENTER][/COLOR] The wind whispers and tugs at your clothes. Leaves skitter, skeleton fingers on the cold asphalt streets. No people walk in the darkness; you are alone. Your only companion is the huge white moon, looming in the distance. It casts long shadows across the ground, stretched and twisted into unnatural shapes, only melted more by the occasional splash of streetlight. And in the loneliness, a voice whispers in your mind. [COLOR=Silver][CENTER]Don't turn around.[/CENTER][/COLOR] Without warning and without cause, the sick, cold hand of fear reaches into your heart, wraps its ice-slick fingers tight and [I]squeezes[/I]. You feel dread. Something is coming, something is looming. And though there is no one in the street, no sound but those skittering spider leaves crawling from their tree trunk nests, you know, deep in your heart, that there are eyes boring into the back of your head. But there's a voice in your head, whispering, whispering. [COLOR=Silver][CENTER]Don't turn around.[/CENTER][/COLOR] Unconsciously, you walk faster. The pulse in your throat and in your fingertips matches the beat of foot on ground, quicker, quicker. The dread chases, a noxious cloud swimming around you. Though moments ago you were out for a reason, now you just want to get somewhere [I]safe[/I], somewhere with [I]people[/I], and you don't know why or where but you just have to keep moving and get away from this lonely, empty, open street. And you can't pause, can't turn, can't look back. The voice demands it. [COLOR=Silver][CENTER]Don't turn around.[/CENTER][/COLOR] But you are weak. And you are afraid. And you are human. So curiosity grips, stronger than the dread, stronger than the primal knowledge, stronger than death itself. You turn, almost in slow motion, to face the darkness behind. There's nothing. ...Or is there? At first it's only at the corner of your eye, but then it moves, shifts, black against black but not quite the same color as the shadows, not quite the same color as pitch darkness. It's something else. Something [I]alive[/I], or maybe not alive, but real. It comes into sight not suddenly, but it is suddenly that you recognize it, realize it. Faceless, naked, writhing and jerking, a poorly guided marionette, a clockwork toy about to break down. It lurches, place to place, from on the wall to on the street, and always in the black. A person made of darkness. Made of shadows. And though it has no eyes, has no face, you know it is staring. Hungry. [COLOR=Silver][CENTER]Don't turn around.[/CENTER][/COLOR] It's a scream this time, but there can be nothing worse than this shadow person, you know that, and yet you know you shouldn't turn, either. But turn you do, and now the street isn't empty. There's someone else. A little boy. [B]"Please, can you help me?"[/B] Too late do you notice what your mind knew so long ago. His eyes are pure black. [CENTER]*****[/CENTER] [B][CENTER]Shadow People[/CENTER] [/B] If you've ever seen something move out of the corner of your eye, don't disregard it as a trick of the light. You might have just seen a Shadow Person. Some might call them Shadow Men, but that would be quite incorrect, with even Shadow "Person" stretching the truth. For they are entities without gender or even identity, base creatures full of hunger and homogenous mindsets that point only towards death. Created by dark sorcerers long ago to act as assassins and slaves, they are cursed souls, stripped of everything that makes them human except form. Originally there were few, with only a handful of wizards strong enough to create one and even then only as many as five. With only the occasional wizard creating them, and being almost impossible to kill, their numbers remained constant for years and years. They couldn't breed, didn't die, just traveled across the world and killed. Humans near with Shadow People almost always feel an intense sense of dread, of impending death. That is the nature of Shadow People, which are truly psychic vampires. Filled with nothing but hollowness and the vaguest shadow of humanity, they are drawn to those full of life and vitality, and strip them of their life force, slowly draining it away. Though humans can recover from this if they get away, it can kill, resembling a stroke or heart attack. It is the nature of the Shadow Peoples' killing style and diet that causes them to change, to evolve. The more life energy they drain, the more powerful they become. The basest Shadow People lack any kind of distinguishing features, faceless, lanky humanoids that move jerkily, lacking cunning save the basest strategy. But with more psychic force, they become smarter, more devious, and more human. Stronger Shadow People can develop glittering red eyes, horns, talons, tentacles, even mouths, though they hold no function. And the strongest of Shadow People, after draining enough life energy to fuel roughly 500 adult humans, change entirely into a new being. The Black Eyed Kids. [B][CENTER]Black Eyed Kids[/CENTER] [/B] When a Shadow Person absorbs enough life energy, it can take on an almost fully human form. This shape, child-like and pale, the only symbols of its existence the utter darkness of its eyes, is referred to collectively as the Black Eyed Kids. They are virtually human in both shape and mind, merely being without compassion or pity, heartless killers with innocent faces. Comparable to the Vampires of lore, they retain much of their former power. All the abilities gained by its past form are then passed onto it, as well as a kind of low-level hypnosis that allows them to better incapacitate their human targets, and the extremely powerful ability to control Shadow People. Most importantly, they are the cause of the rise in Shadow People, as victims of their draining become Shadows themselves. Nearly immune to conventional weaponry, not to mention disease and the flow of time, they appear all but immortal. But immortal they are not, and weaknesses they have. Like the Shadow People, they are powerless in the face of light, infantile when brought out into the noon sun. And though most weapons can do them no lasting harm, silver is more than capable of wounding them, a potent allergy that makes the wounds almost impossible to heal. Lastly, without a constant supply of life energy, they wither and die, turning to less than Shadow People, mere vapours. Also like Shadows, though, they are not condemned to a limit on form or power. Absorbing life energy grants them greater strength, as well, even manifesting as aging in some cases. Few attain an adult appearance, but those that do are often hailed as kings. Not that many Black Eyed Kids interact with one another. Or, so it was. Until quite recently, Black Eyed Kids were solitary and territorial hunters, staking out entire cities as their own playgrounds, sometimes entire countries. But lately, they have started banding together. Something is brewing. So someone has to stop it. [B][CENTER]The Order of Piercing Light[/CENTER][/B] Founded in Rome, Italy by the Catholic Church, the Order of Piercing Light is a group devoted to protecting the world for the Shadow People and all associated with them, most of all the Black Eyed Kids. Having begun to cast off its religious trappings in the past 100 years, it has welcomed in agents from all across the world, although there is still a heavy Catholic population. Members of the group are human and, thus, at a heavy disadvantage against their fearsome supernatural adversaries. Most train extensively in both armed and un-armed combat, specifically marksmanship and swordsmanship, keeping their bodies at the peak of physical perfection. The warriors of the Light are some of the most impressive in the world, but they are not the only weapons in the Order's arsenal. Also at its disposal are a number of researchers, both mystical and technological, as well as scientists, weapon forgers, and even mages, trained both in battle and healing. All these specialists are devoted to doing their best to support the warrior field agents, causing the Order to have massive libraries and armories. With just 20 branches across the world so far, the Order dispatches agents in small cells to fight off Black Eyed Kids and Shadow People hordes in the nearby areas. Cells are anywhere from 3 to 7 people, with straight forward warriors backed up by one or two mages, of healing or battle, and even other specialists depending on the mission. Though the headquarters remains in Rome, Italy, our story starts instead in one of the three American branches, down in the slums of Los Angeles, California... There, in that City of Angels, will the war with the darkness truly begin. [CENTER]*****[/CENTER] Well, now. Intrigued? If you're reading all the way down here, I should hope so. Pierce the Shadows is a story of horror, war, darkness, hope, and epic battles between good and evil, light and shadow. You know, the usual. Still interested? Good! Without any more of my blabbering [that'll be saved for the Underground, which'll go up eventually har har har], here's the app! [B]Name:[/B] The is Los Angeles so, uh, you can go pretty wild, especially since agents in the Order tend to get shuffled around from place to place. [B]Gender:[/B] There isn't much of a gender bias, so no worries here. [B]Age:[/B] Depending on your specialty, can range quite a bit. Powerful mages are more likely to be in their 40s, while researchers can be young or old; fighters generally don't live past 30. [B]Appearance:[/B] A nice picture is good, a solid paragraph+ description fine, both even better. [B]Specialty:[/B] Most people in the Order have a specialty of some kind. For many, that's just being good at killin' stuff, but it can vary from espionage, to magic, to research, to whatever. [B]Weapons/Spells:[/B] For combat ready agents, list your weapons of choice or magic. Few mages spend much time at all learning how to handle a weapon, too busy trying to control the powerful flow of magic. Likewise, most combat specialists don't spend any time on magic. As far as weapons go, most will be laced with silver, blessed, or wielding some kind of special trick to deal with the Shadow People and BEKs unnatural stylings, so get creative. Spells are primarily elemental, with a heavy focus in light, too. No dark spells. Ever. [B]Personality:[/B] How do they act, what do they like, etc. etc. You know the drill. Or should, anyway. [B]Bio or Writing Sample:[/B] Either a nice, fairly detailed back-story on your wayward hero, or a sample of writing in character, at least five paragraphs, ten is better. The vast majority of Order members is, remember, combat specialists, but I'd like to get a mage, researcher, or technological operative or two as well. Keeping things mixed up is always fun, remember. But, then, surely there are those of you not so Light-fully inclined. No, for you, there is another option. The Black Eyed Kids. I'll only be accepting a handful at most, no more than five, and hopefully a sight fewer than Order members. To get a BEK you have to be rather exemplary, far more so than just Shadow-fodder. So wow me. [B]Name:[/B] Most, if not all, of the Shadows have forgotten their true names long ago. Black Eyed Kids often take new ones, creatively trying to set themselves apart from the human masses. However, those who interact with the human world in any regularity will have an alias or two, so if you want to make a note of that, feel free. [B]Gender:[/B] Male, female, hermaphrodite. Or maybe you just never evolved those bits, who knows? [B]Age:[/B] Now, for this, I don't want a number. Black Eyed Kids have been around a long time, and often don't keep track of years. So what I want is: Young, Experienced, Old, or Ancient. Young would be twenty years or less; Experienced, up to 50. Old is getting into centuries, and you're Ancient if you've been around a Millennia. Those are most of the first Black Eyed Kids. [B]Appearance:[/B] Aside from a relatively youthful look and pitch-black eyes, go wild. Some look like the creepiest little kid-in-a-suit you've ever seen, some have started to devolve from humankind, with horns and fangs. Surprise me. [B]Powers:[/B] Aside from the aforementioned Hypnosis, Shadow People Control, and near-invincibility, what makes your Kid different? Shadow People and the Black Eyed Kids gain power with age, generally focused on manipulating darkness or their own body. The older ones sometimes step into magic and elemental power. [B]Personality:[/B] Aside from lacking a soul, for lack of a better word, and being a bit more animalistic than normal people, Black Eyed Kids have the standard personality quirks and etcetera. [B]Writing Sample:[/B] Writing a bio for these kids would just be tricky, so I'll be fine with a Writing Sample. Show them in their element, be that killing, or whatever. Well, that should do it for now. Hit me up with questions at the Underground, whenever it goes up, and I'll be posting a bio of my own relatively soon. See you cats when the action gets hot.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=1][I]So there's an enemy on the move, huh?[/I] Standing in the middle of the arena, Ginmaru smiled behind his mask, leaning casually against the wall. Throwing back a lock of silver hair, he couldn't help but let a shiver of excitement pass through him, a half-mad joy of anticipation. With this new rival, there would finally be someone worth testing his sword against. Not since the Chuunin exam had he had a decent match. Scanning the crowd, he was half-relieved and not at all surprised to note that there was no sign of Zensei Shinzaburo. The old man had doubtless already began his return to the Zensei home, where he would practice his sword. And the minute Ginmaru arrived, he would surely be thrown into battle again. But what he did see in the crowd, aside from the usual nervous genin and the brash colors of Uzumaki Naruto, was a familiar face. One he'd seen just that afternoon, when his barbs had been so rudely interrupted by a call to action by the Hokage. Kagami Imi. Smirking, he thrust himself forward by the shoulders and forward onto his feet, strolling across the field with one target dead in his sights. His coat flapped around his ankles, once again on his body, and the two swords he wore, one wooden and one metal, thudded against his thighs. He thought briefly about drawing one, giving the girl a scare, but decided against it. Sasuke-sensei would no doubt have a few words to say to him about [I]that[/I]. So instead he just slid towards her, as silently and smoothly as he could, pushing his face next to hers. She smelled of fear. [B]"Try not to die too quickly when they get here, fool,"[/B] he hissed, darkly, directly into her ear. She squawked, flailed, jerked forward before turning to face him, eyes blazing and cheeks flushed. Priceless, he thought briefly, before leaning up to his full height, already beginning to tower over the girl as his growth-spurt hit. [B]"You ass!"[/B] she shouted. He just tutted, wagging his finger at her. [B]"Temper, temper, little Imi,"[/B] he said, chidingly, knowing she could see the condescending smile around his eyes. [B]"Why don't you save that for the Yaminin? Maybe you can actually make one bleed before they finish you off. you know, be [I]useful[/I] for once in your life."[/B] Briefly, he thought it looked as if she might cry, and a little part of him thought it would be quite amusing if she did. [B]"Or do you even know what that word [I]means[/I]?"[/B] he added. [B]"It never really seemed like you did."[/B] [/SIZE]

[SIZE=1]The sun's light fell in golden stains around the clearing, breaking through the dense leaves of Konoha's famous forests. Ginmaru stood in the center, scarred chest bared to the cool brush of the wind and wooden sword held loosely in one hand. Laying at the base of a tree was his shirt and trenchcoat, and atop that his sheathed sword. The wind flared and hair whipped across his shoulders. Slowly, as he felt a lull in the breeze, he lifted his clenched fist and suddenly opened it, flicking five leaves into the air. His eyes snapped open and instantly his wooden sword was at the ready, a current of chakra flaring around it. Muscles flexed and he shifted back, forward, circling quickly and always on the balls of his feet. As suddenly as it began, his dance ended, and he stood just as solemnly as before, wooden sword drooping again. All five leaves gently floated to the ground, each split evenly across the central vein. Ginmaru's lips twisted into a thin smile, and he let the fine blade of chakra fade from around his sword's edge. It was the 30th time that morning he'd engaged in the exercise, honing not only his aim and timing, but also the fineness of his chakra control. Forming a perfect blade on a wooden sword was harder than a metal one, which already had the edge. This required craftsmanship. Focus. Creation, not amplification. And so half-leaves lay scattered around him in a show of skill, crinkling under his footsteps when he relaxed - and only when he relaxed; a shinobi did not make a sound when they didn't want to. Feeling weariness settle into his bones, he decided that it was enough for one day; the practice, coupled with intermittent kata, had left him already tired. Unlike, say, the great Uzumaki Naruto, his strong suit had never been raw stamina, he reflected as he lifted his sword from its resting place, sliding the laquered wood again into its place at his waist. Then again, as a Zensei, he wasn't supposed to necessarily need it. The mesh of his shirt clung to his sweaty skin when he pulled it on, but he payed no heed, simply drew up his mask and threw his trenchcoat across his shoulders. A flicker of movement and he vanished from the clearing, off to bigger and better things. Things, which it turned out, involved his pathetic little Genin teammate Kagami. And, oddly enough, Suigintou. [B]"Well, well, well,"[/B] he said smoothly, strolling up casually as if he hadn't just been exerting himself. Behind his mask, his lips wrinkled into a cold grin, reflected in his eyes. [B]"If it isn't little Imi. How goes the training, Kagami? Able to lift your weapon yet?"[/B][/SIZE]

[COLOR=SlateGray][SIZE=1][B]Name:[/B] Zensei Ginmaru [B]Age[/B]: 14 [B]Gender:[/B] Male [B]Appearance:[/B] With the bottom half of his face covered in a mask similar to the great Copy Ninja Kakashi, Ginmaru is instantly noticable as one who seeks stealth and darkness while on a mission. He dresses in dark colors always, often having his wardrobe completely black save for the dark green Chuunin vest he wears as a sign of his rank. Often, though, he wears a black trenchcoat over that, hiding numerous weapons within its folds, also using it as a way to conceal his body from attacks. His hitai-ate is affixed to the strap that ties his sword to his back. Features sharp and slightly femenine, Ginmaru is often considered attractive, though he could usually care less. His eyes are narrow, a constantly shifting shade somewhere between green, blue, and gray. His hair, on the other hand, is wild and a pale silver-gray in color, almost always tied back in a thin ponytail with wild bangs hanging in front of his eyes. Hidden by his clothes are the numerous scars that cover his pale body. From his dozens of savage training sessions he is covered in marks, his torso a roadmap of battle. Most prominent are the scars over his jaw, the true reason for his mask. Also marking him is the large, sprawling tattoo over his left arm, an odd curl of tribal markings that culminate in a circle over the back of his hand, holding the Kanji for Kin, "forbidden", inside it. [B]Rank:[/B] Chuunin [B]Personality:[/B] At first glance, Ginmaru's appearance makes him look like the standard quiet genius, a restrained and icy personality. However, appearances are often decieving, and Ginmaru isn't exactly quiet. In fact, he's quite boastful and proud, making it no secret that he thinks himself a very superior Shinobi. Since achieving Chuunin, this hasn't slackened in the slightest. Abrasive and smug, Ginmaru isn't likable by most people. He's prone to throwing down challenges for the smallest slight against his honor, something he holds in high regard. His honor and his pride are unquestionably valuable, and to wound either is to make a vicious enemy to the end. When he offers his loyalty, though, he is just as passionate to defend it. [B]Equipment[/B]: As a part of the Zensei family, Ginmaru is first and foremost a user of the sword, a katana that he keeps in a blood red saya strapped to his back. Inside his trenchcoat and in pouches on his hip and thigh, he also carries a store of shuriken and kunai, as most shinobi do. Note: He never uses smoke bombs, seeing them as dishonorable. [B]Main Weapon/Technique:[/B] The Zensei family is one of the lesser-known clans in Konoha, but one graced with incredible skills when it comes to using the sword. Thus, most of the jutsu handed down in the family focus solely on the blade and not the body. The first is a relatively simple trick of chakra manipulation, the Shouhajin no Jutsu [Heat Wave Edge], in which the user surrounds the edge of the sword with a fine blade of chakra to give it extended cutting range. The odd, shimmering quality that surrounds the sword during use gives the jutsu its name. His other technique of choice is one he uses much more rarely, only when traditional methods fail him in battle. The Kingatana, the secret technique of the Zensei family, is a technique that draws power from the seal enscribed on his arm. Normally a three-part jutsu, Ginmaru has acquired only the first level, the Shussan [Birth]. When activated, his arm is surrounded by a burst of chakra that manifests as a thin, mercury-like coating. Gaining a sudden burst of chakra and incredible strength, it is extremely destructive. However, he can only use it for a few minutes before the strain on his arm grows to great, threatening to shatter his bones to powder. [B]Biography/Writing Sample:[/B] Ginmaru dropped to the wooden floor hard, a bolt of pain arcing up from his knee like a raw electrical current. His breath came in ragged gasps, tearing at his throat like a pack of wolves, and his sweat felt like acid in his eyes. He tilted his head up, peering out from behind the curtain of his hair at his father, standing tall and impassive like a statue. The stormy gray eyes that met his burned with near-hatred. "[B]Get up[/B]," Zensei Shinzaburo growled, his voice as hard and sharp as the katana he held. Blood glistened on its edge, the same blood that leaked from Ginmaru's shoulder. "[B]F-Father[/B]," Ginmaru began to stammer. His eyes burned again, this time from the salty tears. He was too old to cry, his father had impressed that quite firmly, the poorly healed cut over his lip more than proof of that. After all, he was already [I]eight[/I]. Far too old to cry. "[B]I...I can't go on.[/B]" "[B]You will go on until I say you can stop, Ginmaru. Get up.[/B]" "[B]Yes, father,[/B]" he hissed. The boy grit his teeth and brushed back his hair with his free hand. The one wrapped tightly around his sword - even now, he would not let it go - was already throbbing, and he knew that he would have blisters the coming morning. But he stood on sturdy legs and raised his blade again. Father would not let him stop until they both bled. "[B]Come.[/B]" Ginmaru leapt forward, his sword a glittering arc in the high noon sun. Shinzaburo dodged to the side almost effortlessly, but Ginmaru felt cold satisfaction at the few gray hairs that wafted to the ground. It cost him, though, the price being a sharp kick to the ribs. He staggered back, his breathes even harsher now. But he couldn't stop. Not until father bled. He would fight the pain, and the dull blackness if it threatened his mind from the corner of his eyes. To many times that blackness had claimed him, too many times he had awoken to feel the sting of father's words and his bokutoh. "[B]You still leave yourself open, Ginmaru. Do not swing so wildly. Be sharp, and be fluid. Like water, not wind.[/B]" "[B]Yes, father.[/B]" Another cut, this one more restrained. Ginmaru kept his arms tucked close to his chest, and the tip of his katana glanced upon father's blade. It was progress. The elder pushed his weapon forward, but Ginmaru sidestepped, and swung the hard, dull edge of his sword down on his father's wrists. Without waiting for the reaction, Ginmaru pushed his sword up in another arc, and it came down on Shinzaburo's shoulder. Blood sprayed forth, his hot crimson victory. Father pulled back roughly, his face barely portraying the pain he surely must be feeling. He sighed and lowered his blade. "[B]You have wounded me. Better than I expected of you.[/B]" "[B]Thank you, father[/B]," Ginmaru said softly, knowing that was the closest he would ever get to a compliment. "[B]I believe it is time, Ginmaru. You can handle the Shussan.[/B]" Ginmaru swallowed hard, and looked up at his father in a mixture of pride and fear. "[B]The Shussan? Already?[/B]" "[B]You have to grow up some time, Ginmaru. You are old enough to cut me deep, old enough not to cry. You are old enough to truly be born.[/B]" There was a pause, and Ginmaru steeled his resolve. "[B]Yes, father. Thank you."[/B] He would use this power. It would make him strong, aid him in his goals. And he would kill his father. [B]Extra Notes:[/B] Bring up the subject of Ginmaru's father around him, and you will have to collect your own legs. Ginmaru's been friends with Ikorose Suigintou for a while, and they often train or are sent on missions together. Has an antagonistic relationship with Nagata Ichiro, deriding him for having to drop out of the Chuunin Exam and seeing him as a swordsmanship rival of sorts. Never had much of a taste for Kagami Imi, seeing her as mostly useless, but takes great joy in teasing her insatiable pride. Openly detests Batou Gin, thinking him shiftless and useless, and wondering just [i]how[/i] someone like him became a Chuunin. He especially hates sharing a similar name with someone like Gin, and thus refuses to let anyone shorten his name if it might bring about an association between them. Views quiet, timid people like Ijizawa Mai as poor ninja and treats them with disdain for it. [/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SlateGray][SIZE=1]Alright, as per my Ezekiel dear's orders, I guess I'll finally post. [IMG]http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y48/UnbornLordXion/Photos/Picture5.jpg[/IMG] [IMG]http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y48/UnbornLordXion/Photos/Picture3.jpg[/IMG] Annnnd just to embarass Jamie [love ya hon~

[COLOR=SlateGray][SIZE=1][SIZE=2][CENTER]The 13th Order Endless War[/CENTER][/SIZE] The Castle That Never Was was silent and calm as Onix strode through it, flanked by two of his Samurai Nobodies. The other members of the the 13th Order were elsewhere, occupied by their own fleeting interests, while he kept his mind focused on the goal. Held within his gloved hand was a report given to him by Riexand about Agrabah. His brow furrowed as the shadow of distress moved across the vacant hole where his Heart once was. [I]'We arrived in the desert of Agrabah and were instantly ambushed. This already pertubing state was reinforced when we reached the city proper. I wish I could discribe it accurately, but I cannot. A massive number Endless have flooded the streets, most notably a flock of at least 20 Red Dracos that have started razing buildings to the ground. It would appear that they are searching for something, although I have no idea what. Xaria felt we should enter battle with the Endless, but something seemed off about it. They were decidedly organized. Aixarael shared my concerns, and so we left before trouble could arise. I am confidant the Endless did not spot us, but we should hurry to a course of action, regardless. Who knows what they were seekings. Could it be the Heart of the World? Or something else?'[/I] Organized Endless was certainly not something he was quite used to. Was someone controlling them? Or was it just a natural evolution of their species? Either was worhty of wariness, that much was sure. He paused in his stride and snapped his fingers quickly. Behind him, a group of [URL=http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/d/dd/NobodyKHII.jpg]Dusks[/URL] apparated, awaiting their orders. [B][I]Your majesty?[/I][/B] they 'said'. Though the lower Nobodies lacked vocal chords, they could speak to others through the mind. The Dusks , lowest of the Nobodies, weren't as communicative as others, but made good enough messengers with simple instructions. [B]"Summon the rest of the Order,"[/b] he murmured, knowing they'd read it off his thoughts, anyway. [b]"It is time they recieved their new missions."[/B] [B][I]Yes, majesty.[/I][/B] They vanished in clouds of darkness, leaving but him and his Samurai. He started walking again, at a slightly faster pace, and they followed easily. The news from Agrabah was disturbing to say the least. Riexand had been wise to leave; it was likely of greater than the Team II could handle. No, this was clearly a job for Onix's own team. Still, he was not one to leave the other's twiddling their thumbs, and there were always more Endless to fight. He shoved open the doors to the Chamber of Dying Echoes, as the meeting room was labeled, and stepped inside. It was as yet empty, which served him well. He liked to be the first to enter, after all. He took his place at the head of the long table that the Order was to sit at and waited for the others to join him, banishing the Samurai to wherever it was they went when not in his company. [B]"The Heart of the World?"[/B] he mumbled. [B]"Or...something else?"[/B] Puzzling, indeed. [CENTER]*****[/CENTER] So, this RP will work in a slightly unique fashion. Which hopefully will work. Basically, there are four Teams, three Triplets and one Quartet. Each one will be sent to a different world with a goal in mind. This could range from vague to specific. Sometimes, you'll have to just kill Endless or "gather information and report." Other times, there will be definite targets or objects in mind to be killed or captured. And just in case you were wondering, Teams: I. Onix, Kaxkel, Xinikk, and Marax. II. Aixarael, Riexand, and Xaria. III. Xranis, Xarin, and Atrexsim. IV. Nixara, Necrox, and Xachnore.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SlateGray][SIZE=1]Right. So. Sign-Ups are closed, and here is the final Organization: I. Onix, the Silver Crescent II. Nixara, the Gemini of Timeless Discord III. Xranis, the Jovial Phantom IV. Kaxkel, the Benevolent Dragon V. Xinikk, the Demon Tempest VI. Aixarael, the Desecration Smile VII. Riexand, the Peaceful Striker VIII. Marax, the Resplendent Guillotine IX. Xaria, the Raging Torrent X. Necrox, the Belligerent Deadlock XI. Xarin, the Cool Observer XII. Xachnore, the Transmorgified Sniper XIII. Atrexsim, the Enshrouded Executioner Sorry if you got cut, there were a lot of good sign-ups, but in the end, I had to choose. And here we are. I'll probably be starting up the game proper in a day or so, so keep your eyes on the Square.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SlateGray][SIZE=1]Better question: A tree falls on a mime in a forest and no one's around to hear it. Does anyone care?[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SlateGray][SIZE=1]Well, the Organization is filling up nicely, though there are still a few gaps thanks to un-finished Sign-Ups. Here's a working list; I. Onix, the Silver Crescent II. Xachnore, the Transmogrified Sniper III. Xranis, the Jovial Phantom IV. Kaxkel, the Benevolent Dragon V. Xinikk, the Demon Tempest VI. Aixarael, the Desecration Smile VII. VIII. Marax, the Resplendent Guillotine IX. Xaria, the Raging Torrent X. Necrox, the Belligerent Deadlock XI. Xarin, the Cool Observer XII. Aixnad, the Twisting Soul XIII. As you can see, there are two empty spots left. If you're not up there, it's either because you haven't finished yet or, unfortunately, were not quite up to snuff. I know we've got a potential XIII in the mix, and I'm not running on a purely first-come-first-serve basis, mind, so there could be replacements. Just finish up those last sign-ups, dearies~[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[COLOR=SlateGray][SIZE=1]Honestly, this Jenn person needs to get off of her moral high horse. Hell, a big part of my bloodline is constantly portrayed as either drunk beyond all reason, organized to an irritating degree, or waging a crusade on the world for no good reason other than [I]someone[/I] flunked out of Art School. And my nationality? Viewed as a bunch of pompous, bloated wastrels who want to own the globe. Yet do I post long-winded internet rants about people appropriating my heritage by driving Mercedes or drinking Heinekin? No. Hey, here's a thought: maybe I just [I]like[/I] Japanese culture. Did that ever cross her hyper-sensitive mind? Ever occur that [I]maybe[/I] I like anime because a lot of it is higher quality than a lot of American entertainment? That the Samurai lifestyle appeals to me on a personal level for more reasons than "Wow, swords, SHINY!" ? That I've actually [I]researched[/I] about the past of Japan, and know about Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but at the same time am fully aware of what Japan pulled in Nanking? I know Hiroshima was bad, and it killed millions. But I also know that the Nazis weren't the only ones who purpotrated unspeakable acts during WWII. Some of us might not look at Japan as some ideal nation, shock and amaze. Some of us just geniunely like the culture, like the history for what it [I]is[/I], not just what the Japanese media paints it as. I'll agree, some anime fans really need to stop and put things in perspective. Some of them are just damn crazy, and that's the bottom line. Wearing a special headband doesn't suddenly make you a wall-walking superman, and being able to say "I love you" in Japanese is not the pinnacle of cultural achievement. Modern Japan does not look like Rurouni Kenshin, nor did it when that was supposed to even take place. But at the same time, what's so wrong in taking joy in another culture's products? Why is wanting to go to the romanticized land of Japan suddenly worse than wanting to go to an overly-romanticized French Riviera? Covering an entire subgroup of people in one blanket statement is always a bad idea. You'd think people would've learned that by now.[/SIZE][/COLOR]