Post by Marudana Zaiella on May 18, 2011 23:09:27 GMT -5
[/color]
~Don't take them eyes off me~
[/center]
Name:
Marudana, Zaiella
Age:
Apparent: Twenty One Years, Chronological: Sixty Three (since death)
Gender:
Female
Birthday:
Thirteenth of March.
Height:
Six foot, three inches.
Weight:
165 lbs
Eye colour:
Tawny
Hair colour:
Blonde/brown
Division:
Sixth.
Rank:
Captain
Strength: 35
The Shinigami has massive strength and with that a huge reiatsu and even a large reishi.
Speed: 15
Surprisingly, she has great speed and is faster than the average Shinigami however her poor accuracy lowers her stat in speed substancially.
Zanjustu-
Attack: 20
The strength and power of her attacks are terrifying, if she hits her opponent at all that is
Defense:10
Her low regard for self protection means she has never bothered to train her defensive abilities much, she is no worse than the average but could never be considered brilliant.
Kidou-
Her skills in kidou are very poor, though on occasion she can cast a usable kidou, mostly they tend to blow up in her own face or veer in the completely wrong direction
Hadou: 5
Bakudou: 5
Tactics: 10
Zaiella does have a good mind, though unimaginative. Tactics that are drilled into her are the only kind she uses, her ability to invent her own is rather lacking but the set tactics for battle are usually enough
Far from the stereotypical figure of womanhood, Zaiella is not subject to the archetypal female body shape suffering a lack of curves and a musculature a bear might be proud of. Her form might once had been described as slender but once slight bones have been camouflaged by powerful muscles defined even more by a lack of body fat. Though Zai may be prone to regularly consuming any food brought within a few metres of her it seems her body requires every morsel of it simply to continue, like a steam engine without her regular supply of fuel she will simply run down to a standstill until she can once more consume her own body weight in sustenance. The lack of body fat, despite her regular eating can be attributed to her very active lifestyle where many hours in a day might be spent training, or if not training at least fighting. Her metabolism could outdistance a cheetah on speed though this is not always to her benefit.
Though she is supremely muscled, a statuesque example of the body’s anatomy she could never be mistaken for a male or even approach a remotely masculine appearance though her behaviour is another matter. Her figure hints at slender, willowy days though now bound by supreme muscles. Even her bust insinuates feminine days, there being certainly a measurable amount of it though years of heavy exercise has reduced the size somewhat. Typically she is not all that attentive in that area, her best effort being simply to bind her chest heavily to somewhat prevent self injury or concussion when fighting.
Heavily tanned skin covers fluid muscles, long hours of sun exposure leave her with darkened skin that can only be achieved by hours and hours of outdoor work, despite the efforts of sunbathers everywhere. The dark skin is far from flawless, apart from freckling on her broad shoulders from excessive hours in the sunlight it has a fine mesh of scars covering some of the more exposed areas. Her knuckles are a far darker colour than the rest of her skin, particularly hard with somewhat narrowed and shielded veins developed from her preference for bare fist fighting. Tiny nicks and slices trace silvery patterns along her strong forearms, a matching decoration covering her back, badges of her improvement. Her veins stand as tramlines, efficient to the extreme of carrying the oxygen to feed her ferocious muscles.
In accompaniment to her tanned skin her lips bare the same dark tint, now resistant to blistering in the sun as much of her flesh is, the only exceptions really being beneath her bind and perhaps her upper legs which still retain some slight blurry tan lines defining fair skin much protected from the burn of the sun. Another hint of darker hues lies below her eyes, the shadows hinting at unhealthy habits and a lack of sleep, the darkness there is juxtaposed to the healthy tan of her flesh.
The firm skin is particularly dark over her powerful hands, large and long fingered, hard on her slightly enlarged and poorly set knuckles and the pads of her hands. Her touch is not the soft and delicate touch of the typical female, all too tainted by the caress of a sword hilt her touch is that of a worker, firm, warm but hard and worn. Even her nails reflect that, not long and well cared for but short, evidence of her poor habit of biting them off whenever they become frayed, usually spitting them out without regard for the safety of others.
Her feet are in yet a worse condition to her hands, always walking barefooted leaves the shinigami with feet that would require a bathing long enough to risk trench foot to get clean, ingrained dust and muck making them darker still. Her nails too are short there though get far too little attention from the woman, like most of her body care, it is left to chance. The skin on the pads of her feet is similarly hard, walking without shoes leaving her with feet that simply do not need them, even hot stones under a baking midday sun would provide her with little difficulty.
And though her physique is approaching the masculine, her features could never be accused of the same. A slender face generally described as diamond shaped, wide, high cheekbones a defining feature, slim cheeks narrowing down to a delicately curved chin, unexpectedly slight for such a powerful female. A high arched, strong but long neck leads the eye down from the face to the strong body below. Her high, smooth forehead is shadowed by long locks of golden hair, mostly braided, as of yet no sign of aging touching her fair features. Her small nose is long and slender, gently curved with the hint of an upturning tip though now ever so slightly crooked from a poorly set break. Full, dark lips adorn her face, plump with a well defined cupid’s bow, most often pulled into a dangerous grin or pulled back thin to expose sharp, fairly white teeth in a snarl.
Large almond eyes gaze out onto the world with a suspicion and cynicism carefully developed and nurtured from youth. The lightly-lidded eyes show the most sign of age, dark shadows marring her cheeks beneath them, the whites of her eyes now an off yellow from too much smoking and drinking combined with sleepless nights and unhealthy food. But in those yellowing whites are many-hued eyes that glimmer like gold in a river. Mostly a tawny brown, the edges of those irises are rimmed with a deep chocolate while the centre is flecked with bright golds and yellows which would rival even the yellowest of cats’ eyes.
Her bright eyes are shaded by long dark brown lashes which much to her disappointment, do not curl but fall straight in front of her vision, resisting any heating or implement to solve the situation. Her eyebrows are similarly awkward though plucking in brute force has curbed their enthusiasm somewhat, now forming them into high, finely curved arches, often raised in speculation or disbelief. Those fine features are reduced to performing vulgar actions considered far too coarse for any young lady, but Zaiella is not a lady either young or old, fitting in better as one of the lads than in the girls cliques.
Her hair shares some of the same tones to her eyebrows and lashes, but her hair contains a myriad of golds, browns and blondes of uncountable shades. The thick, heavy hair would reach far down her lower back, toward her legs if she allowed it to hang loose but several hours every week are used to contain the mass, locking the hairs away into fine braids which are either pinned up or tied back appropriately to restrain the thick hair. Were she to take her hair out of those braids for long enough it would be poker straight and heavy but years of being braided has left the hair trapped in fine waves as if she had been attacked by four insane hairdressers and a box full of crimping irons.
Perhaps one of the more unusual things one might notice about Zaiella’s hair is not only the length but the insane variety of colours it possesses. Her hair is a chaotic mixing of streaks in all shades of blonde and brown with unusual spots which could only be compared to those on the fur of a hyena. The braids and dreadlocks tend to disguise these spots rather well but some show through subtly.
Her hair is perhaps the most well tended part of her appearance though she may leave the braids in for several days before she takes them out to re-do them. The clothing enforced upon her as part of the uniform is not so similarly cared for. The shitaki and outer black robes given are never properly worn, instead of worn over her shoulder as she should she ties them about her waist with an additional obi holding them in place. Her shoulders and stomach are bare, as well as her arms for the most part, the only material providing her with some measure of modesty is a series of bandages bound around her chest to contain her rather bountiful assets and prevent personal injury or risk of concussion when fighting.
The sable hakama are worn but only grudgingly, her preference lying with something both lighter and shorter but her plain refusal to wear both tobi and waraji, infuriating anyone she might wish to visit by filthying any clean floor with her mucky bare feet. Her customisation of the uniform has spread a little further, her left arm from shoulder to mid-hand bound tightly in supporting bandages to strengthen her joints while wielding her Zanpakutō while her right hand is encased in a black leather glove, extra padding over the knuckles to protect her bones when punching. Inlaid into the glove are a series of blunted spikes made not to gore but to break bones under contact.
A stoic and serious figure up front, Zaiella appears to be the kind of person that stands behind their boss, intimidating the local area, all brawn, no brains. When her mouth is clamped shut and her expression is set any person might take her to be the serious person she isn’t. In general when first approached she will be wary, confident in her own ability but certainly not initially friendly or forthcoming, arms will be clasped across her body, resting back on one leg her gaze might tell the ‘victim’ that they better not be wasting her time or they’ll feel the flat of her blade.
When first confronted with a new person she will remain fairly quiet, speaking perhaps her name and her division number but very little else, only when asked direct questions will she spout information. But this stage does not last long, any conversation with the stoic female will soon reveal large chinks in her armour which fall apart at the slightest of touches. Any conversation between equals or someone beneath her lasting over ten minutes will quickly reveal her to be a person both loud and brash.
Of course if alcohol has been involved from the first moment then it is likely that she was loud and brash all along, the person striking a conversation with her would likely have realised it from the door outside whichever establishment she has chosen as her refuge that night. When alcohol mingles itself into her system, any former boundaries will start to dissolve and depending how much she has had to drink, larger and larger boundaries will disappear until she may well lean on a passing captain and tell them that ‘(they) aren’t all that bad really but should get the stick out of (their) arse and have a good time.’
The more she drinks the more jovial she will become, which makes her all the more dangerous because nothing puts her in a better mood than a good fight. This can range from a simple arm wrestle to an all out drunken bar-room brawl in which she will be the one wielding the chair and accidentally knocking over her attackers as she trips on her own feet. But all of this behaviour relies on you being able to stay close to her while she’s drinking, which probably means that the observer is either a friend or has a death wish.
Distant friends and acquaintances find that the chilly, aloof appearance is little more than a show and perhaps a little wariness. Beneath the icy greeting is a warm but rather loud and close to the knuckle young woman with a tendency to embarrass people on purpose, shout inappropriately, talk loudly about vulgar topics in public areas and generally make a nuisance of herself, her loud, dirty chuckle. She is capable of more than just light hearted topics but is not often so revealing about her own problems, she may mention complaints in passing but her conversations are always kept lighter, little more than face value to them.
Her trust of others is very tenuous and difficult to earn but those that do progress to become a true friend of the brutish woman will find themselves in the company of quite a different person. Though Zaiella will most often be jolly and probably drunk, those close to her see a serious side that is rarely presented to the outside world. Though it might be little more than the occasional comment where it is necessary to read between the lines, said with a sullen face or a sigh, there is a hint of something more than that which every other sees.
Her friends mean a lot to her and with her thick skinned, happy go lucky nature she can take most that any friend will throw at her and still remain both true and loyal. Perhaps one of the issues is that she herself underestimates how others feel, not realising how hurtful her own words or actions are until it is far too late and the damage is done. Those that can stand her sometimes harsh words will find it all worth the effort, they will have a lifelong drinking partner, a friend and a defender.
Similarly, Zaiella is very loyal to her superiors if she receives the respect she deserves but often may behave with an attitude that others find far too casual and close. No malice intended, Zaiella is simply not prone to bouts of subservience, used to expressing her dominance openly it can be difficult for her to swallow orders she disagrees. If the issuer of a command has Zaiella’s respect they will find the command fulfilled quickly and accurately. Even so, her displeasure may be more than obvious and she often has the tendency to vocalise her disapproval.
The confidence that exudes from Zaiella might at first be thought to pure through and through but small cracks and chinks lie in that powerful protection, small words can sneak their way in and plant the seeds of doubt. Many a night may have been spent whiling over a few words said in an odd tone before she will nearly always come to the conclusion that she can do naught to avail it and simply shut herself down. She does have rather the wonderful ability of shutting herself off when she sees no point to her emotions, she will not waste a night in a sleepless stupor because of guilt, nor does she tend to feel much in the way of pity unless she might do something about the situation. She is obviously far from cold but a logical edge is on her mixed, fiery emotions providing her with some kind of sense with others may not understand.
As might be expected, Zaiella can be a somewhat judgemental person but those judgements do not follow with the usual stereotypes. Rather than disapproving of sexual orientation, nationality or colour hers tend to be based on the upbringing of a person. In her eyes, those brought up with money are likely enough snobs, or if not tend to be very stuck up something which in her eyes is a crime, while those with nothing are probably criminals but it’s better to be an honest criminal than a business man that commits many small crimes and lies to cover them up. At least you know where you stand with an open criminal. Liars are far more difficult, and Zai isn’t hard to manipulate if you spend the time learning what it is that makes her tick.
Her ease of manipulation does not mean she is in fact as many assume ignorant, though perhaps she may be blockheaded she does have some skill in both tactics and in matter she has experience with though her conceptualising of abstract ideas and creativity is highly lacking. Hypothetical situations are hard to bring up with Zai as most of the time she will try to apply it to any other situation she has encountered and instantaneously start throwing up names of the people she believes the situation refers to. This can make her an infuriating partner for discussions and most avoid getting into anything too deep with the woman should she simply glare and tell them to bugger off while she goes for a drink.
Her attitude toward rule is somewhat less ambivalent. Her beliefs state that the end defines the means and as such she feels were she to break some minor rules to uphold some greater law or perhaps take an underhanded means for the greater good she would do so. Her opinions on what exactly is the greater good are somewhat vague, changing from week to week as her mood shifts though in her opinion any good would be a hell of a lot greater with a drink in her hand.
Recently, a small concern has been nagging at Zaiella, a wonder if perhaps her drinking has become out of hand. Though she would never admit it to herself the drink is more than just a pleasurable past time, it’s both a crutch and an excuse. Being drunk saves her being blamed for her behaviour as openly while it allows her both a release and a support for emotions that she might rather not face. The worry she has become far too dependent on the intoxicating fuel has not escalated enough that she might call herself an alcoholic, not that it would stop her but simply a small concern whenever she staggers into her house and five in the morning and collapses on the floor rather than in her bed.
Her concern over drink is not her biggest anxiety, perhaps one of her greater fears is that because she finds it difficult to be serious she will never be taken seriously. People laughing at her for her behaviour has never worried her so much, she knows exactly how funny she can be, but people laughing at her for a lack of skill or strength concerns her more than ever. It is perhaps the reason behind such long training hours, heavy sword wielding and strenuous effort she puts into improving herself, even why she strives to rise up the ranks or at least earn the respect of others in her division.
Being dominated is another small worry that Zaiella finds difficult to deal with, a command issued by an unknown superior feels like a small domination and every time she would concede to such a command it feels like the submission diminishes herself somewhat. Though she knows that she can do little other, the powerful longing to rise beyond being further dominated continuously pushes her toward self improvement. Years of feeling dominated in a family of high rank has given her somewhat of an inferiority complex. She is under no delusions of her own weaknesses and as such spends much time trying to improve them though she may hate it. The only enjoyment in training is in training her strengths and seeing the difference as she improves.
Fears that strike at Zaiella’s core are perhaps the reason she is driven on toward her goal, her longing to reach the superior ranks is entwined with the belief that once she does she will be above those fears, no longer would anyone mock her skills, no longer would any other have a dominance over her, or at least no one that didn’t deserve it. The thought that she could stand as an equal among the highest of officers is a dream to her, a long distant dream no doubt, and perhaps unattainable but something to fight for when she might have little other option.
Another goal plays through her mind, something which is not so defined as her ambition to take a leading position. It is instead something like a subconscious urge, a feeling to which she responds. Her urge to understand her Zanpakutō spirit more has been more urgent of late, much time which could be spent in training or drinking has been spent trying to see her inner world clearly, to understand it and with it, the being that calls the place home. The spirit of her sword has been a strong companion for her in recent times, a person she has leaned on more than any other but she still feels the figure is distant and still. Her longing does not extend far enough that she wishes to break the spirit of her sword and tame it, she longs for a friendship in which she can take solace in.
Sadly the relationship she would wish with Tetsu is escaping her, though they are close it seems that the spirit of her sword wishes to disguise something from her, perhaps in an act of self protection the spirit is distancing herself from Zaiella. Whatever it is it causes Zai a good deal of stress though lately the distance has lessened somewhat.
Apart from spending time with her friends and Tetsu, Zaiella spends as has been previously stated, a good deal of time drinking, and not necessarily in company either. Much of her good alone time is spent sitting around in one of the local establishments, eyes closed in on a drunken bout of self reflection. Other than this, Zaiella’s life seems to be oriented around her training, much time spent running or weight lifting or duelling, even just practising combat skills.
When not training or draining her coin purse in a bar she can often be found outside, particularly in the night she is fond of long walks, usually to find some quiet little place out of the way of the hustle and bustle simply to lie and gaze up into the sky, or even read a book, though anything much more complicated than a novel or a guide to physical perfection is usually somewhat beyond her attention span.
As one might imagine, her strengths do not lie in the realms of conceptualising, mental study or even in social situations or conversation. Those would most often be considered her weaknesses however; her main strength lies in... strength, and a great deal of it. Her physical body is not only intimidating but useful, huge amounts of physical strength encased in those powerful muscles, able to smash stone with her shikai, break bones in a punch and lift even the heaviest of men. Those muscles can be leant to another purpose too, because of her powerful legs she has some incredible speed without having to resort to shunpo. Her physical prowess has led the woman to become skilled in hand to hand combat, often preferring that to the use of her sword.
Strengths:
Zaiella’s reiatsu and even her reishi are far above the average student’s level, massive for her current rank but poorly controlled. The reiatsu sparks and crackles from her whenever her fury rises creating an oppressive area for souls should they be close to her.
Admittedly, Zaiella’s main strength happens to be strength. Her physical brute force is enough to take on even the strongest of her level in an arm wrestling competition and win, the powerful muscles drive blows with so much force that she can shatter bone and even stone. This strength is what makes her stand out from all other students at her level, that and the speed with which she destroys a training dummy. Along with strength, though not quite as notable is her speed. She is a very fast mover, those powerful muscles able to propel her at great speeds and large distances with ever step.
With such a great muscle level her body holds a lot of water giving her magnificent alcohol tolerance. Drink holds no fear for her, she can guzzle it with the best of them and still hold herself standing. Her high tolerance does however come with it’s bad points, she spends a fortune just buying her drink, dehydrates a lot and does suffer from almost permanent hangovers.
However, even when drunk, Zaiella knows her own mind. She is determined and once she makes a decision she is set on her path, very difficult to sway. This determination lends well to missions, she will not rest until it is completed though right now her determination is focussed on passing her Kidou exams, with which she is struggling at the moment. Her determination can be a bad thing however, if she’s determined to get drunk then there is no one who’ll be able to stop her, it’s not even worth trying.
Despite her drinking and loutish behaviour, Zaiella still receives an unusual amount of respect, perhaps due to the fact that she comes from a powerful noble family with both her father and her older brother in the sixth division. This respect is more often feigned than real, simply to content the rest of her family but this does not bother her. She would rather deny which family she came from, rather simply have no family and get the freedom she feels she deserves.
Weaknesses:
Zaiella’s great speed and strength are hindered by one particular weakness, her poor accuracy. Should she strike an enemy she would crush them but her ability to actually hit the enemy properly is very hindered by the fact that she tends to miss completely and strike nearby buildings rather than her target when she builds up any great speed.
Perhaps this is due to her poor accuracy and lack of mental focus but Zaiella is hopeless at all forms of kidou. Her tongue seems to tie, she forgets the words and the hand movements appropriate and inevitably the kidou tends to explode in her own face. Her teachers suggest that her poor performance in kidou might be because if she even turns up to class she tends to turn up drunk or hungover. Her tardiness is well known in the academy, as is her poor attention span when it comes to anything other than practical teachings, all of her reports claim she is a poor student with a lack of imagination.
Her response to these reports could only be called rude, her short attention span is trumped only by her short fuse. Should her family hear poor testimonials from her teachers she is very likely to turn up to their class the next day and have a few words with the teacher. It’s given her a reputation for being very brash and quite rude though many teachers have noticed it is only toward those who teach classes she dislikes. The kidou teachers get a lot of stick from Zaiella.
But despite her short fuse and angry nature, if it came down to it, it would not stop her protecting others. She has an inbuilt sense of justice and nothing will stop her fulfilling it. Though this is not in itself a bad thing, her will to protect other people often puts her in harm’s way. She has little regard for her own safety and in defending others will often get injured herself.
Sealed Zanpakutō:
Tetsudoki’s sealed form is not particularly unique in the world of Zanpakutō , perhaps a little larger than the typical sword, a long hilt reaching just a shade beyond 12 inches on it’s own. The hilt is bound with a woven material, traditionally following the style as keeping black the main colour but with a touch of white and an icy blue as accents in the weave. Dangling from the hilt on a small chain is a star of solid silver, fairly small, perhaps only an inch across.
The sword itself is particularly heavy for it’s length, were any other to handle it they would find it unwieldy and cumbersome whereas Zaiella herself is used to the additional force it provides to her attacks. The blade itself is nearly 60 inches long, a little longer than the typical katana, significantly long enough that she must remove it from her back to take it out of the sheath.
Zanpakutō Spirit:
Tetsu’s form is similar to that of Zai in the fact that she is obscenely tall, reaching nearly 6”0 in her bare feet/claws, though unlike the muscular female, Tetsu’s form is lithe and slender, neat cords of powerful muscle which tend rather more toward wiry than bulky like Zaiella.
Perhaps beginning at the head would provide a more adequate analysis of the slender spirit, so let us begin with examining her hair, or her lack of it. It is not hair that tops her golden skin but long tawny feathers, spreading down in a sweeping motion in something which is thick enough to resemble a mane, reaching nearly to her mid back. Beneath a shroud of feathers lie a noble and powerful face, but not one which could at first be considered beautiful. A long straight but slightly too large nose, large, dark red lips and vicious, birdlike golden eyes gleam. Her jaw is angular, indeed, her whole face is fairly angular given her prominent cheek bones and lack of anything in the way of bodyfat. Her ears could be considered elven, long and pointed they emerge from the feathers, hung with golden hoops and studs which would jingle if she were to shake her head.
Her neck is long and slender, though little of it is visible under the ring of feathers which cover much of her features, spreading down to unusually broad but slender shoulders, again knotted with slender muscles. Her physique does not support the much longed for hour glass figure which women strive to achieve, appearing almost boyish in nature she has little in the way of either bust or hips, though this is probably a good thing as she has little in the way of clothing either.
Her legs are most likely her most effeminate feature, long and slender though her unusual feet would certainly prevent anyone lingering too long on the legs. Instead of feet, she has hooked claws like those of a bird, only three long and well separated toes, tipped by blade sharp talons. Her hands have similar constructs bearing three fingers, not four and of course the required thumb, each of which is tipped by a similar talon, deadly and sharp.
Perhaps her most obvious and beautiful feature is the huge pair of wings that just from her mid back, golden brown feathers don the huge yet delicate looking monsters, meeting with those that fall from her head. Her wingspan when fully stretched is well over ten feet though her wings are not often spread, usually folded neatly on her back, coincidentally covering her rear end from view.
Though the spirit dons no clothes, what she does wear is a lot of jewellery. Around her neck lies a multitude of necklaces which looks as though each has been hand made from natural materials, wood, bone and even horn, large bracelets wind around her wrists, golden and gleaming while light, tingling anklets contrast sharply with the vicious clawed feet. Her every step is a symphony of musical jingling, particularly emphasised by the way she walks. She walks as though she was dancing, lithe and graceful movements send her fluttering forth like an angel sent from heaven.
And though Tetsu appears more bestial than human, her nature seems far more peaceful than that of her wielder, though no less deadly. She believes that she herself has ascended to a higher plane, that she embodies all of the talents which Zaiella could never embrace though she does not hold it against her soul partner. Indeed she would act as a council to the rash and hot headed Zai, if only she would listen, instead ending up more of a comforter to the shinigami’s inner turmoils. But though their bond is strong, she reveals little of herself to her blockheaded wielder, preferring to listen to the Shinigami quietly, considering every word carefully before she speaks as not to give herself away.
But though a cautious spirit, some embodiment of that which left Zai upon her death, or perhaps the caution and inner doubts that were created from her death, she is neither weak nor easily pushed over. Fiercely loyal and strong, she would battle to death to save another, perhaps why she so willingly lends her power to Zai, now in the eighth division whose mission goal is to protect. To those she deems unworthy she is cruel and cold, like a bird of prey, easily capable of bringing death on swift wings.
A traditional dojo seems to be the basis of Zai’s inner world though it has been far changed from such a typical state of being. Pale wooden floors stretch out into infinity but wooden floor seems to mingle with both wall and ceiling with a fluidity that can never be pinned down. Doors cover the wall but any attempt to walk toward these sliding doors will only lead one further away from one’s goal.
And through this distorted and warped space move wraiths, little more than translucent shadows they move through the world as though they do not belong to it, unaware of one another or even their surroundings. All of them are entirely featureless, genderless, no marks distinguish different shades apart from the emotions they display. Some show terror, running and trying to escape from some invisible foe, some look as though they are wandering lost, others look as though they are fighting and a few look as though they are searching for something. None of those wandering there can either see or hear Zaiella or one another, each seems lost in it’s own world.
The shades that wander through the dojo are not the only strange objects which clutter the area. Occasionally the tip of a sword, ten times larger than any normal sword, might force it’s way through the floor slowly before sinking back down again. No mark is ever left in the fine wood, the whole place has a distinctly organic feel, as though it could heal any injury it sustained, even the swords don’t look quite right.
Following (or rather not following) a winding path through the dojo will lead one through the mass of swords and people, past statues which appear to be thousands of years old and out, into a small garden in the very centre of the place. It is here that Tetsu can normally be found. The small garden is little more than twenty square metres but it is a lively, beautiful place. All lush and green, a little spring bubbles up in the centre and runs across the garden before disappearing underground again, a small pond forming over the point where the water seeps down, long grasses disguising fish that would never survive in any other world. Cherry trees stand on each of the corners of the little square garden, a willow in the centre shading a stone bench, just big enough for two.
This place seems untouched by the shades that wander the dojo, no monstrous sword would dare raise it’s head here. It is a place of peace and harmony, somewhere for quiet reflection and contemplation with the sound of the stream trickling past and a light wind rustling through the leaves.
Shikai Incantation: Dageki suchi-ru, Tetsudoki (Strike steel, Ironwrath)
Shikai Category: Kido Type
Shikai Description:
Upon the release of Zai’s Zanpakutō , it loses the form of a sword entirely, taking up a form far more suiting her nature. It takes the shape of a huge, steel mace, nearly a metre and a half in length. Not the typical staff-like shape of a mace, this one is rectangular though admittedly it does get wider toward the top. The cross section is diamond shaped, leaving it with a vicious edge that will easily crack through stone or for preference, bone. The huge club weighs in at over 40lbs and were it to come smashing down onto any part of one’s body, any bones would be broken in that area as well as the skin torn from the dangerous spines.
The edges of the mace are sharpened enough that they will not just break bones but slice flesh where they strike while the flat edges have small, barbed spines which once fixed into skin are painful to tear out, though not particularly difficult. The only particularly difficult to remove part of the mace is on one of the edges, a thick protrusion shaped like a hook, the inside of which is sharpened to a deadly fineness though this is used very little by Zaiella when she fights, her intent focussed mainly on smashing their skulls. The chief purpose of the strange hook is that if Zaiella should need to capture an enemy she can, the hook will impale into skin and she can hold them for a moment with her mace before striking them with her fist.
Because of the size of the hook it is not a significant part of the weapon, that edge normally turned up and away in battle to save her getting accidentally stuck in the mangled body of whatever she strikes. It would be most unfortunate for her to strike an enemy, only for her mace to be so trapped she is defenceless herself.
The handle of the mace is similar to that of her sealed Zanpakutō, though not quite so long and a good deal thicker. It is long enough to be used two handed however Zaiella tends to carry it in her left hand, saving her right to both grasp and punch, her being ambidextrous (or perhaps not-at-all-dextrous) leaves her capable of switching hands without noticing any particular difference in skill.
Shikai Abilities:
“Bind, power splicer”
This ability seems initially somewhat useless to the casual observer. Indeed the only visible change is that of the handle to the mace, the powerful cording that is bound around the hilt moves, totally wrapping itself around Zai’s weapon wielding hand, spreading up her arm and binding around her chest, meaning she is completely unable to let go of the great mace. This can severely impact her dexterity in dodging blows and in a sense, leaves that side open to attack, though the main benefits of such a bind are not immediately obvious. In fact, the weapon becomes in a sense, part of her body, her fluidity of motion and natural movements suggest that she is using nothing but an extended limb, far increasing her deadlyness with the weapon.
This however, is not the main change to the bound weapon. The barbs along the mace become the most deadly weapons at this point. The spines are filled with Zai’s reiatsu, charged to crackling point though it drains much of her own power to do it. Upon colliding with flesh, her reiatsu leaves the barbs with explosive consequences literally. Small explosions are triggers within whatever she strikes, not strong enough to remove a limb, but certainly blow apart bones and tear open flesh. This ability however is particularly draining as the reiatsu within the weapon is drained upon contact, meaning not only does she have a limit on the explosive strikes, it takes her a minute or so to recharge the reiatsu fully to achieve the same devastating effects. If her blows fail to connect with their target however, they will indeed shatter whatever they come into contact with, leaving her drained without ever having caused damage, and due to a lack of accuracy this happens rather frequently. The reiatsu flooded barbs also becomes significantly sharper, able to blowthrough thicker armour and even stone, though this again wastes Zai’s own spirit energy. The reiatsu splicer does however have it’s uses when penetrating shields and the like.
“Break silence, bring noise”
Zaiella is capable of feeding reiatsu into her mace and should she strike the ground hard enough, this reiatsu will vibrate and hum at a particularly bothersome frequency, a frequency more than bothersome, it causes vibrations in the inner ear which in turn unsettle an opponent, making them dizzy and disoriented for short periods of time, causing those with less coordination even to stumble and fall. The high pitch keening is most disconcerting in it’s own right, even giving Zaiella a headache, but she has been told by a certain someone that it has no comparison on the headache caused by her snores.
He reiatsu is released from her mace at the moment of the ground shattering impact, blasting forward in a wave in the direction she chooses though the distance it covers is proportional to the amount of Zai’s reiatsu it uses, meaning the further away an opponent is, the more energy it will take to unbalance them. Usually the force of the strike to the ground and the overflow of reiatsu is enough to shatter the earth in a long crack in the direction her reiatsu is travelling.
The dizziness caused by the vibrations last for a few minutes but it leaves an opponent far less capable of dodging the devastating physical attacks which Zai is prone to unleashing. Those with weak stomachs may be caught feeling queasy, a sensation akin to travelsickness, even causing vomiting which is not a wonderful sight on a battlefield but one faced nearly nightly by the almost alcoholic Shinigami.
Bankai Description:
Bankai Abilities:
The shortlived union between a Miss Morrigan “Chastity” Ridley and a Mr. Alistair Shoal give rise to some rather unexpected complications in a rather late June 1985 evening when Morrigan realised that her cycle seemed to be somewhat out of balance, a little over a three after her recent collision with Alistair. In fact it literally had been a collision, Morrigan had been exiting her place of work, or as she now liked to think of, her ex-shithole of a job, driving in a fashion that was most unbecoming of the new lady of leisure, ex lady of ill repute, speeding down the highway in her celebration. Her celebration had been brief however, somewhat marred when the turned from the highway onto a side road and not paying much attention, was slammed into by a hefty black bike, driving with the headlamps off.
Luckily for her, it crashed into her passenger door, though the young man who toppled from the bike was not feeling particularly fortuitous as he lay groaning, barely conscious on the asphalt. The young man went by the name Alistair, though introductions were not on his mind as he saw through blurred vision, the shapely form of a blonde, lithe and somewhat scantily clad angel bending over him with terror written on her face. The first moaning words that passed his lips, though barely discernable fumbled along the lines of “An angel shouldn’t look so worried, you can take me out of this shithole before the cops do.” Though the only words Morrigan could quite catch happened to be ‘angel... take me out... shit-...cops’.
The unsheltered life that Morrigan had lead brought her to only one conclusion, this idiot; speeding away from town with the lights off, was obviously on the run. She should leave him here and get out of the way before she got arrested too. But perhaps Alistair’s assumption had more truth that either could have known, for in this part she was to play the angel of mercy that would rescue him. As carefully as the woman could, she hauled him into her somewhat mauled car, her times as a dancer or fulfiller of dreams had not left her weak, and dragged his bike to the side of the road, shoving it down into an inconspicuous ditch that she had once crashed into herself, before getting into the driver’s side and speeding away from the scene like a fox fleeing a chicken coop.
Alistair awoke two days later with a throbbing head ache and the feeling he had been run over by a steam roller. What had awoken him was the smell of food rolling from a small, shabby door into what seemed to be a bedroom, though not the stereotypical image of a bedroom it was more of a boudoir. He spent some time analysing the dark velvet and purple patterns, his eyes straying over a small chest in the corner from which was hanging one end of a pair of fluffy handcuffs and something long and braided looking suspiciously like a leather whip. His scrutiny was not complete when he was disturbed by a short gasp, a woman, the angel he last remembered in his clouded vision jump at the site of him.
Some rapid words of explanation cleared up what he was doing in her room, in her bed as a matter of fact and how it was that he had sustained such injuries. And then of course came the problem of what to do now. He was not able to walk yet and certainly in no state to leave. She had deduced correctly that he was in trouble with the police, the tall blonde man had robbed a post office and fled town when his funds had been low, only just succeeding in outrunning the police before he crashed headlong into her car. Slurping down the hot broth and scalding his mouth as he did so, Morrigan disappeared for a few minutes to call in a few favours. She said she knew a man that would patch him up far better than she had. How disappointed Alistair was to discovered that the man was a failed vetinarian who has crashed out of university after being caught selling crack to the other students. Still, he could sew a wound and set a bone, even if the bones he usually set were in a rather different formation than the ones he repaired now, but it didn’t take him too long to bandage together the bloody Alistair, promising to come back in two days and see how he was doing, giving Morrigan instructions on how to change the bandages.
And so they were left with little choice, Morrigan tended to Alistair when she could meaning she could no longer get herself a ‘proper’ job, returning back to the small brothel on the towns edge, wringing her hands and begging for her job back. She was swiftly reinstated, bringing her some income with which to support the recovering Alistair. It took him only a two months to recover to a state which he began to search for his bike, finding it at the scene of the accident with some help from Morrigan, hauling it onto a trailer borrowed from a neighbour to return it to the small house whereupon he began to fix it immediately. In their time together, the pair had become rather intimate, as a young man and young woman sharing a house (and a bed, for Morrigan refused to sleep on the sofa any longer) are prone to becoming.
But it was that their union was not made to last, Alistair with his bike fixed began to pine for the open road and the life he had had before which had been rather more agreeable for his temperament than working as an odd job man in the neighbourhood. Morrigan was beginning to feel the stress of it herself , caring for another after spending a night at work was not something she considered enjoyable and Alistair was much of a burden when in the house though he did try to pay his way. In the end, the pair were doomed to split, leaving Morrigan with some reimbursement for her time and money and a phone number to call him at should she ever need him.
Indeed, she did well for a long while, that was until she really was sure of the bump that was growing in her stomach, her nausea spreading through a whole day and not just the morning and the lack of any menstruation. Only after another three months did she finally work up the courage to call Alistair, by that point being five months pregnant, no doctor would rid her of the child inside her. He promised he would send money and visit when he could to help her through it.
And indeed, even after the birth, Alistair was true to his word, dropping in a few times a year to visit the large blond haired child that Morrigan had borne him. He was for all intensive purposes, infatuated with the child, but the call of the roads could never be withstood for long, leaving the child alone with her mother for long periods of time as he chased his freedom. Morrigan herself found it somewhat difficult as a single mother and a lady of the night, setting her child to bed and then leaving one of the neighbours a baby monitor as she attended the work she had not been able to escape, and now never would.
But despite her nearly absent parents and the difficult life of a child with little enough money to buy new clothes, Anora was never unhappy or at least no more than the usual child. She attended the local kindergarten and then the succession of schools in the area, never an outstanding pupil. She was practically minded, succeeding in classes like Woodshop and Mechanics rather than Maths and English, though her success in those classes too began to decline as her mother aged. Her logic was perhaps somewhat twisted but her mother, getting a little older, was getting far less in the way of custom which was putting things in a difficult situation with money. Anora began to take small jobs wherever she could and from the age of eleven had four paper routes, most of which she completed in the times she should have been in school.
Though the money was little, it was sneaked into her mother’s purse, helping put a little food on the table, even if it didn’t prevent the constant electricity blackouts when their power was cut off. Her mother suspected but never attended parent’s evenings and never truly knew the depth of the problem. But, Anora and Morrigan managed, the money still sent from Alistair helped a great deal in restoring their electricity at least.
And as she grew older, Anora began to idolise her father, awaiting his visit with joy when he would take her out on his bike or teach her about the workings of it. By the age of sixteen she was already set on what she would do. As soon as she was legally allowed, Anora dropped out of school and explained to her mother her choice. She did not want to grow up to be another brothel whore or some shop girl with no life, no, she wanted to roam the roads like her father did, travelling across the world and seeing all kinds of weird and wonderful places.
Three months before her seventeenth birthday, Alistair came to visit and Anora simply threw on a satchel and went with her father, choosing the open highway over the embrace of a mother. And for a long time this life was satisfying. Sleeping in sleeping bags, showering in occasional motels and eating in diners though it was rather infrequent. Her father had little sense of age appropriacy and with him she went drinking in bars, gambling and to whatever parties or congregations the biking groups threw together. Finally, after almost a year of travelling with him he gave her the present of a lifetime: an old bike, worn and far past it’s best but to her it was the one thing she could ever have wanted.
She had learned a lot from her father on the nature of bike mechanics and whenever the pair stopped, she would pull out a tool kit and go over her machine, working out the bangs and thuds until all was left was the powerful roar of the ancient engine, even idling it was still deafening. It was in this way her life continued, her infrequent visits to her mother became even more infrequent, finally declining to once a year, though she sent back money with her father whenever they acquired any.
But, as most teens do, she began to tire of the company of her father, still slightly inhibited by him and where he wanted to go. She wanted to travel the world, more than just Europe and see sights that she had never seen the like of before. And so, with his blessing and a wad of cash, she departed once more, biking whichever way she felt like, no real aim in mind.
That was, until her bike broad. The tired old machine had survived three years under her constant patching up but finally it conked out and no matter her efforts, she could not breathe even a spark of life back into the beast. With little money as it was she changed her mode of transport, walking and hitching her way rather than biking, stopping in towns, fixing stranded cars and doing any little job she could in an attempt to get her hands on some money which she might turn into a bike.
Her contact with either parent at this point was limited at best, she did not have the luxury of a mobile phone, only calling when she found a convenient phone box or managed to borrow a phone, perhaps once a month or so to tell them where she was. The conversations were not long, but she felt no need to reach back for those home comforts, she had a plan. It was that she made her way finally across to one of the places she had never seen with her father, Japan.
Stowing away on a train for a great deal of the journey, then buying a ferry ticket before hitching rides over the country. It was then that she found herself in Karakura, using poor English and terrible Japanese to get herself a hotel room for the night, little more than a box, but she was used to that. But she had earned some extra cash on the way over here and she was feeling frivolous that evening, deciding that it would be the perfect time to see something of the nightlife. And so, leaving the safety of her motel she descended the streets of the town to search for some excitement.
And she found some along a darkened street, though it had not been the excitement she had been looking for. She had not noticed the silent figure that had followed her through the streets that day, the thing that took note of where it was she slept before following her out into the town. A tall, blond haired female attracted a lot of attention, particularly when swearing like a navvy and carrying a backpack large enough to weigh down a fairly strong man, but this time the attention was not the kind she was looking for.
Her agonies lasted all night, the sharp stink of chloroform taking care of her screaming and shouting and she lay, paralysed in the pitch alleyway, left to the mercy of the merciless man who took a sadistic pleasure at her every pain. Only when she lay broken, soiled and ruined on the pavement did he take from her the one thing she had left; her life. It ticked past, seconds stretching into hours as strong fingers wrapped around her neck, slick with blood, smothering the final hint of life from her despoiled body, brown eyes staring into her blue as they faded and became glassy. Her final sight was not the angel her father had seen, but the devil himself. And in his arms she died.
Zaiella’s new life could not have been more different to her previous. Zaiella was the second child to Marudana Nobou and his wife Saku of the noble line of Marudana. Nobou had once been captain of the sixth division though had retired from the position due to his decreasing health. Saku was indeed significantly younger than Nobou when they were married (a few hundred years difference) and her husband was already tiring of the Shinigami life. He had had a previous wife who had borne him his first child, his son Imetsu.
And for all Zaiella was the second child and a daughter she was no less loved than her brother. In her family she was expected to meet up to his challenges of course, beat his records but not once was her being female considered a weak trait. Zaiella’s mother Saku had been a Shinigami herself, of the fourth division though had given it up when she became pregnant; there was no question of women being inferior in their household. Just as her brother had received, Zaiella had a good education and private tutors. Her father even trained her young in the arts of swordsmanship, though mostly the lessons were theoretical.
She had been destined to become a Shinigami of course, her reishi proved that beyond a doubt, something which her father impressed upon her that she must control. By the age of seven she could already dampen her reiatsu to something just about unnoticeable though doing much more than that was beyond her. And yet through her entire, well cared for youth the girl did feel like things were very much out of her control. She did not bring the subject up until she was almost twenty years old, by which age she had a nagging suspicion she should be allowed to rule some of her own life.
Neither of her parents could have been called unfair, they were proud and a little pushy but never unfair. They agreed to allow Zaiella her own freedom as long as she met some specific requirements when in her home. At the age of twenty, Zaiella went wild.
Her nights were spent out in the streets, drinking and fighting while her days were mostly spent clinging onto her bed as her father tried to drag her out of it. Her new found liberties had tested her self control and she had failed spectacularly, giving in to the addictive lifestyle and flying off the rails. And yet, both of her parents hoped that she would grow out of it, learn some maturity, perhaps that was why they did nothing for almost seven years.
Only when she had turned twenty seven and was still acting as immaturely as she had been at twenty did they decide enough was enough. Zaiella was sent away to train with another retired Shinigami, not because he could offer better training but because he lived far away from the hubbub of the centre of Soul Society, owning a quiet mansion well out of the way of others. Shenji was the brother to Nobou’s first wife and the leader of another noble family, one which would not take her behaviour lying down.
She felt thrown to the wolves, the woman was sent away to train and learn to behave herself an in a way she did. Zaiella learned silence. When seven years after her departure to her Step Uncle’s house she returned as a silent, stoic and muscular young woman, Nobou was pleased and felt he had done the right thing. Of course Zaiella had not changed, all she had done was learned to bite her tongue when that would stop her getting what she wanted, and all she ever really wanted was a good drink down at the local bar.
Zaiella took the only escape she could think of, not being allowed to move out of the house she simply ran to the academy. Having a small place to sleep there and no one to watch her, the girl went somewhat wild again. It was obvious to her peers that she was one of the youngest there, to many of them she was little more than a child, their opinions reinforced by her behaviour. But despite both criticism from peers and teachers, Zaiella has not dampened her loud and brash spirit, only when in the company of unknown people will she drop back into the surly silence developed while living with her uncle.
[/color]
[/right][/blockquote]