Post by Tanaka on Mar 8, 2009 10:45:31 GMT -4
Shinigami
Name: Takeki Tanaka
Gender: Male
Age: One hundred and twenty seven
Division: second
Rank: fourth seat
Physical Description: Whilst many shinigami are muscular and well developed, occasionally to the point of absurdity Takeki is somewhat more subtle in his build though he is by no means a weakling. Standing a little shy of six feet he is notable but not remarkable, the impact of his height is also somewhat lessened by the way his head is often lowered and shoulders ever so slightly slumped. His skin is almost sickly pale and his face is gaunt to say the least. Sunken sockets are punctuated by semi permanent grey bags under his eyes and his sunken cheeks are given an odd shade by the permanent short yet unattended and scruffy stubble that lines his jaw. At rest his facial expression seems slightly unenthused and his distinctive dark eyebrows give him what looks like a permanent scowl, an effect heightened by developing frown lines upon his brow. He looks unwashed, unkempt and to be frank he does not much care for physical appearances. His hair is the only thing that seems clean but then again it is so dark and so slicked back, punctuating his high hair line, that it could well be filthy and no one would no. Upon first glance he just looks tired, dull, grey and worn down. But a second look reveals something which betrays all this, his eyes. They are sharp and bright, a beady blue which just reeks of both intelligence and alertness They are the sort of eyes that never seem to look at you but you just know he is watching. Those eyes that watch everything and notice everything.
However, these are rarely displayed, Takeki has realised the advantages of looking like an non entity. People will often do and say all sorts of things and not even know you are there. So he takes steps to hide his eyes and often his face all together. His most commonly used method is a cowl or hood added on to his normal shinigami robes, throwing the upper half of his face into shadow. Other times he has been known to wear contacts to conceal the sharpness of his eyes one thing he does not do is wear sunglasses because sunglasses next to traditional cloths stick out like a sore thumb. The rest of his attire is similarly non descript, at least at first glance. All he looks like is a normal shinigami with a hood. However, when he goes on long trecks or into what he suspects may be a fight he tends to don two other items of clothing. One is a crude belt with simple, unrefined pouches such as a feudal peasant may wear and the second is a matching pack. Often he also carries a tall walking staff only marginally shorter than he is giving him a hermit or pilgrim like appearance. The staff itself is simple oak, merely a walking aid and improvised fighting tool against humans and other weak opponents. It is by no means his zanpakuto though he rarely lets this on, if he can misdirect a foe he will. Also upon close inspecting it becomes clear that Takeki has two other unusual pieces of clothing. Rather than wearing sandals as is the norm he seems to wear sturdy, black modern boots as well as thin black gloves.
Personality: He is a quiet man and often waits for someone else to speak first, furthermore he is never in a hurry to speak and will leave long pauses before speaking to find the right words or give the right effect. But his words are concise and effective, at least in his own mind. He thus seems far off and unfriendly, certainly unapproachable and to many that is an accurate portrayal. He tends to dislike the muscle bound, prizing speed, subtlety, cunning and guile over any amount of physical strength. It takes quite something to get over his automatic prejudices and the way to do it is not to be his friend, though that may come later, but rather to earn his respect. What he particularly detests are the all too common attitudes of superiority, confidence and even arrogance showed by the strong bodied. Furthermore he has a contempt for those he regards as feeble minded, whether they be mindless slaughter machines or just plain stupid. Conversely he has a great respect for the intelligent meaning those in fourth and twelfth divisions are often on a good starting point with him and to a lesser extent those in second, first and ninth. Indeed he has a particular interest for new scientific advances and though he approaches the majority of it with a purely amateur interest any technology that can be applied to his trade he keenly exploits.
Takeki regards the honour of personal combat as a ridiculous and out moded system. If he has to kill someone why engage them face to face and leave yourself open to harm when you could poison their drinks or booby trap their house? Even when direct force is needed why must it be brute strength? Trickery, ambush, misdirection and dirty tricks get the job done and with much less risk to yourself. Why when dispatching hollows must he destroy them himself? Far better to get them to destroy one another if possible or at least weaken and distract each other? Why, when required to gather information, must you barge in sword aloft. Far better to sneak in undetected, even posing as one of the enemy and take or duplicate the information so the enemy never knows it is stolen. It would be easy to say he has no sense of honour but that is not strictly the case. He merely has no sense of honourable combat or methods. Where his sense of honour comes into play is loyalty and chain of command. He will never disobey an order unless the motive behind it is obviously suspect. He will never plot the murder or dishonest downfall of a superior to take his or her position, he would only take it by honourable means and he would never betray the soul society or indeed his friends, though if the two came into conflict the soul society must come first. Leading on from this, if you were ever to be his friend a more stalwart companion you would never find, just don’t expect him to be sympathetic. Emotions never really were his strong point.
But he does take joy in a convoluted scheme or trap coming to fruition, he adores it when the best laid plans of mice and men do not go awry and can take an oddly detached view of proceedings just to appreciate them for the Machiavellian art, even if that ploy somehow damaged the soul society, he would still kill the perpetrators but he would appreciate the mind he was destroying.
History:
Life: He was born about as normal as you could be in 1852 with one important acceptation, his father was an immigrant the Great Britain when then married his mother a native working girl on the streets of Sheffield. Unfortunately normal was not something you wanted to be, because in Britain at the time that meant you were part of the down trodden masses and social mobility was close to impossible, you had to be at least middle class to stand a chance in life and for the poor and impoverished there were two options. The mill or the army. At least in the mill you had a longer life expectancy and so as the oldest of four, large families being more of a long term investment for the poor then, He was put out to work to help feed the family before he had even finished school. Unfortunately modernisation and increasingly efficient machines resulted in job cut backs and so he was forced into the second option, the army. Once drafted he was quickly placed in an old rifle regiment, and although rifled weapons were now the norm the rifle regiments were still used as light infantry. As such his role was primarily one of recognisance, skirmish and sharpshooting. A specialty of these old regiments was to pick off officers and sergeants thus crushing the moral of rank and file. Thankfully he managed to avoid any major conflict until the year of his death. In 1882 the Anglo Egyptian war broke out and Cairo and more importantly Suez were seized and brought under British control, our man was part of the expedition forces and unfortunately his number must simply have been up. No heroics, no tragedy or poetic end. A bullet simply caught him in the neck as he was ordered to advance and he died without note like so many thousands before him.
Early Death (Pre enlistment.)This was when things began to turn interesting. Upon his arrival in the slums he immediately set to work, the environment was not all that strange to him, after all it was like the streets he had grown up in, though of course he had no memory of those events, he just knew how to deal with a poverty ridden area as if by instinct. First and foremost you had to have something you could trade, the rarer and more vital the better. Unfortunately he had no items to sell so instead he sold his services. He knew how to be crafty, sly and subtle. At first street gangs used to employ him as a petty pickpocket but as time went on they realised his aptitude and put him to more vital tasks. Breaking and entering, stealing items from rival gangs, contract burglaries from the wealthy, planting evidence or the disposal evidence of it and generally spying on the competition. Simultaneously this fulfilled the second rule, get in with people who can protect you. This state of affairs went on for some long time and he was starting to become something of a character, the sort of man people whisper nervously about in back alleys. But through all this time he avoided actual fighting as much as possible and when a fight was inevitable he would like to lay traps, plan ambushes or the like, anything to make the fight as unfair as he could make it. It was on one of his ventures into the wealthier parts of town that he heard two nobles speak. One was the owner of the house he was robbing and the other was an unidentified man who carried himself with a certain air of dignity and command. Neither seemed to notice that Takeki was hiding in the rafters above them and that allowed him to eavesdrop in on a conversation. They talked about a new round of recruitment for the thirteen divisions that was about to come to a close, a round that seemed to be open to anyone.
Well that was enough for him, listening to yet more of the conversation he ascertained the location of the academy and crept their post haste, determined to leave his slum based life behind, it seemed history was repeating if he did but know it. Upon arrival however, he had a bright idea. Rather than waiting in line, filling in forms and being sized up he instead subtly broke into the deputy head of admissions’ office whilst the man was there and sat down unnoticed in front of the man, uncannily and indeed unconsciously in his desire to go unnoticed, his sheer will to do so he had learnt to suppress his reiatsu, his spiritual signature to the point where it was unnoticeable to all but the most attentive of people. It was certainly enough to surprise the deputy chief of admissions and an excellent opening ploy for admission, an unusual demonstration of skills, it worked.
Academy days: These were spent doing hard slog, that is about the only way it can be termed. He was naturally gifted at the more sly and subtle ways of going about things and he excelled in theoretical work and the creation and analysis of strategy across all practicable time frames. Indeed such was his aptitude for this that he studied largely living world generals and military theorists, took their tactics and principles, picked the best and then applied such principles to a shinigami skill base. He called this work “The application of force.” With the subtitle “A radical new look at shinigami strategy.” The work was controversially received partly because it was written by someone who was considered inexperienced but mainly because it attacked the very core of shinigami warfare, it advocated squad based fighting and tactics and tried to do away with personal duelling. Despite the ill reception it was seen as a novel work with a creditable mind behind it and thus he excelled in that area of the academy. With great skills in infiltration and recognisance he seemed set to be assigned to assassination or recognisance. There were even a few whispers about him being placed in first division however, traits in his personality and strange niche interests such as traps, ambushes, novel weapon use, traits he had picked up in his spare time when he used to try and lean as much as possible from twelfth division, and a preference for speed and precision over might eventually got him slotted into second division as graduation approached. However, an unfortunate obstacle lay in his way. A dislike for straight fighting had meant that his actual duelling and sword play skills were a tad under par shall we say. Since he was nowhere near enough familiar with his zanpakuto to rely upon it in his eyes he spent the last few months tirelessly working on hand to hand skills, or perhaps more accurately working on his legs because he knew even with a weapon in hand legs would still be available for nifty foot work and handy kicks. This last gargantuan effort managed to make him scrape through the actual combat section of the examination by the skin of his teeth.
The skin of his teeth however if not something this man likes to live by and so we enter a period of solitude.
Recent History (The Hermit): Rather than go straight into active service he was permitted a brief period of isolation, though he had to present a sterling case for it. In short this time was supposed to make up for his combat failings. He would take what books and teachings he could carry and go away into the woods and isolate himself just practicing, just training every day. This he did and he did so with admirable zeal and determination. At first building upon his unarmed base he became increasingly quick though the elusive goal of the flash step evaded him, much to his continual annoyance. It seemed he would have to work on that later, perhaps under supervision. He also realised his kido abilities left something to be desired and so rather than try and bring his repertoire up to scratch, he lacked time to do that, he instead focused on the reverse demon spell to nullify the enemies advantage, a simple yet profoundly useful trick. Furthermore he decided he needed to by himself what he called breathing room techniques. Things that can give you threat momentary advantage, that bit of respite. Unfortunately due to his lack of experience he was only able to pin down thrust and strike, the latter being one he worked particularly hard on realising its value but also realising it could push the limits of his lack of instruction.
But all this work paled in comparison to one thing, one thing he had to do and that was get in touch with his zanpakuto which he had been sadly neglecting. He would go days, or even weeks without eating, meditating with his weapon in a cave with only the drip of water to drive him slowly insane. But slowly, bit by bit, the work paid off and it was beautiful.
Current History (The return and position)Upon the end of his hermitage he returned, not a different man but wiser most certainly and that was clear to all, hence his rapid placement to fourth position. Though mission wise he is relatively inexperienced his potential and unusual wisdom is undeniable. Furthermore since his return he has made a note of acquainting himself with the modern world or to be more accurate the modern military world. He has become increasingly nervous of some form of chemical or biological warfare that will someday be adapted for the spiritual world and used to devastating effect. Ever the advocate of unconventional tactics he has been a strong advocate of such a weapons program to be carried out by twelfth division, all to no avail. None the less, one of the satchels on his belt holds a gas mask just in case. Besides, who is to say some hollow will not hold the ability to release noxious fumes? He has also gone about reacquainting himself with the latest tools for traps and subterfuge and now hopes to deploy such knowledge and devices.
Additional Info: An interesting hang over from the nature of his death he is paranoid about things close to his neck, where he was shot, especially anything that could hurt him. He does not know why he has the fear, he just does.
General
Name: Dokueki (Venom)
Spirit Description: The creature has the rear half of a serpent but the front half, including the two front legs, of a great lizard, resembling a Komodo Dragon. The creature is permanently bitter about its state and having to drag the rear half of its body on the ground but it takes it with surprisingly good grace. However, the creature has a sadistic bent in his personality and whilst Takeki only uses dishonest methods out of practical concern Dokueki actively enjoys it.
Sealed: It takes the form a short sword with a slightly curved grip to allow for rapid and swift manipulation in the hand of the wielder, Takeki particularly focuses on using the blade at an array of odd angles and surprising positions. The blade is not straight either it is slightly narrower at the hilt than at the head and curves up a tad at the end as well as broadening. The thrusting tip is savage but it is only single edged and although this may seem a disadvantage he often fights with the blunt side dangerously close to his arm. The blade is short enough to be concealed, without trace, underneath his robes, this he almost always does making people focus on his distraction of a staff. Furthermore, whilst not strictly a quality of the blade itself it is almost always coated in venom. Takeki hates a straight fight. This venom is applied by Takeki himself just as an assassin my apply poison to an arrow head or dagger, it is not an inherent quality of the weapon. The effect of this venom is not as powerful as the venom detailed in shikai, for a start it has no effect on reiatsu and acts far more like a conventional poison. It takes thirty seconds to have any sort of effect before sensory perception is effected. Vision is blurred and pain begins to wrack the victim though no actual damage is being done. Though he keeps this fact a secret, in essence this venom is used to damage moral and the accuracy of an opponent’s fighting style This is the extent of this level of poison. Please note that this is treatable, also when Shikai is activated this venom does not disappear, it still coats the blades edge
Shikai
Activation Phrase: Spit Dokueki, spit your putrid bile!
Appearance: Now the weapon takes the form of a zweihander blade, a much less subtle weapon but still the venom clings to it. Inside the great hand is something of a sting in the tail as a hidden telescopic spike the length of the handle is located within the grip and can spring from the pommel, this too is edged with venom and is a nasty surprise. The weapon, though looking hefty is made of surprisingly light weight material and can be turned with the likeness of a short sword. The blade itself is mat black to stop shine or gleam to give away subtle and swift movement or the location of the weapon from a distance.
Abilities: The first ability is arguably the most useful. This ability is primarily used for dealing with individual opponents quickly and with as little fuss as possible. With a long range it in essence feeds off of a small degree of the wielder’s reiatsu sucking it in, condensing it in the pommel into an almost solid lump almost smaller than the bone in the end of your little finger. This is then channelled down the length of the blade and hurled at great velocity towards the target, the target being whatever the tip is pointed at. Upon impact it tears a small hole through the opponent similar to white lightning only this is harder to resist. Indeed it is designed to penetrate personal defences and blocks, though as with everything, especially mere Shikai it will have difficulty by passing the hardier defences. However, as with everything to this weapon there is a sting in the tail venom, left behind by the attack, courses out through the wound into the rest of the body but now the venom is more aggressive than the venom applied by Takeki himself and corrodes reiatsu, or more accurately the method through which it flows and courses. The practical upshot of this is that whilst the conventional venom works to kill the targets body the unconventional venom renders demon arts and other such techniques weaker and harder to control, the effect of which worsens over time if not seen to. Note, the bellow description relates to someone of his own power level.
Generally the reiatsu based poison takes effect more quickly since it is carried to hubs and crossroads in the energy’s flow. This effect comes in three stages, the first stage is the noticeable weakening or loss of power from all forms of reiatsu based attack which draw off of the victims own reserve. This stage gradually worsens over the course of roughly a minute until the second stage is reached. In this second stage higher level or more energy intensive attacks become completely unusable whilst lower level ones now start suffering acutely from lack of power. The third stage takes place roughly one more minute later. In this reiatsu channelling becomes effectively impossible, kido and similar attacks are useless and channelling power to limbs to aid in speed or strength, even to stay afloat in the air, becomes impossible.
Simultaneously the more conventional venom, which works on the body, takes effect but it is slightly slower acting. For roughly thirty seconds the victim will likely not even realise they have been affected. Then sensory perception becomes effected, vision blurs, spacial awareness suffers, fine motor skills decrease and severe headaches close in. This stage lasts for roughly two minutes. Next limbs begin to convulse and spasm making coordinated fighting close to impossible. There are other less dignified effects as well, vomiting is common place, often blood will be present in the vomit. Furthermore effects such as headaches and blurred vision worsen to a state close to complete lack of sensory function or clarity. Add to this severe stomach pains and it becomes clear that the victim is rendered almost helpless
Note that at all stages the effects are treatable though treatment becomes progressively harder the longer it is left unchecked, since both sides of the venom are complex it will likely take a medical professional, or equivalent, to stabilise the victim. Even then the said professional must be spiritually trained, conventional human medicine will not suffice. Even after stabilisation complete recovery make take some time, especially from the physical symptoms resulting in victims being hospital bound for some time unless some radical treatment is pioneered or if anyone gets their hands on Takeki’s poison kit, often carried in his pack. Although he has been unable to synthesise this venom for general use he has pioneered a cure which he has kept a close secret. He carries this cure in his poison kit just in case he should accidentally hit himself or the wrong man, or even if a friendly duel were to get a little out of hand.
Unfortunately since this attack feeds partially of the power of the user and requires something of a degree of effort on the weapons part it cannot be used repeatedly for long nor can it be used extremely rapidly at all.
The second ability is where the weapon, lending some of its strength to the user allows him to move with greater strength and power, though not necessarily speed, than before. However, in borrowing this he also borrows some of the venom inherent in the weapon gradually poisoning himself and though the dose is not nearly so large as any doses intentionally dealt to his foes it is still worth noting that prolonged use will build up to a dangerous level.
Bankai: None as of yet
Shinigami Techniques
Reverse Demon - This technique nullifies an opponent's kidô
by hitting them with a perfectly opposite surge of energy.
Thrust - Pushes target away from the caster.
Strike - Engulfs a target in red light, paralyzing them completely
*Incantation: Disintegrate, you black dog of Rondanini! Look upon yourself with horror and then claw out your own throat!*
Additional
He carries a lot of extra equipment including a short tool knife, a venom kit complete with cures, trip wires, electrical wire, mortar and pestle, simple explosives, rope, gas mask, accelerants, camping equipment, a multitude of needles, a syringe. This equipment is carried in the pouches on his belt or in his pack. If he is not carrying those then he is not carrying the extra equipment either. Please note that the venom carried in this kit is of the same nature as the venom which coats the blade in it’s sealed state.
Other Characters: None
Roleplay Sample:
Night, night was bad. Night was when they got you. Night was when you hid. Just as a rather unusual man was doing now. He had clambered into an attic and pulled up the door behind him, closing it firmly and checking the walls for any possible holes, maybe looking for ways out but actually looking for ways they could get in. As with more or less all attics the place was full of cardboard boxes whilst bare roof insulation could be seen poking out from between the wooden supports of the roof above, it was dark and windowless, that was good. After a thorough check our strangely dressed man seemed to relax and slump down in the corner, placing his back pack on the ground in front of him as well as the rest of his equipment. Since he is no longer scurrying around the attic checking every nook and cranny now would be a good time to stop and have a look at the man. The first thing anyone would notice was he was not clean, his clothes were smeared with dirt and grime, shoulders and boots were scuffed his stance was worn, he seemed ground down. He was wearing what was clearly a rough but well made light brown jacket with a hood which was whipped up over his head, his trousers were similar but with many deep pockets, and smaller pockets on some of those big pockets, this man was clearly intending to carry a lot of stuff. He wore what was clearly an old army belt with that trade mark breathe and brass buckle holes and attached to this belt were a number of matching pouches designed to hold an array of items but many of them were magazine pouches. Similarly the straps of his back pack had magazine pouches and his pack, once again obviously an old army one, was bulging with kit. His boots were tough, durable and caked with mud and a little blood. His face was obscured by a gas mask that looked unusually well maintained. Across his lap was an old, but good condition, AK seventy four, often confused with the forty seven with what looked like an under slung grenade launcher, offsetting the beautifully maintained weapon was a crudely strapped on flashlight just right of the muzzle, held by duck tape it looked like an improvised add on, which it was. A large knife, not military issue but more like a Ray Meres survival knife was at his waste and a pistol holster clear concealed a weapon. This well armed man’s intent was less than clear, why was he in this attic? It looked as though he was moving in as a squatter as after a few moments of relaxing he pulled what looked like some salted jerky from a pocket and pulled down his hood revealing messy, unwashed brown hair and then removed his gas mask showing a pale, tired face with great bags under his eyes and a hollow look about him, rough stubble marked his face and he seemed a little mean, something in his eyes betrayed a deeper element of his mentality. He now started chewing on his jerky, stuffing as much in his mouth in one go as he could, freeing up his gloved hands to handle his weapon and start doing routine weapon checks before replacing mask and hood and settling down to sleep. Sleep was bad, sleep left you vulnerable, it left you open to them but you had to sleep, no matter how much you fought it you had to sleep and just pray you made it through the night.
Sometimes though, sometimes prayer worked and you saw another dawn. But it was a quiet dawn, only the birds marked the rise of the sun, no cars, no hustle or bustle, just the birds. Rising slowly the man in the attic picked up his weapon, slung on his pack and went to the hatch opening it slowly and just listening, for what was not clear but silence rained, aside from the birds there was nothing, nothing at all and so our man lightly leapt down into the corridor bellow creating a definite thud when he froze and listened again...nothing, nothing was good. Nothing meant they weren’t there, most of the time. Our man walked down stairs and out into the street, rather than stick to the pavement he walked out into the middle of the road, away from walls and corners and looked around him, almost every house was boarded up, or partly so many jobs were half done, those windows that were not boarded up were smashed, there were a few cars parked on the streets, all of them dirty, indeed everything was dirty, the streets had not been cleaned many things were broken or smashed and the place smelt bad, it smelt rotten as if all the sewers had over run but there was no filth on the streets. Sticking to the middle of the road he kept walking, always looking left and right, checking over his shoulder as if he were being followed, perhaps he was. He just kept walking along these quiet and empty streets, he clearly had a goal in mind but just what that goal was was unclear.
After a long walk down the quiet empty streets there was a noise, a clatter like a cat knocking over some cans. At this noise our man turned to face the sound and fell to one knee, AK in his shoulder ready to fire, but then nothing happened, our man span around to make sure he had not miss heard and that the noise was behind him, still there was nothing. Ever so slowly he stood up and began to walk away, more quickly now and checking over his shoulder in the direction of the noise almost constantly. About ten seconds latter there was another noise from the same place, our man looked over his shoulder and saw a shape, it seemed human but it was just standing there. That was all he needed to see, our AK wielding man just ran, he ran hard, feet and heart pounding as he moved. Where there was one there were always more, usually a lot more and our man only had so many bullets, so run, just run, run and never get trapped. But as he ran he could not pay such close attention to the world around him and another figure stepped out from around the corner in front of him. It had been human, once but now, well now it was just a shell, a mauled husk. Wearing the clothes the man had died in his face was torn, as if clawed and bitten, his eyes were empty, almost milked over his skin was grey, almost blotched. This man was what could only be called a zombie and it was attacking our man, lurching forward it seemed intent on tackling him to the ground but our man swiftly rolled to the side, making the zombie fall down on the ground where upon it struggled to stand and our man holding the AK stood and repeatedly slammed down with his heel on the zombies head, crushing it and killing it again. But where there was one there were more, always. So before he could be surrounded he ran. But why, why was there a concentration here? It was true there were certain spots they were drawn to, usually landmarks or large buildings and small groups were drawn to larger ones. But there was something else that drew them...food.
That could not have been a more apt realisation as a mere moment latter there was a gasp as if in alarm, surprise or even pain but it was most certainly human, zombies were mostly silent, when they weren’t they were groaning or roaring but never gasping and it sounded fresh, full of life. Realising he stood more chance with someone than he did alone our man resolved to help, shouldering down a nearby door he started dashing up stairs, heading to a top story window and leaping out the empty frame onto a nearby roof. From here he could see the swarm and swarm was the word, hundreds of zombies, more zombies than he had bullets, not a good start. They seemed to be converging on a post office. Now these creatures were dumb as well as lacking in agility, sometimes even stairs posed difficulty therefore roofs were, in a time of crisis, the best place to be. The problem was it was all too easy to get trapped on them. Looking around our man saw no useful tools to create a bridge between the roof he was on and the roof of the post off. Kneeling down he rummaged in his pack and removed a length of rope, he tied one end to a chimney and the other around his waist before making the leap across, if he fell he would be caught and not plummet into the swarm bellow. He leapt with a colossal effort, more diving forward than leaping, with gloved hand he just managed to cling onto the edge of the post office roof, his legs dangling down, zombies trying to reach up and catch them, their mad, desperate hands so very close to dragging him down. Scrambling our man clambered onto the flat roof above before dashing over to a nearby ventilation pipe and removed the rope from his waist, instead trying it to the vent, that rope would be their bridge, if the knots held. Ceasing his weapon firmly he dashed over to a nearby door and ripped it open, automatically leaping back aware of what may lie beyond, indeed he was confronted with another hollow monstrosity. Rather than waste a bullet our man kicked the zombie in the chest, hard sending it staggering backwards only to fall down the stairs behind it, the tumbling body twisted and bounced, falling down, every down, the snap of broken bones marked the creatures passage. Our man chased it down the stairs waiting until it passed a smashed down door at which point out man suddenly stopped and put the door back in place, then rummaging around piled shelves and chairs against the door, it would not hold for ever, ten minutes maybe but that might be all that was needed. Pausing he listened, he listened very carefully when he heard movement to his right, turning instantly, weapon raised he watched where the noise had come from, the other side of a closed door, zombies did not close doors.
Jogging over he then moved to the side of the door, one shoulder to the wall as if about to breach the door in a way a soldier may enter a room full of enemies, extending a hand he knocked at the highest point of the door he could reach so a mad, reflexive spray of bullets, if the person inside was armed, would not tear his arm apart. Our man then called out “Human. I’m coming in.” Gently he opened the door and entered slowly yet very cautiously just in case he was ambushed, once he saw only one person inside he rapidly walked over to them and said in an equally hurried tone. “My name is James, you are safe with me, are you bitten, are you wounded or hurt, are you armed?” These were standard questions to ask he had to make sure the person was able to move before anything else, now was not the time to chat and get to know one another
((Not my best work but I lost a lot of stuff when the old groups went down.))
((I hope these modifications meet with your aproval))
General Info
Name: Takeki Tanaka
Gender: Male
Age: One hundred and twenty seven
Division: second
Rank: fourth seat
Physical Description: Whilst many shinigami are muscular and well developed, occasionally to the point of absurdity Takeki is somewhat more subtle in his build though he is by no means a weakling. Standing a little shy of six feet he is notable but not remarkable, the impact of his height is also somewhat lessened by the way his head is often lowered and shoulders ever so slightly slumped. His skin is almost sickly pale and his face is gaunt to say the least. Sunken sockets are punctuated by semi permanent grey bags under his eyes and his sunken cheeks are given an odd shade by the permanent short yet unattended and scruffy stubble that lines his jaw. At rest his facial expression seems slightly unenthused and his distinctive dark eyebrows give him what looks like a permanent scowl, an effect heightened by developing frown lines upon his brow. He looks unwashed, unkempt and to be frank he does not much care for physical appearances. His hair is the only thing that seems clean but then again it is so dark and so slicked back, punctuating his high hair line, that it could well be filthy and no one would no. Upon first glance he just looks tired, dull, grey and worn down. But a second look reveals something which betrays all this, his eyes. They are sharp and bright, a beady blue which just reeks of both intelligence and alertness They are the sort of eyes that never seem to look at you but you just know he is watching. Those eyes that watch everything and notice everything.
However, these are rarely displayed, Takeki has realised the advantages of looking like an non entity. People will often do and say all sorts of things and not even know you are there. So he takes steps to hide his eyes and often his face all together. His most commonly used method is a cowl or hood added on to his normal shinigami robes, throwing the upper half of his face into shadow. Other times he has been known to wear contacts to conceal the sharpness of his eyes one thing he does not do is wear sunglasses because sunglasses next to traditional cloths stick out like a sore thumb. The rest of his attire is similarly non descript, at least at first glance. All he looks like is a normal shinigami with a hood. However, when he goes on long trecks or into what he suspects may be a fight he tends to don two other items of clothing. One is a crude belt with simple, unrefined pouches such as a feudal peasant may wear and the second is a matching pack. Often he also carries a tall walking staff only marginally shorter than he is giving him a hermit or pilgrim like appearance. The staff itself is simple oak, merely a walking aid and improvised fighting tool against humans and other weak opponents. It is by no means his zanpakuto though he rarely lets this on, if he can misdirect a foe he will. Also upon close inspecting it becomes clear that Takeki has two other unusual pieces of clothing. Rather than wearing sandals as is the norm he seems to wear sturdy, black modern boots as well as thin black gloves.
Personality: He is a quiet man and often waits for someone else to speak first, furthermore he is never in a hurry to speak and will leave long pauses before speaking to find the right words or give the right effect. But his words are concise and effective, at least in his own mind. He thus seems far off and unfriendly, certainly unapproachable and to many that is an accurate portrayal. He tends to dislike the muscle bound, prizing speed, subtlety, cunning and guile over any amount of physical strength. It takes quite something to get over his automatic prejudices and the way to do it is not to be his friend, though that may come later, but rather to earn his respect. What he particularly detests are the all too common attitudes of superiority, confidence and even arrogance showed by the strong bodied. Furthermore he has a contempt for those he regards as feeble minded, whether they be mindless slaughter machines or just plain stupid. Conversely he has a great respect for the intelligent meaning those in fourth and twelfth divisions are often on a good starting point with him and to a lesser extent those in second, first and ninth. Indeed he has a particular interest for new scientific advances and though he approaches the majority of it with a purely amateur interest any technology that can be applied to his trade he keenly exploits.
Takeki regards the honour of personal combat as a ridiculous and out moded system. If he has to kill someone why engage them face to face and leave yourself open to harm when you could poison their drinks or booby trap their house? Even when direct force is needed why must it be brute strength? Trickery, ambush, misdirection and dirty tricks get the job done and with much less risk to yourself. Why when dispatching hollows must he destroy them himself? Far better to get them to destroy one another if possible or at least weaken and distract each other? Why, when required to gather information, must you barge in sword aloft. Far better to sneak in undetected, even posing as one of the enemy and take or duplicate the information so the enemy never knows it is stolen. It would be easy to say he has no sense of honour but that is not strictly the case. He merely has no sense of honourable combat or methods. Where his sense of honour comes into play is loyalty and chain of command. He will never disobey an order unless the motive behind it is obviously suspect. He will never plot the murder or dishonest downfall of a superior to take his or her position, he would only take it by honourable means and he would never betray the soul society or indeed his friends, though if the two came into conflict the soul society must come first. Leading on from this, if you were ever to be his friend a more stalwart companion you would never find, just don’t expect him to be sympathetic. Emotions never really were his strong point.
But he does take joy in a convoluted scheme or trap coming to fruition, he adores it when the best laid plans of mice and men do not go awry and can take an oddly detached view of proceedings just to appreciate them for the Machiavellian art, even if that ploy somehow damaged the soul society, he would still kill the perpetrators but he would appreciate the mind he was destroying.
History:
Life: He was born about as normal as you could be in 1852 with one important acceptation, his father was an immigrant the Great Britain when then married his mother a native working girl on the streets of Sheffield. Unfortunately normal was not something you wanted to be, because in Britain at the time that meant you were part of the down trodden masses and social mobility was close to impossible, you had to be at least middle class to stand a chance in life and for the poor and impoverished there were two options. The mill or the army. At least in the mill you had a longer life expectancy and so as the oldest of four, large families being more of a long term investment for the poor then, He was put out to work to help feed the family before he had even finished school. Unfortunately modernisation and increasingly efficient machines resulted in job cut backs and so he was forced into the second option, the army. Once drafted he was quickly placed in an old rifle regiment, and although rifled weapons were now the norm the rifle regiments were still used as light infantry. As such his role was primarily one of recognisance, skirmish and sharpshooting. A specialty of these old regiments was to pick off officers and sergeants thus crushing the moral of rank and file. Thankfully he managed to avoid any major conflict until the year of his death. In 1882 the Anglo Egyptian war broke out and Cairo and more importantly Suez were seized and brought under British control, our man was part of the expedition forces and unfortunately his number must simply have been up. No heroics, no tragedy or poetic end. A bullet simply caught him in the neck as he was ordered to advance and he died without note like so many thousands before him.
Early Death (Pre enlistment.)This was when things began to turn interesting. Upon his arrival in the slums he immediately set to work, the environment was not all that strange to him, after all it was like the streets he had grown up in, though of course he had no memory of those events, he just knew how to deal with a poverty ridden area as if by instinct. First and foremost you had to have something you could trade, the rarer and more vital the better. Unfortunately he had no items to sell so instead he sold his services. He knew how to be crafty, sly and subtle. At first street gangs used to employ him as a petty pickpocket but as time went on they realised his aptitude and put him to more vital tasks. Breaking and entering, stealing items from rival gangs, contract burglaries from the wealthy, planting evidence or the disposal evidence of it and generally spying on the competition. Simultaneously this fulfilled the second rule, get in with people who can protect you. This state of affairs went on for some long time and he was starting to become something of a character, the sort of man people whisper nervously about in back alleys. But through all this time he avoided actual fighting as much as possible and when a fight was inevitable he would like to lay traps, plan ambushes or the like, anything to make the fight as unfair as he could make it. It was on one of his ventures into the wealthier parts of town that he heard two nobles speak. One was the owner of the house he was robbing and the other was an unidentified man who carried himself with a certain air of dignity and command. Neither seemed to notice that Takeki was hiding in the rafters above them and that allowed him to eavesdrop in on a conversation. They talked about a new round of recruitment for the thirteen divisions that was about to come to a close, a round that seemed to be open to anyone.
Well that was enough for him, listening to yet more of the conversation he ascertained the location of the academy and crept their post haste, determined to leave his slum based life behind, it seemed history was repeating if he did but know it. Upon arrival however, he had a bright idea. Rather than waiting in line, filling in forms and being sized up he instead subtly broke into the deputy head of admissions’ office whilst the man was there and sat down unnoticed in front of the man, uncannily and indeed unconsciously in his desire to go unnoticed, his sheer will to do so he had learnt to suppress his reiatsu, his spiritual signature to the point where it was unnoticeable to all but the most attentive of people. It was certainly enough to surprise the deputy chief of admissions and an excellent opening ploy for admission, an unusual demonstration of skills, it worked.
Academy days: These were spent doing hard slog, that is about the only way it can be termed. He was naturally gifted at the more sly and subtle ways of going about things and he excelled in theoretical work and the creation and analysis of strategy across all practicable time frames. Indeed such was his aptitude for this that he studied largely living world generals and military theorists, took their tactics and principles, picked the best and then applied such principles to a shinigami skill base. He called this work “The application of force.” With the subtitle “A radical new look at shinigami strategy.” The work was controversially received partly because it was written by someone who was considered inexperienced but mainly because it attacked the very core of shinigami warfare, it advocated squad based fighting and tactics and tried to do away with personal duelling. Despite the ill reception it was seen as a novel work with a creditable mind behind it and thus he excelled in that area of the academy. With great skills in infiltration and recognisance he seemed set to be assigned to assassination or recognisance. There were even a few whispers about him being placed in first division however, traits in his personality and strange niche interests such as traps, ambushes, novel weapon use, traits he had picked up in his spare time when he used to try and lean as much as possible from twelfth division, and a preference for speed and precision over might eventually got him slotted into second division as graduation approached. However, an unfortunate obstacle lay in his way. A dislike for straight fighting had meant that his actual duelling and sword play skills were a tad under par shall we say. Since he was nowhere near enough familiar with his zanpakuto to rely upon it in his eyes he spent the last few months tirelessly working on hand to hand skills, or perhaps more accurately working on his legs because he knew even with a weapon in hand legs would still be available for nifty foot work and handy kicks. This last gargantuan effort managed to make him scrape through the actual combat section of the examination by the skin of his teeth.
The skin of his teeth however if not something this man likes to live by and so we enter a period of solitude.
Recent History (The Hermit): Rather than go straight into active service he was permitted a brief period of isolation, though he had to present a sterling case for it. In short this time was supposed to make up for his combat failings. He would take what books and teachings he could carry and go away into the woods and isolate himself just practicing, just training every day. This he did and he did so with admirable zeal and determination. At first building upon his unarmed base he became increasingly quick though the elusive goal of the flash step evaded him, much to his continual annoyance. It seemed he would have to work on that later, perhaps under supervision. He also realised his kido abilities left something to be desired and so rather than try and bring his repertoire up to scratch, he lacked time to do that, he instead focused on the reverse demon spell to nullify the enemies advantage, a simple yet profoundly useful trick. Furthermore he decided he needed to by himself what he called breathing room techniques. Things that can give you threat momentary advantage, that bit of respite. Unfortunately due to his lack of experience he was only able to pin down thrust and strike, the latter being one he worked particularly hard on realising its value but also realising it could push the limits of his lack of instruction.
But all this work paled in comparison to one thing, one thing he had to do and that was get in touch with his zanpakuto which he had been sadly neglecting. He would go days, or even weeks without eating, meditating with his weapon in a cave with only the drip of water to drive him slowly insane. But slowly, bit by bit, the work paid off and it was beautiful.
Current History (The return and position)Upon the end of his hermitage he returned, not a different man but wiser most certainly and that was clear to all, hence his rapid placement to fourth position. Though mission wise he is relatively inexperienced his potential and unusual wisdom is undeniable. Furthermore since his return he has made a note of acquainting himself with the modern world or to be more accurate the modern military world. He has become increasingly nervous of some form of chemical or biological warfare that will someday be adapted for the spiritual world and used to devastating effect. Ever the advocate of unconventional tactics he has been a strong advocate of such a weapons program to be carried out by twelfth division, all to no avail. None the less, one of the satchels on his belt holds a gas mask just in case. Besides, who is to say some hollow will not hold the ability to release noxious fumes? He has also gone about reacquainting himself with the latest tools for traps and subterfuge and now hopes to deploy such knowledge and devices.
Additional Info: An interesting hang over from the nature of his death he is paranoid about things close to his neck, where he was shot, especially anything that could hurt him. He does not know why he has the fear, he just does.
Zanpakuto
General
Name: Dokueki (Venom)
Spirit Description: The creature has the rear half of a serpent but the front half, including the two front legs, of a great lizard, resembling a Komodo Dragon. The creature is permanently bitter about its state and having to drag the rear half of its body on the ground but it takes it with surprisingly good grace. However, the creature has a sadistic bent in his personality and whilst Takeki only uses dishonest methods out of practical concern Dokueki actively enjoys it.
Sealed: It takes the form a short sword with a slightly curved grip to allow for rapid and swift manipulation in the hand of the wielder, Takeki particularly focuses on using the blade at an array of odd angles and surprising positions. The blade is not straight either it is slightly narrower at the hilt than at the head and curves up a tad at the end as well as broadening. The thrusting tip is savage but it is only single edged and although this may seem a disadvantage he often fights with the blunt side dangerously close to his arm. The blade is short enough to be concealed, without trace, underneath his robes, this he almost always does making people focus on his distraction of a staff. Furthermore, whilst not strictly a quality of the blade itself it is almost always coated in venom. Takeki hates a straight fight. This venom is applied by Takeki himself just as an assassin my apply poison to an arrow head or dagger, it is not an inherent quality of the weapon. The effect of this venom is not as powerful as the venom detailed in shikai, for a start it has no effect on reiatsu and acts far more like a conventional poison. It takes thirty seconds to have any sort of effect before sensory perception is effected. Vision is blurred and pain begins to wrack the victim though no actual damage is being done. Though he keeps this fact a secret, in essence this venom is used to damage moral and the accuracy of an opponent’s fighting style This is the extent of this level of poison. Please note that this is treatable, also when Shikai is activated this venom does not disappear, it still coats the blades edge
Shikai
Activation Phrase: Spit Dokueki, spit your putrid bile!
Appearance: Now the weapon takes the form of a zweihander blade, a much less subtle weapon but still the venom clings to it. Inside the great hand is something of a sting in the tail as a hidden telescopic spike the length of the handle is located within the grip and can spring from the pommel, this too is edged with venom and is a nasty surprise. The weapon, though looking hefty is made of surprisingly light weight material and can be turned with the likeness of a short sword. The blade itself is mat black to stop shine or gleam to give away subtle and swift movement or the location of the weapon from a distance.
Abilities: The first ability is arguably the most useful. This ability is primarily used for dealing with individual opponents quickly and with as little fuss as possible. With a long range it in essence feeds off of a small degree of the wielder’s reiatsu sucking it in, condensing it in the pommel into an almost solid lump almost smaller than the bone in the end of your little finger. This is then channelled down the length of the blade and hurled at great velocity towards the target, the target being whatever the tip is pointed at. Upon impact it tears a small hole through the opponent similar to white lightning only this is harder to resist. Indeed it is designed to penetrate personal defences and blocks, though as with everything, especially mere Shikai it will have difficulty by passing the hardier defences. However, as with everything to this weapon there is a sting in the tail venom, left behind by the attack, courses out through the wound into the rest of the body but now the venom is more aggressive than the venom applied by Takeki himself and corrodes reiatsu, or more accurately the method through which it flows and courses. The practical upshot of this is that whilst the conventional venom works to kill the targets body the unconventional venom renders demon arts and other such techniques weaker and harder to control, the effect of which worsens over time if not seen to. Note, the bellow description relates to someone of his own power level.
Generally the reiatsu based poison takes effect more quickly since it is carried to hubs and crossroads in the energy’s flow. This effect comes in three stages, the first stage is the noticeable weakening or loss of power from all forms of reiatsu based attack which draw off of the victims own reserve. This stage gradually worsens over the course of roughly a minute until the second stage is reached. In this second stage higher level or more energy intensive attacks become completely unusable whilst lower level ones now start suffering acutely from lack of power. The third stage takes place roughly one more minute later. In this reiatsu channelling becomes effectively impossible, kido and similar attacks are useless and channelling power to limbs to aid in speed or strength, even to stay afloat in the air, becomes impossible.
Simultaneously the more conventional venom, which works on the body, takes effect but it is slightly slower acting. For roughly thirty seconds the victim will likely not even realise they have been affected. Then sensory perception becomes effected, vision blurs, spacial awareness suffers, fine motor skills decrease and severe headaches close in. This stage lasts for roughly two minutes. Next limbs begin to convulse and spasm making coordinated fighting close to impossible. There are other less dignified effects as well, vomiting is common place, often blood will be present in the vomit. Furthermore effects such as headaches and blurred vision worsen to a state close to complete lack of sensory function or clarity. Add to this severe stomach pains and it becomes clear that the victim is rendered almost helpless
Note that at all stages the effects are treatable though treatment becomes progressively harder the longer it is left unchecked, since both sides of the venom are complex it will likely take a medical professional, or equivalent, to stabilise the victim. Even then the said professional must be spiritually trained, conventional human medicine will not suffice. Even after stabilisation complete recovery make take some time, especially from the physical symptoms resulting in victims being hospital bound for some time unless some radical treatment is pioneered or if anyone gets their hands on Takeki’s poison kit, often carried in his pack. Although he has been unable to synthesise this venom for general use he has pioneered a cure which he has kept a close secret. He carries this cure in his poison kit just in case he should accidentally hit himself or the wrong man, or even if a friendly duel were to get a little out of hand.
Unfortunately since this attack feeds partially of the power of the user and requires something of a degree of effort on the weapons part it cannot be used repeatedly for long nor can it be used extremely rapidly at all.
The second ability is where the weapon, lending some of its strength to the user allows him to move with greater strength and power, though not necessarily speed, than before. However, in borrowing this he also borrows some of the venom inherent in the weapon gradually poisoning himself and though the dose is not nearly so large as any doses intentionally dealt to his foes it is still worth noting that prolonged use will build up to a dangerous level.
Bankai: None as of yet
Shinigami Techniques
Reverse Demon - This technique nullifies an opponent's kidô
by hitting them with a perfectly opposite surge of energy.
Thrust - Pushes target away from the caster.
Strike - Engulfs a target in red light, paralyzing them completely
*Incantation: Disintegrate, you black dog of Rondanini! Look upon yourself with horror and then claw out your own throat!*
Additional
He carries a lot of extra equipment including a short tool knife, a venom kit complete with cures, trip wires, electrical wire, mortar and pestle, simple explosives, rope, gas mask, accelerants, camping equipment, a multitude of needles, a syringe. This equipment is carried in the pouches on his belt or in his pack. If he is not carrying those then he is not carrying the extra equipment either. Please note that the venom carried in this kit is of the same nature as the venom which coats the blade in it’s sealed state.
Other Characters: None
Roleplay Sample:
Night, night was bad. Night was when they got you. Night was when you hid. Just as a rather unusual man was doing now. He had clambered into an attic and pulled up the door behind him, closing it firmly and checking the walls for any possible holes, maybe looking for ways out but actually looking for ways they could get in. As with more or less all attics the place was full of cardboard boxes whilst bare roof insulation could be seen poking out from between the wooden supports of the roof above, it was dark and windowless, that was good. After a thorough check our strangely dressed man seemed to relax and slump down in the corner, placing his back pack on the ground in front of him as well as the rest of his equipment. Since he is no longer scurrying around the attic checking every nook and cranny now would be a good time to stop and have a look at the man. The first thing anyone would notice was he was not clean, his clothes were smeared with dirt and grime, shoulders and boots were scuffed his stance was worn, he seemed ground down. He was wearing what was clearly a rough but well made light brown jacket with a hood which was whipped up over his head, his trousers were similar but with many deep pockets, and smaller pockets on some of those big pockets, this man was clearly intending to carry a lot of stuff. He wore what was clearly an old army belt with that trade mark breathe and brass buckle holes and attached to this belt were a number of matching pouches designed to hold an array of items but many of them were magazine pouches. Similarly the straps of his back pack had magazine pouches and his pack, once again obviously an old army one, was bulging with kit. His boots were tough, durable and caked with mud and a little blood. His face was obscured by a gas mask that looked unusually well maintained. Across his lap was an old, but good condition, AK seventy four, often confused with the forty seven with what looked like an under slung grenade launcher, offsetting the beautifully maintained weapon was a crudely strapped on flashlight just right of the muzzle, held by duck tape it looked like an improvised add on, which it was. A large knife, not military issue but more like a Ray Meres survival knife was at his waste and a pistol holster clear concealed a weapon. This well armed man’s intent was less than clear, why was he in this attic? It looked as though he was moving in as a squatter as after a few moments of relaxing he pulled what looked like some salted jerky from a pocket and pulled down his hood revealing messy, unwashed brown hair and then removed his gas mask showing a pale, tired face with great bags under his eyes and a hollow look about him, rough stubble marked his face and he seemed a little mean, something in his eyes betrayed a deeper element of his mentality. He now started chewing on his jerky, stuffing as much in his mouth in one go as he could, freeing up his gloved hands to handle his weapon and start doing routine weapon checks before replacing mask and hood and settling down to sleep. Sleep was bad, sleep left you vulnerable, it left you open to them but you had to sleep, no matter how much you fought it you had to sleep and just pray you made it through the night.
Sometimes though, sometimes prayer worked and you saw another dawn. But it was a quiet dawn, only the birds marked the rise of the sun, no cars, no hustle or bustle, just the birds. Rising slowly the man in the attic picked up his weapon, slung on his pack and went to the hatch opening it slowly and just listening, for what was not clear but silence rained, aside from the birds there was nothing, nothing at all and so our man lightly leapt down into the corridor bellow creating a definite thud when he froze and listened again...nothing, nothing was good. Nothing meant they weren’t there, most of the time. Our man walked down stairs and out into the street, rather than stick to the pavement he walked out into the middle of the road, away from walls and corners and looked around him, almost every house was boarded up, or partly so many jobs were half done, those windows that were not boarded up were smashed, there were a few cars parked on the streets, all of them dirty, indeed everything was dirty, the streets had not been cleaned many things were broken or smashed and the place smelt bad, it smelt rotten as if all the sewers had over run but there was no filth on the streets. Sticking to the middle of the road he kept walking, always looking left and right, checking over his shoulder as if he were being followed, perhaps he was. He just kept walking along these quiet and empty streets, he clearly had a goal in mind but just what that goal was was unclear.
After a long walk down the quiet empty streets there was a noise, a clatter like a cat knocking over some cans. At this noise our man turned to face the sound and fell to one knee, AK in his shoulder ready to fire, but then nothing happened, our man span around to make sure he had not miss heard and that the noise was behind him, still there was nothing. Ever so slowly he stood up and began to walk away, more quickly now and checking over his shoulder in the direction of the noise almost constantly. About ten seconds latter there was another noise from the same place, our man looked over his shoulder and saw a shape, it seemed human but it was just standing there. That was all he needed to see, our AK wielding man just ran, he ran hard, feet and heart pounding as he moved. Where there was one there were always more, usually a lot more and our man only had so many bullets, so run, just run, run and never get trapped. But as he ran he could not pay such close attention to the world around him and another figure stepped out from around the corner in front of him. It had been human, once but now, well now it was just a shell, a mauled husk. Wearing the clothes the man had died in his face was torn, as if clawed and bitten, his eyes were empty, almost milked over his skin was grey, almost blotched. This man was what could only be called a zombie and it was attacking our man, lurching forward it seemed intent on tackling him to the ground but our man swiftly rolled to the side, making the zombie fall down on the ground where upon it struggled to stand and our man holding the AK stood and repeatedly slammed down with his heel on the zombies head, crushing it and killing it again. But where there was one there were more, always. So before he could be surrounded he ran. But why, why was there a concentration here? It was true there were certain spots they were drawn to, usually landmarks or large buildings and small groups were drawn to larger ones. But there was something else that drew them...food.
That could not have been a more apt realisation as a mere moment latter there was a gasp as if in alarm, surprise or even pain but it was most certainly human, zombies were mostly silent, when they weren’t they were groaning or roaring but never gasping and it sounded fresh, full of life. Realising he stood more chance with someone than he did alone our man resolved to help, shouldering down a nearby door he started dashing up stairs, heading to a top story window and leaping out the empty frame onto a nearby roof. From here he could see the swarm and swarm was the word, hundreds of zombies, more zombies than he had bullets, not a good start. They seemed to be converging on a post office. Now these creatures were dumb as well as lacking in agility, sometimes even stairs posed difficulty therefore roofs were, in a time of crisis, the best place to be. The problem was it was all too easy to get trapped on them. Looking around our man saw no useful tools to create a bridge between the roof he was on and the roof of the post off. Kneeling down he rummaged in his pack and removed a length of rope, he tied one end to a chimney and the other around his waist before making the leap across, if he fell he would be caught and not plummet into the swarm bellow. He leapt with a colossal effort, more diving forward than leaping, with gloved hand he just managed to cling onto the edge of the post office roof, his legs dangling down, zombies trying to reach up and catch them, their mad, desperate hands so very close to dragging him down. Scrambling our man clambered onto the flat roof above before dashing over to a nearby ventilation pipe and removed the rope from his waist, instead trying it to the vent, that rope would be their bridge, if the knots held. Ceasing his weapon firmly he dashed over to a nearby door and ripped it open, automatically leaping back aware of what may lie beyond, indeed he was confronted with another hollow monstrosity. Rather than waste a bullet our man kicked the zombie in the chest, hard sending it staggering backwards only to fall down the stairs behind it, the tumbling body twisted and bounced, falling down, every down, the snap of broken bones marked the creatures passage. Our man chased it down the stairs waiting until it passed a smashed down door at which point out man suddenly stopped and put the door back in place, then rummaging around piled shelves and chairs against the door, it would not hold for ever, ten minutes maybe but that might be all that was needed. Pausing he listened, he listened very carefully when he heard movement to his right, turning instantly, weapon raised he watched where the noise had come from, the other side of a closed door, zombies did not close doors.
Jogging over he then moved to the side of the door, one shoulder to the wall as if about to breach the door in a way a soldier may enter a room full of enemies, extending a hand he knocked at the highest point of the door he could reach so a mad, reflexive spray of bullets, if the person inside was armed, would not tear his arm apart. Our man then called out “Human. I’m coming in.” Gently he opened the door and entered slowly yet very cautiously just in case he was ambushed, once he saw only one person inside he rapidly walked over to them and said in an equally hurried tone. “My name is James, you are safe with me, are you bitten, are you wounded or hurt, are you armed?” These were standard questions to ask he had to make sure the person was able to move before anything else, now was not the time to chat and get to know one another
((Not my best work but I lost a lot of stuff when the old groups went down.))
((I hope these modifications meet with your aproval))
