|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun Mar 02, 2014 11:59 pm
Name:Jamal E.Von Lieberkuhn
Level: Lin Kuei Genin
CP: 25950/25950
Words=3077+804x2=4685 
She could feel the atmosphere dropping to a degree that was suitable for her. In normal situations she could understand using this at a first move; taking initiative into his hands. When it came to clans the two of them were nearly equal, knowing each other's same moves, how they operated, which situations they worked best in, etc etc. Experience however was where Frost had the upper hand. All that time in the chamber where he was slowly being rebuild, being remolded, she was training her smarts and her abilities in Suiton. He had learned a few new moves from Hidden Moon and Gears when they returned back but she had just as much tools in her sleeve, if not a few more. The Lin Kuei warrior entered a boxing stance, keeping herself on the balls of her feet in order to get that light movement.
"Let's do this s**t." Wes stood on another side, making the piece of the triangle that they had made if one were to look from above. The armor that he had on had proven its durability in his many years being in Hidden Moon, along with the adventures that he was on outside of the clan, but feeling the temperature drop, his body showed light evidence of shivering to keep the body back in balance with temperature. With the temperature Jamal was trying to drop it to, it was implied that Wes' training sort of prepared him for different conditions of the weather. He did not have any suiton techniques under his belt, but being a higher up he knew nearly all there was to learn in Hidden Moon, in addition to his own clan's abilities. But what made Wes stand out was his devastating bakahatsu cannon strikes. They didn't have to worry about Wes using those cannon strikes on them. What they had to worry about, was the rest of his technique that packed as much power as those strikes.
Jamal, as if he needed a confirmation, quickly raised a hand in the sky, initiating his air manipulation technique, using the air droplets in the atmosphere to conjure up crystal clear spikes around Wes. Sixteen to be exact in a circular formation of four. Four by his head, upper body, waist, lower body. With a snap of his fingers, the crystal spikes would rush through as if they were intersecting each other; whether Wes was in the range or not. It seemed like a harsh maneuver, but he knew Wes could get out of the first attack. He would just be curious as to how, and how he could capitalize from there.
Frost could have been the first to start a handicap battle going on, but instead she had took her first opportunity of attack and go after her fellow Lin Kuei warrior, Jamal Exar Von Lieberkuh. The Freeze no jutsu was activated by frost; shown by her left hand. But instead of the hand signals needed to initiate the move in the first place, all she simply did was punch towards exar even though she was not in range. And from there, the ice sphere had traveled and hit him dead in the center, causing ice to instantly form around his chest, followed by his upper body and lower body at the same time. This would successfully freeze him. And like Jamsl's train of thought, she knew that the cold wasn't going to be the one to send him to the benches. She wanted to see the physical aspect of jamal's body; she had placed him in the chamber and on the outside it seemed like he had taken too many supplements mixed with supplements from Mexico. It was time to find out how her results and knowledge was.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2018 9:43 am
 Kori Higashi, The Cold Shoulder Kori would sit above the village of the night, even more hidden than the normal village as it was. It was a place of renegades and the lost and exiled. Those whom had left their clans so long ago, and the offspring that came from them. Ultimately, he was so much like the village, himself. He was a loner, unconnected, and ultimately, desiring no such connections. He felt little for his fellow ninja, only to his ambition to achieve and gain. Such a sentiment wasn't necessarily bad for the village, as he had shown himself quite effective as a shinobi, willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. Kori would glanced down to black and white shinobi's garb, the material ever so slightly wet, with small crystals of ice embedded in the fabric, a light layer of frost along his fingers. It was a sign of whom he was, as a Lin Kuei ninja. They were masters at the use of ice jutsu, able to create and manipulate it to a degree that rivaled the hidden clan of the Mist. They combined it with their other shinobi skills and deception to become even more deadly. They were able to not only readily produce ice from water, or create purely intense cold, but draw on and use the water in the very air. He looked up above, noticing a bird flying over, quick to recognize it as a messenger. Raising himself to his feet upon the ledge of the building, he would extend his arm, waiting for the avian to set itself down. as he did, he was quick to grab the note. Tearing it open, he would read it over with growing interest. It seemed a distress had been sent, to any village that would hear. The village hidden in Sound had found itself in a spot of bother. They were calling to all to assist. And no doubt, they would be grateful for any help. A smirk spread lightly across his lips, hints of desire embedded in his eyes. There would inevitably be a reward, and recognition. He descended quickly, sprinting straight for the gates. He could already see others following. Obviously he wasn't the only one interested, whether for the action or the glory, or the rewards to be gained. But he would make sure he would make the biggest mark, one way or another. 65100 Total CP 64700 Cp Words: 400 Skill points: Learning: Sora Shingai Fuzei Soujuu (Air Manipulation) - 400/400
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jan 29, 2022 12:17 pm
Xzavior SmithHidden Night Village
When Xzavior arrived at his manor, an enormous victorian mansion that sat alone on the top of a hill, with a scenic view. His father had commissioned this home for his family soon after marriage. It was a labyrinth of hallways and doors, some leading to nowhere, some to dead ends, others to hidden chambers. His father had known this home like the back of his hand. Even Xzavior had not seen all of it, inside.
The gardens outside were vibrant, seemingly disregarding the storm that raged overhead, ignorant of the darkness that hung over the house, as Xzavior passed them by without a glance and burst through the dark oak door, the wood clanging loudly as it swung open. In his state of mind, he had thrown it telekinetically, his very mind lashing out as if struggling against the reality of this moment, as if fighting against the idea of losing his mother.
The foyer was a cavernous room, capable of fitting two normal-sized homes. Dominating the space was an enormous marble staircase, carpeted in blue. The stairs led up to the back wall, and then split, each hall going off into the distance. Above the foyer was a large crystal chandelier, real candles gleaming above Xzavior’s head, nearly burned out from neglect.
The house seemed abandoned for the lack of activity inside. There was nobody at the door, no servants milling about, doing their work (or at least pretending to). All attention was on the Lady of the House, Xzavior knew. Their priorities had changed, their normal jobs becoming something more important, more urgent.
Xzavior did not pause for a moment, trailing the rain behind him as he practically sprinted up the staircase, and off to the left, towards his mother’s wing, and her chambers within. He passed suits of armor, polished until they shined, paintings, many of them priceless, and more fine silk furniture than one could normally find, even in a place that dealt in silk furniture.
The immaculate and luxurious home was a contrast to Xzavior’s demeanor, fearful and panicked as he made his way down the blue-carpeted hallway. Near the end was his mother’s chambers.
The door was cracked, and he opened it much the same way he had entered the manor itself, roughly and with his mind. The door smashed into a servant, bloodying her nose. Xzavior was apologetic as he helped the woman up, helping her gather the load of laundry she had dropped in the impact. As she left, holding a rag to her nose, Xzavior turned to face the room. There were at least 4 servants in here at any point, another appearing as soon as one left, as if taking shifts that lasted sometimes seconds, sometimes minutes, but never for long.
The only constant presence here were the Lady’s personal servants, an aging woman who had served Xzavior’s mother since she was a girl, and a younger girl, her granddaughter. The lady was seldom seen without Greta and Inga, even at home. They wore grim expressions, which did little to help raise Xzavior’s hopes. He approached his mother’s bed in only a few long strides, finally looking down upon the countenance of Petunia Smith, his mother and the head of the Smith House, in his father’s absence, seeing it for the first time in this state.
Her skin was pale and grey, her cheeks and eyes sunken in as if already rotting away. She breathed lightly, sleeping for now. Xzavior turned, incredulous, to Greta.
”W-What happened? I’ve not been gone for a week? What do we know?”
Greta simply shook her head lightly, her granddaughter speaking up in her stead.
” We know nothing. Medical-Nin came and could not help, nor could they offer any information. We are in the dark, my Lord-”
”Don’t call me that. She will live.”, Xzavior interrupted. He was not the head of this house while his mother still breathed. He didn’t want that honorific.
” I hope so, Xzavior.” Greta cut in. The sound of worry in her voice was like a knife that cut to Xzavior’s very core. Greta was not a worrisome woman. She was all practicality and business, always, well trained at her job and ceaseless in it. If she was emotional, then things were worse even than they looked.
Xzavior looked at his ailing mother for a long while, falling into silence. The tears fell freely from his eyes, burning rivers down his cheeks.
”Can you two wait outside for a bit? And turn any servants away? I need to be alone with her.” He said, his voice quiet and shaking, the tears threatening to break into open sobs. The two women were quick to nod their assent and made their way out of the room, closing the door nearly-silently as they left.
Xzavior was alone with his mother and his own suspicions. This was no ordinary illness. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that. If medical-nin came and could not even determine the cause of his mother’s state, then something was deeply wrong. Especially Benimaru medical nin.
His suspicions would have to wait for now though. He placed a hand softly onto his mother’s cheek. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, seemingly as weak as the rest of her for their lack of ability to fully open.
”Xzavior… My son…” Her voice was reedy, and incredibly thin, a hoarse whisper, nearly inaudible in her ailing state.
”I’m here mum. I’m here. Don’t speak, save your strength. I won’t leave you.” Xzavior’s words caught in his throat as he fought to choke back the tears that threatened to burst through his words.
”Don’t fret, clever boy. You cannot stop this. I knew this day would come… I saw it… years ago… It is time for you… to be strong…. For our house… For our name…” Each word came from the woman with great effort, as if she were putting what remained of her life into her final words. Xzavior knew she was dying.
”Help! Someone! Help!” Xzavior called, the rush of panic taking over as the life began to leave his mother. Her skin was becoming greyer, her body more limp. Her final breaths came out in laborious heaves, rattling and thin.
The door burst open as servants began to swarm the lady, calling after her, compressing her chest, doing whatever they could to stop the inevitable end to her life. After a frantic several minutes of fruitless endeavor, the activity gave way to a solemn silence, save for the heavy breathing of those who had made the attempt, and the stifled sobs of those who had witnessed its failure.
Petunia Smith was dead. The gravity of the loss rippled through the cavernous home like a shockwave, carried on the backs of whispers. Xzavior stood, stunned into stillness, the gravity of the loss washing over him like a tide, threatening to pull him beneath the surface, to drown him in its depths.
He had to pull himself out. Petunia Smith, his mother, was dead. He was now “Lord Smith”, the title feeling like an insulting barb in this context.
[0] + (1207x3=[3621]) = [3621 words total]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
