Cassadriel ~ Shuten-Doji

NAME:
Cassadriel (kah-sah-dree’L’)

ALIASES:
- Shuten-Doji
- 酒呑童子
- 酒顛童子
- 酒天童子
- 朱点童子
- Drunken Demon
- Minamoto-no-Reiko

AGE:
- Shuten-Doji’s age: 1,219 years old (total)
- Angelic age: 9,499 (before falling)
- Since falling & inhabiting Shuten-Doji: 0 years (four months)
- Actual age: 9,499

APPARENT GENDER:
Male

HOMESPHERE:
Darkroot Domain

PICTURE: MORTAL/FORMER ANGEL APPEARANCE:

Spoiler:

PICTURE: DEMON:

Spoiler:

PERSONAL DETAILS

MORTAL DESCRIPTION:

This form is also how Cass appeared as an angel. With long bisque-colored ringlets and wheat bangs combed over one eye, he is the epitome of grace, able even to look angelic in Hell. His long hair lightly reaches down to his collarbone where it calmly rests. Standing tall at six-foot-one, he maintains that grace with each long and lanky stride. When he walks, he does to meanderingly as if he really had nowhere to go. Even with an objective, he acts as if it doesn’t really matter if he makes it there or not.

Pale skin, soft lips, he is often mistaken for a female in his beauty. But don’t be fooled; he is through and through a male by far. Usually decked out in skinny, white jeans and cowboy boots with a heel, you can most likely hear him coming. He makes no effort to conceal his presence. On top, he wears a sky blue sweater with white polka dots because he tends to get cold for no reason. Around his pants is a thick, brown leather belt usually with a holster on the right. In this holster, surprisingly his scythe condenses to fit. He doesn’t often carry his katana around, but when he does, it easily clips to the left side of the same belt.

Around his neck, he has a plain black leather tie. That’s all it is. He wears it as a necklace because it’s plain and simple and doesn’t really give anything away. Honestly, his appearance is rather plain. He goes through no trouble to appear like anything besides what he is. He’ll tie up his hair now and again, but he doesn’t have to go through any toil to make his hair look any better than it does. Naturally in perfect curls, the strands fall naturally where they are supposed to be without any effort. Perhaps that is something he was able to keep from his time above the clouds?

He has lavender-colored eyes that seem to hold the entire world within their depth. Having had seen so much with them, they sometimes suggest just that. Though, most of the time, he keeps them hooded with a false smile, the knowledge put away deep inside himself never to be collected by others.

His posture is fairly bent, looking as if he is tired all the time. He also appears to have a weak physique even if that is not the case. Having been a Watcher, appearing intimidating wasn’t really necessary, therefore he was given this depiction. Sometimes he gets terrible migraines and is stunted into immobility from the physical pain. This can be accredited to his memory being full and his short-terms leaking out.

His voice is soft, careful, and wispy on the ends. When he talks, he tends to fade out at the end of his words as if the listener has stopped caring about what he has to say. At other times, he can be obnoxious and hang all over someone to get their attention. He’ll poke at them and get in the way, pining for the attention he rather not have, but pretends to care about.

His expression never reveals his emotions. Unless completely shattered, his façade is a strong device with which to hide everything behind. Most of the time, he has a sloppy smile plastered on his face for all to see. Appearing cheerful and in high-spirits all the time is his forte. There are hardly any who can see through him, and he prefers it that way, while at the same time, wishing he could be that open. It’s painful and it’s hard to have to always pretend.

DEMON DESCRIPTION:

In his demon form, first to be noted is Cassadriel’s wings that he kept from his time as an angel. Strangely enough, they are a part of him even as a demon. They embody him, and refused to be removed even when the title of angel was torn from him. Even still, his core is that of an angel. Despite that, with silver hair and bangs that come to a point, he appears very much like one would expect a Japanese oni to. Sometimes his eyes are silver, sometimes they are yellow, sometimes they are red, but they almost always come to murderous slants. Cass typically only takes this form when he is battling. He is built strong with muscles like karasansui rocks. He holds himself rigidly and independently, standing at the same height of six-foot-one.

He adorns the same sad smile and distant, all-seeing eyes. His get up is old samurai armor from the Heian period with a collared purple and white long jinburai (sleeveless coat) over it. On that jinburai too is Shuten-Doji’s old family sigil with which Cass has no connection, but still feels one all the same. Towards the bottom of the jinburai, it breaks off into many separate cuts, fanning out around him, and giving him an intimidating aura. On his hands are black gloves that go all the way up his arms as a part of the armor covering nearly his entire body. Occasionally, when he goes full spiel, he’ll have on his helmet, which is a metal band around his forehead and the long, black hair of an oni billowing out around him. This hair is fire proof, and strong enough to stop steel, bullets, and grabby hands. Atop this helmet are two pillars of horns, giving him further the appearance of a demon.

His wings remain white, keeping their purity. However, if he is angry, sometimes they break out into black feathers that grow even on his armor like he is that of a tengu. His shin-guards reach up to his knees, jagged and black. On his feet are jingasa sandals made from metal, in which he can use the underside of his feet to block blows. However, he only wears tabi socks, which leave him vulnerable.

All in all, nothing else has changed. His voice remains the same; his manner of holding himself is, in fact, the same. He is the same person, is completely conscious of himself, but is usually involved in some sort of fight in order to resort to the form that reminds him of the past. Simply, in this form, he looks as though he walked right out of a Hokusai woodblock print, dressed in full samurai garb, ready for battle at any moment.

PERSONALITY:

Cassadriel hides behind an empty face, donning a façade to ease the minds of others. To avoid unnecessary inquiry, his go-to is a blank smile shrouded in lies. He masquerades as himself to prevent himself from losing himself. It’s okay with him to go on like this day after day, falling prey to the darkness growing behind that mask—drowning in his own repressed emotions. He stumbles through everything that’s happened, suffocating on falsity and stifling anything and everything to do with it. It’s the only way he knows how to exist. Yet each and every day, he has to start over.

Cassadriel’s personality has many different sides. On the surface, he has a refined, gentle attitude that appears to not be able to be breached by anyone let alone someone who is capable of getting close to him, but on the inside, there is a hidden sadness never expressed. He tends to enjoy hiding his true feelings about mostly everything as if he does not want to trouble the other person with his personal matters. He gained this scar while one time sharing with another demon his fateful story, not knowing that to do so was nearly taboo for such an older being such as himself. The demon was so horrified that she took her own life right there in front of him, returning into the stream of washed-out souls. Never again would he let free his grievances; he never wanted to become a part of anyone’s unhappiness.

Thus, Cass’ conclusion was to separate himself from his suffering and branch off, turning to independence entirely. His petshop assisted him with that, creating an ideal place with which to plant himself. While it may in part have embodied independence, mostly he just wanted something to keep his mind occupied and away from the pain.

Still, he loves people, encountering people and who they are—what they are, etc. He doesn’t care about their stories, histories, or pasts, but instead greets them as they are. It gives him some unique pleasure to see others and speak with them, reminding him of the long days with which he would Watch and Sovay would talk to him. A brief comfort in the bowls of hell, he clings desperately to any sinew of what he used to know.

He began to recognize people by his descriptions of them in his book, and because of that, grow into a sort of protective mentality. For any that he holds dear, he has this innate ability to care enough so that he feels the need to solve their problems for them. Therefore, he began to develop a complex where he views himself as a protector. He Watches over everyone and takes care to see if they are doing anything that could harm them. In a sense, it could be considered a mother hen type of attribute. However despite that, Cass is reckless. When concerning his own well-being, he couldn’t care less. In fact, it is in Cass’ best interest to cease existing. Already stuck in impasse, he hates everything he is and everything that he has become. If given the chance, he would beg for forgiveness the rest of his life. Yet at least now, that is impossible being the very thing that Heaven abhors. Instead, he has to face again his lost memories and this self every single day, pretending that he wants to keep going.

Secretly, he wants someone to see through him—to break down his façade, and tear him into the sunlight. Desperately, he plunders through this wish, feeling the insides tear apart every time he must lie to maintain his sanity. Secretly, he wants someone to be close to him again. Secretly, he wants to stop.

And yet, there are times despite the cruelties of life, when Cassadriel is actually happy. He takes enjoyment from teasing people and playing tricks on them, doing so often. He is naturally happy-go-lucky—the type to dance around somewhere and wave their hands fervently about. Though, if he doesn’t remember the person, he will be extremely polite to them at the start. It really depends on the degree of closeness between him and who he is encountering as to how he will act. And honestly, he can rant on and on about said person he is talking to, but if the subject ever ventures to himself, he will immediately clam up and act cold while retaining that dark smile at the same time. It’s a feat, really.
Birthed from the dark smile, is the demon within Cassadriel. Shuten-Doji, now a complete part of him, often slithers to the surface. There, is when a shadow passes over his face and a sharpness never before seen enters his eyes. He becomes blood thirsty, vicious, and uncaring. He no longer wishes to sit back as the Watcher, but instead desires to partake. Usually involving a slaughter of some kind pertaining to the Archdemons or anyone else he hates with all of his being, his evil side only surfaces when he allows it. A dangerous and regretful weapon, he only allows himself to become uncontrollable given certain circumstances. Wielding his scythe with insane maneuverability, his power can challenge many of the strongest Inferis has to offer.

When it comes to regular existence, however, he lacks in everything. Sometimes he’ll trip down the stairs like a complete idiot, and other times he’ll almost burn down the kitchen trying to cook something. He isn’t exactly clumsy because when it comes to a fight, he’s extremely sharp and precise—without a single wasted movement. Though, off-guard and around-the-house, he does become somewhat of a failure. He may be a vicious horror-striking demon or a forgiving Watcher of an angel sometimes, but most of the time, he’s pretty much a runaway train.

HISTORY:

Cassadriel was never young. Derived as an angel, he was created to serve. Another pawn under the hand of the great creator, he knew nothing else except to obey. He never made any mistakes, and was one of the most capable gregari employed by Heaven. As the Watcher, he saw everything and recorded all that took place within the realm of his sight. Expanding far and wide across dimensions, his existence was a hefty one, essential to the continuation of perfection. However, perfection bleeds imperfection, and upon the horizon awaited a twist of fate that even God himself could not have accounted for. Made to care—forged into empathy, the Watchers were easily taken in by curiosity and infatuation. Humans. Beings that did not make sense—beings that milled about in their sentient lives without so much as a glance upward at those who presided over them. Their ignorance—their soft, quick lives—a bang in the dark—a sweet whisper and then…nothing. That was what they were to Cass. His lavender eyes swam over them as if they were already ash, carefully conducting his work as if eternity was hardly an obstacle with which to face. He did not get bored, he did not falter, and he did not blink for millennia.

Not until he met Sovay. Sovay was created as a Reaper: Adrogenous, long black hair, green-tinted wings, gold armor, a sword, a scythe, and a smile. The way she moved also moved him. When he was watching, he would often watch her, intrigued by the young and vigorous invention of his Father. Reapers were made to take away the lives of the humans when they ended, and they always ended. The work piled up right at the start, and she was constantly on jobs, vanishing for periods of time, and coming back with a light in her eyes that Cassadriel had never seen before on any being of God. His attention was gathered, and he approached her, held a conversation with her. Short-lived and full of his amazement, they concluded on a note that suggested that they were friends. In all his years, he had never had reason to speak nor had he had anything with which to call a friend. Sharing himself now, spreading himself into another vocalized angel was the start of his end.

It touched him carefully—this mulling feeling of mutual acceptance. He oftentimes found himself looking for her—interested in her. Opinions that were once lost to him began to boil up inside and come spilling out into words, sentences, and expression. His face cracked away into something akin to human emotion in which he began to let loose upon Sovay and even a few other angels whom he saw each day. He was no longer a statue glued before his task; he was now a walker among the others, sharing himself blindly, knowing pain only from what he witnessed. Putting his heart into the open and grinning brilliantly, he went about his existence knowing now what it was like to really be.

Sovay taught him this. He did not know where it came from—if it came from being around humans so much, but she brought it back to him. For that, he was eternally grateful—for that, he was willing to overlook her detours in her job. She did not just take their souls, she spoke to them—learned from them. She brought him back stories—brought him back light with which to bathe in without considering the consequences of staining their purity with grey. He didn’t care. For once, he was lost in the fun of it, enjoying himself in the utopia that was built upon the ruble of ended lives. No complaints, no danger, he clung fervently to this friendship and a few others that grew over the many years they shared. As the Watcher, he recorded everything in large, long, ancient books that were delivered faraway. They became like journals some days, expressing himself and his reactions to the seen, but in others it was his old, emotionless style of mere observations. There were many like himself. He never considered the worth of his duty—simply performed it to the utmost of his ability without a second thought.

Until Sovay began to go every night to a place he could not reach. She would vanish away without a word, taking to the skies and to Earth. He grew concerned, barely writing his observation down, being vague, and leaving details out. He danced around it, while cautiously watching. One night, he truly followed her sight and gazed upon the place she had gone—into the home of a human named Jeremy. Bland enough, he could not grasp why she had gone when she was off duty. She would hum, brush his cheek, and let her presence be known to him. Had she made friends with a human? Was that blasphemy? He did not know—did not understand, and of all things, did not want to make it known. So he warned her. It was his first time being wary. Touching her shoulder so lightly it was as if he weren’t even there, he whispered in her ear to stop—he struggled with his words and fumbled over their meanings, but managed to tell her that he sensed it was wrong. There was no rulebook—no active knowledge of what couldn’t be done and what could be. All he knew was that they were made to do. And what to do was meant to be done. He felt anger that seared up within him, strangling him dry, and making each moment crawl by like lesser eternities. He writhed through it, swallowing the new emotion for Sovay’s sake. He did not record any of this. In his duties, he had blundered purposely and he would reap the consequences whatever they may be.

Sovay withdrew her sprees to Jeremy, going as often as she felt was possible. Each time she went, he did not write it. Each time she went, he felt a pull—a pang of something that could only be considered jealousy. It grew in him, coiled through his being, and began to eat at him. He stopped watching her. But then a day came when she was sent away to that same place—the day that Cass had been waiting for. As a Watcher, he knew things others did not—could predict things others could not. He saw it over and over again: the history of the fallen. Jeremy was supposed to die that day, but he did not. Sovay did not collect his soul, and left him to recover. Sadly, he watched as the boy became torn apart with himself—his glorious light ripping into shreds of doubt, darkness, and demolition. His soul rotted. And Cass began to write again. He wrote about the boy—about Sovay—about his guilt.

He knew that it was over. The Archangels stole Sovay away, and Cassadriel watched. They questioned her and told her what he could not. What she had given Jeremy was not another chance at life—it was a hole in which to lay in—a grave to only look up from. And the sky was vast—unreachable. He would fall further and further apart until there was nothing left with which to call Jeremy. She loved him. She loved a human. When she said so, Cass knew that he had already known it, but all the same, he felt pain. That day—that moment, he learned pain. Slowly it pulsed into something he wanted to run away from, but his wings felt heavy like cement—his eyes stuck open and unblinking like they used to be. He couldn’t get away, made to watch and made to record.

The Archangels first tore off her wings with stone faces and strong hands. Her screams covered him—seeped into his everything. The doors were shut tight, his body taught again the locks. Her agony…she wouldn’t even remember it. Her glow was stolen from her—her eternity gone in a wisp of mistakes. She was remade into a human, sent back to that very place she had grown so dearly to grasp. She was gone. Gone. And yet her screams were still piercing him. A pen was thrust into his hands, his fingers forced to move and form letters of warning to all angels. He wrote what he watched. He wrote and wrote until every drop of ink stained his mind and drew him further and further into darkness.

“It’s a beautiful lie.”

Where there was nothing but a long drop. In desperation, Sovay dragged Cass’ attention to her on Earth where she had seen for herself what she had done. He did not come to her aid, shaken entirely by the sounds of her pain she could no longer hear. However, when Jeremy was shot dead and collected by the vigorous Valkyrie Reaper that took her place, he reached out to Sovay from above, guiding her safely to a place where he knew she would be happy in her short breadth of life.

He couldn’t overcome it. He saw only pain and blinding wails of agony before his sight. He was rendered useless, corrupt by the very acts of the elite. Wing tearing, human ash, memory wipes, the darkness in which the light creates. He saw the shadow…and it sickened him. Before he consciously knew it, he fell through floors. The wind howled through his ringlet curls, covering him in clouds, dirt, and fire. Sovay’s scythe clutched in his hands, he spread his wings and tried to fly back up, but was weighed down by her. He couldn’t let go of it, heavy as it was…he just couldn’t let go.

この物語は続けていますが、他の章が始まらなくちゃならないのだ。

Shuten-Doji started as a warrior among warriors. Born already with a sword in his hands, he was the slayer of the slain. Purely evil, he found pleasure in seeing others suffer. With that suffering, he would pave forth a place on Earth where he could rage freely. Retainers and vassals readily within his grasp, he became of lord presiding over many. Born in Ganbara, Echigo (today’s Niigata prefecture) during the Heian period (presumably 794), he began his legend.

When he was 12 years old, he had grown to be a boy of imminent beauty. With silver hair and eyes, he was already the marking of an ethereal, and was he cherished. Day after day, he would receive confessions of love from girls and women alike. He basked in their adoration, but denied them all the chance to touch hearts or even skin. Each one of them wasted away into wrinkled shells of failure, dying essentially of broken souls. Unrequited entirely, all who approached him died without him ever having lifted a finger.

Rumors began to spread about the sudden deaths of so many females in the city, all having had associated with him. The eyes and finger-pointing began to turn towards him. One night, he was captured on his way home by the fathers of some of the daughters, wherein he was beaten unconscious. He was the plague—the omen that was taking so many lives. None stopped to protect him, none spoke up for him, and his fame grew. Females from neighboring villages came to see him for themselves, and in the acts of fools, fell in love. Scorned and hated, he began to burn each and every love letter he received, suffocating daily in the smoke that assailed his lungs. In the pyre, he became an ‘oni’—a ‘demon’ among the living. Moving from mountain to mountain, he eventually settled on Ooeyama (Mount Ooe in Fukuchiyama city about 2.5 hours from Kyoto visa express train that costs about 2400 yen one-way).

He began to abduct noble women of high birth into his mountain fortress, mixing their maiden blood with his sake. Enjoying them day in and day out, there was nothing to stop him. As time commenced, he soon became known as the strongest oni in all of Japan, becoming also one of the three great evil yokai. Ibaraki-Doji became his first subordinate as many others soon followed suit. It is said that Ibaraki-Doji was the only being in which his love was acquitted.

Eventually, word came to the Mikado and a punitive squad of Minamoto-no-Yorimitsu from Settsugenji and Watanabe-no-Tsuna from Sagagenji (the leaders of the Four Guardian Kings) dressed themselves as mountain priests to go to Ooeyama. The party received helped from many people, pretending to request lodgings for the night along the way. Finally, they reached Shuten-Doji’s fortress and did the same, rousing them all into a drinking banquet. They waited until right at the height of Shuten-Doji’s drinking bout before acting. When he was too drunk to notice, Yorimitsu planted “divine oni-poison sake” (神便鬼毒酒) in the mixture of blood and sake while Watanabe-no-Tsuna burst out into a battle with Ibaraki-Doji. Shuten-Doji drank the poison, which rendered him paralyzed. Unable to move his body, he fell into a deep slumber in order to root out the poison. However, while he slept, Yorimitsu raised his sword and let it fall upon the ‘demon’’s neck. Even decapitated, it is said that Shuten-Doji still tried to bite at Yorimitsu’s helmit. Seeing this, Ibaraki-Doji immediately retreated to avoid her own extermination. She was the only one who was able to flee.

Having had died in his mortal form, Shuten-Doji became just another cause of shouki (瘴気), becoming one with the Malebolge in Inferis. He spent 1,219 years in a state of no consciousness until Cassadriel was served his sentence. This sentence consisted of combining with a demon in order to taint the angel’s mind into that of a blood-curdling monster. He was to become the very creature with which he was not.

で、

When Cassadriel opened his eyes, he was no longer himself, but a fragment left over from his fall. Bloodied wings stretched out around him—silver hair hung over his eyes, marked by pupils that saw only Hell before him. In a heap of pain, he lay there, staring at the wasteland surrounding him, still in his hand clutched Sovay’s Scythe. He did not recognize that hand. He did not recognize what he was watching. Was it a dream? Tingling with everything that transpired, he still heard distant screams wafting about the colorless landscape, except now he couldn’t tell if they were Sovay’s or if they were his own.

Soft quiet graced him, lingering about the scars over his skin. Slowly, effortlessly, the unknown melded away into his long hair—into his lavender eyes—into what he was used to. This was who he was. Cassadriel stood up for the first time since becoming a demon, brushing himself off as if he could wash away the sin eating him alive. But what had he done? Mind numb, he wandered aimlessly through the darkness he had felt so pressed by. Drowning in air, he coughed through the shadow, and came out still breathing.

He settled in the Darkroot Domain, keeping entirely to himself amidst the vines and thick undergrowth. Hiding from anything that could see him, he withdrew further and further into himself as the hours passed. Drawing out his book out of habit, he began recording everything he saw, how he woke up, how he felt, his confusion, and detail upon detail. It was more than he had ever written before. And by the next day, he woke up without recollection of ever having fallen. He stared for hours blankly at the scythe, knowing it was Sovay’s and that its weight had dragged him down from Heaven, but nothing else. He dug through his plethora of memories which had become full over so much time and discovered blank pages. Pages. He withdrew his book and read it with shocking horror. He no longer had those memories from yesterday. Everything written in his own handwriting was foreign to him. It was as if someone had copied him and was playing a cruel joke. He didn’t understand, but continued the habit.

The next day, the same thing happened. His memory was full. He could no longer remember anything else. Each night at midnight, his short-term memory emptied out, leaving him as the fallen clean slate. He was forced into doing what he hadn’t done when he observed Sovay and Jeremy: record. If he didn’t record it, he would lose that day forever.

Finally falling into a pattern, Cass was able to live with himself like this, learning to read quickly and leave himself notes. He began to establish himself in Inferis, accepting his fate and able to move forward despite beginning each day again with the horror of having become a demon.

He built himself a petshop, gathering weaker demons to sell to stronger and more established demons like himself. Why he did this, he did not know (he forgot to write it down), but he guessed it had to do with feeling inferior. By selling these quirky demon pets, it was as if he were making a mockery out of demons in general despite being one. Still on the side of angels, every day he plotted the deaths of the Archdemons and Satan himself, hating them—hating them to the very core of his being. He wasn’t supposed to be here! He wasn’t meant—wasn’t created to become one of these...monsters. Cassadriel was a Watcher: he saw and he recorded the doings of the blessed, but now—now he recorded his own existence lest it be forgotten.


FACTION:
Greyscale

SKILLS:
- Smiling
- Playing pretend
- Watching
- Predicting others actions
- Caring
- Empathy
- Writing
- Speaking different Languages & Translating
- Iaido
- The art of wielding a scythe

WEAKNESSES:
- Memory loss
- Being doubtful
- Recklessness
- Lack of confidence or self-esteem
- Expressing himself
- Being trusting
- Sharing
- Zeke
- Letting people walk all over him

COLOURS:
- Angelic (yellow)
- Demonic (bisque)
- Latin (burlywood)
- Gaelic (tan)
- Spanish (sandybrown)
- Portuguese (chocolate)
- French (tomato)
- Italian (coral)
- Japanese (Kansai) (darksalmon)
- Korean (salmon)
- Chinese (Mandarin) (lightcoral)
- Afrikaans (palevioletred)
- Russian (lightpink)
- Finnish (violet)
- English (British) (orchid)
- Swedish (mediumorchid)

TRIVIA:

- Loses his memories every night at midnight
- Has terrible migraines
- Writes in his diary and makes a must-know check list every night so he can remember what has happened since he fell
- Is often confused by his own handwriting
- Doesn’t hate Sovay
- Doesn’t blame anyone
- Is widely knowledgeable on how Angels, Humans, and Demons act together or separately
- Never lost his wings, and still possesses them in demon form
- Appears in his mortal form unless battling
- His mortal form is how he appeared as an angel
- Denies his breed & has constant turmoil with the ‘demon’ inside himself
- Hates himself
- Often lies to outsiders and always wears a façade
- Secretly wishes for someone to break that façade
- Views existence as a game
- Isn't afraid to be insulted
- Is on the side of Heaven & lives to serve God
- Loves sake
- Is a funny drunk
- Owns a well-known Petshop in Inferis where he sells lesser demons as pets
- Is totally and incessantly infatuated with Zeke
- Cannot perform possession upon people
- Has a Zorigami (a possessed clock) that resets every time his memory does
- “A smile says a thousand words, so why would I have to say anything at all?”

USER DETAILS

ALIAS:
Aki

OTHER CHARACTERS:
Avery & Beelzebub

ROLEPLAY HISTORY:
14 years

FACECLAIM:
-

Code:

[b]BROTHERS CONFLICT[/b] :: [b]ASAHINA LOUIS[/b]

-

Code:

[b]SENGOKU BASARA[/b] :: [b]ISHIDA MITSUNARI[/b]

CUSTOM RANK:
戦わなきゃならないのだ

Archive date is September 13th.

Done! ^_^