Old Character Name: Kawakita Ryo
Old Village: Missing
OCR Type: Rebirth?
Last Known Where-abouts: Good Question
Old IC Rank:S-Rank
New Character Name:Inkosi Moro
New Village:Cloud
New BL/CA:Chigokai
Custom Class:
SNIKT!
HP: (60+9) x 402 = 27,738
CP: (40+9) x 300 = 14,700
Class Bonus: 1 Free Basic Atk per round, +5% chance to inflict bleeding
High: Melee Accuracy
Average: Evasion, Ranged Accuracy, Ninjutsu Accuracy, Genjutsu Save
Low: Genjutsu DC, Puppet Accuracy
MAIN/ANBU/MED:ANBU, if approved, Main, if not.
IC: I believe this may be up to you guys.
Character Age:18
Gender:Male
Sex:Male
Physical Description:
His eyes are sharp but tired. The faint dark circles surrounding them was testament to that. Sleep doesn't come easy for the young shinobi. It never did and in all likely hood, it never will. Moro is not a remarkable tall or large man, but his presence is known. Perhaps it's the wild mohawk that brings him attention, or maybe it's the somewhat cliche tribal tattoo traveling down his left arm. Perhaps yet, it's his impeccable posture. Ready, yet carefree. As if he's comfortable with the possibility of a threat.
His attire is dependent on the situation he's in. In a casual or formal setting, Moro tends to dress a bit more fashionable than others but it's not typical for anyone to think he's overdressed.
Mental Description:
Unfortunately for the young boy without a family name, a return to his mother's womb would require patience for there would be a long line of men before he, returning with different purpose. The Susukino District was well known to this child. His mother, a season veteran of the oldest profession in history, was an overachiever in her career. There was nary a day of rest, a day to spend with her son. The boy knew little of his father and what his mother had told him could, quite frankly, be distorted by the plethora of other men she'd known in her life. She claimed that the boy's father was a Shinobi of importance, clad with dark hair and a bewildering look in his eyes that gave the impression that he was a bit.. touched in the head. Even at the young age when a boy most desires to have a paternal figure nearby, he could not care less to find the dark-haired man with questionable sanity.
Around the age of ten, the young lad was alone in his mother's small, dilapidated home, hungry. It had been days since his mother's return, nothing out of the ordinary, but there was usually at least some scrap of food there. The boy waited a few more days before leaving his home, returning only three times in the next few years, the house always empty and unchanged.
Weak from hunger and with no one to turn to, the child began to beg in the streets for food. What would be a soul-crushing pride-eating act for most, was just another day for him. After all, he was the son of a whore, how much pride could he really have? The outskirts of the Susukino district, the boy would learn, is an awful place to beg strangers for help. The people he encountered here were self-serving, uninterested in the plights of a starving child. Eventually, the boy would move onto the Dawnbringer Plaza, where his luck would substantially improve.
Everything seemed to be so different away from the shady outskirts of Suskino. The Dawnbringer Plaza appeared to be protected from the shady dealings and malevolent actions surrounding it. After a short time, the boy was approached by an elderly couple. They asked him of his name, to which he replied. It was the response to which he gave their question of how he'd acquired his name that filled them with a great sadness. "Moro. My name is Moro. It has no meaning, like me. That's what my mother always told me." When questioned of the whereabouts of his mother and father, Moro replied truthfully, although, he was never sure why he answered so honestly the questions of two seemingly random passerbys.
The elderly couple took Moro home with them, to their humble abode located in a small, quiet community away from the commotion of the busy village. The man's name was Rojin and the woman's, Rofujin. Their home was typical of two aging members of society. Knickknacks scattered around the home, the shelves packed tightly with trinkets and souvenirs that would've taken two lifetimes to acquire. The walls were full of pictures of Rojin, Rofujin, and the many people they had met.
For almost three years, Moro was raised in a happy home. Rojin taught him how to read and write words, as well as how to read a map. While Rojin taught the boy words, Rofujin taught him how to use them. She was a wonderful negotiator. In their youth, the two had been fairly successful soap merchants.
Moro struggled at first with their teachings, but the elderly couple were always calm and patient. Truthfully, Moro could only remember one instance in which his adoptive family's faces weren't decorated with a smile. It was the day he'd asked about a picture on the wall. It was of Rofujin and a small boy, about Moro's age. The boy in the picture had shaggy hair. He appeared to be learning to play some stringed instrument with Rofujin teaching him. Moro inquired about the photograph and was quickly shut down. Occasionally, he would pass the picture on the wall and wonder, but decided that it was better left alone.
Moro was 13 now, and it had been decided by Rojin that he must choose a path of life to begin walking. For days upon days, the three discussed the many different jobs Moro could learn to do, or he could even choose to continue his education at the expense of his new family. Alas, after contemplating every possible choice it seemed their was to make, Moro declared his answer to be the only choice no one had spoken. He wanted to enter into the Shinobi Academy.
Rojin did not speak to the boy for weeks. Rofujin took it upon herself to explain. To explain her husbands distaste, to explain who the boy in the photograph was.
Ryo. He was their only child. He was a gifted musician from a young age, a prodigy, proclaimed by others. Much to the dismay of his mother, he decided to use talents as weapons and he became a shinobi. He ascended many ranks, quickly. His parents grew to be incredibly proud of him. And one day Hell came to Kumogakure. Portals began to open everywhere and the strongest shinobi were called to eradicate the horrifying creatures that burst forth from these doorways. Their son, Ryo, was one such shinobi. He left. He abandoned his country, his village, his people in their most desperate time of need.
After the the turbulence and turmoil of the Great Demon War had quelled, Rojin and Rofujin feared being labeled as traitors of their country on account of their cowardly son. Rojin sold their business and they moved to their current home, away from the judging eyes of their previous friends, here, where nobody asked questions. As an extra precaution, they changed their surname and removed all evidence of Ryo's existence from their home, save for a lone photograph.
Moro understood the trepidation Rojin must have felt when another child proclaimed their desire to be another cog in the war machine. Rofujin explained that Moro should follow whatever path he felt was true in his heart and that Rojin would come to terms on his own time. As Moro and his new mother began the process of applying to the shinobi academy, Rojin came to the boy. His words would not be forgotten. "Before you become a shinobi, you must have a name. A family name. You will take mine, Inkosi. You will wear it with pride and know that the decisions you make in life will reflect upon your family and not just yourself." With the blessing of his father, Moro finished his application, signing, "Inkosi Moro."
The Shinobi Academy, while not without it's challenges, was not inherently difficult for young Moro. Within a year he was tested for a promoted to the rank of Genin. The look of pride on his adoptive parents' faces was an image he'd carry around with him forever. Truth be told, the rest of his time spent as a Genin was largely no more than a blur. Sure, there was training. There was a lot of training. Moro worked tirelessly to keep up with the fast growing pace of Kumogakure's young shinobi. There was a bit of bonding, too, sure. Nothing that really, "stuck," though. Everyone was busy trying to climb the ranks of the shinobi ladder, to become Chunnin. That IS the goal of Genin, right?
Really, there wasn't anything all that interesting going on for a while. Oh, well there was the whole, "mysterious blood coming out of his hands and forming weapons," thing, but that's not terrible exciting. But, perhaps, for the sake of record keeping, it should be documented...
There was no familial ceremony. No introduction to the strange things happening to his body as he entered into pubescence. That's all it was. Just a boy growing into a man. That's why he was sore, just growing pains. The feeling of his blood boiling? Pfft, teenage angst. It'll pass.
Until one night, when his molecules of his blood decided to buddy up and get real close as they exploded out of his hands. The confused, and in all actuality, very angsty, young man was woken, not by the unknown searing pain in his hand, not from his mysteriously wet sheets(BLOOD!), no, but from the screaming filling his room. It was his own voice screaming, his body reacting to the sudden change faster than his mind could.
There were two odd, spikes protruding from the back of his hand, and one from the underside of his wrist.
He didn't sleep for days.
Reluctantly, he told his Shinobi teachers what had happened to him. Fortuanetly for Moro, this was not, as he'd worried, a tumor. Turns out he'd inherited some Chigokai blood somewhere, and his abilities had stayed dormant on account of his lack of chakra usage.
Moro received assistance from instructors with experience of this blood line, one of them even sharing the same strange quality. His apparent clansman expressed interest in tracing Moro's heritage, but with a relatively unknown harlet for a mother and an incredibly vague description of a father, they didn't get very far.
Training was difficult at first. It hurt to release the blood from his body. Moro would cut his hands to release the blood from them. It wouldn't just "explode" like it did the first time. After a while, his skin would open up in reaction to his desire for it to. After experimentation, Moro'd learn that he could create all kind of weapons and even fire his blood as a projectile. He strayed from these options, however, preferring the blades coming from the back of his hands. He could slash with these "claws," and pierce with the lone spike protruding from the bottom of his wrist. This became his method of defense. He never found much satisfaction in the typical Ninjustsu or Genjutsu used by most shinobi. Those techniques, while very effective in combat, often seemed too flashy for the fledgling ninja so he devoted his time and energy towards the lethal close-combat Taijutsu. Eventually, as his control over his bewildering blood progressed, he would learn new techniques, such as creating weak clones of himself or even connecting his life force to friends and foes, able to heal or hurt anyone he was connected to. Still, he distanced himself from these techniques. He enjoyed the rush of being close to his opponent, smelling the fear in their sweat and seeing the look of regret in their eyes. His only desire was to take it further, to see real opponent. To have the lives of himself and his adversary hanging in the balance, waiting for the stronger soul to push the other from the constraints of mortality. Perhaps, one day, his desire would be sated.
The young Shinobi embraced his new gift as the source of his power. The techniques he learned and honed were all centered around his magnificent "blood claws".</COLOR>
Three years has passed since Moro had been promoted to the Chunin level. The ceremony was less festive than when he became a Genin. There were also less people around to celebrate their passing into the new, higher rank. Still, it was a pleasurable experience. With this new rank came new responsibilities, new more dangerous missions to carry out in the name of Kumogakure. Moro carried out these missions with pride. Pride in himself, pride in Kumogakure, pride in his Inkosi name.
The missions, themselves, were often dull. Bodyguard to a foreign ambassador in a time of peace. Expedited delivery of some semi-important parcel. Not the kind of stuff books were written about. There were, however, a few times when the missions escalated to physical confrontation. The first time, Moro would never forget.
Boring mission aside, Moro was thoroughly enjoying himself here. He and his fellow Chunin companion were surrounded by lush trees, wild animals, and a lack of human influence. "The Heartland of Kaminari no Kuni." That's what this place was referred to as on the brief mission dossiere. The two Chunin were travelling by foot, to some remote village a few hours outside of the main village. There'd been no incident reports of any kind in the area between the two points, so it was expected to be a quiet, easy mission. Something Moro was growing steadily more tired of. He yearned for excitement. He'd been trained for years to be a killing machine and had yet to take a life. Not that taking a life was some ultimate goal of his, but deescalating a violent situation with more violence- the motions, the counter motions, the counter-counter motions to almost any conceivable threat! These things were ingrained in the shinobi of Kumogakure. It became part of them, their reflexes their instincts.
Fortunately for the constrained Shinobi on this tedious mission, their reflexes were about to be tested. The two Chunin had switched to a casual walking pace, to conserve energy. The path they were on was someone worn in with little vegetation growing a slim straight line. Five male adults emerged from the tree line, surrounding Moro and his partner. Moro's heart began to beat louder and louder until he couldn't hear anything else. Just the steady, rapid beating of his heart, his blood circulating faster hotter. He glanced at the other Chunin. His partner was sweating, his eyes large as he listened to the demands of the group of men surrounding them. Moro's heart beat faster, still. His adrenal glands kicked into overdrive. Cortisol, which would usually take minutes to be released, was spreading through his body, perhaps a side effect of his strange blood. His muscles tightened as unneeded bodily functions took a break. He wasn't sure if he was breathing anymore, so incredibly focused on what might happen next. Then it happened. The men slowly closed in on the Shinobi, Moro's companion drew a kunai from his belt to defend himself. The blood surging through Moro's body could not be contained any longer. Two razor sharp spikes extended from the back of his hands, running parallel with his fingers. These two long blade-like spikes curved ever so slightly. His reflexes took hold of him, immediately launching himself behind the nearest would-be attacker and slashing at his back. The blood of his prey speckled onto his face. It was warm. In a rapid blur of motions, Moro tore through the other men like a wild beast. In a surprise to all seven of the men present, Moro's attacks were not fatal. While he had been trained to kill, these men were not powerful and were not threats to his life. Ecstasy. That's probably the best word to describe those few seconds. For Moro, anyway. The attackers would likely disagree as would the other Chunin who'd been accompanying Moro. This event would mark the early retirement for the nameless Chunin. For Moro, however, it was an eye-opening event that would lead him to the next chapter of his life.
Four days had passed since Moro's return from his latest mission. He'd been eager to return to the field, secretly hoping for similiar excitement, but the powers-that-be had ordered a mandatory period of rest for him. Violence was to be expected on missions, even if it never happened. It was likely the version of the story that the Chunin who'd accompanied Moro on the mission told that had mandated this short vacation. The man reported to his superiors the frenzy Moro had entered, how he viciously cut, stabbed, kicked, and poked their five adversaries with seemingly malicious intent. "Total bullshit." That's a short version of how Moro responded to the accusations of his quick-to-violent approach. Truthfully, none of the men had died. Moro's attacks were calculated and precise, never striking a vital area. He hit the spots that hurt and intimidate. Well one guy may have lost a few fingers, but he really put himself in that situation.
He missed it. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had experienced true bliss. He'd thrived in the midst of anxiousness, fear, and violence. He wanted to be back in, but the life of a Chunin ninja was bereft of physical altercations. This was not a desire to be sated with sparring, either. Moro craved the uncontrollable environment where mistakes could cost lives. But how could he do this while also serving his country?
~The Aurora Eruditio~
Moro made his way to the closest thing to a help desk and spoke to the person sitting behind it. "I'd like to speak to someone about enlisting into the ranks of the ANBU."
And then he waited.
Old Profile/Ranks/Stats/etc:
Way too old for that stuff to still be around, ha!
New Stats:
PL 1992
agility 445
stamina 402
ninjutsu 200
genjutsu 200
taijutsu 445
chakra control 300
New OOC Rank:A!
Jutsu Mastery Swap
Hmnn, now, if I've been informed correctly, I will get a bunch of money to fill this part out, right? If that's the case, I'll list them here just for reference.
~A few notes~
Apologies for the rough formatting/coloring. My BBCode is rusty.
The history only goes as far as Genin. I didn't want to go too far before knowing which branch I'd be in. As soon as that's decided, I'll continue to add to the story.
Old Village: Missing
OCR Type: Rebirth?
Last Known Where-abouts: Good Question
Old IC Rank:S-Rank
New Character Name:Inkosi Moro
New Village:Cloud
New BL/CA:Chigokai
Custom Class:
SNIKT!
HP: (60+9) x 402 = 27,738
CP: (40+9) x 300 = 14,700
Class Bonus: 1 Free Basic Atk per round, +5% chance to inflict bleeding
High: Melee Accuracy
Average: Evasion, Ranged Accuracy, Ninjutsu Accuracy, Genjutsu Save
Low: Genjutsu DC, Puppet Accuracy
MAIN/ANBU/MED:ANBU, if approved, Main, if not.
IC: I believe this may be up to you guys.
Character Age:18
Gender:Male
Sex:Male
Physical Description:
His eyes are sharp but tired. The faint dark circles surrounding them was testament to that. Sleep doesn't come easy for the young shinobi. It never did and in all likely hood, it never will. Moro is not a remarkable tall or large man, but his presence is known. Perhaps it's the wild mohawk that brings him attention, or maybe it's the somewhat cliche tribal tattoo traveling down his left arm. Perhaps yet, it's his impeccable posture. Ready, yet carefree. As if he's comfortable with the possibility of a threat.
His attire is dependent on the situation he's in. In a casual or formal setting, Moro tends to dress a bit more fashionable than others but it's not typical for anyone to think he's overdressed.
- -Lacks basic humanistic manners and has a minimum level of sophistication.
-Exudes Leadership Qualities
-Indifference towards consumerism/materialistic possession
-Complete disregard of fear
-Works best when under the impression that he's working for his own goals
Chapter I: A Brief Telling of the Beginning
"If you can't go back to your mother's womb, your better learn to be a good fighter."
-Anchee Min, Red Azaela
-Anchee Min, Red Azaela
Unfortunately for the young boy without a family name, a return to his mother's womb would require patience for there would be a long line of men before he, returning with different purpose. The Susukino District was well known to this child. His mother, a season veteran of the oldest profession in history, was an overachiever in her career. There was nary a day of rest, a day to spend with her son. The boy knew little of his father and what his mother had told him could, quite frankly, be distorted by the plethora of other men she'd known in her life. She claimed that the boy's father was a Shinobi of importance, clad with dark hair and a bewildering look in his eyes that gave the impression that he was a bit.. touched in the head. Even at the young age when a boy most desires to have a paternal figure nearby, he could not care less to find the dark-haired man with questionable sanity.
Around the age of ten, the young lad was alone in his mother's small, dilapidated home, hungry. It had been days since his mother's return, nothing out of the ordinary, but there was usually at least some scrap of food there. The boy waited a few more days before leaving his home, returning only three times in the next few years, the house always empty and unchanged.
Weak from hunger and with no one to turn to, the child began to beg in the streets for food. What would be a soul-crushing pride-eating act for most, was just another day for him. After all, he was the son of a whore, how much pride could he really have? The outskirts of the Susukino district, the boy would learn, is an awful place to beg strangers for help. The people he encountered here were self-serving, uninterested in the plights of a starving child. Eventually, the boy would move onto the Dawnbringer Plaza, where his luck would substantially improve.
"And hard times are good in their own way, too. Because the only way you can achieve true happiness is if you experience true sadness as well. It's all about light and shade. Balance."
-Gabrielle Williams, Beatle Meets Destiny
-Gabrielle Williams, Beatle Meets Destiny
Everything seemed to be so different away from the shady outskirts of Suskino. The Dawnbringer Plaza appeared to be protected from the shady dealings and malevolent actions surrounding it. After a short time, the boy was approached by an elderly couple. They asked him of his name, to which he replied. It was the response to which he gave their question of how he'd acquired his name that filled them with a great sadness. "Moro. My name is Moro. It has no meaning, like me. That's what my mother always told me." When questioned of the whereabouts of his mother and father, Moro replied truthfully, although, he was never sure why he answered so honestly the questions of two seemingly random passerbys.
The elderly couple took Moro home with them, to their humble abode located in a small, quiet community away from the commotion of the busy village. The man's name was Rojin and the woman's, Rofujin. Their home was typical of two aging members of society. Knickknacks scattered around the home, the shelves packed tightly with trinkets and souvenirs that would've taken two lifetimes to acquire. The walls were full of pictures of Rojin, Rofujin, and the many people they had met.
For almost three years, Moro was raised in a happy home. Rojin taught him how to read and write words, as well as how to read a map. While Rojin taught the boy words, Rofujin taught him how to use them. She was a wonderful negotiator. In their youth, the two had been fairly successful soap merchants.
Moro struggled at first with their teachings, but the elderly couple were always calm and patient. Truthfully, Moro could only remember one instance in which his adoptive family's faces weren't decorated with a smile. It was the day he'd asked about a picture on the wall. It was of Rofujin and a small boy, about Moro's age. The boy in the picture had shaggy hair. He appeared to be learning to play some stringed instrument with Rofujin teaching him. Moro inquired about the photograph and was quickly shut down. Occasionally, he would pass the picture on the wall and wonder, but decided that it was better left alone.
Moro was 13 now, and it had been decided by Rojin that he must choose a path of life to begin walking. For days upon days, the three discussed the many different jobs Moro could learn to do, or he could even choose to continue his education at the expense of his new family. Alas, after contemplating every possible choice it seemed their was to make, Moro declared his answer to be the only choice no one had spoken. He wanted to enter into the Shinobi Academy.
Rojin did not speak to the boy for weeks. Rofujin took it upon herself to explain. To explain her husbands distaste, to explain who the boy in the photograph was.
Ryo. He was their only child. He was a gifted musician from a young age, a prodigy, proclaimed by others. Much to the dismay of his mother, he decided to use talents as weapons and he became a shinobi. He ascended many ranks, quickly. His parents grew to be incredibly proud of him. And one day Hell came to Kumogakure. Portals began to open everywhere and the strongest shinobi were called to eradicate the horrifying creatures that burst forth from these doorways. Their son, Ryo, was one such shinobi. He left. He abandoned his country, his village, his people in their most desperate time of need.
After the the turbulence and turmoil of the Great Demon War had quelled, Rojin and Rofujin feared being labeled as traitors of their country on account of their cowardly son. Rojin sold their business and they moved to their current home, away from the judging eyes of their previous friends, here, where nobody asked questions. As an extra precaution, they changed their surname and removed all evidence of Ryo's existence from their home, save for a lone photograph.
"It has been said time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind protecting it's sanity covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it's never gone."
-Rose Kennedy
-Rose Kennedy
Moro understood the trepidation Rojin must have felt when another child proclaimed their desire to be another cog in the war machine. Rofujin explained that Moro should follow whatever path he felt was true in his heart and that Rojin would come to terms on his own time. As Moro and his new mother began the process of applying to the shinobi academy, Rojin came to the boy. His words would not be forgotten. "Before you become a shinobi, you must have a name. A family name. You will take mine, Inkosi. You will wear it with pride and know that the decisions you make in life will reflect upon your family and not just yourself." With the blessing of his father, Moro finished his application, signing, "Inkosi Moro."
"Now I know! And knowing is half the battle!"
-G.I. Joe Ninja
-G.I. Joe Ninja
The Shinobi Academy, while not without it's challenges, was not inherently difficult for young Moro. Within a year he was tested for a promoted to the rank of Genin. The look of pride on his adoptive parents' faces was an image he'd carry around with him forever. Truth be told, the rest of his time spent as a Genin was largely no more than a blur. Sure, there was training. There was a lot of training. Moro worked tirelessly to keep up with the fast growing pace of Kumogakure's young shinobi. There was a bit of bonding, too, sure. Nothing that really, "stuck," though. Everyone was busy trying to climb the ranks of the shinobi ladder, to become Chunnin. That IS the goal of Genin, right?
Really, there wasn't anything all that interesting going on for a while. Oh, well there was the whole, "mysterious blood coming out of his hands and forming weapons," thing, but that's not terrible exciting. But, perhaps, for the sake of record keeping, it should be documented...
There was no familial ceremony. No introduction to the strange things happening to his body as he entered into pubescence. That's all it was. Just a boy growing into a man. That's why he was sore, just growing pains. The feeling of his blood boiling? Pfft, teenage angst. It'll pass.
Until one night, when his molecules of his blood decided to buddy up and get real close as they exploded out of his hands. The confused, and in all actuality, very angsty, young man was woken, not by the unknown searing pain in his hand, not from his mysteriously wet sheets(BLOOD!), no, but from the screaming filling his room. It was his own voice screaming, his body reacting to the sudden change faster than his mind could.
There were two odd, spikes protruding from the back of his hand, and one from the underside of his wrist.
He didn't sleep for days.
Reluctantly, he told his Shinobi teachers what had happened to him. Fortuanetly for Moro, this was not, as he'd worried, a tumor. Turns out he'd inherited some Chigokai blood somewhere, and his abilities had stayed dormant on account of his lack of chakra usage.
Moro received assistance from instructors with experience of this blood line, one of them even sharing the same strange quality. His apparent clansman expressed interest in tracing Moro's heritage, but with a relatively unknown harlet for a mother and an incredibly vague description of a father, they didn't get very far.
Training was difficult at first. It hurt to release the blood from his body. Moro would cut his hands to release the blood from them. It wouldn't just "explode" like it did the first time. After a while, his skin would open up in reaction to his desire for it to. After experimentation, Moro'd learn that he could create all kind of weapons and even fire his blood as a projectile. He strayed from these options, however, preferring the blades coming from the back of his hands. He could slash with these "claws," and pierce with the lone spike protruding from the bottom of his wrist. This became his method of defense. He never found much satisfaction in the typical Ninjustsu or Genjutsu used by most shinobi. Those techniques, while very effective in combat, often seemed too flashy for the fledgling ninja so he devoted his time and energy towards the lethal close-combat Taijutsu. Eventually, as his control over his bewildering blood progressed, he would learn new techniques, such as creating weak clones of himself or even connecting his life force to friends and foes, able to heal or hurt anyone he was connected to. Still, he distanced himself from these techniques. He enjoyed the rush of being close to his opponent, smelling the fear in their sweat and seeing the look of regret in their eyes. His only desire was to take it further, to see real opponent. To have the lives of himself and his adversary hanging in the balance, waiting for the stronger soul to push the other from the constraints of mortality. Perhaps, one day, his desire would be sated.
The young Shinobi embraced his new gift as the source of his power. The techniques he learned and honed were all centered around his magnificent "blood claws".</COLOR>
Chapter 2: Departure from Youth
<COLOR color="#000040">"Adolescence is a new birth, for the higher and more completely human traits are now born."
-G. Stanley Hall
-G. Stanley Hall
Three years has passed since Moro had been promoted to the Chunin level. The ceremony was less festive than when he became a Genin. There were also less people around to celebrate their passing into the new, higher rank. Still, it was a pleasurable experience. With this new rank came new responsibilities, new more dangerous missions to carry out in the name of Kumogakure. Moro carried out these missions with pride. Pride in himself, pride in Kumogakure, pride in his Inkosi name.
The missions, themselves, were often dull. Bodyguard to a foreign ambassador in a time of peace. Expedited delivery of some semi-important parcel. Not the kind of stuff books were written about. There were, however, a few times when the missions escalated to physical confrontation. The first time, Moro would never forget.
Boring mission aside, Moro was thoroughly enjoying himself here. He and his fellow Chunin companion were surrounded by lush trees, wild animals, and a lack of human influence. "The Heartland of Kaminari no Kuni." That's what this place was referred to as on the brief mission dossiere. The two Chunin were travelling by foot, to some remote village a few hours outside of the main village. There'd been no incident reports of any kind in the area between the two points, so it was expected to be a quiet, easy mission. Something Moro was growing steadily more tired of. He yearned for excitement. He'd been trained for years to be a killing machine and had yet to take a life. Not that taking a life was some ultimate goal of his, but deescalating a violent situation with more violence- the motions, the counter motions, the counter-counter motions to almost any conceivable threat! These things were ingrained in the shinobi of Kumogakure. It became part of them, their reflexes their instincts.
Fortunately for the constrained Shinobi on this tedious mission, their reflexes were about to be tested. The two Chunin had switched to a casual walking pace, to conserve energy. The path they were on was someone worn in with little vegetation growing a slim straight line. Five male adults emerged from the tree line, surrounding Moro and his partner. Moro's heart began to beat louder and louder until he couldn't hear anything else. Just the steady, rapid beating of his heart, his blood circulating faster hotter. He glanced at the other Chunin. His partner was sweating, his eyes large as he listened to the demands of the group of men surrounding them. Moro's heart beat faster, still. His adrenal glands kicked into overdrive. Cortisol, which would usually take minutes to be released, was spreading through his body, perhaps a side effect of his strange blood. His muscles tightened as unneeded bodily functions took a break. He wasn't sure if he was breathing anymore, so incredibly focused on what might happen next. Then it happened. The men slowly closed in on the Shinobi, Moro's companion drew a kunai from his belt to defend himself. The blood surging through Moro's body could not be contained any longer. Two razor sharp spikes extended from the back of his hands, running parallel with his fingers. These two long blade-like spikes curved ever so slightly. His reflexes took hold of him, immediately launching himself behind the nearest would-be attacker and slashing at his back. The blood of his prey speckled onto his face. It was warm. In a rapid blur of motions, Moro tore through the other men like a wild beast. In a surprise to all seven of the men present, Moro's attacks were not fatal. While he had been trained to kill, these men were not powerful and were not threats to his life. Ecstasy. That's probably the best word to describe those few seconds. For Moro, anyway. The attackers would likely disagree as would the other Chunin who'd been accompanying Moro. This event would mark the early retirement for the nameless Chunin. For Moro, however, it was an eye-opening event that would lead him to the next chapter of his life.
Four days had passed since Moro's return from his latest mission. He'd been eager to return to the field, secretly hoping for similiar excitement, but the powers-that-be had ordered a mandatory period of rest for him. Violence was to be expected on missions, even if it never happened. It was likely the version of the story that the Chunin who'd accompanied Moro on the mission told that had mandated this short vacation. The man reported to his superiors the frenzy Moro had entered, how he viciously cut, stabbed, kicked, and poked their five adversaries with seemingly malicious intent. "Total bullshit." That's a short version of how Moro responded to the accusations of his quick-to-violent approach. Truthfully, none of the men had died. Moro's attacks were calculated and precise, never striking a vital area. He hit the spots that hurt and intimidate. Well one guy may have lost a few fingers, but he really put himself in that situation.
He missed it. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had experienced true bliss. He'd thrived in the midst of anxiousness, fear, and violence. He wanted to be back in, but the life of a Chunin ninja was bereft of physical altercations. This was not a desire to be sated with sparring, either. Moro craved the uncontrollable environment where mistakes could cost lives. But how could he do this while also serving his country?
~The Aurora Eruditio~
Moro made his way to the closest thing to a help desk and spoke to the person sitting behind it. "I'd like to speak to someone about enlisting into the ranks of the ANBU."
And then he waited.
Old Profile/Ranks/Stats/etc:
Way too old for that stuff to still be around, ha!
New Stats:
PL 1992
agility 445
stamina 402
ninjutsu 200
genjutsu 200
taijutsu 445
chakra control 300
New OOC Rank:A!
Jutsu Mastery Swap
Hmnn, now, if I've been informed correctly, I will get a bunch of money to fill this part out, right? If that's the case, I'll list them here just for reference.
E-Rank (18 points)
Tai>Piercing- Stab,
Tai>Slashing- Arcing Slash
Nin>Water- Water Gun
D-Rank (24 points)
Tai>Piercing- Dynamic Pierce, Impaling Counter
Tai>Slashing- Gasher
C-Rank (30 points)
Ninjutsu>Blood- Blood Clone
Tai>Slashing- Blade Trail, Vanishing Slash
B-Rank (36 points)
Tai>Slashing- Flight Aerial Strike
Tai>Piercing- Million Stabs, Finisher
Tai>Piercing- Stab,
Tai>Slashing- Arcing Slash
Nin>Water- Water Gun
D-Rank (24 points)
Tai>Piercing- Dynamic Pierce, Impaling Counter
Tai>Slashing- Gasher
C-Rank (30 points)
Ninjutsu>Blood- Blood Clone
Tai>Slashing- Blade Trail, Vanishing Slash
B-Rank (36 points)
Tai>Slashing- Flight Aerial Strike
Tai>Piercing- Million Stabs, Finisher
~A few notes~
Apologies for the rough formatting/coloring. My BBCode is rusty.
The history only goes as far as Genin. I didn't want to go too far before knowing which branch I'd be in. As soon as that's decided, I'll continue to add to the story.
