Post by Deleted on Jan 7, 2014 20:52:28 GMT
Name:
Ryōshi Kenshi
Alias:
The Unborn
Species:
Demon
Gender:
Male
Age:
Ceased Aging at 29
Appearance:
Credit to Himegami on Zerochan
History:
The tale of Ryōshi Kenshi, The Unborn starts on a bright sunny morning, in a small one horse town called Buta. Nary a soul was seen on the streets this day, an oddity which was lost to history, as this was a time long forgotten. A small, woven basket sat in the middle of the town center, a crossroads, all four directions leading out of the town. Inside was a bundle of cloths, moving ever so slightly. It was no earlier than noon, the basket having been there since before sunrise. Everyone in town had seen it, no one had seen who had left it. Nobody was willing to go out and take it, for fear that it was a trap. Finally, the self-designated mayor crept carefully out of his doorway. Looking left and right, he determined that there was nothing to be afraid of, save for what was in the basket. Approaching the street center, he peered suspiciously inside.
"WHY, ITS ONLY A BABY!"
His shouts boomed and echoed between what few houses and buildings were there. Denizens began cautiously edging out of their lodgings, curious as to why someone would have left a baby in their town.
That night in the town tavern, which was the living room of one of the residents, it was discussed who was to take care of the baby.
"Not I," said the baker, his wife nodding approval behind him. He did not give a reason, simply crossing his arms in front of him, leaning back as if that settled the matter.
"I certainly can't have a baby with the kind of work I do." The butcher was standing outside of the house, apron bloodied from work.
"He'd likely burn the place down," the candle maker scratched his balding head, fingernails raking against exposed flesh.
"I will take care of him."
Everyone turned towards the voice. It had come from a small, frail old man, leaning on a walking stick, holding his back. Everyone laughed.
The mayor, loudest among them, managed to choke out through a guffaw. "But, you, you're so old! You'd likely die before the brat reaches the age of three!"
Amid laughter, the old man rubbed his elbow. "That may be. But, should I not, we'd need someone to take my place. After all, who else will be able to feed the village?"
This did stop the laughter.
"He's got a point," said the gardener. "If no one here can fish, we'd likely all die before the babe is reaches three."
"Then its settled!" The mayor took a large flagon of beer. "The fisherman shall take the baby." He took a large swallow, and the whole town cheered.
And so it was, that the boy, whom had been named Ryōshi after his caretaker, grew to the age of five, and was taught how to fish. At the age of seven, his caretaker died, and Ryōshi was given the house, and the occupation.
Years passed, and the town grew. Now fifteen, the new fisherman had three other helpers, kids from other townsfolk. With these new helpers, they were able to keep the town well fed, until one day...
"Attention, denizens of Buta!"
A town crier, garbed in purple and yellow, came through on a splendid brown stallion. Behind him rode at least six knights.
"In honor of the king's lost son's fifteenth name day, a small tournament will be held in each town. Only those between the ages of 15 and 19 will be able to participate."
One of the fisher-kids turned towards Ryōshi. "We have a king?" Ryōshi nudged him hard in the arm.
"Shut up, that's not important to the story."
What WAS important was that Ryōshi had learnt something; the king had a lost son, who was supposed to have turned fifteen recently. Ryōshi had turned fifteen recently, as well. Could it be? Could Ryōshi be the king's lost son? It was almost too much to believe.
"This tournament will be a test of bravery, courage, and your skill with a sword. Each town will have a single victor, and each victor will advance in the tournament until only one victor remains. This Champion of Swords will receive the title Kenshi, and will have the honor of fighting in a duel for the king. However, be warned...this final duel will be a duel to the death." On that grave note, the crier turned his horse, fleeing with knights on his tail.
A chill filled the air. Everyone was turning to each other, whispering. A duel to the death? Why would the king decree such a thing. But Ryōshi had a glint in his eye, an eagerness to his grin. This could be the perfect way to meet the king. If he was the king's son, then surely the king would recognize him, there would be no way he'd let Ryōshi be killed. But as he went to sleep that night, one thought crept to the forefront of his brain: Ryōshi had never even held a sword before.
When the first round of tournaments came up, Ryōshi was still as ill prepared as ever. But, he found out to his advantage, so was everyone else. Being a fisherman, his arms were strengthened well beyond anybody else who was of age to fight. They were each handed blunt swords, and told the first to disarm the other was the winner. Ryōshi knocked the hunk of metal out of the candlemaker kids hands on the first try. In the second round, the butcher's boy dropped his sword as Ryōshi brought his up to swing. The third and final round was the only challenge, as the baker's boy had to lift heavy bags of flour all the time. He was the only kid in the town as strong as Ryōshi. But, the gentle giant he was, the boy dropped his sword on about the fifth block.
"We have a winner!" There was much rejoicing, in the form of a few people giving meager applause, and this started Ryōshi's journey through many towns and villages, even cities. Through the tournament, Ryōshi found that his swinging with a fishing pole was akin to swinging a sword.
Needless to say, as this is a folk-story about Ryōshi, he won the tournament.
And so, the day came when Ryōshi was face to face with the king. Congratulations were in order, the king drew out his own sword, and touched Ryōshi's shoulders lightly, dubbing him Kenshi, Ryōshi's first real name. He was then told that on the morrow, he would fight to the death with the kingdom's finest knight. The king dismissed him. The whole ordeal had been dull, as if the king and everyone else could care less. There had been no recollection in the king's eyes, no sudden realisation that before him was his lost son. Besides, the Ryōshi looked nothing like the king. Where the boy was tall, lanky, red-headed, and intelligent, the king was squat, fat, and intoxicated, with jet black hair. Ryōshi, now Kenshi, knew that on his next day, death awaited him. The night was a sleepless one for him.
The next day found Kenshi with bedraggled burgundy hair, crumpled clothing, red-eyed and splotchy-nosed, as he had cried the night before, knowing his death was imminent. He was ushered in, not unkindly, to an enclosed space, with no grass, but dirt instead. Encircling the arena were benches, upon which many richly dressed people were cheering, waving, and shouting. Across from him an ornately armored knight. The crowd was throwing roses and flowers at him, and he caught one gracefully. He had not yet donned his helmet, and as he turned from side to side, waving to his fans, his long blonde hair waved beautifully in the breeze.
Finally, after much applause and catcalls, the knight donned his helmet, and everyone went silent. Their show was about to start.
A squire approached both the knight and Kenshi. They took his battered piece of junk which he'd kept with him since Buta, and instead replaced it with a fine piece of forged metal. It was heavy, much heavier than what he'd been dealing with. He could hardly lift it, let alone swing it past the knights defenses.
The two met in the middle. The crowd held its breath.
Under Kenshi's own breath, he whispered frantically.
"Gods, demons, devils, deities, anyone or anything that can listen, help me!" His voice was high, sounding like an adolescent, and it made the crowd, knight, and even the king laugh. The knight brought his sword up.
"No one can save you n-" His voice stopped, along with his arm as it pulled the sword above his head. The whole world froze, and in front of Kenshi appeared a figure. It was a knight, garbed in all black. Except, instead of metal, his armor appeared to be made of smoke. He wore no helmet, and so his ugly face was shown. Horns grew out of his glistening forehead, curling backwards around his ears. His teeth were nasty points, his eyes red coals. His voice sounded like something out of a nightmare.
"You have called for help, human, and I have answered. In exchange for your soul, I can grant you one wish."
Kenshi as too scared to answer, or let down his own sword, which he had brought up horizontally above his head, braced by his left hand. He simply nodded, suddenly cold, and with very damp pants. The apparition sighed.
"You MUST speak in order to accept, and to state your wish."
"I-I-I wish to b-b-be the greatest swordsman ever." The demon grinned.
"As you wish, so shall it be. But be warned, human. Should you die, of any cause, you will not be judged for good or evil. You will simply be taken to the realm of H.F.I.L. and be stuck there for all eternity."
"I a-accept." The fifteen year old boy replied. The demon grinned once more, before disappearing. The real world slowly came back to life, as if someone was turning up the volume. Kenshi watched as the sword of his foe came down almost as if in slow motion. He didn't feel any different, watching the sword speed up. Perhaps the demon had tricked him...
"-Ow!" The two swords locked in contact, Kenshi holding his own. The knight seemed only slightly shocked. He brought his sword up, coming in for a horizontal strike to Kenshi's chest. The boy squeezed his eyes shut...and felt his arm bring his own blade around to meet the knight's. This time the beautiful man was startled. He died wearing that expression, as Kenshi's own arm rippled, as if the flesh was literally crawling. It snaked out with a speed akin to a striking snake, lashing towards the knight's head. A sickening schlick, and the head thumped to the ground, followed by its louder companion.
No one made a sound for what felt like a long time. Finally, the king shouted.
"A DEMON! A DEMON BOY!! SLAY HIM NOW!!!"
Archers, camped in various spots around the arena, popped up, a rain of arrows blocking out the sunlight, each one piercing into Kenshi's flesh. His body also fell, hugging the shade. Kenshi had only to blink before he was in H.F.I.L.
The moral of this story which, many many centuries ago was told to the kids of this realm to scare them to sleep, is to never ever accept a deal from a demon. But the story doesn't stop there. Because, even though this is only a story, Kenshi was a real person. And he hasn't given up hope yet.
From the time he was slain until the present, Kenshi resided in H.F.I.L. The world above changed, and instead of being a feudal civilization, the world became civilized. Ki became a thing, the use of it brought down and spread around H.F.I.L. Kenshi paid attention, and by paying attention, found out who to trust, and who to ignore. He had allowed himself to age fourteen years, before stopping his aging, as it was unnecessary in this realm. By the current day and age, he had formulated a plan.
Kenshi approached a demon, this one sitting cross legged, face unseen save for bright yellow eyes, and its white pointed teeth, opened hungrily. It sat on the ground, knees up in a V, hair lanky, long, and a deep black-red. Kenshi knew this demon wanted freedom, freedom into the human realm. But it needed a vessel. Kenshi offered himself to it. In exchange, the demon would have control over Kenshi's body. But, Kenshi knew that a body would reject two demons, and so, when the demon tried to possess him, a great conflict occurred.
Kenshi's two demons fought for greater control, causing great agony to their host. Kenshi clawed at his face, fell to the ground, rolled around screaming, eyes bloodshot and pupils dilated. But he held on to consciousness, held on for his own life. For, in the end, his body did accept them both, but not in the way either had expected. Both lay semi-dormant. The swordsman took claim over Kenshi's sword arm, leaving a large brown mark, wrapping around the arm. The Pōtaru-Akuma caused Kenshi to go through a painful transformation, turning his body into itself. At this point, Kenshi was forced out of consciousness. The demon, with powers caused by three beings not yet settled into one body, erupted through the barrier between the world of the dead, and the world of the living.
When Kenshi regained his senses, he looked around him. He lay atop a bed of grass, a waving willow seen above him. Beyond branches, he saw a blue sky, with white cotton candy clouds meandering lazily across. He smiled, for though he did not have full control, he had won.
Starting Planet: Earth
Techniques:
Bukujutsu (Bukujutsu)
Ki Sensing (Ki Sensing)
Barrier (Dragon's Hands- hands and feet are surrounded by ki, enabling punches and kicks to effect like a ki blast)
Demonology- This passive ability allows Kenshi to change movesets between human forms and demonic forms. When in any human form, Kenshi has available to him the techniques not in parentheses. When in a Demonic transformation, Kenshi is able to use ONLY techniques in parentheses. Due to the stress on his mind, Kenshi can only transform between a demon and human form once every ten turns. If he switches before then, he is unable to use any techniques, until the ten turns have passed.
Items: 500 Zenni
One-Use Pod
Ryōshi Kenshi
Alias:
The Unborn
Species:
Demon
Gender:
Male
Age:
Ceased Aging at 29
Appearance:
Credit to Himegami on Zerochan
History:
The tale of Ryōshi Kenshi, The Unborn starts on a bright sunny morning, in a small one horse town called Buta. Nary a soul was seen on the streets this day, an oddity which was lost to history, as this was a time long forgotten. A small, woven basket sat in the middle of the town center, a crossroads, all four directions leading out of the town. Inside was a bundle of cloths, moving ever so slightly. It was no earlier than noon, the basket having been there since before sunrise. Everyone in town had seen it, no one had seen who had left it. Nobody was willing to go out and take it, for fear that it was a trap. Finally, the self-designated mayor crept carefully out of his doorway. Looking left and right, he determined that there was nothing to be afraid of, save for what was in the basket. Approaching the street center, he peered suspiciously inside.
"WHY, ITS ONLY A BABY!"
His shouts boomed and echoed between what few houses and buildings were there. Denizens began cautiously edging out of their lodgings, curious as to why someone would have left a baby in their town.
That night in the town tavern, which was the living room of one of the residents, it was discussed who was to take care of the baby.
"Not I," said the baker, his wife nodding approval behind him. He did not give a reason, simply crossing his arms in front of him, leaning back as if that settled the matter.
"I certainly can't have a baby with the kind of work I do." The butcher was standing outside of the house, apron bloodied from work.
"He'd likely burn the place down," the candle maker scratched his balding head, fingernails raking against exposed flesh.
"I will take care of him."
Everyone turned towards the voice. It had come from a small, frail old man, leaning on a walking stick, holding his back. Everyone laughed.
The mayor, loudest among them, managed to choke out through a guffaw. "But, you, you're so old! You'd likely die before the brat reaches the age of three!"
Amid laughter, the old man rubbed his elbow. "That may be. But, should I not, we'd need someone to take my place. After all, who else will be able to feed the village?"
This did stop the laughter.
"He's got a point," said the gardener. "If no one here can fish, we'd likely all die before the babe is reaches three."
"Then its settled!" The mayor took a large flagon of beer. "The fisherman shall take the baby." He took a large swallow, and the whole town cheered.
And so it was, that the boy, whom had been named Ryōshi after his caretaker, grew to the age of five, and was taught how to fish. At the age of seven, his caretaker died, and Ryōshi was given the house, and the occupation.
Years passed, and the town grew. Now fifteen, the new fisherman had three other helpers, kids from other townsfolk. With these new helpers, they were able to keep the town well fed, until one day...
"Attention, denizens of Buta!"
A town crier, garbed in purple and yellow, came through on a splendid brown stallion. Behind him rode at least six knights.
"In honor of the king's lost son's fifteenth name day, a small tournament will be held in each town. Only those between the ages of 15 and 19 will be able to participate."
One of the fisher-kids turned towards Ryōshi. "We have a king?" Ryōshi nudged him hard in the arm.
"Shut up, that's not important to the story."
What WAS important was that Ryōshi had learnt something; the king had a lost son, who was supposed to have turned fifteen recently. Ryōshi had turned fifteen recently, as well. Could it be? Could Ryōshi be the king's lost son? It was almost too much to believe.
"This tournament will be a test of bravery, courage, and your skill with a sword. Each town will have a single victor, and each victor will advance in the tournament until only one victor remains. This Champion of Swords will receive the title Kenshi, and will have the honor of fighting in a duel for the king. However, be warned...this final duel will be a duel to the death." On that grave note, the crier turned his horse, fleeing with knights on his tail.
A chill filled the air. Everyone was turning to each other, whispering. A duel to the death? Why would the king decree such a thing. But Ryōshi had a glint in his eye, an eagerness to his grin. This could be the perfect way to meet the king. If he was the king's son, then surely the king would recognize him, there would be no way he'd let Ryōshi be killed. But as he went to sleep that night, one thought crept to the forefront of his brain: Ryōshi had never even held a sword before.
When the first round of tournaments came up, Ryōshi was still as ill prepared as ever. But, he found out to his advantage, so was everyone else. Being a fisherman, his arms were strengthened well beyond anybody else who was of age to fight. They were each handed blunt swords, and told the first to disarm the other was the winner. Ryōshi knocked the hunk of metal out of the candlemaker kids hands on the first try. In the second round, the butcher's boy dropped his sword as Ryōshi brought his up to swing. The third and final round was the only challenge, as the baker's boy had to lift heavy bags of flour all the time. He was the only kid in the town as strong as Ryōshi. But, the gentle giant he was, the boy dropped his sword on about the fifth block.
"We have a winner!" There was much rejoicing, in the form of a few people giving meager applause, and this started Ryōshi's journey through many towns and villages, even cities. Through the tournament, Ryōshi found that his swinging with a fishing pole was akin to swinging a sword.
Needless to say, as this is a folk-story about Ryōshi, he won the tournament.
And so, the day came when Ryōshi was face to face with the king. Congratulations were in order, the king drew out his own sword, and touched Ryōshi's shoulders lightly, dubbing him Kenshi, Ryōshi's first real name. He was then told that on the morrow, he would fight to the death with the kingdom's finest knight. The king dismissed him. The whole ordeal had been dull, as if the king and everyone else could care less. There had been no recollection in the king's eyes, no sudden realisation that before him was his lost son. Besides, the Ryōshi looked nothing like the king. Where the boy was tall, lanky, red-headed, and intelligent, the king was squat, fat, and intoxicated, with jet black hair. Ryōshi, now Kenshi, knew that on his next day, death awaited him. The night was a sleepless one for him.
The next day found Kenshi with bedraggled burgundy hair, crumpled clothing, red-eyed and splotchy-nosed, as he had cried the night before, knowing his death was imminent. He was ushered in, not unkindly, to an enclosed space, with no grass, but dirt instead. Encircling the arena were benches, upon which many richly dressed people were cheering, waving, and shouting. Across from him an ornately armored knight. The crowd was throwing roses and flowers at him, and he caught one gracefully. He had not yet donned his helmet, and as he turned from side to side, waving to his fans, his long blonde hair waved beautifully in the breeze.
Finally, after much applause and catcalls, the knight donned his helmet, and everyone went silent. Their show was about to start.
A squire approached both the knight and Kenshi. They took his battered piece of junk which he'd kept with him since Buta, and instead replaced it with a fine piece of forged metal. It was heavy, much heavier than what he'd been dealing with. He could hardly lift it, let alone swing it past the knights defenses.
The two met in the middle. The crowd held its breath.
Under Kenshi's own breath, he whispered frantically.
"Gods, demons, devils, deities, anyone or anything that can listen, help me!" His voice was high, sounding like an adolescent, and it made the crowd, knight, and even the king laugh. The knight brought his sword up.
"No one can save you n-" His voice stopped, along with his arm as it pulled the sword above his head. The whole world froze, and in front of Kenshi appeared a figure. It was a knight, garbed in all black. Except, instead of metal, his armor appeared to be made of smoke. He wore no helmet, and so his ugly face was shown. Horns grew out of his glistening forehead, curling backwards around his ears. His teeth were nasty points, his eyes red coals. His voice sounded like something out of a nightmare.
"You have called for help, human, and I have answered. In exchange for your soul, I can grant you one wish."
Kenshi as too scared to answer, or let down his own sword, which he had brought up horizontally above his head, braced by his left hand. He simply nodded, suddenly cold, and with very damp pants. The apparition sighed.
"You MUST speak in order to accept, and to state your wish."
"I-I-I wish to b-b-be the greatest swordsman ever." The demon grinned.
"As you wish, so shall it be. But be warned, human. Should you die, of any cause, you will not be judged for good or evil. You will simply be taken to the realm of H.F.I.L. and be stuck there for all eternity."
"I a-accept." The fifteen year old boy replied. The demon grinned once more, before disappearing. The real world slowly came back to life, as if someone was turning up the volume. Kenshi watched as the sword of his foe came down almost as if in slow motion. He didn't feel any different, watching the sword speed up. Perhaps the demon had tricked him...
"-Ow!" The two swords locked in contact, Kenshi holding his own. The knight seemed only slightly shocked. He brought his sword up, coming in for a horizontal strike to Kenshi's chest. The boy squeezed his eyes shut...and felt his arm bring his own blade around to meet the knight's. This time the beautiful man was startled. He died wearing that expression, as Kenshi's own arm rippled, as if the flesh was literally crawling. It snaked out with a speed akin to a striking snake, lashing towards the knight's head. A sickening schlick, and the head thumped to the ground, followed by its louder companion.
No one made a sound for what felt like a long time. Finally, the king shouted.
"A DEMON! A DEMON BOY!! SLAY HIM NOW!!!"
Archers, camped in various spots around the arena, popped up, a rain of arrows blocking out the sunlight, each one piercing into Kenshi's flesh. His body also fell, hugging the shade. Kenshi had only to blink before he was in H.F.I.L.
The moral of this story which, many many centuries ago was told to the kids of this realm to scare them to sleep, is to never ever accept a deal from a demon. But the story doesn't stop there. Because, even though this is only a story, Kenshi was a real person. And he hasn't given up hope yet.
From the time he was slain until the present, Kenshi resided in H.F.I.L. The world above changed, and instead of being a feudal civilization, the world became civilized. Ki became a thing, the use of it brought down and spread around H.F.I.L. Kenshi paid attention, and by paying attention, found out who to trust, and who to ignore. He had allowed himself to age fourteen years, before stopping his aging, as it was unnecessary in this realm. By the current day and age, he had formulated a plan.
Kenshi approached a demon, this one sitting cross legged, face unseen save for bright yellow eyes, and its white pointed teeth, opened hungrily. It sat on the ground, knees up in a V, hair lanky, long, and a deep black-red. Kenshi knew this demon wanted freedom, freedom into the human realm. But it needed a vessel. Kenshi offered himself to it. In exchange, the demon would have control over Kenshi's body. But, Kenshi knew that a body would reject two demons, and so, when the demon tried to possess him, a great conflict occurred.
Kenshi's two demons fought for greater control, causing great agony to their host. Kenshi clawed at his face, fell to the ground, rolled around screaming, eyes bloodshot and pupils dilated. But he held on to consciousness, held on for his own life. For, in the end, his body did accept them both, but not in the way either had expected. Both lay semi-dormant. The swordsman took claim over Kenshi's sword arm, leaving a large brown mark, wrapping around the arm. The Pōtaru-Akuma caused Kenshi to go through a painful transformation, turning his body into itself. At this point, Kenshi was forced out of consciousness. The demon, with powers caused by three beings not yet settled into one body, erupted through the barrier between the world of the dead, and the world of the living.
When Kenshi regained his senses, he looked around him. He lay atop a bed of grass, a waving willow seen above him. Beyond branches, he saw a blue sky, with white cotton candy clouds meandering lazily across. He smiled, for though he did not have full control, he had won.
Starting Planet: Earth
Techniques:
Bukujutsu (Bukujutsu)
Ki Sensing (Ki Sensing)
Barrier (Dragon's Hands- hands and feet are surrounded by ki, enabling punches and kicks to effect like a ki blast)
Demonology- This passive ability allows Kenshi to change movesets between human forms and demonic forms. When in any human form, Kenshi has available to him the techniques not in parentheses. When in a Demonic transformation, Kenshi is able to use ONLY techniques in parentheses. Due to the stress on his mind, Kenshi can only transform between a demon and human form once every ten turns. If he switches before then, he is unable to use any techniques, until the ten turns have passed.
Items: 500 Zenni
One-Use Pod