| Souzen Midoru |
|
|
| Personal |
| Birthplace |
The Shattered Shore |
| Birthdate |
September 3rd |
| Gender |
Male |
| Age |
Nineteen Years |
| Height |
6' 10 |
| Weight |
270 lbs |
| Blood Type |
AB Positive |
| Kekkei Genkai |
N/A |
| Classification |
Kuroyari Captain |
| Areas of Expertise |
Kuroyari Style Kenjutsu |
| Clan |
Kuroyari |
| Affiliation |
The Shattered Shore |
| Team |
Kuroyari Squad 11 |
| Rank |
| Ninja Rank |
Chuunin Equivalent |
| Ninja Registration |
N/A |
| Academy Grad. Age |
N/A |
| Chuunin Grad. Age |
N/A |
| Nature Type |
| Element |
Earth |
| Family |
| Ward |
Kuzunoha Shion |
| Student |
Takamura Suisen |
| Signature Jutsu |
| Dismembering Slice |
Souzen Midoru is a Kuroyari recently promoted to the rank of Captain. What this means is that he's been placed in charge of others. He has asked to train his own troupe, bringing a squadron of Kuroyari students to the five major villages so that they may learn something from each. At each village, Midoru serves as a chuunin while he students serve as active genin.
OOC: Would you like to be one of Midoru's students? @mail him.
Background
Souzen Midoru was born in Enkaigo, the capital city of the Shattered Shore. His father was and is a Sanyari of the captain rank, heading his own ship in patrol of his homeland. His mother was a refugee that had escape to Enkaigo to avoid the tribal tattoed pirates that had nearly conquered all of The Shattered Shore. He inherited his mother's skin — pale and fair with a stubborn refusal to change. In nearly all other respects, though, he follows his father. He's tall — very much so. Broad in the shoulders, large in muscles and deep in loyalty. He was Kuroyari in all ways that mattered. So, it had always been a sore spot that to many of his peers had given him so much grief over it. Having been taught to use force only when deemed necessary, it lasted until someone had decided to take his silence for weakness and disrepect. After the fight, he hadn't been bothered quite so much.
With his father as a captain of his own ship, Midoru grew up on the sea. He was instilled with a sense of duty. A sense of responsibility for the welfare of his people. It was, in truth, his first love. The open sea, his father's hand on his head, the scent of salt and iron and the pleasant burn of well earned exhaustion.
This idealism shattered, eventually, of course. Once, when his father had let him come on patrol with him, as he was coming of age to start training on his own. They had to engage the enemy. Long story short, a man on their ship died, and there was blood and there was pain and there was fear for Midoru. And so it was that Fantasy was tainted with reality, and his first love found a companion. The yearning to heal the damage wrought to his people.
It was two year into his training as a Sanyari that Two things of Note happened. Firstly, he was given Mhaldor, a blade nearly as long as he had been tall at that time. It was the weapon that his grandfather had owned, massive blade, said to contain properties not wholly able to be explained by such paltry powers as physics. Midoru, of course, asked his father what these things were. His training, his test was to draw those things out of the blade. To learn them himself. There would be a point when he would match his blade enough that it would seek him out and reveal itself to him.
Second was his meeting with the Jinrai monks. It had happened not long after he had acquired his weapon. It was a curious thing that he never heard of them before that time. He traveled to their monastery on a mission, transporting one of their wounded that had been caught by the tribal pirates and saved by only by the Kuroyari. It was there that he saw a wondrous thing such as he had never known possible. They healed him. Not fully, not perfectly, no, but his wounds had knit themselves closed before his very eyes. His response to seeing what could have fulfilled his yearning, if not his fantasy was immediate.
"I wish to learn."
He spent three years under their tutelage.
His Sanyari training progressed uninhibited, but he spent as much time working on finding his balance as he did working on his body and his tactics. It was with them that he learned of the existence and chakra, and where he gained an understanding of it, and a notion of how to utilize it. Two and a half of those years were spent on learning one thing, and it proved obvious that he didn't have most greatest aptitude for it, but he was determined to be able to heal his people's wounds even as he killed his people's foes. Unfortunately, some integral piece to utilizing the healing properties of Jutsu just never seemed to click.
But, it was after those three years with the monks that he requested to train as a Kuroyari, to meld the use of heavy armor and weaponry with the use of chakra and ninjutsu. Because of his prior training and orientation with the Jinrai monks, his training progressed much faster than any other that could be remembered. Soon enough, he rose through the ranks, proving himself in one encounter or the next. Now, at age 19, he'd reached the rank of Captain and was designated to be put in charge of a group of Kuroyari. He was to see them raised from training up, to learn teamwork from Konohagakure, stealth and intelligence from Sungakure, Sheer skill and necessary cruelty in Kirigakure, and an Indomitable will in Kumogakure. He begins with Konoha.
Before, he left, though, he'd gotten a surprise in the form of a tribal girl with her throat cut and left to die. He cared for her despite the damage, saving her life, but because of the lack of healing jutsu there wasn't anything to do for her voice, which had been lost forever. She was brought with him to konoha, to receive the training she'd need to defend herself, among other things. He is her caretaker.
A Captain's Biography
It began the day of his birth. From the womb there was hate, and a shock of silver hair. That was the whole of his being when the world received him.
Platinum hair slick on his small head, he railed at the world for daring to pull him from his warmth and darkness and rhythm — all that he'd known. He railed at the air for daring to push into his lungs and burn his chest. He railed at this father for daring to touch him and hold him in his steady grasp and to soothe him, and he railed at himself for responding.
And then, when he was calm, the small bundle of hate was handed to his mother, and he learned then. He learned of sleep, his energy spent, hatred needing rest. He found his darkness, if nothing else.
And for a week, he slept and he ate and he lived, eyes closed, his mother his world again, though they were not as close as they once were.
Then his eyes opened and he awoke in truth. It was a blurred face and a sharp gasp that he was greeted with and the words, "He is of the crimson eyes…" touched his ears, and he did not understand.
But he had learned. He learned that he hated to feel the call of his body, that hollow near-pain that took his stomach and he railed at what he would later call hungry. He learned that he loathed, at times, the feeling that the world was empty of all but him, and he wailed at what he would eventually call loneliness.
So, he was fed, and he was held.
Personality
Midoru is a driven person, in that he hates to see things undone. He was a unique perspective on life that none is likely to ever find out about, and it colors his every action, and it has to be worked around for his thoughts.
He's highly duty bound. It was duty, and his dedication to it, that brought him to where he's gotten to today, and he understands and lives by this. If he says he'll do something in earnest, you can consider it something near a guarantee that it'll get done. As of now, his duty lies largely with his students, and those he considers a part of his regimen. As such, he takes their growth and well-being as his own personal responsibility, and he will work in all capacities to see them properly cared for. It could range from training to philosophy to a cooking class to the occasional relationship talk.
If one would wish to know him beyond the duty bound Kuroyari Captain, fully, you'd have to catch him without his armor. Literally. It's a constant and fully tangible reminder of the requirements of his life, and when it's gone, he'll often be an entirely different person. Since duty takes so much of his life and has throughout his nineteen years, when that mantle is gone, it's almost as if he were still trying to find his identity. He can be somewhat childish at one point and carefree, while the next time may see him a quiet man, or, perhaps, passion is what lies at his core. He tends to react, largely, on who he's with when the barriers come down.
Also, he's discovered that he has a nurturing side. It would seem that he has a penchant for wounded girls. Or, more accurately, wounded girls have a penchant for him. Or perhaps fate has a penchant for pairing him with them. In any case, in a matter of 19 years, he's managed to happen upon a girl with her throat cut that he nursed to health and, because she'd have nowhere else to go, took her in with him, another young girl who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time in a group he'd hired which had been slaughtered but for her(which was a small mercy) and he'd taken her in, due to her being in the situation through his own fault, and another was sent to him, scarred in mind and body both. The first two are his wards, the second his student. He receives some measure of satisfaction at caring for an ailing woman. A bit of gallantry he'd picked up from his father, he decided. And when he thinks on it, he does notice a definite trend towards being the gentleman.
In combat, he's nothing if not attentive. Combat was integral to his duty, so he gave it the utmost dedication, and it's payed off. His body is a sculpted thing, always monitored and cultivated just so, and he uses it to good affect. He tends to let his overt size do much of the work for him, sticking with straightforward, destructive tactics. And then he plays on the assumption that that's all that he can do. He'll use any measure to gain the upper hand, if such a thing is necessary. He keeps a calm head, always. Though, every once in a while, there's that person that manages to draw the berserk out of him…
Appearance
True to form of those from the Shattered Shores, Souzen Midoru stands as a giant, though even for them he is… exceptionally large, reaching a height of 6 feet 10 inches. His shoulders are broad, arms longs, hands huge. His waist tapers down into something slim, but only by comparison. A few of the young, smaller trees would look at his girth in jealousy. His legs are long and powerful, his feet, though slim, matching the size of his body.
Armor adorned the whole of his body with the exception of his head and all that adorned it. It was elaborate, foreboding in both size and appearance, and looks to weigh the amount of a whole other body, though it could not be said to hamper him. An ebon cape sweeps from the flaring spikes of his armored shoulder, falling the long distance to floor, hovering just above it. An emblem sits on the fabric: A black spear sitting on a field of red.
His head, the only uncovered bit of his body, had skin at odds with most of those who come from The Shattered Shore. It was pale, as though the sun had not dared to do too much harm to it, unbroken and smooth as down. Midoru regards the world with eyes of a startling red, the color pale, almost as if it had been incompletely stained glass. Framing those eyes is shining hair the sheen of platinum, making a startling contrast to the red of the windows to his soul. It falls down to the middle of his back in a silken tumble, some sliding sleekly over his shoulders down breastplate of his armor.
In a thong strap on his back lies his most prized possession in all of the world. It is his weapon, Mhaldor. It would be called a sword, fully five feet long in the blade, another foot added in the hilt. The steel, if that was what it could be said to be made of, was crafted so that it was made of two distinct prongs, all edges and both points looking wickedly sharp. It's metal held a cloudy sheen as of murky waters; runes could only be half-glimpsed running along it's surface, like dreams sunken into the blade's cloudy depths.
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