:
Gender : Male
Age : 12
Height : 4 Foot 4 Inches
Weight : 65 Lbs
Eye Color : Blue
Hair Color and Style :Medium length straight blond hair, reaching just the base of his neck, with some fringe cuts alongside his face.
Village : Kusagakure
Clan : None
Rank : D
Nindo : Use your intelligence guided by experience
Masashi's choice of clothing matches his personality, being both eccentric and practical. During day to day life, he always wears a light grey trench coat over a black dress shirt, light grey trousers and a white tie. He generally forgoes wearing his flak jacket as it’s ‘completely ineffective and is more effective as a placebo than an actual protective device’. The coat, shirt and tie themselves are nothing remarkable, fashioned of fairly average materials but tailor made to fit Masashi's slender frame. A pair of well polished black leather shoes completes this 'day outfit'. This oddly formal outfit gives the impression that one is being approached by a harmless businessman rather than a deadly shinobi.
When he is expecting combat, Masashi switches to a more practical outfit, switching out the dress shirt, trousers and tie for a dark grey, one piece, form fitting suit made of a slightly elastic yet durable material. Over this is worn a sapphire blue mantle which partly obscures his flak jacket as well as a pair of heavily worn leather boots and gloves, both stained with a midnight blue dye.
Masashi's hands are long for his age, delicate like piano fingers. A difference from the usual piano fingers is that his hands are more rough, light callouses here and there. Feint small scars along his finger tips layered on top each other. This is from his past time hobby slash dedication. His hands are very delicate when handling his wooden puppets, the occasional sharp tool nicking his skin. Yet he manages to keep the overall smooth to suit his age. Of course the occasional bandages on his fingertips are common.
Personality : Masashi is, for lack of a better metaphor, like an onion; multi-layered, disliked by those made teary by the outside and appreciated by those determined few who make it to the delightful center. To those easily swayed by first impressions, this young man will come off as cheerful, flippant, carefree and borderline annoying. Never one to steer clear of a joke, Masashi is famous among the general population for, among other things, his often stupid and immature jokes. It is not uncommon for one to hear this young man being chided for his occasionally inappropriate sense of humor regardless of whose company he's in.
Despite this cheeky attitude, Masashi still remains respectful to almost anyone no matter who they are. He doesn't believe in making people earn respect, instead choosing to hate them if they ever lose his respect. Few people have made themselves an enemy of Masashi as he is incredibly patient. If you somehow do manage to piss off Masashi, the most likely retaliation will arrive in the form words as he does not consider anger alone to be a satisfactory reason for violence. He will however retaliate with violence when he believes it to be necessary as not attacking when you need to is just plain stupid. That's the reply he gives when asked about it anyway.
However, those who manage to dig under the cheeriness and stupid jokes see Masashi in a different light. They see that the cheeriness is merely a way to distract whoever he happens to be conversing with away from the fact that they are still standing next to a person trained to kill. They see the smile as an effective sedative, the manners as camouflage for the barbaric nature of his work and the bad jokes as bait for luring unsuspecting enemies into a sense of false security.
When the time to fight actually does arrive, Masashi transforms into what appears to be an entirely different individual altogether. The normally emotionally charged and energetic joker disappears, replaced by a calm, methodical and merciless combatant acting on intelligence rather than impulse. Despite retaining the polite demeanor, Masashi doesn't hesitate with his words when they can be used to his advantage, exploiting past experiences, current relationships and future aspirations. all the while maintaining his customary calm, slightly amused expression.
To those who have fought by his side, it is well know that Masashi is an excellent tactician, capable of planning out entire battles before they occur. This can however lead to him losing a battle when an enemy displays surprising abilities as he is incapable of predicting such instances and hence cannot factor them into his strategies. The use of this talent is also very time consuming as it requires him to mentally go through every (known) possible course of action for all the combatants, choosing the most likely one and devising a strategy to counter and eventually overcome them. The one thing which separates Masashi's strategies from the rest is the fact that they are all practical and proven. None of them are considered 'theoretically possible' as Masashi considers theoretically possible and impossible to be pretty much the same thing.
And where does all this ability go? Behind that devilish grin of his of course. To those who can truly say that they know Meido Masashi, he is acknowledged as belonging to a rare breed of killer; those who hide behind a mask of carelessness and bad jokes.
Parents : Nakamura Father: Unknown:}
Siblings : One Dead - Yukimura - Second, only 2 years Cotta Mamoru
Mentors and Idols : [Niten Hozoin]
History :Meido Masashi was born to a remnant of a priestly clan of shinobi. Rooted in tradition, in the chaotic aftermath of the cataclysm the monks refused to vacate their ancestral home, and were driven out by force, their histories lost or stolen as desperate refugees fought for any defensible location. Displaced and defenseless, with much culture lost they took refuge elsewhere in swamp country. Eventually, as decades passed, their legacy and heritage faded and the monks can now no longer call themselves shinobi but rather ninja monks.
Still, they were able to maintain some of their traditions, some of the ancient customs, which had once made them formidable. It was in this environment that Masashi grew up. As a boy of 8, Masashi was set to inherit the secrets of his ancestors, contained in scrolls. The Meido family is a family of chroniclers. Much of their ancient history is lost, but those few scribes of the old school made sure to save what was remembered, etched in stone.
For nearly a century the Meido family were nomadic monks, home was where family was. They never stayed in one spot for too long traveling from border to border. While once the Meido name sparked a few lights, the name now began to fade from history. However, the claws of the cataclysm seemed not to forget the nomads. Their dogged pursuit of the clan appeared to be for extinction, over the years it would be appear that the hunters knew more about Meido than the Meido family themselves. Some changed their names, abandoning their ways and choosing life over the name. For some time the pursuits died down, the claws content with the dwindling numbers.
As the heat dropped from their family names, the Nomadic tribe began to move less, settling near the plains of the Fire nation. Apart from the usual raging demons, standard of life was getting better. Home began to have walls and children began to sleep under permanent roofs. The devil's hands comes for the idle. Yet again, destruction would come for the monks. This time, in the form of an organized raid on their compound. The remnants of the monks were dispersed, an ongoing tragedy. Without roots, and only family name to go by, as of today, Masashi's family could be quite literally anywhere. Cut off from his family he wandered through swamp country wilderness until he met a hermit by the name of Niten Hozoin. He underwent physical and spiritual convalescence under the tutelage of the hermit, but his philosophies had changed. He wanted something different from his life than the perpetuation of tradition.
He needed to act on his need to follow the legacy of his ancestry and become a shinobi of Kusagakure. He was twelve when he made this decision, rather late for a prospective shinobi, but as it happened, Niten Hozoin was well versed in shinobi arts. As a result of this new branch of his schooling he gained the skills necessary to, using Niten's connections with the Hidden Grass, be tested for Genin rank. Once he proved his master of the basics, Masashi became a Genin, and one step closer to fulfilling the spirit of his inheritance. He writes to his former sensei regularly and the monk has adopted him as a surrogate son.
Masashi is not a renowned shinobi, or even a renowned monk, he spends his time focusing on puppets, to maintain some of his attributes of his monk heritage, putting what he calls emotions into them. He also focuses on genjutsu, relying on this set of non-traditional methods in order to fully fulfill his forefathers. Masashi has melded well into Kusa society, his foreign identity isn't an apparent fact in his peers conscious.
Role Play Sample : Tapping the spent ashes from his pipe, the elder man placed the empty instrument into his mouth before grinning to himself, "And that... young ones. Is the end of the first part. I'll tell you more later on." The children groaned before getting into their sleeping bags. One of the younger more curious ones spoke up just before sleep claimed her.
"Oji-san, you speak of the land as living, when you mention growing clouds and settling nations. Wouldn't such a thing be normally impossible. It would require an immense amount of energy right?" The elder smiled at her question before nodding.
"Yes it would, but like I said, that is a story for another time..." and with that he laid back to enter into his slumber, none of the children wiser to the true meaning of the insignia on his shoulder or the package that was wrapped up that was being used as a pillow for now...
The elder sat on his tree stump, his finger filling his pipe with tobacco. He grunted through his teeth an old wound in his shoulders gave him trouble. He rolled it in his sockets, massaging it with his free hand. He spat on the floor, his saliva black from the tobacco. The old man felt the heat on his face that had nothing to do with the campfire. His eyes reflected the flickering flames a reflection of age old madness. There he had stood, with his squad of 10 strong. Their enemy was but just one bastard. Yet they had so much trouble even landing a single blow on the fiend and even when they did manage to land a blow, the bastard would show nothing but angered disappointment.
An uphill battle wouldn't be true, they weren't even sure if what they were doing was working or not. He didn't even bother weaving through their attacks. Using small movements to cast aside their blows and when that got tedious for him he would simply take their blows. When finally he had seen the extent of his foes....The old man wiped the sweat off his brows, his hand quickly reaching for his water skin. With aging teeth he uncorked it, taking a quick gulp before dousing himself with a splash. The heat... The heat had been unbearable. Black suffocating flames that seemed to shroud his hole body as his nodachi cleaved through 4 men with ease. Sadness overtook the man, coming home with a wooden casket was worth a drink but you came home, telling their loved ones there was nothing to bring back...
"Oji-san?" The youngest woke again, disturbed by the man's heavy breathing and suppressed sobs. She rubbed her eyes, before straining them to see what he was doing. "Go back to sleep little one, its an early rise tomorrow.." Dream lands clouded her minds and as easy as that she fell back asleep. The old man took one last swig from his water skin, he should take his own advice. He rolled his aching shoulders, feeling phantom pains of fire on his bare skin. The bastard let the remainder of his squad go, furious that they posed no challenge, only culling the few because they had happened to be in the way he was headed.... But now... now it was over. He eyed the parcel with the corner of his eyes and with it, he gleamed like a happy maniac. It was over.
