Name: Jintou, Third Son of House Oba.
Age: 12 years
Village: Sunagakure
Rank: Academy Student
Lineage: Oban (Seikon Descendants)
Character Alignment: Neutral Good
Applicable Theme Music: Listen
To wear your culture; an appearance.
Even the most diminutive folk cast long shadows when the sun is low over the desert’s dunes. From his earliest memories, Jintou knew the feeling of warm sand and windswept desert pavement below his feet. This was the life he knew for all of his short, albeit enriched experience— survival off of land so harsh towards those not strong enough to endure it. This boy was a nomad and one of twelve— folk of a hard stock and the tribal name: Oba. They were tall and lean people with long strides, natural athletes, and soldiers who resembled the land they wandered. Jintou was the second youngest; a mere child, but he resembled his kin, so rich in their native features. Theirs was a skin rich with melanin to protect them from the unyielding sun. It was his peoples’ tradition to create watering holes in the long summer days, to swim and bathe in, and drew in quarry for the hunt. His elders would concoct a medicinal balm that protected them when it was too hot to exhaust themselves with the thick garments they kept for enduring monsoons. Every Oba wore their familial markings, tattoos, and scarification needed to attune the body for ancestral magic: similar to the infamous secret ninja techniques. Quite young, Jintou lacked the body of art shared by most of his kin, and instead wore only a portion of his canvas pocked with stripes of cobalt ink in sigils winding up his left arm. They were considered enough; symbols of belonging, and the first rite for learning basic family traditions.
It sort of feels as if you’re cheated of something special when you resemble your father so keenly, the way Jintou mirrored his own. There is, rather than that sensation of being unique, the constant reminder that you are the successor or second edition of this looming figure. Your life is their do-over. All that was missing from the familial Oba brands were the copyright: “Made by Oba Shinsou, 24xPP.” Yours were his eyes, shaped like a knife’s edge, with orbs that shined like clear-cut diamonds. It was his square jaw and full lips, albeit not yet able to don that hardened scowl of his. At least your coils of earth-hued hair are thick and fuller than his, but genetics has deemed that one day they too will resemble your father. It is a self-fulfilling prophecy.
The wealth of these memories make me who I am. A Personality.
A youth spent apart from the hustle and bustle of modern society will create a unique specimen of a boy, and it framed the portrait of Jintou. He was a boy with a taste for simple comforts and an odd curiosity towards the unknown. Jintou knew how to juice virtually every type of native cacti in the region before most children knew how to read. He was handy with a war pick when many of his peers were given their first set of four-pointed throwing knives. It was the way of his kin to know the soil wherever they searched, and Jintou had the awareness to pick out iron from clumps of unimpressive sediment by scent alone. Despite all of the eclectic things the wild boy learned in those early days, it was the people who taught them to him which gave it all value.
To know love and feel loved is essential for every child, and Jintou truly came from caring people. Almost brutishly, it is his nature to peel the tough exteriors of others like fruit to better connect with the fulfilling truth within. He sought to be strong like his brothers, who could dull the edges of those who thought themselves too sharp to be handled. This is the way: a firm hand that guides with a caring touch.
Prints in the sand, past steps on life’s path. A History.
A potential to serve as a conduit for natural mana is a well-known property of fulminite according to your average scholar. The same goes for diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and the like, but abundance is an issue. Many folks have turned to this land it’s crystalline shards with bright eyes full of curiosity and wonder. To some, it is an abundant resource found along the far-reaching dunes, but to some, it has become the key to their existence. Introducing the Oba tribe— a small family of nomads in the business of finding deposits of fulminite, mining, and selling them to survive. Well, the selling of the mineral is merely a means to an end, but the real quality stuff is kept for something special. You see, particularly dense fragments of this clear crystal serve as a focus for the members of the Oba bloodline… it is a gift more widely known as the Seikon, but the Oba have specialized their ability for something prophetic, to say the least. With a crystal in hand, the Oba can fracture their perception into countless views into what was, is, and might be— possibilities, limited only by the diverging patterns or lack thereof in a specimen of fulminite. The more perfected a crystal’s pattern the more orderly the sight, while an amorphous shard will yield chaotic results high in improbability. Even the simplest understanding of this gift and you can see why the Oba have made the quest for exquisite fulminite their family trade.
A bloodline is more than just a genetic trait— a true bloodline binds the souls who wield a power passed down through generations. When my mind is opened to the possibilities of my existence, I in turn bear witness to traces of yours. My brothers and sisters are connected through our power and heritage.
Doesn’t it sound amazing? Most children of the Oba line develop their abilities by prepubescence, however, Jintou was some kind of early bloomer, and in spades. All of his siblings knew how to displace objects within space using fragments of varied outcomes seen through the shards. Jintou’s eldest three siblings could execute ferocious quarry using coordinated action, each moving and striking as their visions predicted. Well, Jintou wasn’t very good at hunting— he hated killing the quarry and was never on cue. Have you ever felt the swinging tail of a giant lizard making its final death throes? It fucking hurts. Jintou was a liability on the trail and was often relegated to finding plump cacti for the evening meal.
However, one night, father pulled the entire family together under a starlit sky and a roaring flame in their camp center. He started a conversation, telling his children about the great practitioners of arts similar to their Oban divinations. The father tousled his son’s hair and made a foundation-shaking suggestion: he wanted Jintou to enroll in the academy in Sunagakure. The idea of separating from his family was shattering, but it was a distant past in that very union which led to the founding of their descending power. To be gifted yet so young and troubled with controlling his power was a worrisome thing. The idea was born not only from love but a necessity, as Jintou was proving to be different from his siblings. His father was worried that he might not survive given his current course, and his visions of Jintou were often… frightening.
And so, with a feast to see him off, Jintou found himself delivered to the hidden sand in the coming weeks, a long stretch away from those rolling hills he left behind.
Age: 12 years
Village: Sunagakure
Rank: Academy Student
Lineage: Oban (Seikon Descendants)
Character Alignment: Neutral Good
Applicable Theme Music: Listen
To wear your culture; an appearance.
Even the most diminutive folk cast long shadows when the sun is low over the desert’s dunes. From his earliest memories, Jintou knew the feeling of warm sand and windswept desert pavement below his feet. This was the life he knew for all of his short, albeit enriched experience— survival off of land so harsh towards those not strong enough to endure it. This boy was a nomad and one of twelve— folk of a hard stock and the tribal name: Oba. They were tall and lean people with long strides, natural athletes, and soldiers who resembled the land they wandered. Jintou was the second youngest; a mere child, but he resembled his kin, so rich in their native features. Theirs was a skin rich with melanin to protect them from the unyielding sun. It was his peoples’ tradition to create watering holes in the long summer days, to swim and bathe in, and drew in quarry for the hunt. His elders would concoct a medicinal balm that protected them when it was too hot to exhaust themselves with the thick garments they kept for enduring monsoons. Every Oba wore their familial markings, tattoos, and scarification needed to attune the body for ancestral magic: similar to the infamous secret ninja techniques. Quite young, Jintou lacked the body of art shared by most of his kin, and instead wore only a portion of his canvas pocked with stripes of cobalt ink in sigils winding up his left arm. They were considered enough; symbols of belonging, and the first rite for learning basic family traditions.
It sort of feels as if you’re cheated of something special when you resemble your father so keenly, the way Jintou mirrored his own. There is, rather than that sensation of being unique, the constant reminder that you are the successor or second edition of this looming figure. Your life is their do-over. All that was missing from the familial Oba brands were the copyright: “Made by Oba Shinsou, 24xPP.” Yours were his eyes, shaped like a knife’s edge, with orbs that shined like clear-cut diamonds. It was his square jaw and full lips, albeit not yet able to don that hardened scowl of his. At least your coils of earth-hued hair are thick and fuller than his, but genetics has deemed that one day they too will resemble your father. It is a self-fulfilling prophecy.
The wealth of these memories make me who I am. A Personality.
A youth spent apart from the hustle and bustle of modern society will create a unique specimen of a boy, and it framed the portrait of Jintou. He was a boy with a taste for simple comforts and an odd curiosity towards the unknown. Jintou knew how to juice virtually every type of native cacti in the region before most children knew how to read. He was handy with a war pick when many of his peers were given their first set of four-pointed throwing knives. It was the way of his kin to know the soil wherever they searched, and Jintou had the awareness to pick out iron from clumps of unimpressive sediment by scent alone. Despite all of the eclectic things the wild boy learned in those early days, it was the people who taught them to him which gave it all value.
To know love and feel loved is essential for every child, and Jintou truly came from caring people. Almost brutishly, it is his nature to peel the tough exteriors of others like fruit to better connect with the fulfilling truth within. He sought to be strong like his brothers, who could dull the edges of those who thought themselves too sharp to be handled. This is the way: a firm hand that guides with a caring touch.
Prints in the sand, past steps on life’s path. A History.
A potential to serve as a conduit for natural mana is a well-known property of fulminite according to your average scholar. The same goes for diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and the like, but abundance is an issue. Many folks have turned to this land it’s crystalline shards with bright eyes full of curiosity and wonder. To some, it is an abundant resource found along the far-reaching dunes, but to some, it has become the key to their existence. Introducing the Oba tribe— a small family of nomads in the business of finding deposits of fulminite, mining, and selling them to survive. Well, the selling of the mineral is merely a means to an end, but the real quality stuff is kept for something special. You see, particularly dense fragments of this clear crystal serve as a focus for the members of the Oba bloodline… it is a gift more widely known as the Seikon, but the Oba have specialized their ability for something prophetic, to say the least. With a crystal in hand, the Oba can fracture their perception into countless views into what was, is, and might be— possibilities, limited only by the diverging patterns or lack thereof in a specimen of fulminite. The more perfected a crystal’s pattern the more orderly the sight, while an amorphous shard will yield chaotic results high in improbability. Even the simplest understanding of this gift and you can see why the Oba have made the quest for exquisite fulminite their family trade.
A bloodline is more than just a genetic trait— a true bloodline binds the souls who wield a power passed down through generations. When my mind is opened to the possibilities of my existence, I in turn bear witness to traces of yours. My brothers and sisters are connected through our power and heritage.
Doesn’t it sound amazing? Most children of the Oba line develop their abilities by prepubescence, however, Jintou was some kind of early bloomer, and in spades. All of his siblings knew how to displace objects within space using fragments of varied outcomes seen through the shards. Jintou’s eldest three siblings could execute ferocious quarry using coordinated action, each moving and striking as their visions predicted. Well, Jintou wasn’t very good at hunting— he hated killing the quarry and was never on cue. Have you ever felt the swinging tail of a giant lizard making its final death throes? It fucking hurts. Jintou was a liability on the trail and was often relegated to finding plump cacti for the evening meal.
However, one night, father pulled the entire family together under a starlit sky and a roaring flame in their camp center. He started a conversation, telling his children about the great practitioners of arts similar to their Oban divinations. The father tousled his son’s hair and made a foundation-shaking suggestion: he wanted Jintou to enroll in the academy in Sunagakure. The idea of separating from his family was shattering, but it was a distant past in that very union which led to the founding of their descending power. To be gifted yet so young and troubled with controlling his power was a worrisome thing. The idea was born not only from love but a necessity, as Jintou was proving to be different from his siblings. His father was worried that he might not survive given his current course, and his visions of Jintou were often… frightening.
And so, with a feast to see him off, Jintou found himself delivered to the hidden sand in the coming weeks, a long stretch away from those rolling hills he left behind.
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