Name: Nomi Sotan
Age: 12
Physical Description:
Sotan's appearance was somewhat misleading; for it only offered a stark contrast of the harsh environment which surrounded him (generally speaking). Yes, his slight frame and pallid complexion were rather jarring against the backdrop of sepias and tans that composed the dunes and cliffs around him. His color suggested sickness, or some other sort of life draining deficiency plagued his body, but he was quite well. Indeed, while much of the common problem were obese from consuming a diet rich in oils and fats or gaunt from being chronically malnourished, Sotan was of a healthy girth – (relatively) exquisitely tall and lean – the product of a healthy diet of mainly vegetables and fish. Frailty must be the reason for his soft hands, knobby knees, and, save for a few scars here or there, unblemished skin. Yet, these characteristics, along with a long neck and softened countenance, were just the features of the wealthy. Hard labor had not mutated his hands to resemble the rough stones that jutted from the sea bottoms. The harsh light of the sun was tame when it shone through giant glass windows, saving his flesh from a leathery destiny. If anything, he was otherworldly.
Short, black hair obscured his forehead, but ravenous black eyes radiated just beneath them. His collarbone defiantly stuck out from underneath his skin, much in the same way his concave chest humorously poked out when he walked. His arms were long, but his legs were easily longer and he walked about with a cat-like gait.
Mental Description:
It is commonly said that money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy some of the best tutors to surround a young and curious mind. And if curiosity is a sign of intelligence, then Sotan was undeniably clever. When his curiosity gets him in trouble however, he could just as easily be called dimwitted.
Naturally, an eternally curious mind must constantly be stimulated lest it fall into boredom and Sotan's mind was no different. Unfortunately, not everything excites the child of wealthy merchants. It isn’t uncommon to see him in a boredom induced melancholy, dramatically sighing at pitiful state of his existence.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, when he is sufficiently stimulated, he can become quite a handful. A burst of energy, usually focused on the stimuli, is all-consuming, leading to missed curfews, general forgetfulness, and walking awkwardly into large, stationary objects.
Besides a nagging displeasure with boredom, Sotan's disposition is quite pleasurable. He is also fiercely competitive, though not necessarily with his peers. Oddly enough, having everything that he wanted didn’t spoil him, but bred a sort of ruthlessness(no doubt a trait inherited from his father) in getting what he wants. As with other children there resides an inherent sense of fairness within him along with a sense of judgment that he doesn’t fully understand yet.
He has a deep admiration for the profound, unspeakable things of the world. The natural world frequently widens his eyes and drops his jaw in awe, often provoking an exaggerated response. Perhaps it was fact that it could not be possessed that moves him.
History :
The history of the Nomi family is, ironically ,a relatively recent one. Not due to a muddled genealogy or imprecise record keeping, but due to the nature of Suna itself: violent, tumultuous, and weathering. Given enough time, the sand erodes all, including crests and even blood. History was just another casualty of the various wars and storms that seemed to plague the land. In true cyclical fashion however, after war, there must come peace and that is when the Nomi clan began.
Everyone at the time was rebuilding; there bridges to fixed, relationships to be mended. At this particular time, however, there was a new opportunity presented – the surface. As mundane as it may seem, the surface afforded a new life for many, and the Nomi were no different. Their past lie beneath hundreds of feet of rock and sand, along with their name and history.
So the Nomi name was taken and they ventured forth. Sotan himself was conceived shortly thereafter; the spawn of jubilus rapture and pleasure. Along with the tunnels being opened, wombs were opened.
Along the sea was obviously the best place to start, as countless previous civilizations had taught. Soon’s Haven was a literal haven, bringing both the bounty of the sea and lucrative trade. The Nomi capitalized on this and slowly became a mercantile family, amassing a considerable amount of money and trade partners.
Being the only child, Sotan was the sole beneficiary of his parents work. His parents would not spoil him however. The memories of the past still haunted them occasionally. Instead they instilled in him the things that made them successful: the spirit of exploration, hard work, and, off course, viciousness in claiming what is theirs. He was to be the blunt force etching a new history in the stone. Indeed he was the future of the Nomi clan.
With a seemingly infinite amount of resources they prepared him for his role. Lessons in diplomacy, economics, writing, and, of course, war. The last, in their eyes, the most important, seeing as they were fresh survivors of a fairly recent conflict.
With these things in mind, Sotan was enrolled in the academy. Even though he was not even a genin, he was already assigned a mission – reclaim the Nomi history and be the future; a heavy burden for a child. Yet Sotan was prepared to do whatever he needed.
Uchiha
“Again,” the man stated forcefully, impatience starting to seep through his tone.
Sotan glared at the tutor, contempt in his eyes. The man was old, evidenced by his flowing, white hair and taut, but wrinkly skin. His face was permanently fixed into a condescending sneer, which drove Sotan into fits of anger whenever he looked at him. The old man was definitely a jerk. Unfortunately, he was also Sotan’s genjutsu teacher.
The sound of static started to fill his mind, gradually growing in intensity. The lesson was about begin. The tutor was, in Sotan's opinion, very unorthodox with his training methods. Nearly all of the lessons involved berating Sotan through tortuous visions until Sotan was left comatose with feelings of worthlessness and doubt. To Sotan’s knowledge, he had done the man no ill, yet he treated the boy with such disdain.
The sound in his mind had crescendoed to a near maddening level, resembling a roaring waterfall. The chakra around his brain was being changed, manipulated. When these lessons first began, there was no static, no noise. Lately, however, the sound came more frequently and was more pronounced and today, he could even see the sound. Obviously, all of these phenomena were related to the teacher’s genjutsu, but the fine details he didn’t work out yet. All he understood was that he was about to be under the effect of a genjutsu – a rather unpleasant one at that.
The setting around him abruptly disappeared, leaving him alone in a deep and cold darkness. Soon, several figures emerged pointing, menacing and ghastly in appearance. Sotan cowered in a fetal position, clutching his head tightly. The number of people around him grew steadily, each of their faces dark and disapproving. A chant filled the space around him and they pointed. Sotan felt as if every one of their fingers was prodding his into his soul, digging and writhing in the holes they created.
“Nothing, nothing, you're nothing,” they moaned. “You're just a spoiled brat. You're nothing, nothing. Your wealth is the only thing that saves you. Your wealth can't save you. Every soul is tested by the flame to see if it's true. Needle's eye, needle's eye, you won’t make it through alive; you're nothing, nothing.”
As they spoke, flames danced underneath him, matching his antagonists' movements, melting away his flesh and mutating him into a mass of boils and undefined organs. “No!” he cried. “Stop it! I don’t know you! I don’t know what I did to you! Stop it!”
“Nothing, nothing,” they hummed.
“Please,” he whined.
“Nothing, nothing” They’re voices continued on, bruising and painful , filling his ears with a malevolent melody. The flames burned brighter, the boils burst into blisters.
“Just, just stop!” he yelled, finally breaking.
Outside his mind, his eyes changed, turning a brilliant crimson color. The tutor's reflection was mirrored in them, showing his frightened visage, his mouth twisted in fear.
The voices in Sotan’s head ceased, along with the fingers and the fire. Suddenly he was the director, the puppeteer manipulating the strings in his torturer's mind. The tutor was nothing. He was a poor, lonely old man who preyed on children to puff himself up. His fingers now clenched onto Sotan, while he begged for mercy. His lips were cracked, his skin marked with lesions. Sotan was his God, his Father, and only he could offer him mercy. But there was none. Sotan’s flames would test him and show him his deficiencies.
“Beg for me to stop! Beg like I begged you”
The teacher was nothing more than skeleton, clothed with ravenous flames. “Help me...”
Sotan ‘s eyes returned to their normal color as he stood over the curled up teacher panting. He fell backwards and sat on the floor while he rubbed his eyes.
“Leave me,” the tutor whimpered. “The lesson is over."
Sotan gathered himself and stumbled out of the room awkwardly clutching his eyes, leaving the old man to himself.
Age: 12
Physical Description:
Sotan's appearance was somewhat misleading; for it only offered a stark contrast of the harsh environment which surrounded him (generally speaking). Yes, his slight frame and pallid complexion were rather jarring against the backdrop of sepias and tans that composed the dunes and cliffs around him. His color suggested sickness, or some other sort of life draining deficiency plagued his body, but he was quite well. Indeed, while much of the common problem were obese from consuming a diet rich in oils and fats or gaunt from being chronically malnourished, Sotan was of a healthy girth – (relatively) exquisitely tall and lean – the product of a healthy diet of mainly vegetables and fish. Frailty must be the reason for his soft hands, knobby knees, and, save for a few scars here or there, unblemished skin. Yet, these characteristics, along with a long neck and softened countenance, were just the features of the wealthy. Hard labor had not mutated his hands to resemble the rough stones that jutted from the sea bottoms. The harsh light of the sun was tame when it shone through giant glass windows, saving his flesh from a leathery destiny. If anything, he was otherworldly.
Short, black hair obscured his forehead, but ravenous black eyes radiated just beneath them. His collarbone defiantly stuck out from underneath his skin, much in the same way his concave chest humorously poked out when he walked. His arms were long, but his legs were easily longer and he walked about with a cat-like gait.
Mental Description:
It is commonly said that money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy some of the best tutors to surround a young and curious mind. And if curiosity is a sign of intelligence, then Sotan was undeniably clever. When his curiosity gets him in trouble however, he could just as easily be called dimwitted.
Naturally, an eternally curious mind must constantly be stimulated lest it fall into boredom and Sotan's mind was no different. Unfortunately, not everything excites the child of wealthy merchants. It isn’t uncommon to see him in a boredom induced melancholy, dramatically sighing at pitiful state of his existence.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, when he is sufficiently stimulated, he can become quite a handful. A burst of energy, usually focused on the stimuli, is all-consuming, leading to missed curfews, general forgetfulness, and walking awkwardly into large, stationary objects.
Besides a nagging displeasure with boredom, Sotan's disposition is quite pleasurable. He is also fiercely competitive, though not necessarily with his peers. Oddly enough, having everything that he wanted didn’t spoil him, but bred a sort of ruthlessness(no doubt a trait inherited from his father) in getting what he wants. As with other children there resides an inherent sense of fairness within him along with a sense of judgment that he doesn’t fully understand yet.
He has a deep admiration for the profound, unspeakable things of the world. The natural world frequently widens his eyes and drops his jaw in awe, often provoking an exaggerated response. Perhaps it was fact that it could not be possessed that moves him.
History :
The history of the Nomi family is, ironically ,a relatively recent one. Not due to a muddled genealogy or imprecise record keeping, but due to the nature of Suna itself: violent, tumultuous, and weathering. Given enough time, the sand erodes all, including crests and even blood. History was just another casualty of the various wars and storms that seemed to plague the land. In true cyclical fashion however, after war, there must come peace and that is when the Nomi clan began.
Everyone at the time was rebuilding; there bridges to fixed, relationships to be mended. At this particular time, however, there was a new opportunity presented – the surface. As mundane as it may seem, the surface afforded a new life for many, and the Nomi were no different. Their past lie beneath hundreds of feet of rock and sand, along with their name and history.
So the Nomi name was taken and they ventured forth. Sotan himself was conceived shortly thereafter; the spawn of jubilus rapture and pleasure. Along with the tunnels being opened, wombs were opened.
Along the sea was obviously the best place to start, as countless previous civilizations had taught. Soon’s Haven was a literal haven, bringing both the bounty of the sea and lucrative trade. The Nomi capitalized on this and slowly became a mercantile family, amassing a considerable amount of money and trade partners.
Being the only child, Sotan was the sole beneficiary of his parents work. His parents would not spoil him however. The memories of the past still haunted them occasionally. Instead they instilled in him the things that made them successful: the spirit of exploration, hard work, and, off course, viciousness in claiming what is theirs. He was to be the blunt force etching a new history in the stone. Indeed he was the future of the Nomi clan.
With a seemingly infinite amount of resources they prepared him for his role. Lessons in diplomacy, economics, writing, and, of course, war. The last, in their eyes, the most important, seeing as they were fresh survivors of a fairly recent conflict.
With these things in mind, Sotan was enrolled in the academy. Even though he was not even a genin, he was already assigned a mission – reclaim the Nomi history and be the future; a heavy burden for a child. Yet Sotan was prepared to do whatever he needed.
Uchiha
“Again,” the man stated forcefully, impatience starting to seep through his tone.
Sotan glared at the tutor, contempt in his eyes. The man was old, evidenced by his flowing, white hair and taut, but wrinkly skin. His face was permanently fixed into a condescending sneer, which drove Sotan into fits of anger whenever he looked at him. The old man was definitely a jerk. Unfortunately, he was also Sotan’s genjutsu teacher.
The sound of static started to fill his mind, gradually growing in intensity. The lesson was about begin. The tutor was, in Sotan's opinion, very unorthodox with his training methods. Nearly all of the lessons involved berating Sotan through tortuous visions until Sotan was left comatose with feelings of worthlessness and doubt. To Sotan’s knowledge, he had done the man no ill, yet he treated the boy with such disdain.
The sound in his mind had crescendoed to a near maddening level, resembling a roaring waterfall. The chakra around his brain was being changed, manipulated. When these lessons first began, there was no static, no noise. Lately, however, the sound came more frequently and was more pronounced and today, he could even see the sound. Obviously, all of these phenomena were related to the teacher’s genjutsu, but the fine details he didn’t work out yet. All he understood was that he was about to be under the effect of a genjutsu – a rather unpleasant one at that.
The setting around him abruptly disappeared, leaving him alone in a deep and cold darkness. Soon, several figures emerged pointing, menacing and ghastly in appearance. Sotan cowered in a fetal position, clutching his head tightly. The number of people around him grew steadily, each of their faces dark and disapproving. A chant filled the space around him and they pointed. Sotan felt as if every one of their fingers was prodding his into his soul, digging and writhing in the holes they created.
“Nothing, nothing, you're nothing,” they moaned. “You're just a spoiled brat. You're nothing, nothing. Your wealth is the only thing that saves you. Your wealth can't save you. Every soul is tested by the flame to see if it's true. Needle's eye, needle's eye, you won’t make it through alive; you're nothing, nothing.”
As they spoke, flames danced underneath him, matching his antagonists' movements, melting away his flesh and mutating him into a mass of boils and undefined organs. “No!” he cried. “Stop it! I don’t know you! I don’t know what I did to you! Stop it!”
“Nothing, nothing,” they hummed.
“Please,” he whined.
“Nothing, nothing” They’re voices continued on, bruising and painful , filling his ears with a malevolent melody. The flames burned brighter, the boils burst into blisters.
“Just, just stop!” he yelled, finally breaking.
Outside his mind, his eyes changed, turning a brilliant crimson color. The tutor's reflection was mirrored in them, showing his frightened visage, his mouth twisted in fear.
The voices in Sotan’s head ceased, along with the fingers and the fire. Suddenly he was the director, the puppeteer manipulating the strings in his torturer's mind. The tutor was nothing. He was a poor, lonely old man who preyed on children to puff himself up. His fingers now clenched onto Sotan, while he begged for mercy. His lips were cracked, his skin marked with lesions. Sotan was his God, his Father, and only he could offer him mercy. But there was none. Sotan’s flames would test him and show him his deficiencies.
“Beg for me to stop! Beg like I begged you”
The teacher was nothing more than skeleton, clothed with ravenous flames. “Help me...”
Sotan ‘s eyes returned to their normal color as he stood over the curled up teacher panting. He fell backwards and sat on the floor while he rubbed his eyes.
“Leave me,” the tutor whimpered. “The lesson is over."
Sotan gathered himself and stumbled out of the room awkwardly clutching his eyes, leaving the old man to himself.
