I am the monster
That you have created.
I fear no evil
The shadow is mine
And so is the goddamn valley...
Name: Saiya Jin
- Prince of the Sand Gourd | Sabaku no Hyōtan Ōji
Origin: Moon Village
Village: Moon Village
Appearance: Saiya is a lean and fairly muscular young man of average height. He has red, ringed eyes and black medium length hair with a long, segmented ponytail that stretches down to his ankles. He wears purple makeup on his eyes, which fades toward the inner portions of his eyelids.
Saiya sports an Indian chunnari around his shoulders and a small, short-sleeved, black, midriff-baring choli, which is where he keeps a tanto. He also sports an Indian leg dress, which stops at his ankles, but does not wear shoes. He has gold bangle bracelets that extend from his elbows to his wrists and a gold bangle necklace with a ruby in the center that is inspired by Rajasthani folk dancers.
Height: 5 Foot 11 Inches | 1.7 Meters
Weight: 150 lbs
Don't consider my kindness as my weakness;
The Beast in me is sleeping, not dead.
Saiya is best described as an enigma; he tends to keep silent about himself and his situation. Due to his upbringing, the young man was taught to suppress his emotions in front of others, even one's comrades; to show such was considered weakness, and the kage prided his soldiers on being the perfect weapons. As such, the male comes across as cold and heartless to most people, choosing to focus on the mission at hand.
Saiya was taught all throughout his life that violence solved most problems. If violence was not solving all of your problems, then one was simply not using enough of it; as such, the male has quite an appetite for destruction when activated. In his genin class, the young male is regarded as one of the most prodigal minds when it comes to the Art of Soujutsu, leading to the male to develop a quiet confidence in his skills.
On a personal level, Saiya tends to find most people boring, and easily predictable in terms of behavior -- a trait that his superiors value for him. Saiya tends to analyze people as he meets them, taking note of certain quirks and habits of their personality. As such, he is an excellent information gatherer...
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History: If you’re reading this, then I’m probably dead. And if I’m dead, then you know the truth about me.
No, not the truth. Not the actual truth, anyway. The rumours you hear around town? The snide comment the occasional drunk spits out when he’s done groaning about his wife? It’s all the ‘truth’ they want you to know. Yes, it’s the truth that’s been twisted, hidden, and resurfaced, as malleable as reality itself. If anyone took the time to really think about this ‘truth’ you hear, you’d know it fake. You all would.
But of course you don’t. You don’t take the time to think. Because you’re likely one of them, a townsfolk who doesn’t find it in his duty to think outside the box or a drunken Kaminari citizen who isn’t brave enough to get a divorce.
Because you see, the ‘truth’ is not really the full truth. It’s the truth put forth from their perspective, like all stories are, and like all perspective, it paints the ‘hero’ in a bright light, taking down the ‘villain’. It paints the king who taxes his citizens fairly as the righteous and just ruler of the world, who rids his kingdom of petty thieves wishing to break the law. It says nothing about the thief’s poor family, who’s starving not only in hunger but in fear, robbed of all their money by the ‘righteous and just’ king. It says nothing of the concern and worry gripping their hearts every night as they hope with crossed fingers that their father comes back home safely, with or without the food he promised to hunt down.
It says nothing about the thief’s family, who will never know their father is not dead.
It says nothing, because it’s a matter of perspective. It says nothing, because it’s not the truth. Not mine, anyway.
I’m no thief. I’m no father. I’m no one.
I can’t remember if I even was.
I’m not trying to make excuses for what I did. It’s not fair of me to do it, to myself and to them. I’m just making sure, plain as day, that you know my side of the story, that the dark, shadowy tales that parents use to scare their children at night aren’t kept in the shadows and ostracised like they always are. Heroes can exist here too. But sometimes, almost always, these heroes are shunned in these shadowy tales.
You see, people like me aren’t remembered. When we die, that’s it. No one cares. People wonder why there’s another body in the graveyard, but no one goes up to it and sees the empty, clean tombstone. No one asks where this body came from, and no one asks where the villager in town who went missing actually went. They just take officials’ word for it, whatever the excuse, because it’s the truth. It’s their truth, and that’s good enough for them.
No. Whomever is reading this? Know I had no choice in the matters surrounding my life. I had no clue what my purpose was, and no clue what demonic consequences it would bring. I was born… to die. I was born for death and destruction, inflicted mercilessly and thoughtlessly on those around me, and myself.
I was born to be a plague upon the world, nothing more than a disease to be eradicated before it took too many people with it. I was the monster people whispered about; the demon who stalked the shadowy tales that scared children to bed when their parents wanted some privacy at night. I was the one whose name was whispered with fear, and whose form was looked upon with disdain.
I was the one who lived in death. I was the one who died with life.
Rage, pain… they have always been there, they always will be. They were my blanket keeping me warm, and my pillow helping me sleep through the horrid nights where I for once wouldn’t be the monster. They were my best friend, my mentor, my lover. They were my soulmate, and I was theirs.
Rage, pain… I remember nothing else. In my head, memories speak only of pain and rage… I… I remember nothing else…
But know that I remember. And I’m coming.
Face Claim: Judar ~ Magi
Owner: Mischievous Ghost Type