[spoilername="Image"]
[/spoilername]
[col]
[col]Physical Desription:
Like most members of the Haku bloodline, one could say that Hanzo is easy on the eyes. Rather tall for his age, standing at a good few inches over most of his peers. His build is lean, complete with visible muscles, earned from years of training with his would be abductors. His blueish-raven hair is unkempt, with seemingly every strand going in the way it pleases, with a few bangs falling over his forehead. From time to time, he ties his hair in a crude, short ponytail, one bound by a cotton band of the same color. Underneath the obsidian curtain that are his bangs, glint a pair of steeled sapphire eyes, one he got from his father. More often than not, Hanzo's thin lips are pulled in a grim line, one slightly curving downwards, complementing his sharp jawline. His thin eyebrows lightly slope at the bridge of his nose, creating an ever present skeptic look on his face. The boy's skin is fair, adorned in some places with scars from clashes in years past. The most notable ones are a scrambled series of markings on his back, from the lashings he received, and a furrow on the left side of his chest, where a blade had impaled him.
Attire:
Hanzo himself prefers darker, earthen colors, with the sole exception being white. His usual attire consists of a brown or black cotton yukata, plain and unlined. He appears to wear this kind of attire no matter how dire the weather might be. With wide seams, his yukata's sleeves are slightly longer than those one could observe on other examples of the same garment, being able to completely cover the hands should they be left on their sides. Likewise, Hanzo pairs his yukata with a silken heko obi, typically of the same color. Within it's folds, he stores equipment others would in pouches. Likewise, it serves to secure his sword in place, preventing it from moving much. Likewise, another thing one could spy sticking out from his sash is a flute, one he plays when in his spare time. Instead of the standard issue sandals, Hanzo wears a pair of comfortable wooden geta, one he seem to have no problem moving in.
Personality:
Hanzo is a calculated and shrewd individual, one that prefers to be in control of the situation. Not willing to take risks, he stays true to the saying: "Measure twice, cut once". Even though he is a Genin of the Cloud, he has no love for it, nor does he feel that he owes the village any loyalty. To him, they are just a current employer, one enforced upon him by previous, unavoidable situations. What more, he bears them a grudge, because in his eyes, it is their fault that his parents got slaughtered on the road. Life is a rutheless game of survival, as it has been for almost all members of his clan, and Hanzo is well aware of this. Thus, it should not come as a surprise that he has a strong sense of self-preservation - the main reason of his over cautious way of moving trough life. Hanzo is quite charismatic, and would preffer to use his tongue to win battles instead of more, violent methods. Having killed dozens of people at an age where his peers should be playing with toy swords, the raven haired man is somewhat desensitized, and lacking in empathy. Still, given his rather rough past, and early life as a bandit, he is rather cheerful. Rarely without his signature smile, Hanzo can be seen as someone who is overly free around others. That, combined with his snarky comments could make him seem flirtatious. Likewise, contrary to his wishes to keep himself alive, Hanzo is quick to say what is on his mind, a thing that could not be that good seeing as his tongue is usually sharper than the blade at his sash. Being brutally honest is just one of the things that come with being level headed and realistic. That said, he is almost never optimistic, and takes even the most certain of successes with a, to him at least, healthy dose of skepticism. If one takes the time and get to know him, he might be in the position to see Hanzo in both of his... "forms". One of them being a child stuck in the body of a young adult, one who's stubbornness can not be beaten by reason, and the other being a mature tactician, mind ever plotting, submerged in a sea of thoughts. He is rarely mad, and is not prone to holding grudges, though one thing he strongly dislikes is when people touch his things, like his flute, or the few friends he has. Free-willed, he trusts that every man should live as he so desires, as long as it does not impare the free will of others, well not much at least. With this in mind, he likes to set where his own loyalties lay, and one can be certain that Hanzo's word is worth as much as his life.|Pre-Creation History:
Hanzo's earliest memories are of the snow covered road, one that he observed from his father's shoulders. They were, in fact, more often than nit, on the move. Was it necessary? Maybe. Even so, it was a lifestyle enforced on them from decades before, and one that they have resumed now.
His mother was a seamstress, possessing great beauty and a love for both her family and craft. On the other hand, his father was a cheerful and witty man, one that crafted products of wood, his own art in the shape of figurines, musical instruments, and common tools when times were especially hard. Even so, the cold bothered them little, as long as the trio had each other, content with their lifestyle of being ever on the move. Hanzo always wanted, as far as memory serves, to become like his father, who was nothing short of a role mode. Though, as he would find out later, life doesn't always give one what they desire.
Few dangers they faced on the open road, though slight problems and issues were, of course, present. The land of the cloud was their next destination, where Taro, Hanzo's father was supposed to meet with a friend of his, who could provide him some business opportunities. Yet, they never made it far past the cloud border. Being travelers, his family had a decent understanding, as well as knowledge of the less used, and at the same time quicker routes around the many countries they frequented. One morning so, they were unfortunate enough to approach an unofficial toll, one belonging to the infamous Wind Dragons, a loosely-knit, yet organized band of highwaymen and brigands, best known for their brutality.
They attempted to turn around, yet the bandits, having spotted them, demanded a payment of coin Taro couldn't even dream of possessing. Thus, they demanded one of the two things he valued the most, his wife. Hana was a sight to behold, a marvel of a woman, one that caught the eye of Wind Dragon's leader, Kenshiro. He was a cruel man, a rogue ninja from the cloud that left his village for more profitable job. Naturally, Taro refused giving up his love, and was promptly silenced by a kunai to the gut. Hanzo's mother was taken away, and her screams could be heard even as she faded from view. The boy, only seven or eight years at the time, of course attempted to chase after his mother. Yet, a man with blazing red hair stopped him, running a blade tough the boy's chest, supposedly piercing his heart.
Yet, miraculously, he survived, only to wake up in the bloodied snow where he was left to rot alongside his father. Cheers and laughter echoed in the distance, where the lights of a camp fire dispersed the darkness. Putting the intense pain aside, Hanzo drew the blade from his father's corpse, and limped trough the snow covered forest where the camp lay. Strength had already left him, now forced to fuel his stiff movements only with hatred and an unyielding rage.
Alcohol was heavy in the air, almost as heavy as his breathing. Bloodshot and foggy, his eyes traced over all the people in the camp that were in sight. He stood out like a stain of blood on a field of freshly fallen snow. He charged, he ran, the deadly steel glossy in his hand as it crashed down. Most of the men did not realize what happened until it was over. The red haired man himself, one he later found out was named Hideyoshi, was far too drunk to take note of the one approaching his sitting form from behind. And then, as the men stumbled to draw their weapons, Taro's murderer had already a dozen deep stabs spotting his back.
Hanzo was quickly captured, but he did not care, as he was far to exhausted to concern himself with such matters. Killing the man felt good, really good.
Much to his own, and the surprise of the Wind Dragons, Kenshiro did not kill the boy, but rather offered him a place in the band. Noting that if, the now dead bandit, was weak enough to be killed by a kid, he did not need him anyway. Then, Hanzo remembered what his parents always kept telling him. Family and survival are the two most important things in the world. And seeing as now, he only had a possibility of the latter, he reluctantly accepted. He got tossed a sword, the very same one that was used to impale him, with a simple "You keep what you kill kid."
His new life in the Dragons was all but ideal, as it turned out that Hideyoshi had a few friends that were not happy with Hanzo's acceptance. Yet he pushed on, earning the nickname "Demon", just for the savagery of his first kill. "Damn runt fights like a little demon they said. All members had something called the "Loot Quota". That was a system that imposed on them a contribution that they had to give to the "family". What it also meant, was that if they underperform on looting and pillaging, they become the band's new play thing. Hanzo, as a new member, likewise had to fill this quota.
The Dragon's found it quite ironic and funny to place the boy at the toll, and make him do all the executions of those unfortunate enough to wander in the tundra. At first, he refused. After a hundred lashes at the pole, he did not refuse. Better than than him, he reckoned.
So passed the next five years or so of his life. Both his combat skills, and his hatred for Kenshiro and his Dragons grew. The only reason Hanzo had to not escape, was a silent hope that one day, the bandit leader would turn his head away a moment too long. During that time, he had made a lot of enemies, though not a single friend. Naturally, everything that went wrong in the band was blamed on him. From stolen rations, to the winter being far too cold. The number of lashes increased, from a hundred, to three hundred and fifty by the middle of his fifth year with the dragons. Yet, Hanzo took the hits impassively. He knew. One day, he would pay them back in full.
Or so he thought. Having received his latest set of whipping, this time, not even knowing the reason why for - maybe they were just bored - he sat against the pole he was shackled at.
It was over before anyone realized what happened. Vivid shadows, flickers of movement amongst the trees. Whatever they were, the people that he despised for so long were being cut down, burned and shocked, drowned and pulverized. The cloud ANBU was swift to dispose of everyone there, and I a few minutes, the camp was silent, safe for the deft cackling of the great campfire. The ninja captain approached Hanzo, who he observed was conjuring miniature blocks of ice, only to smear them over his still bleeding back. The questioning was short, though the boy knew that what he said then, would affect his entire life later. The ANBU gave him two choices, come with them to the cloud, and build a future there. Or die amongst his former comrades. Unshackled, instead of answering, the now thirteen years old boy limped around the camp, searching for Kenshiro's body. Untill now, he lived only to take his leaders life. And if that was done by someone else, he did not mind, as justice would be served. With that in mind, dying would not be a problem, and would, in fact, be preferable. Yet, no matter how he turned the many corpses, the rogue ninja never turned up. They eyed him the whole time as he searched, waiting for an answer.
Sighing, the boy pulled his dirty yukata over his back, and, with a nod of his head, headed towards the cloud, where a new life in the academy awaited him. Now at least, he still had a reason to live for.[/col]
Name: Hattori Hanzo
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Sex: Male
Rank: Genin
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Sex: Male
Rank: Genin
[col]
The Character
|History
[/col][col]Physical Desription:
Like most members of the Haku bloodline, one could say that Hanzo is easy on the eyes. Rather tall for his age, standing at a good few inches over most of his peers. His build is lean, complete with visible muscles, earned from years of training with his would be abductors. His blueish-raven hair is unkempt, with seemingly every strand going in the way it pleases, with a few bangs falling over his forehead. From time to time, he ties his hair in a crude, short ponytail, one bound by a cotton band of the same color. Underneath the obsidian curtain that are his bangs, glint a pair of steeled sapphire eyes, one he got from his father. More often than not, Hanzo's thin lips are pulled in a grim line, one slightly curving downwards, complementing his sharp jawline. His thin eyebrows lightly slope at the bridge of his nose, creating an ever present skeptic look on his face. The boy's skin is fair, adorned in some places with scars from clashes in years past. The most notable ones are a scrambled series of markings on his back, from the lashings he received, and a furrow on the left side of his chest, where a blade had impaled him.
Attire:
Hanzo himself prefers darker, earthen colors, with the sole exception being white. His usual attire consists of a brown or black cotton yukata, plain and unlined. He appears to wear this kind of attire no matter how dire the weather might be. With wide seams, his yukata's sleeves are slightly longer than those one could observe on other examples of the same garment, being able to completely cover the hands should they be left on their sides. Likewise, Hanzo pairs his yukata with a silken heko obi, typically of the same color. Within it's folds, he stores equipment others would in pouches. Likewise, it serves to secure his sword in place, preventing it from moving much. Likewise, another thing one could spy sticking out from his sash is a flute, one he plays when in his spare time. Instead of the standard issue sandals, Hanzo wears a pair of comfortable wooden geta, one he seem to have no problem moving in.
Personality:
Hanzo is a calculated and shrewd individual, one that prefers to be in control of the situation. Not willing to take risks, he stays true to the saying: "Measure twice, cut once". Even though he is a Genin of the Cloud, he has no love for it, nor does he feel that he owes the village any loyalty. To him, they are just a current employer, one enforced upon him by previous, unavoidable situations. What more, he bears them a grudge, because in his eyes, it is their fault that his parents got slaughtered on the road. Life is a rutheless game of survival, as it has been for almost all members of his clan, and Hanzo is well aware of this. Thus, it should not come as a surprise that he has a strong sense of self-preservation - the main reason of his over cautious way of moving trough life. Hanzo is quite charismatic, and would preffer to use his tongue to win battles instead of more, violent methods. Having killed dozens of people at an age where his peers should be playing with toy swords, the raven haired man is somewhat desensitized, and lacking in empathy. Still, given his rather rough past, and early life as a bandit, he is rather cheerful. Rarely without his signature smile, Hanzo can be seen as someone who is overly free around others. That, combined with his snarky comments could make him seem flirtatious. Likewise, contrary to his wishes to keep himself alive, Hanzo is quick to say what is on his mind, a thing that could not be that good seeing as his tongue is usually sharper than the blade at his sash. Being brutally honest is just one of the things that come with being level headed and realistic. That said, he is almost never optimistic, and takes even the most certain of successes with a, to him at least, healthy dose of skepticism. If one takes the time and get to know him, he might be in the position to see Hanzo in both of his... "forms". One of them being a child stuck in the body of a young adult, one who's stubbornness can not be beaten by reason, and the other being a mature tactician, mind ever plotting, submerged in a sea of thoughts. He is rarely mad, and is not prone to holding grudges, though one thing he strongly dislikes is when people touch his things, like his flute, or the few friends he has. Free-willed, he trusts that every man should live as he so desires, as long as it does not impare the free will of others, well not much at least. With this in mind, he likes to set where his own loyalties lay, and one can be certain that Hanzo's word is worth as much as his life.|Pre-Creation History:
Hanzo's earliest memories are of the snow covered road, one that he observed from his father's shoulders. They were, in fact, more often than nit, on the move. Was it necessary? Maybe. Even so, it was a lifestyle enforced on them from decades before, and one that they have resumed now.
His mother was a seamstress, possessing great beauty and a love for both her family and craft. On the other hand, his father was a cheerful and witty man, one that crafted products of wood, his own art in the shape of figurines, musical instruments, and common tools when times were especially hard. Even so, the cold bothered them little, as long as the trio had each other, content with their lifestyle of being ever on the move. Hanzo always wanted, as far as memory serves, to become like his father, who was nothing short of a role mode. Though, as he would find out later, life doesn't always give one what they desire.
Few dangers they faced on the open road, though slight problems and issues were, of course, present. The land of the cloud was their next destination, where Taro, Hanzo's father was supposed to meet with a friend of his, who could provide him some business opportunities. Yet, they never made it far past the cloud border. Being travelers, his family had a decent understanding, as well as knowledge of the less used, and at the same time quicker routes around the many countries they frequented. One morning so, they were unfortunate enough to approach an unofficial toll, one belonging to the infamous Wind Dragons, a loosely-knit, yet organized band of highwaymen and brigands, best known for their brutality.
They attempted to turn around, yet the bandits, having spotted them, demanded a payment of coin Taro couldn't even dream of possessing. Thus, they demanded one of the two things he valued the most, his wife. Hana was a sight to behold, a marvel of a woman, one that caught the eye of Wind Dragon's leader, Kenshiro. He was a cruel man, a rogue ninja from the cloud that left his village for more profitable job. Naturally, Taro refused giving up his love, and was promptly silenced by a kunai to the gut. Hanzo's mother was taken away, and her screams could be heard even as she faded from view. The boy, only seven or eight years at the time, of course attempted to chase after his mother. Yet, a man with blazing red hair stopped him, running a blade tough the boy's chest, supposedly piercing his heart.
Yet, miraculously, he survived, only to wake up in the bloodied snow where he was left to rot alongside his father. Cheers and laughter echoed in the distance, where the lights of a camp fire dispersed the darkness. Putting the intense pain aside, Hanzo drew the blade from his father's corpse, and limped trough the snow covered forest where the camp lay. Strength had already left him, now forced to fuel his stiff movements only with hatred and an unyielding rage.
Alcohol was heavy in the air, almost as heavy as his breathing. Bloodshot and foggy, his eyes traced over all the people in the camp that were in sight. He stood out like a stain of blood on a field of freshly fallen snow. He charged, he ran, the deadly steel glossy in his hand as it crashed down. Most of the men did not realize what happened until it was over. The red haired man himself, one he later found out was named Hideyoshi, was far too drunk to take note of the one approaching his sitting form from behind. And then, as the men stumbled to draw their weapons, Taro's murderer had already a dozen deep stabs spotting his back.
Hanzo was quickly captured, but he did not care, as he was far to exhausted to concern himself with such matters. Killing the man felt good, really good.
Much to his own, and the surprise of the Wind Dragons, Kenshiro did not kill the boy, but rather offered him a place in the band. Noting that if, the now dead bandit, was weak enough to be killed by a kid, he did not need him anyway. Then, Hanzo remembered what his parents always kept telling him. Family and survival are the two most important things in the world. And seeing as now, he only had a possibility of the latter, he reluctantly accepted. He got tossed a sword, the very same one that was used to impale him, with a simple "You keep what you kill kid."
His new life in the Dragons was all but ideal, as it turned out that Hideyoshi had a few friends that were not happy with Hanzo's acceptance. Yet he pushed on, earning the nickname "Demon", just for the savagery of his first kill. "Damn runt fights like a little demon they said. All members had something called the "Loot Quota". That was a system that imposed on them a contribution that they had to give to the "family". What it also meant, was that if they underperform on looting and pillaging, they become the band's new play thing. Hanzo, as a new member, likewise had to fill this quota.
The Dragon's found it quite ironic and funny to place the boy at the toll, and make him do all the executions of those unfortunate enough to wander in the tundra. At first, he refused. After a hundred lashes at the pole, he did not refuse. Better than than him, he reckoned.
So passed the next five years or so of his life. Both his combat skills, and his hatred for Kenshiro and his Dragons grew. The only reason Hanzo had to not escape, was a silent hope that one day, the bandit leader would turn his head away a moment too long. During that time, he had made a lot of enemies, though not a single friend. Naturally, everything that went wrong in the band was blamed on him. From stolen rations, to the winter being far too cold. The number of lashes increased, from a hundred, to three hundred and fifty by the middle of his fifth year with the dragons. Yet, Hanzo took the hits impassively. He knew. One day, he would pay them back in full.
Or so he thought. Having received his latest set of whipping, this time, not even knowing the reason why for - maybe they were just bored - he sat against the pole he was shackled at.
It was over before anyone realized what happened. Vivid shadows, flickers of movement amongst the trees. Whatever they were, the people that he despised for so long were being cut down, burned and shocked, drowned and pulverized. The cloud ANBU was swift to dispose of everyone there, and I a few minutes, the camp was silent, safe for the deft cackling of the great campfire. The ninja captain approached Hanzo, who he observed was conjuring miniature blocks of ice, only to smear them over his still bleeding back. The questioning was short, though the boy knew that what he said then, would affect his entire life later. The ANBU gave him two choices, come with them to the cloud, and build a future there. Or die amongst his former comrades. Unshackled, instead of answering, the now thirteen years old boy limped around the camp, searching for Kenshiro's body. Untill now, he lived only to take his leaders life. And if that was done by someone else, he did not mind, as justice would be served. With that in mind, dying would not be a problem, and would, in fact, be preferable. Yet, no matter how he turned the many corpses, the rogue ninja never turned up. They eyed him the whole time as he searched, waiting for an answer.
Sighing, the boy pulled his dirty yukata over his back, and, with a nod of his head, headed towards the cloud, where a new life in the academy awaited him. Now at least, he still had a reason to live for.[/col]
