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Kirizu, Iaska

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Kirizu, Iaska Empty Kirizu, Iaska

Post by Iaska on Sat Aug 24, 2013 3:23 pm


Kirizu, Iaska Wwkms6 Kirizu, Iaska Wwkms6Kirizu, Iaska Wwkms6
”Wandering is the greatest path to riches...and drinking.”


Kirizu Iaska

Demon Swordsman, The Void Sword, Grinning Scars, Samurai With A Clay Jug, Swordsman of Jingling Pockets

280 years old



Kirizu, Iaska Demon_Samurai_by_BiggCaZ

Kirizu, Iaska Jin
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Kirizu, Iaska Jin-samurai-champloo-19839423-1280-800
Kirizu, Iaska Samurai_Champloo_Jin_by_kingv
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Kirizu, Iaska Jin-samurai-champloo-19839426-642-900
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Kirizu, Iaska Jin-sem-camisa-samurai-champloo-c5551
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The first feature to be noticed about Iaska's demon form is the skin of it. Tight, rough, charcoal black skin formed over incredibly thick muscle. He is incredibly scarred, from small, thin cuts to large, jagged gashes and yet no matter how fresh they look on his body, they never bleed. His face seems to be missing a nose and is rather just a smooth edge with two slits, almost like a certain dark sorcerer who shall not be named. His mouth is usually a grin, flashing shark-like, zig-sag teeth that would be horrible to lose an appendage in. His ears are large and are of a goblin sort with their pointy-ness and such. Stemming from his forehead are two upturned horns with lie above his squinting, sinister, crimson red eyes. His hair is a a sort of peppery black, with silver streaks over his braid. His clothing consists of battered bandages around his waist and forearms, grey tobi trousers that fit into his jikatabi, and dark red haidate (thigh guards). He stands tall and confident, with a bit of lean  in his stance to show his cockiness.

Iaska is white as white could be; a pale, pasty complexion over a lean muscular build. His face is also just as pale, gaunt with bold jaw lines. Jet black hair is set back in a tail and two frontal bangs frame his face and his widow's peak hairline. Over his dark eyes are a pair of silver framed glasses which are really there "just to make him look smarter". These glasses rest on a thin, pointed nose over a set of thin lips, usually shaped in a frown, smirk, or sneer. He wears the traditional samurai garb of his period; the Tokugawa period. His kimono is a dark indigo with sleeves that reach his wrists with barely any excess hanging material. It's tucked inside of a pair of black hakama which is tied in by a red sash. His feet are clad in tabi atop straw sandals. He's often slouched, disinterested, and rather lazy looking with a large clay jug full of sake that he keeps on hand at all times.

Iaska was never morally upstanding for his time on earth. Perhaps it was his greed or pride that landed him in Hell, but they definitely played huge parts in his personality in the afterlife. Unlike formal samurai, Iaska became a ronin only a few years into his career as a samurai, which were the final years of his life, so the life of a vagrant began to imprint on him. He came to know the true value of earthly pleasures such as money, alcohol, and sleep. He's very loose compared to samurai of his time, having more in common with a common thief or bandit than with warrior. He's definitely greedy, keeping money and some precious stones on him and would kill anyone to keep his money and do the same to get more money than he already has. He does what is necessary to survive as a masterless ronin. He cares for little to nothing outside of himself, loyalty being to the coin rather than the man handing it out. Even if money were useless, he'd still do anything for it to fill that void of self worth.

With little to spend his money on than food and a place to sleep, he found a fondness for the bottle. Sake. He loves the stuff and carries it with him wherever it goes. Whenever he was down, the Happy Jug was right there with him to make him feel all warm and happy. He's a borderline alcoholic, but he's a happy drunk most of the time until he feels threatened, then one should watch their fingers for they might be missing one reason or another.

Iaska, over the years, warped his sense of honour into pride. He wouldn't dare let anyone find him weak or inadequate as a swordsman will deny no challenge to uphold his name.  Pride, greed...carelessness....none of the really appealing emotions, right? Well, there's reason behind that. Negative emotion can be powerful, but positive can be even moreso, especially when it comes to hurting himself. He prefers his loyalty to coin over loyalty to emotion because coin is less easily betrayed and doesn't hurt as much as broken trust.

Yet, over the years, he's accepted that the time of samurai has loooong since passed and has...assimilated modern slang and mannerisms into his own being as well while also keeping his roots incredibly strong. He does not speak incredibly proper like those sophisticated samurai do in those animes and so forth, but rather normal in terms of well...character.

But never make him mad. Never insult his family, his style, his booze, his strength...y'know what? Just never insult him. He will go out of his way to end your life as quickly as possible and while he has some semblance of patience, God does he enjoy striking down a lil' hubris. He's somewhat hypocritical, killing thieves, bandits, lecherous pervs...yet he does it all himself and he knows this. He just kills them because they don't DESERVE to get away with it or aren't smart or talented enough to get away with it.

1732. Japan. It was an age before the imperialist Meiji era; the Tokugawa period. People could still carry swords in public and samurai still abounded in the several thousands. 300 regional Daimyo under one Shogun. Cultural and artistic growth, economic growth, and isolation from the rest of the world. To Kirizu Iaska, 14th samurai of the Kirizu clan under the 56th Daimyo, it was absolute bliss. Around his father's dojo was nothing but quiet airs and pleasant neighbors. Inside the dojo, it was strict, disciplined, focused, and often times painful. Bokken crossed, father and son locked in deep thought and combat. Iaska never fought his father with full force, keeping on the defensive against him. He didn't want to hurt his father, physically or emotionally speaking. He loved his father and wanted to show him what he could do...but to shame his father in front of his students was something he could never do. Cause he knew he could. He knew he was stronger stuff than his father. Iaska could see age affecting him, how his hands shaked on his bokken now or how he kept misjudging distance and slashing too short.

It wasn't too long after his father died (in his sleep) that Iaska took up his father's place as a samurai. Only a few short years later, he was married with three beautiful children that he loved and spent his time with every day, teaching them as his father taught him. They lived a very domestic life, with only the occasional leave to escort important persons or caravans, even picking up some mercenary work to help with his ever-declining salary. Soon, once the daimyo were forced to cut their armies, the mercenary work became more and more common to him to be able to provide for his family. He continued on further and further, farther away from his family following the work. He would send his earnings home and sleep under awnings and on the streets. And yet, he would sleep peacefully knowing his family was okay.

One bit of mercenary work sat him on a horse-drawn cart, filled to the brim with barrels of spices. Only him and a large, muscular driver with the reigns tightly in his battered knuckles. Iaska scanned the bases and limbs of the trees surrounding the small, beaten path that the wooden wheels clicked along the small pebbles and stones. It was early spring, the chill of the past winter still clinging heavily to the air as if some unseen cold was reaching out. "You shouldn't scan like that. Bandits never come out when you do that," the large companion whispered.

Iaska turned his doll-like, dark eyes to the man, not turning his head from the winding road. "Why would I want to let them come out?"

"You're a ronin, aren't ya? Need extra money, I'm sure, been working your ass off just to get anywhere close to what you used to make."

"How did yo-"

"Your swords. Dead giveaway. Anyway, what I was saying, bandits usually have money. You can kill 'em and take their wallets, buy all the booze and concubines you want."

"Booze and concubines aren't things I'm interested in."

The man looked to Iaska, a full, angle cut beard covering most of his face with sunken-in eyes, an eyebrow raised in slight confusion. "Then what is a ronin like YOU interested in then?"

"My family, of course." With a small smile, a few bushes on the edging of the road spitting out a few filthy, unwashed brigands with scrappy clothes, katanas tied to their belts. Iaska gave his driver a pat on the back and the cart came to a stop. Pale, sandal-clad feet clicked onto the hardened clay as he approached the group. "Gentlemen," Iaska cooed, a palm resting on the hilt of his katana, "you should go right back into those bushes and let us pass.

They drew their swords. Strikes one through three were committed in that one instance. Iaska barely gave a slash per bandit to dispatch them; their forms were sloppy and their stances even moreso. He stooped down and reached into the sashes of their clothing to find small, leather pouches with the pleasant sound of coin. He dropped all of them into his kimono then climbed back onto the cart to a set of stunned eyes over that overly bushy beard. Iaska simply gestured to the road.

"Shall we proceed?"


After a paycheck well procured, Iaska thought back on what his client had said. had been ages since his last drink. What could one hurt, he asked himself, as he stepped into a small restaurant. One became two. Two became four. Four became eight and so on. He hadn't felt this great in a long time, so lucid, so fluid. He felt unstoppable. He decided to see if it was true. Fancy looking loudmouths had been the only discomfort to his drinking and he decided it was high time someone did something about it. As he stumbled away, everyone saw a dead man. He didn't know what hornet's nest he was stepping into. Yakuza.

Iaska's fist smashed into the face at the head of the table. "Willya shut da hell *hiccup* up? I'm sick an' tiyad of yo' bullshiet. Kirisu samurai deserve to have a peacful drank!" They all stood at once and grabbed him by his kimono. It was almost too quick. A flash of glinting steel as a tanto went across his throat. His life flew before his eyes in every droplet of garnet blood as his body fell in slow motion into the table beneath him.

And he kept falling. As he fell, he thought only of his hubris. How cocky he was, how he let his family down. What they'd think of him. Would they even know he died? These thought hurt him. Not emotionally however, but physically. His muscles burned and were sculpted by self hatred, his own thoughts molding his body into the monster he saw himself as. The thoughts of his loved ones cut him like serrated torture devices, drawing scars over him like a sadistic artist.

His body found ground after what seemed like an eternity. His bare flesh curled and writhed in pain on the shores of the Black Sea. The wake of the water licked at his hands as he lay bleeding, only for moments as his body finished healing from the cuts and creating dark scars. Horns ruffled against the sand as he brought himself to sitting up, facing the black waters and red sky. Iaska knew where he was. Whatever it was, no matter what language, he knew. This was where he belonged. But he was still a ronin. He was still masterless. Therefore, he was poor. But as the years went on, he started to embrace the lifestyle that killed him. Only because what physical pain that came from it was not anywhere on par with the pain he felt falling from the life he once had. The good life. But the bottle helped dull those memories. And through years of surviving, theiving, and killing, he just simply accepted it wholeheartedly.



Master Samurai: Taught to be proficient in any weapon used by his warrior class, including polearms, bows, swords, knives, etc.
Flash Step: Iaska has a speed far beyond what a human can achieve; he's incredibly hard to track when he's sprinting around the enemy, but it's only over short distance. Keeping that speed has its toll.
+20 to Thievery: Has an adept hand for picking pockets and unlocking things.
The Pain is Meh: Has a very high pain tolerance

MY JUG!: Iaska will go after his jug like he would his own son. He will kill anyone or anything to get it back. He often sets it to the side for combat.
A Greek tragic hero: His overdeveloped sense of pride gets him into quite the amount of trouble.
Money: Taking it or offering it in large sums will result in decapitation or loyalty, respectively.

Speaks Japanese, Demonic, and English


-If fighting one handed, Iaska will use his left hand unless he finds his opponent at his level
-Uses speed more than actual defense, rather used to slicing foes in half to begin with
-Often hunts for his own food and camps around Inferis, usually leaving an animal pelt blanket and a smoking campfire where he's been
-Loves caves, for they are good for hiding loot and sleeping
-Can't stand jade. The color, the texture...just none of it.
-He loves a good fight, but anything he finds beneath him he's just kinda bored.
-Loves to drink, but often does so alone.
-Normally talks business and different alcohols and not much else unless he really finds you good enough to carry on a conversation with.
-If he could have a bigger jug, he would. That's really his only complaint with his life.




Jerome Fontaine, Vanessa Helsing, Heiwa Karasu, Leviathan

Quite a while. Sit a spell and I'll spin ya a yarn.

[b]Samurai Champloo[/b] :: [b]Jin[/b]

Sake-Dipped Blade

Last edited by Iaska on Sun Aug 25, 2013 6:56 am; edited 1 time in total

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Kirizu, Iaska Empty Re: Kirizu, Iaska

Post by Iaska on Sat Aug 24, 2013 3:23 pm


Done. :3


Speaks Japanese, Demonic, and English

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Kirizu, Iaska Empty Re: Kirizu, Iaska

Post by Alice the Chopper on Sun Aug 25, 2013 9:26 am


Nice read.


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Kirizu, Iaska Empty Re: Kirizu, Iaska

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