1 Willingly Gone [Open | No Kill] Mon Sep 10, 2018 9:47 pm
Zaiaku
D-rank
Rays of sunlight scattered through the looming tree-tops of the forest as the cart slowly drew closer to its destination. Large enough for a small group of adults, it was being pulled by two horses which, in-turn, were being manned by frail, old man. He appeared to at-least being in his mid-to-late seventies and, aside from the unremarkable clothing he wore, bore the hitai-ate of Konoha. His passengers consisted of three people who, when compared to the old coachman, made the wizened dog seem like he was some sort of noble. Two of the passengers were mother and child, their clothing torn and their bodies scratched and bruised. They kept their eyes closed as they mourned in silence, the child enveloped in their mother's embrace as they sat on her lap. The third passenger, who sat opposite to them on the cart, was of an entirely different sort.
Even while sitting, he dwarfed his fellow passengers by an astounding amount, with the top of the mother's head hardly even reaching the bottom of the giant's chest. Not only that, but his skin was devoid of any natural human coloration. It was not fair, dark, tan, nor even pale. Rather, it was a dark gray that seemed more at home on stones or metal. His skin, strangely enough, was also devoid of any hair. His head shared this same trait, being completely bald of any hair. Decorating his head was sort of red tattoo, wrapping around it and disappearing into his Sunagakure-issued chunin vest. Perhaps his most damning features were his mouth and eyes. His eyes lacked the regularly whiteness that was common to essentially every normal human. Rather, in place of it, was Dankness. A pitch blackness which was filled with the white orb that was his irises. His mouth, on the other hand, was filled with sharp fangs that befitted a wolf than a man. Each one capable of ripping and tearing flesh asunder. His arms were large and strong, their muscularity being very visible, while his big hands ended in claws. Upon his right bicep was his hitai-ate, tied around it and displaying the once proud symbol of the Village Hidden in the Sands.
Despite the inherent ferociousness that this monster of a shinobi had, his eyes betrayed his true nature. For in these unnatural and beastly eyes was sadness. The sadness which one may experience at the death of a beloved. The sadness which one may feel at failing greatly in their duty. The sadness which one may carry for realizing that everything was now lost..... and that they can do nothing to bring it back.
The giant, Zaiaku, stared at nothing in particular as they passed nothing but a sea of green. His attire, though easily distinguishing him as a ninja, was in tatters while he himself was disheveled. He didn't even have sandals. He hadn't slept since he first started this slow journey to the Hi no Kuni, with dark bags hanging under his eyes to enunciate this. He didn't want sleep, nay, he couldn't. Not if he wanted to see THAT again. He was in no mood for it. So instead, Zaiaku laid in a sorrow-laced stupor, his mind blank but his soul heavy. He would remain in this state until he felt the cart stop, to which he would rouse himself from his daze. They had arrived.
Rubbing his eyes, he would lazily exit the cart after the woman and her child, stretching out once he was able to stand again. "The Hidden Leaf.." He mused to himself as he brought his eyes to the gate and noticed a small crowd around it. It seemed there were some who would welcome the refugees, granting them water and leading them to somewhere they could stay. Or, rather, that's what they normal did. Almost all of them watched the nearly nine foot Jiendo walk slowly towards them, his large body battered and his spirits crushed. A few of them quickly surrounding the mother and child, leading them away and granting them basic necessities, while the rest kept their distance as Zaiaku drew closer. In all honesty, he was used to this treatment. Even while Sunagakure stood many pointed and stared as he walked down its sand-paved streets, making sure to keep out of his way. This was no different.
Not wanting to face them, the giant kept his eyes on the ground as he slipped his hands into his pockets. He passed the men and women in silence, not bothering to ask for anything. He could get it himself if he really wanted to and even then, didn't even feel like he deserved it. Thus, he walked on into the village, his shinobi attire torn and ripped while he was decorated with old cuts and bruises. It must've been a sight to behold.
Zaiaku would eventually come to a stop on a more quiet street. With few people actively using it and, thus, few people ogling at him, Zaiaku would sit down against some building. Though he faced the road he kept his head down, looking onto his lap and trying his best to keep his mind empty.
TWC: 884
Even while sitting, he dwarfed his fellow passengers by an astounding amount, with the top of the mother's head hardly even reaching the bottom of the giant's chest. Not only that, but his skin was devoid of any natural human coloration. It was not fair, dark, tan, nor even pale. Rather, it was a dark gray that seemed more at home on stones or metal. His skin, strangely enough, was also devoid of any hair. His head shared this same trait, being completely bald of any hair. Decorating his head was sort of red tattoo, wrapping around it and disappearing into his Sunagakure-issued chunin vest. Perhaps his most damning features were his mouth and eyes. His eyes lacked the regularly whiteness that was common to essentially every normal human. Rather, in place of it, was Dankness. A pitch blackness which was filled with the white orb that was his irises. His mouth, on the other hand, was filled with sharp fangs that befitted a wolf than a man. Each one capable of ripping and tearing flesh asunder. His arms were large and strong, their muscularity being very visible, while his big hands ended in claws. Upon his right bicep was his hitai-ate, tied around it and displaying the once proud symbol of the Village Hidden in the Sands.
Despite the inherent ferociousness that this monster of a shinobi had, his eyes betrayed his true nature. For in these unnatural and beastly eyes was sadness. The sadness which one may experience at the death of a beloved. The sadness which one may feel at failing greatly in their duty. The sadness which one may carry for realizing that everything was now lost..... and that they can do nothing to bring it back.
The giant, Zaiaku, stared at nothing in particular as they passed nothing but a sea of green. His attire, though easily distinguishing him as a ninja, was in tatters while he himself was disheveled. He didn't even have sandals. He hadn't slept since he first started this slow journey to the Hi no Kuni, with dark bags hanging under his eyes to enunciate this. He didn't want sleep, nay, he couldn't. Not if he wanted to see THAT again. He was in no mood for it. So instead, Zaiaku laid in a sorrow-laced stupor, his mind blank but his soul heavy. He would remain in this state until he felt the cart stop, to which he would rouse himself from his daze. They had arrived.
Rubbing his eyes, he would lazily exit the cart after the woman and her child, stretching out once he was able to stand again. "The Hidden Leaf.." He mused to himself as he brought his eyes to the gate and noticed a small crowd around it. It seemed there were some who would welcome the refugees, granting them water and leading them to somewhere they could stay. Or, rather, that's what they normal did. Almost all of them watched the nearly nine foot Jiendo walk slowly towards them, his large body battered and his spirits crushed. A few of them quickly surrounding the mother and child, leading them away and granting them basic necessities, while the rest kept their distance as Zaiaku drew closer. In all honesty, he was used to this treatment. Even while Sunagakure stood many pointed and stared as he walked down its sand-paved streets, making sure to keep out of his way. This was no different.
Not wanting to face them, the giant kept his eyes on the ground as he slipped his hands into his pockets. He passed the men and women in silence, not bothering to ask for anything. He could get it himself if he really wanted to and even then, didn't even feel like he deserved it. Thus, he walked on into the village, his shinobi attire torn and ripped while he was decorated with old cuts and bruises. It must've been a sight to behold.
Zaiaku would eventually come to a stop on a more quiet street. With few people actively using it and, thus, few people ogling at him, Zaiaku would sit down against some building. Though he faced the road he kept his head down, looking onto his lap and trying his best to keep his mind empty.
TWC: 884