Naruto Rebirth
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Post by The Haitian on Sat Jun 06, 2009 7:55 pm

Name: Tentative

Gender: Male

Bloodline: Zenzeigan

Visual Age: 26


indifferent due to the bloodline limit, but he is most centered around water.

Village: N/A (He is a hidden-nin or Mercenary)

Weight: 192 pounds

Blood Type: O positive



That the world is a game is an excuse used by more than one soul to explain away precisely -why- they find the ideas of mundane thought to be alternately boring and hysterical, but it is again applied to Tentative. Take a mind gifted with a proper intellect and give it room to grow, and then introduce to it the lure that all of reality could be understood and controlled-one only had to study it from the proper angle. This mind would belong to a young boy born in the shadow of the towers of others. The key? Water.

Tentative possesses just enough intellect to see past the games of breakfast, lunch and bed, and not quite enough to know that buckling down and working to control the world was a far safer venue that setting yourself up as a demonic lord. But to hear it from him, the latter itself would be foolishness; there are far greater prizes to be won than kingdoms or even gods. Tentative has an ambition which burns inside him to possess reality itself, and to those ends there is nothing sacred. All those who would cling to the practice of gaining traditional power or worshiping deities who seem so weak on their own thrones are considered lacking in ambition by the ninja, who tends to see rules and restrictions as challenges for growth. The concepts of dark arts are laughable for Tentative, who sees no such thing as good or evil. Morality, in his eyes, is set down by the gods to be followed by quaking mortal sheep, and if you need not obey them then why should you abstain? For this reason, it is quite simple for the man to perform deeds which could be considered perversions of nature or of justice-why bother stopping? Who was going to catch you? The police? Well, if you were weak enough or shortsighted enough to be stopped by a -cop-, then you deserved your fate.

Understandably, Tentative thinks of the divine as being nothing more than overgrown humans who have power that they should keep better watch over lest it be taken from them. There is no reason in his eyes as to why a human cannot attain that level, particularly not when the gods pluck away souls and then bind them to their wants.

By the same token, Tentative suffers from feeling as if there are no absolutes in the world. He occasionally tires of his own games, knowing by his own logic that reality is only what he is reaching for, and if he should put his side of the playing pieces down then there are no stories of justice or morals to rally him back. He is far too proud to resort to giving into such illusions, however,

What do you do when you see the seams of the world and also see just how frail they truly are? When you can shake out the game of mortal lives and bind it to your own ambition to give it its only worth, what rule is there to command you when the nights are quiet and the rewards not as bright as they had once seemed to be?

You entertain yourself. Tentative has no intentions yet of giving into the same despair which his own logics have brought him to, and if his laughter is a little too wild and a little too out of control-forgive him, he's only having a long day.

Tentative also has a noted lack of patience, expecting other people to at least be enrolled in whichever task they claim to be intent on. Those who will not either admit to having no interest or no purpose in being involved with a subject are only wastes of time. When the necromancer has a more relaxed schedule, he does not mind being diverted, but when he is fixed upon a task he demands for it to be completed and to the flames can be resigned any who do not intend to help or get out of his way. Because of this, many can be put off by Tentative's mannerisms, which swing from utterly playful to ruthlessly in demand for them to perform appropriately. His life in a complete disarray he follows his own.

The Bount also enjoys amused whining and being utterly off-balance in his approach to others. At heart, he knows that he would rather be seen in thrall to a baker's cart than actually resist fulfilling one of his plans due to mere complaints, but it's far too entertaining to watch other people react. For a man with such a sense of pride, he gives up a surprising amount in just how silly he can get-incomprehensible to all save those who see just how sensitive he can get when his intellectual capacities, the true root of his vanity, are mocked and assumed lacking.


Tentative stands at depicted height, but makes up for it in sheer bearing alone. His face is too rounded about the chin to have the classical and dangerously sharp features, although he remedies this by the clipping of his pale hair to a decent chin length. His white mask gives much suspicion to strangers as to why he would actually wear this mask. Tentative looks as if he has something to hide, though much people would not know. Close enough such an assumption may be, but the expression in Tentative's eyes in one, which few would match to a normal bookworm. If it were not for the fact that he laughs so much-or possibly even despite it-one could imagine him to be enraged by how intense his gaze can be once attracted to a subject, and by just how much it demands to be granted anything and everything on the spot.


A settlement in between the Iwa no Kumi and the Taki no Kumi, the ninja there took steadily payents and worked for Iwa. This settlement was known to have a bloodline limit known as the Zenzeigan. When the new village leader was appointed, he foudn that this bloodline was a curse, a stain of Humanity. In the thought of this, he decided to have a genocide. The village wide destruction began and over the span of six days The leader thought everyone was dead. On the seventh day a revolt occured where the survivors of the Kekkei Genkai had tried to kill the leader, although they were unsuccessful, they manage to ship off one of thier citizens to the land of Fire.

Tentative grew up without a name but a label of being Tentative in everything he does. When he was shipped off, all he had on him was a blank scroll and nine pointed shuriken. Keeping them as heirlooms to whatever he had to hold onto, Tentative set out to find where he was from and where is going to go. Along with finding out what his blank scroll really is. Local school gave Tentative the basics of being a ninja and how to use his chakra. When he was 16, his bloodline activated, with the invasion of massive headaches. For the next 10 years, all Tentative did was gain mastery of his own Power in addition to traveling the world.


Shades of crimson vermilion danced and flitted about the horizon’s expanse in a scarlet ambiance, the brilliant incandescent patches of burnt orange being filtered through the nebulous gray pastels of clouds that swept through the sky. The vivid splotches of luminance were cast upon the silhouette of a solitary figure, yielding a dancing shadow that was melding with the sable curtain of night that had begun to blanket all. The figure bore witness to the sunset that was occurring in a solemn and pensive reverie, the sun’s stellar ray waning with the passage of time. The fiery orb’s radiance dissolved behind the vague line of the horizon as ebony tendrils tore and rend the unfurling streaks and hues of orange asunder, and the pitch black abyss swallowed all form of light. This particular night held an air of serenity, the variety most commonly found in times of tranquility prior to the repugnant and most foul strike of calamity. Though the night exuded a demeanor of peaceful ignorant bliss, it held within its coils a most ominous severity that required attending to.

The lone figure held itself with a deadly poise, every little movement deliberate and with purpose; no action was wasted. A pair of thin black-rimmed glasses glared ominously in the waning light, appearing to percolate a steel-cold force that would bring most to their knees in a series of actions that would result in their blathering, whimpering form being sent off to join the 4th division. Leisurely, a lithe arm was raised, the dexterous fingers placing the precariously placed spectacles further upon the bridge of his nose, the figure waiting with the utmost fortitude in terms of patience; The Bountou Cocaine always exuded a demeanor of severity and great importance, albeit the dead-cold seriousness he was exhibiting was several degrees higher than normal. His body showcased a visage of a tempered warrior, calm and collected in absolute solitude. His rigid stance, complimented by his solemn and somber demeanor, was nothing less than comparable to the biting sting of winter’s frigid blade.

Though his features were youthful and seemingly adorable at first glance, this was in direct stark contrast with how he held himself; unwavering in a resolute stance of extreme aloofness and rigid formality, the Bount was the epitome and pinnacle of distant. Most who attempted to approach the Bount were abruptly taken aback by his dull and somber personality- it truly was odd to bear witness to what appeared to be a child holding himself as an adult. A noticeable decline in not only the incoming members to the any interloper, but in the proficiency of skills that current races held (Or didn’t, for that matter), was the reason Cocaine stood patiently in one of the palm trees of the island. Clearly, the deteriorating rate of the quality among souls was a disease that needed to be rooted out forcefully if it were to ever to present itself to its former rate of success. races have grown found of not having a mentally adequate bounto population, exploiting and misusing the lack of authority to do as they pleased with little to no thought of the impairment as if they were placed the Gotei 13, but themselves as well. Lack of will to improve led to a lackadaisical and comfortable position, which in turn led to a debilitating state. This would be stamped out quite thoroughly, and without hesitation…rules clearly had to be enforced.

The Bount had already taken measures to root out the problem, and it was the very reason he stood erect on the palm tree right now. A request for a meeting with a soul with some sort of mental capabilities has just been made- anything less than strict adherence to the command given would be met with…less than savory consequences. Cocaine wasn’t a particularly merciless Bount; he merely believed in always doing what was right. The races would soon find that rule-breaking and slacking off, would become the absolute last action that they ever performed. Arms folded within the chalk-white suit he had pressed deep on his arms, he awaited the slow trickle of Soakudo to leak from him and take a solid human form under him and rappel down the tree and onto the sand. Whoever decided to show up would find the Bountos call…interesting, to say the least.

The Haitian

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Re: Tentative

Post by Seraph on Sat Jun 06, 2009 9:24 pm


Male Number of posts : 205
Village : Amegakure
Bloodline/Clan : none

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