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DamonCitizen- Stat Page : The Tengu
Clan Specialty : Genjutsu
Village : Missing Ninja
Ryo : 44150
Sorrow
Tue Apr 04, 2017 9:28 pm
Training had been going pretty well lately. Not that Damon had become a master shinobi, or even decent at fighting, but it was training nonetheless. This was probably the hardest part about being a low level ninja. Having to learn all the basics and deal with not having the prowess of the stronger shinobi of his own village. He hated feeling incompetent and weaker than his fellow shinobi. Even though they were comrades in arms, he still used them as a base for his own abilities. He refused to allow himself to be the weak link in any given mission or squadron. His very first assignment as a genin had been to protect a priest as he was forced to flee for his progressive beliefs, and Damon had been the very weakest of the bunch. He needed to take more time to train, especially if he hoped to make chuunin someday. The exams did not seem all that hard, instead it would just take a bit of time in order to ready himself for the trials. It would require some level of skill at least, especially if he was required to engage in a battle with others.
The boy ran towards home with a brilliant smile on his face which could have illuminated the darkest regions of the netherworld. “Father, father!” The shinobi ran to the small, homely shop which he and his adoptive father ran on the bottom floor of their home. Damon had officially ranked up in the eyes of the village to the rank of genin, and as a result, had celebrated afterwards by going on missions and learning even more jutsu. He had skipped his last work shift in order to complete his last assignment and celebrated by training some basic taijutsu in the training grounds, which had led to a spar with three other genin from his village. This was probably not the wisest thing for the young lad to do, as his services were needed elsewhere, but at least he had managed to meet some fellow shinobi in the City Blessed by the Stars. It was odd, actually, how the rest of the major villages were in fact referred to as villages, whereas this one was referred to as a city. He chuckled at the thought as he continued down the street that he was currently running down. An intersection up ahead marked the space where his current path intersected with the road where the shop belonging to his father was located.
However, when he rounded the corner, he saw several people running out of his shop, yelling and shouting. The windows of the shop were smashed in, leaving shattered glass where one could see a bright orange glow began emitting from the interior. “No, no, no, no,” Damon said in a low voice as his joyful expression faltered and turned to worry. “Father!” he called out once he had reached the door. He spread both of his arms on either side of the doorframe and when he did not hear a reply, he used this to give him a slight push into the store. Their goods and the general layout of the shop had been trashed beyond repair, and a small fire began to erupt behind the counter. However, Damon paid no attention to this as he looked about for the man who had raised him for his entire life. He found a weak body on the floor of the shop, huddled up in the corner. Unbeknownst to either of them, the fire began spreading at a rapid rate, causing a scorching heat in the room. Damon hurried to the body, expecting his father to be dead, but upon getting closer, he realized that he was still breathing. However, the breathing was shallow and seemed to cause him pain with every breath that he drew. A metallic bar rested next to his body, which was out of place. It must have been the weapon used that had left the man a crippled mess in the floor, as he was unable to defend himself from the fires around him or even attempt to escape.
Damon ran up to the man who was scarcely breathing before taking the body into his arms. His left arm was supporting the man’s back as he held him up in an attempt to see his face. His father groaned and physically recoiled as he grabbed for his stomach, which was soaked with blood. “No… more… please…” He coughed and realized it was his adoptive son which had found him. “They didn… didn’t want anymore shinobi. I didn’t realize how bad it would be for you here, my boy. I’m sorry,” he said weakly as his voice began faltering and his eyes started to close. Damon shook him and cried out against it, “No, no, no, come on, father, stay with me. I need you.” His father’s eyes closed even further as Damon closed his and cried. His father then coughed, catching him off guard and caused Damon to look at him through tear stained eyes.
His eyes were wide with horror.
“Father…?”
“No, you… you can’t have… I swore to them that I would… protect you… Damon...”
“Protect me from what?” Damon inquired in a small, terrified voice.
“Your eyes…” he gasped, taking his final breath, “Forgive me…”
With that, he was gone. Damon lied there on his knees holding the now dead body of his father in his arms. The fire began to spread around him. Despite the religious nature of the village, it seemed to have the same problem shared by many religions. Radicals.
Damon remained on his knees, now holding the body of the man he called his father. The man who had cared for him all of his life. Who had provided him with a home, shelter, food, and all of the other basic necessities required for one to live out their own life. He thought for a mere moment what he would have to do. Would he have to move into an orphanage? He looked around at the flickering flames. They appeared to grow a darker shade of red than they had originally been. In fact, the entire world now seemed a dark shade of crimson as opposed to what it had been. This caused for the shop to seem darker and more confined, as if it was the only place in the world, which prompted where his train of thought was about to lead.
Should he not just let the fire consume him? He did not believe that he necessarily had anything to live for at this moment. The future seemed bleak and lonely without the remainder of family that he had left. He had never known his mother and his father had never spoken of her, so he had never bothered to ask. Damon had simply accompanied the man along his travels as a merchant, and had learned some valuable bits of advice along the way. It was where he had first learned of the shinobi way, including ninjutsu, taijutsu, and all of the other specialities that shinobi of all shapes and sizes seemed to hone. Most of them seemed to stick to three, which was logical, seeing as that one could not master everything. Would it even matter to him? He did not know of his Uchiha heritage. Damon had no idea the sheer power he could possibly possess simply by bettering himself. The Uchiha advanced bloodline was highly sought after, and here it seemed to be wasted on a boy who had no idea what he was even doing. It was not his fault as his true parents had chosen to give him up in an attempt to better his life and save him from the pain that seemed to plague his ancestors. Yet, this was to no avail, as Damon was now experiencing his first major tragedy.
It was not long before his thoughts of suicide were interrupted by more shouting from outside. Damon did not turn around, as he expected that it was the very same radical members of some intolerant religion that had come back to finish the job. It was not long until the door opened with the sound of several footsteps coming inside the door. He heard various forms of water style moves being performed. The heat that was radiating and inching closer to him and the new corpse in his arms began to be extinguished by shinobi who had dedicated their lives to protecting the village itself. Their vast range of jutsu allowed them to police the streets, provide immediate first aid, as well as putting out fires. He did not even acknowledge them. That is, until they tried prying the body out of the boy’s arms. He cried out as they did so, but was restrained by a couple of men in chuunin attire as they pulled him outside to safety. Smoke flooded his senses and burned his eyes, but he was already crying. He was carried away with tears running down his reddened eyes. “No, no, no, don’t take me away!” His cries were ignored as he was rushed outside for the sake of his own well being. A voice belonging to one of the shinobi was muffled by the sound of cackling flames as he stood over the new corpse. “Oh gods… We’re going to need a body bag.”
Damon had been saved from being consumed by the flames, for better or for worse. He would proceed to throw himself into the chuunin exams and complete missions for the village. This was not about gaining prestige or growing to protect his loved ones. He had no more loved ones left. He felt truly alone.
“Uhm, excuse me.” Damon barely registered the words. “Excuse me.” This time it was a little more forceful in order to provide emphasis. A hand was placed on his shoulder but Damon still did not turn his head. “I think this is for you.” A leather bound book was placed down on the lap of the boy as he barely acknowledged the presence. “I’m sorry for your loss.” The unfamiliar voice stopped as footsteps signaled the sound of him walking away. Damon turned his head downwards at the foreign object. The once fine brown leather had been scorched, leaving a marred cover. A noticeable hole in the cover allowed for a peeking at the first yellow tinted page. It was blank, aside from what appeared to be the title of the work: The Life of Damon. The young boy began to slowly reach out for the book before flipping it open. Upon reading through it, it appeared to be a journal written by his own father. He began to flip through it. At the beginning, it started as a relatively simple documentary almost in regards to his own life. It began with simple entries in regards to his life as a baby. “Damon took his first steps today. There was such a wide smile on his face and a sparkle in his eye. I wish that you could have seen it.” He skipped a few more pages unenthusiastically. He was intrigued, but the pages had a slight orange tint to them. The world still seemed the same color of red as it had in the shop. The same color of red that had soaked his father’s clothes. “I hope that it is not long before you are able to see him again. It has been months. I just hope that you do not have to miss out on your son’s entire childhood.” Your son’s. Damon froze up at the message. Not ‘my’ son. Your son. The world surrounding him seemed to grow dimmer. The lights began to return to normal, the red glow fading away as his newly awakened sharingan deactivated.
Damon was left sitting on the curb outside the shop of the man who was not his father, clutching a burnt leather book to his chest.
--Exit--
WC: 2000/2000 even
Requesting: 1st Tomoe Sharingan according to NPC rules
The boy ran towards home with a brilliant smile on his face which could have illuminated the darkest regions of the netherworld. “Father, father!” The shinobi ran to the small, homely shop which he and his adoptive father ran on the bottom floor of their home. Damon had officially ranked up in the eyes of the village to the rank of genin, and as a result, had celebrated afterwards by going on missions and learning even more jutsu. He had skipped his last work shift in order to complete his last assignment and celebrated by training some basic taijutsu in the training grounds, which had led to a spar with three other genin from his village. This was probably not the wisest thing for the young lad to do, as his services were needed elsewhere, but at least he had managed to meet some fellow shinobi in the City Blessed by the Stars. It was odd, actually, how the rest of the major villages were in fact referred to as villages, whereas this one was referred to as a city. He chuckled at the thought as he continued down the street that he was currently running down. An intersection up ahead marked the space where his current path intersected with the road where the shop belonging to his father was located.
However, when he rounded the corner, he saw several people running out of his shop, yelling and shouting. The windows of the shop were smashed in, leaving shattered glass where one could see a bright orange glow began emitting from the interior. “No, no, no, no,” Damon said in a low voice as his joyful expression faltered and turned to worry. “Father!” he called out once he had reached the door. He spread both of his arms on either side of the doorframe and when he did not hear a reply, he used this to give him a slight push into the store. Their goods and the general layout of the shop had been trashed beyond repair, and a small fire began to erupt behind the counter. However, Damon paid no attention to this as he looked about for the man who had raised him for his entire life. He found a weak body on the floor of the shop, huddled up in the corner. Unbeknownst to either of them, the fire began spreading at a rapid rate, causing a scorching heat in the room. Damon hurried to the body, expecting his father to be dead, but upon getting closer, he realized that he was still breathing. However, the breathing was shallow and seemed to cause him pain with every breath that he drew. A metallic bar rested next to his body, which was out of place. It must have been the weapon used that had left the man a crippled mess in the floor, as he was unable to defend himself from the fires around him or even attempt to escape.
Damon ran up to the man who was scarcely breathing before taking the body into his arms. His left arm was supporting the man’s back as he held him up in an attempt to see his face. His father groaned and physically recoiled as he grabbed for his stomach, which was soaked with blood. “No… more… please…” He coughed and realized it was his adoptive son which had found him. “They didn… didn’t want anymore shinobi. I didn’t realize how bad it would be for you here, my boy. I’m sorry,” he said weakly as his voice began faltering and his eyes started to close. Damon shook him and cried out against it, “No, no, no, come on, father, stay with me. I need you.” His father’s eyes closed even further as Damon closed his and cried. His father then coughed, catching him off guard and caused Damon to look at him through tear stained eyes.
His eyes were wide with horror.
“Father…?”
“No, you… you can’t have… I swore to them that I would… protect you… Damon...”
“Protect me from what?” Damon inquired in a small, terrified voice.
“Your eyes…” he gasped, taking his final breath, “Forgive me…”
With that, he was gone. Damon lied there on his knees holding the now dead body of his father in his arms. The fire began to spread around him. Despite the religious nature of the village, it seemed to have the same problem shared by many religions. Radicals.
Damon remained on his knees, now holding the body of the man he called his father. The man who had cared for him all of his life. Who had provided him with a home, shelter, food, and all of the other basic necessities required for one to live out their own life. He thought for a mere moment what he would have to do. Would he have to move into an orphanage? He looked around at the flickering flames. They appeared to grow a darker shade of red than they had originally been. In fact, the entire world now seemed a dark shade of crimson as opposed to what it had been. This caused for the shop to seem darker and more confined, as if it was the only place in the world, which prompted where his train of thought was about to lead.
Should he not just let the fire consume him? He did not believe that he necessarily had anything to live for at this moment. The future seemed bleak and lonely without the remainder of family that he had left. He had never known his mother and his father had never spoken of her, so he had never bothered to ask. Damon had simply accompanied the man along his travels as a merchant, and had learned some valuable bits of advice along the way. It was where he had first learned of the shinobi way, including ninjutsu, taijutsu, and all of the other specialities that shinobi of all shapes and sizes seemed to hone. Most of them seemed to stick to three, which was logical, seeing as that one could not master everything. Would it even matter to him? He did not know of his Uchiha heritage. Damon had no idea the sheer power he could possibly possess simply by bettering himself. The Uchiha advanced bloodline was highly sought after, and here it seemed to be wasted on a boy who had no idea what he was even doing. It was not his fault as his true parents had chosen to give him up in an attempt to better his life and save him from the pain that seemed to plague his ancestors. Yet, this was to no avail, as Damon was now experiencing his first major tragedy.
It was not long before his thoughts of suicide were interrupted by more shouting from outside. Damon did not turn around, as he expected that it was the very same radical members of some intolerant religion that had come back to finish the job. It was not long until the door opened with the sound of several footsteps coming inside the door. He heard various forms of water style moves being performed. The heat that was radiating and inching closer to him and the new corpse in his arms began to be extinguished by shinobi who had dedicated their lives to protecting the village itself. Their vast range of jutsu allowed them to police the streets, provide immediate first aid, as well as putting out fires. He did not even acknowledge them. That is, until they tried prying the body out of the boy’s arms. He cried out as they did so, but was restrained by a couple of men in chuunin attire as they pulled him outside to safety. Smoke flooded his senses and burned his eyes, but he was already crying. He was carried away with tears running down his reddened eyes. “No, no, no, don’t take me away!” His cries were ignored as he was rushed outside for the sake of his own well being. A voice belonging to one of the shinobi was muffled by the sound of cackling flames as he stood over the new corpse. “Oh gods… We’re going to need a body bag.”
Damon had been saved from being consumed by the flames, for better or for worse. He would proceed to throw himself into the chuunin exams and complete missions for the village. This was not about gaining prestige or growing to protect his loved ones. He had no more loved ones left. He felt truly alone.
“Uhm, excuse me.” Damon barely registered the words. “Excuse me.” This time it was a little more forceful in order to provide emphasis. A hand was placed on his shoulder but Damon still did not turn his head. “I think this is for you.” A leather bound book was placed down on the lap of the boy as he barely acknowledged the presence. “I’m sorry for your loss.” The unfamiliar voice stopped as footsteps signaled the sound of him walking away. Damon turned his head downwards at the foreign object. The once fine brown leather had been scorched, leaving a marred cover. A noticeable hole in the cover allowed for a peeking at the first yellow tinted page. It was blank, aside from what appeared to be the title of the work: The Life of Damon. The young boy began to slowly reach out for the book before flipping it open. Upon reading through it, it appeared to be a journal written by his own father. He began to flip through it. At the beginning, it started as a relatively simple documentary almost in regards to his own life. It began with simple entries in regards to his life as a baby. “Damon took his first steps today. There was such a wide smile on his face and a sparkle in his eye. I wish that you could have seen it.” He skipped a few more pages unenthusiastically. He was intrigued, but the pages had a slight orange tint to them. The world still seemed the same color of red as it had in the shop. The same color of red that had soaked his father’s clothes. “I hope that it is not long before you are able to see him again. It has been months. I just hope that you do not have to miss out on your son’s entire childhood.” Your son’s. Damon froze up at the message. Not ‘my’ son. Your son. The world surrounding him seemed to grow dimmer. The lights began to return to normal, the red glow fading away as his newly awakened sharingan deactivated.
Damon was left sitting on the curb outside the shop of the man who was not his father, clutching a burnt leather book to his chest.
--Exit--
WC: 2000/2000 even
Requesting: 1st Tomoe Sharingan according to NPC rules
Yasahiro YagamiCitizen- Stat Page : Link
Village : Otogakure
Ryo : 27500
Re: Sorrow
Tue Apr 04, 2017 10:16 pm
rip my feels
Approved.
Approved.
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