Name: Kyouketsu Shinda
Age: 10
Bloodline: Kaguya
Physical Description:
The boy is small and lean, with long limbs and a posture too straight for his age. His sun-tanned skin carries a faint ash tone, and his hands are rough from training and ritual work. His hair is a tangled mix of white and black, streaked with thin red highlights that darken when chakra stirs. Strangely, this mixture changes depending on factors tied to his blood's latent abilities. He has bright crimson eyes that constantly carry a gaze that shows intense focus. Skeletal face paint marks his features white across the bones of his face, dark lines along the jaw, and red beneath the eyes to honor his bloodline. This paint changes daily, sometimes being elaborate skeletal pieces and other times being as simple as a skeleton hand. He wears traditional Sunagakure shinobi clothing, decorated with bone fasteners and other accessories. He moves quietly and with purpose, giving the impression of a child shaped early by duty and death. At his waist hangs a thin funerary cord strung with tiny bone charms, each carved by family hands. His waist is also adorned by various pouches some of which hold the typical shinobi tools one would expect while others contained sealing slips, folded tags, tools meant for rites rather than mischief.
[WC: 211]
Mental Description:
He is quiet and watchful, carrying a level of composure uncommon for a normal child but for the Kyouketsu quite common. Death being a part of his upbringing since birth, the notion of death in all it's forms has never frightened him. It is simply viewed as a fact of life and treated with respect and structure. He thinks in terms of purpose and responsibility rather than emotion, often struggling to understand humor, fear, or recklessness in others. Calm under pressure, he is deeply unsettled by needless or sudden action and disorder. He forms attachments slowly, showing care through actions rather than words, creating a difficult barrier for those to get past as he can be difficult to hold conversation with. Around people he dislikes or distrusts, he does not argue with them or lash out if they are annoying him. Instead, he becomes distant and formal, speaking only when necessary and keeping a watchful eye closely trained on the person/people in question. He avoids confrontation unless demand requires it, believing personal feelings should never interfere with responsibility or hijack common sense. His only real fear is not death itself, but living and dying without having served a meaningful purpose.
[WC: 201]
History:
He was born into the Kyouketsu Clan, the middle child of a small family of ritual specialists and bone craftsmen. His days were quiet and orderly. Mornings started with cleaning the small family shrine, polishing bones and arranging charms while his parents moved around him with ease, murmuring the soft chants that marked the hours. Breakfast was never rushed just the clinking of utensils and the occasional word of instruction, a reminder that nothing in their household was done carelessly. He spent most of his time watching his older siblings and cousins. He learned which tools were for carving, which powders preserved bones, and how to handle everything with care. Mistakes were corrected patiently, but with the same seriousness they treated everybody: work done wrong was work undone. When he had a free moment, he practiced small chakra exercises, feeling the unusual flow settle in his bones before anything else. His mother would kneel beside him, adjusting his fingers or murmuring encouragement, while his father reminded him that precision mattered more than speed. Outside the clan, he had little contact with other children because although he was polite and attentive, he was also awkward and reserved. Loud games and teasing confused him, and he preferred observation over participation which placed him into an introvert category. Most of his life was structured, measured as he learned early that duty came before play. Evenings were for stories of ancestors and past rites, not of adventures or telling stories of past hero figures within the village. He was ten when his blood awakening happened as he sat cross-legged on the floor of the workshop, a small bone in his hands. He’d cleaned bones a hundred times before, but today it was different as went through the motions. Shinda's concentration on the task had become so intense that his fingers tingled, and the bone felt almost alive under his touch. He had begun to imagine the bone when it was still attached to it's person, how even despite being a different individual that everyone's bones looked similar. He pressed it gently, as if the bone was fragile like it was breaking, like it was listening. Fingertips tracing along the bone and within this concentrated trance a sudden pain. His heart skipped, mind drawn back into reality as his eyes quickly located the pain source. The tip of his right index finger was gashed open, blood resting in a single pool enveloping the tip of his own fingerbone that had pushed upwards. His parents were behind him, quiet, watching. His father finally spoke, voice low and controlled as this was normal: “It’s your blood. It’s yours.” He didn’t feel proud or excited. Just… aware. His bones weren’t just bones anymore they were his, and they obeyed him. The power wasn’t a game. It was something he would have to understand, control, and carry with him for the rest of his life. When it came time to enter the Ninja Academy, it felt like just another part of the routine considering his clan had long had clan members serving amongst Sunagakure's shinobi force. While it would be the beginning of this chapter of his life, it would not be a defining one, just another step upon a structured path he already walked.
[WC: 546]
Age: 10
Bloodline: Kaguya
Physical Description:
The boy is small and lean, with long limbs and a posture too straight for his age. His sun-tanned skin carries a faint ash tone, and his hands are rough from training and ritual work. His hair is a tangled mix of white and black, streaked with thin red highlights that darken when chakra stirs. Strangely, this mixture changes depending on factors tied to his blood's latent abilities. He has bright crimson eyes that constantly carry a gaze that shows intense focus. Skeletal face paint marks his features white across the bones of his face, dark lines along the jaw, and red beneath the eyes to honor his bloodline. This paint changes daily, sometimes being elaborate skeletal pieces and other times being as simple as a skeleton hand. He wears traditional Sunagakure shinobi clothing, decorated with bone fasteners and other accessories. He moves quietly and with purpose, giving the impression of a child shaped early by duty and death. At his waist hangs a thin funerary cord strung with tiny bone charms, each carved by family hands. His waist is also adorned by various pouches some of which hold the typical shinobi tools one would expect while others contained sealing slips, folded tags, tools meant for rites rather than mischief.
[WC: 211]
Mental Description:
He is quiet and watchful, carrying a level of composure uncommon for a normal child but for the Kyouketsu quite common. Death being a part of his upbringing since birth, the notion of death in all it's forms has never frightened him. It is simply viewed as a fact of life and treated with respect and structure. He thinks in terms of purpose and responsibility rather than emotion, often struggling to understand humor, fear, or recklessness in others. Calm under pressure, he is deeply unsettled by needless or sudden action and disorder. He forms attachments slowly, showing care through actions rather than words, creating a difficult barrier for those to get past as he can be difficult to hold conversation with. Around people he dislikes or distrusts, he does not argue with them or lash out if they are annoying him. Instead, he becomes distant and formal, speaking only when necessary and keeping a watchful eye closely trained on the person/people in question. He avoids confrontation unless demand requires it, believing personal feelings should never interfere with responsibility or hijack common sense. His only real fear is not death itself, but living and dying without having served a meaningful purpose.
[WC: 201]
History:
He was born into the Kyouketsu Clan, the middle child of a small family of ritual specialists and bone craftsmen. His days were quiet and orderly. Mornings started with cleaning the small family shrine, polishing bones and arranging charms while his parents moved around him with ease, murmuring the soft chants that marked the hours. Breakfast was never rushed just the clinking of utensils and the occasional word of instruction, a reminder that nothing in their household was done carelessly. He spent most of his time watching his older siblings and cousins. He learned which tools were for carving, which powders preserved bones, and how to handle everything with care. Mistakes were corrected patiently, but with the same seriousness they treated everybody: work done wrong was work undone. When he had a free moment, he practiced small chakra exercises, feeling the unusual flow settle in his bones before anything else. His mother would kneel beside him, adjusting his fingers or murmuring encouragement, while his father reminded him that precision mattered more than speed. Outside the clan, he had little contact with other children because although he was polite and attentive, he was also awkward and reserved. Loud games and teasing confused him, and he preferred observation over participation which placed him into an introvert category. Most of his life was structured, measured as he learned early that duty came before play. Evenings were for stories of ancestors and past rites, not of adventures or telling stories of past hero figures within the village. He was ten when his blood awakening happened as he sat cross-legged on the floor of the workshop, a small bone in his hands. He’d cleaned bones a hundred times before, but today it was different as went through the motions. Shinda's concentration on the task had become so intense that his fingers tingled, and the bone felt almost alive under his touch. He had begun to imagine the bone when it was still attached to it's person, how even despite being a different individual that everyone's bones looked similar. He pressed it gently, as if the bone was fragile like it was breaking, like it was listening. Fingertips tracing along the bone and within this concentrated trance a sudden pain. His heart skipped, mind drawn back into reality as his eyes quickly located the pain source. The tip of his right index finger was gashed open, blood resting in a single pool enveloping the tip of his own fingerbone that had pushed upwards. His parents were behind him, quiet, watching. His father finally spoke, voice low and controlled as this was normal: “It’s your blood. It’s yours.” He didn’t feel proud or excited. Just… aware. His bones weren’t just bones anymore they were his, and they obeyed him. The power wasn’t a game. It was something he would have to understand, control, and carry with him for the rest of his life. When it came time to enter the Ninja Academy, it felt like just another part of the routine considering his clan had long had clan members serving amongst Sunagakure's shinobi force. While it would be the beginning of this chapter of his life, it would not be a defining one, just another step upon a structured path he already walked.
[WC: 546]
