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Sun Xun; 孫遜
Topic Started: Mar 3 2011, 10:03:57 PM (176 Views)
Nano
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Shark Dancer
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Physicality: Xun's is a well-tempered body, taut and defined with and by muscle, suggesting a front that is decidedly more beastly than anything else. The line he skirts between man and monster likely starts at his crown, an intimidating 195 cm high, and wraps around Xun's lean and robust physique, weighing no less than 86 kg. Xun's tan flesh is tattered and scabrous, decorated with the battle wounds of a number of confrontations, every single blemish deeply rooted in some kind of skirmish and worth double their unsightliness in pride. But being the natural showman that he is, Xun views his body not only as a result of his clash-ridden past, but as a trophy case of experiences and hubris.

As such, Xun's exploits are often on full display on an unclothed chest. A frayed cloak suggesting an equally rugged past drapes his shoulders, with the only other attire encasing his upper body being a slim leather sash, adorned with a finish of some alloy neither attractive or hideous, which fastens the sheath of his sword firmly to his large back. His forearms however, are encased in metallic armguards, and his calloused fingers are sheathed in black gloves, while his lower body is dressed in traditional garb. On his face, a hybrid headband-eyepatch is swathed across a surprisingly unflawed facade.

It does little, however, to mask the oozing charisma laced in Xun's face, presenting a stark contrast to the beastly metal his muscle-bound figure is construed of. His jaw is strong and square, leading into a handsome pointed chin, and Xun grins often. His right eye, the only one that is visible, bestows a gaze that is fiery and personable, glimmering with grey pyres of color, and his facial structure is crowned with a silver mane of bushy and well-styled hair.


Persona: Xun is a beastly man with a beastly mind, unrestrained in disposition and dynamic in character. He has never known the meaning of the word elegance, nor could he care to learn how it's spelled, but there is no doubt that if were a tangible substance and not only written text, Xun would possess the strength to beat it into a bloody pulp. His lack of polish makes Xun quite the brash human being, quick to make friends with others a bit rough around the edges, but indifferent to those without a similar set of principles as his. He lives by a code, and a simple one at that: to make his name known, and never to suffer any pride lost.


History: The tale of Xun thus far is much less detailed than his appearance would suggest. Born in the Village of the Hidden Mist, and abandoned as a child, Xun's life was mostly already written for him: he would learn to thieve and lie in order to survive, and when stealing failed and talking was no use, Xun would learn to fight. He would learn and learn and learn for years, as if he was schooled like others his age, not by institutions, but by cruelty. Soon, fighting was less of a last-resort, and more of a lifestyle - it was easier to live on intimidation than it was on fast fingers, and his aptitude with a blade was increasing with every day. Equally soon, was the yearning to legitimize himself. There is no honor in being a thief or a thug, not for Xun, at least.

But the Swordsmen of the Mist...

Primary Element: Katon

Stats:

Sun Xun|Kiragukure Genin|Seven Swordsman of the Mist - Initiate
Chakra:1000
Ninpo: 700
~Ninjutsu~ 0
~Genjutsu~ 0
~Taijutsu~ 700
Strength: 200
Speed: 100
Seishi: 1000
Ryo: 1000


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echoing, your voice is echoing again
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wish01
「seven vendettas and flat earth」


arabesque
 
「words: ongoing
 
He came here often.

For a man with as few principles as he, this was, ironically, the stability in his life. Here is where he felt in the presence of something to be feared, something meaner and more malevolent than one hundred thousand bodies of himself, something that was infinitely more cruel than the edge of any blade. And he did fear it. In fact, he was so afraid of the power - the power of uncertainty - that this place embodied, that just standing here sent chills down his thick spine. His teeth were involuntarily clenched, tightly. So tightly! Even the least keen of onlookers could find the tension draped over his face, though the large patch he wore tried mightily to conceal it. And beneath it was even more tension. Eyelids closed upon one another with such vehement force that beads of liquid formed at their corners.

It was a disgusting mix, a cocktail of sweat of tears. Had it been as visible to others as it was to him, and not tucked under that shroud, he wouldn't have known what to do. Lucky. He was lucky.

Xun wouldn't place such a term on it himself. He thought himself a great many things, in pure honesty, even, but not one of them was synonymous with good fortune. Not a single one. And Xun may have been within reason with that decision - whether or not he was currently in luck's favor, and he was, he as a human being had very little to look back on in terms of fortune. So little, in fact, that he was ruined for it, unable to look at luck as anything more than cruelty. Even when it was good to him, it was never good to everyone, never good for anyone in the long run, he thought.

He despised it. No, Xun loathed the idea of luck.

So why was he here? Why was here so often? Why, even though the tremble in his body was increasing exponentially with each and every second he chose to stand as tall as he could in this place? It didn't make any bit of sense. It couldn't.

But fear makes a human do a lot of things. And though Xun hated luck, hated a lot of things, he feared fortune. He had been slashed down by it on dozens and dozens of occasions before, and he knew that if there was any shred of doubt floating in his guts, that he would have to succumb to it. Once bitten, twice shy, as they say. This was the fear he knew. This was the fear that only he could have known, and he knew it well. Others had their own things to be afraid of - and Xun thought them lucky.

How he often wished to be afraid of something tangible, of something real! How he wished that some living being had it out for him, and not some divine earthly fate. Then he could face it, he could destroy or it could destroy him. But to fear luck, of all things, was a much, much crueler fate. There was nothing he could do. Nothing but live with the shadow of doubt in the far corners of his mind at all times, there waiting in ambush for him stumble on the line of favor. To trip and lose balance between the fates, those of good and bad, and land on one side or the other.

He wouldn't wear that fear on his face, not often, anyhow, like he did now. But it was there invariably, in the creases of his smile-lines and brow, hidden in the grey irises that were forced to stay stationary, unwavering,and ultimately concealed, of course, under the patch draped over the left side of his face.

Here, it might have been worse. No, it definitely was.

Here was the fountain - an ordinary one - that made his spine quiver. It was not the biggest fountain in the village, nor was it the most pretty, nor was it even a little bit nice. But it was a fountain. And to him, this pond was the place that embodied the spirit he hated so much, the spirit of luck.

This fountain was special. Not in the ways that might be special for others. There was never the meeting of a first love for anyone here. There was never a lost pet reuinited with family here. There was never anything good here. And Xun could attest to that.

Because for Xun, the reason that this place was special, was because it was the one place he could recall in all of his bad memories. In every single, unattractive shard of his past, there was, if even for a little bit, this fountain. And as he lived his life, with these experiences piling and piling and piling up, this fountain would grow to be the place he hated so much. And yet fate, cruelly, oh so cruelly, would keep dragging him back.

He would be here when this happened.

He would be there when that happened.

He was always there. He was always there.

Bad luck. Humans are constantly conflicted over the idea of whether their luck is good or bad, if fortune smiles upon them or if it scowls. Similarily, there are those who try as hard as possible that luck doesn't exist, that it was just an excuse. An excuse for a lack of hard work, for a lack of preparation, for mistakes. Xun knew those people were stupid.

Xun might have felt a particularly ominous gust of wind blow through his silver mane of hair had he not been so fixated on what lied before him. He knew those people were stupid, because he was one of them, sometimes. Able to convince himself into the state of mind that luck was just something invented by inadequate people so they would have something to blame for their fallacies.

It was that line of thinking that shaped him into the kind of beast of a man he currently was. That he would grow strong enough to be able to control his own fate, to take responsibility when things didn't go his way.

Stupid. He grinned. It wasn't a cheeky grin, nor was it particularly jovial. It was pitiful really.

He was pitiful. And he knew it.

Give me strength. An emphatic plop sounded out, and a small ripple moved in the fountain. Xun had tossed a coin in.

The words passed through his mind quickly, as if he was embarassed someone would pick up on them, even though they were completely internal. He felt even more pathetic than he did when he first stepped in front of this fountain, and the feeling was starting to root itself in his stomach.

Give me strength! As if a trio of words and a paltry sum of money could ever make him any less weak.

But it did.

Not visibly. His biceps were not more defined. The edge of his sword was not sharper by any means. That pity-ridden expression written all over his face was not any less despicable. But there was something unseen, something within the confines of his own skull that felt lighter, better.

He was stronger for it, but it didn't feel good. No, it felt terrible. Worse than terrible. But Xun, though encased in a shell that was more like a monster's than a man, might have added another year to his life. And with it, an even deeper hate for this place, for this fountain, for luck. He wanted to swear never to return.

But he couldn't.

Because there was no use in swearing against the inevitable.



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wish02
「replica, opaque and tempered」


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watch my feet grow roots from under me
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wish03
「tecumseh, or one such as you」

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Edited by Nano, Mar 12 2011, 01:43:01 AM.
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