Post by David B. on May 28, 2012 2:58:56 GMT -8
Name: David Blaze
Nicknames (given by others): Storm Walker, Sky Owner, Winged Demon of the West, Storm Caller, Dragon Slayer
Nationality: American
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Age: 24
Weight: 210 lbs
Height: 6'4"
Blood type: AB-
Eye color: Blue
Hair: Shortish
Physical and Mental Information
Appearance: Generally, David wears whatever he can find. With the new world being the way it was, he wasn't able to keep up the high class of clothing he was used to. He kept his attire simple, using T-shirts, blue jeans and tank tops to make the most of the Californian weather. He occasionally wore sweaters, but usually negated wearing hoodies since the loss of his last coat.
Talents: Martial arts,Leadership, Econimics, Speech, politics. He's an exceptional leader and has a defined fighting ability.
Personality: David is a smart, sensible individual. Determined and stubborn, he looks for the best in everyone. Since he left 259, he's recieved counseling, which helped him realize his errors in his own personality and life. He tries to keep a low profile, and loves a sense of humor. He feels no need to impress anyone anymore, and has a far more mature mentality. He keeps a positive outlook on life, and works toward the betterment of himself and others.
Mentality: Sane. He has some problems with certain beliefs and disbeliefs, as well as codes of honor. He has one of his own, but he believes that these rules should apply to any self respecting individual. He has undying loyalty to his friends.
Ideal: "Hope and pray the you'll never need me, but when you call rest assured- i will not let you down."
Belief: Objectivist (Changed from christian after the war)
Build: Big and strong, though not overly so. Muscles are very well toned, and worked.
Head: Short black hair cut close to the scalp. Has two different colored eyes, each stemming from an accident at the CF. His lips are proportioned evenly between full and thin, his teeth a bright pearl white.
Torso: When David first started at 259, he was clean and smooth, a nice muscular build and totally unharmed. Now, after over three hundred battles his body has changed. He still has the physical appearance though more tone, more fit. He has a rugged look about him, and several scars. On his ribcage he has a light scar where his rib was removed by the Earth Dragon, and on his collarbone is a scar where he had been stabbed by an assassin. He has a back full of scars from splintering a tree with it, and he has a long scar on his left shoulder from a blade that connected there.
Arms: Full and toned, they are well kept. They have a scar on each, both from different battles. One on his left arm from being Scratched by a woman whose name he still doesnt know, and the other from a peice of glass that punctured his bicep when he jumped through the window in his house and out into the pool.
Legs: Built and thick these are the strongest parts of his body. David is a speed demon, and has a HEALTHY ability to move and adapt to situations as they arise.
Feet:12 mens.
Fighting and Historic information:
Style: Kung fu, Taijitsu, MMA, Boxing/Brawling
Description: David is a very well versed martial artist. since the day he could walk, fighting is what he was taught. Kung fu and tai jit su are his most versed styles, and the ones he fights with the most, though he also uses a lot of his MMA and Brawling techniques to keep his enemy on theyre toes. Punches, kicks, combos and submissions are all on his booklist, and are used well in all his martial arts. He likes to adapt new fighting styles to his own and try to make it better. He has the upbringing that embedded a deep sense of strict regulation, but he has hiw own mind which tells him to move and adapt and control. He's a free form martial artist, and loves combat, taking any opportunity to join it when possible.
History:
This History is purely based on memories David Has. I'll be RPing the memories through Dreams and visions, as time is beginning to wear on the repressed sections of his mind.
History
Dream
From Father to Son
His fingers dug in sharply, causing a torrent of splinters to creep under his fingernails. His tiny fingers, delicate and soft, held the leg of his table with a vengeance. He couldn't move, wouldn't move, standing in utter terror of the sight before his eyes. Creeping across the carpet, almost deliberately, with what seemed to be a purpose, a steady stream of blood heading his way. He didn't cry out- his voice failed him, and his brain could not truly form the words needed. His mind seemed shredded in two, the jolt of a harsh reality and a brutally cold world did not compute for him. The boddies littered on the floor, strown about, unrecognizable- the remains of the two people whom he had ever loved, whom he loved most in this world. His care takers, his friends, his mom and dad.
He fell back, finally, knowing that no immediate danger was heading his way. His head hurt, and his crying could not be heard above the roar of the flames from the kitchen and bedrooms. His bottom hit the carpet with a soft thud. He wasn't a baby- at five years old David wore no diapers and knew how to use the bathroom himself. He had known for years. It was easy for him, so easy. His father seemed to explain everything to him at a young age, telling him what would happen and why. What he must do. And David did it. He was so glad he could make his parents proud. He was unsure, at that moment, what to call the images rolling inside his head. Flashbacks, they were, yet strange and foriegn to him. He remembered his dad pushing him under the table and throwing a jacket over him. He remembered sticking his head out to look at his father.
He remembered his father going to his knee and cupping his face.
"Listen, Dave... Mommy and Daddy have to go away for a while." David didn't know what he meant, and tears started to appear in his eyes. "David, i need you to be brave for me, okay? Be brave for your mom and dad." His father handed him a disk case, small and discreet, pushing it into his pants pocket. "Remember always what i tell you now, son. Remember- its very important. This thing is not a toy- it holds something that can save the world- can save everyone and everything from bad people." A loud crack was heard, and he remembered muffled voices yelling from outside in the hall. "David, don't ever let anyone take this from you, okay? You hide it and never let it go-" A large object was banging against the door- he could hear grunting. They were breaking down the door.
His father took his shoulder in one hand and placed his hand under Davids chin.
"Always know who you are, and be proud. You are a Blaze. Protect those weaker then you. Be a soldier of the light, and never forget. Never forget who you are. I love you son."
His father pushed a button on the table, and the boards slammed down on the openings, sealing him inside like a box. His dad would always play with him under there- hide him inside while mom would search around the house for him, laughing and giggling with happiness. But he, even as young as he was, knew that this was no game. He began to shake- he didnt understand what was going on. He could only heard muffled sounds.
Then, out of nowhere, several loud cracks, like lightning, were heard, and things being thrown around. Tears fell, but he didnt cry out. His eyes opened and he saw, once again, the dead bodies of his parents. He stood up, sucking on his dads jacket, calming himself in his smell. What did he do now? He saw the fire coming his way- it scared him. He stared and backed up, his spine shaking as it hit the other leg of the table. A face suddenly appeared, and a flashlight was in his face. A fireman. He looked at him, mud and ash caked on his face. The guy was reaching for him. He walked into the mans arm, letting him pick him up. He still carried the coat, and wouldn't let it go when the fireman tried to take it. He looked down at the bodies.
Blood poured from holes in thier chests and heads, and cuts were everywhere on thier bodies, not to mention the shit and piss. Theyre house was torn to shreds, and he wondered- why didnt they look under the table? He buried his face into the firemans shoulder and peeked a look at the doorway they were walking towards, seemingly in slow motion. A black, gaping hole, as if to swallow him entirely-
Sudden Vision
"Whats this you got there little guy?"
Grubby fingers ploying into his pockets, the place where his dad had slipped the- He shrank back, clasping his hand over the area and getting wide, teary eyes. His short black hair stuck to his head, grayish pieces of soot and ash clinging to his skin and clothes. The fireman held out his hands to show everything was okay, to try and calm to young child who had just lost his family. David was confused- the firemen had brought him out, but what about his mommy and daddy? Why were the firemen just standing there. David turned, looking around the sea of legs and cars to try and find the two people whom he wanted most. His eyes began to tear up again.
Did they not want him? Did they just desert him? An emptiness rocked through him, and even at that age he grew angry-
FLASH
A perfect sunbeam, particles of dust and dirt floating slowly through the space his eyes had to travel to see it, broke through the surface of the water not ten feet in front of him. He marveled at it- this was the final sight his young eyes would ever catch- he drank it in. The color, the lucid and transient movement making each moment of his feeble resistance seem a lifetime. Nothing can prepare someone for it. The dank, dirty water crushing all thought, the taste of mud and salt. It was fleeting, a thought that crashed into Davids mind and was swept away- why? What was the purpose of dying so young, when life had barely begun to take its roots? Darkness began to creep inward, a distinct chill fabricating itself into memory as the touch of death tried to sink its tendrils into his heart, and he railed against it, fighting it with everything in his heart and soul. He felt a victim, the seething face of death his assailant, trying to claw and kill and maim his very existence. He tried so hard to force it back, pushing it with everything his tiny, six year old little body could muster.
But it wasn't enough.
“Don't forget to grab your swimming trunks!” his new mom called back through the house. Rushing movement and slamming doors echoed loudly behind her reminder and the pitter patter of feet could be heard from the hallway as two giggling kids came running from their bedrooms. One was his new brother, Brandon- a ten year old who he looked up to as a child, just like any little brother would. The other was himself, the towel and trunks hugged tightly to his underdeveloped chest. His new mother smiled down at him brightly as David and his brother raced out the door, leaping forward to try and be the first to the final window seat. Brandon, of course, won, being the older and stronger of the two of them. He laughed as he sat down, patting the dreaded middle seat with a boyhood grin on his face. Still, David kept up his spirits. 'Let him have the Window seat' He thought to himself.
'We get to go to the BEACH'.
His new dad started the car, the faint rumble of the engine and the turning of the wheel bringing an even bigger smile to his face. They were finally going. It had been forever since their last beach trip, or at least it seemed like forever to his young mind. Davids brother began his strange, cultic ritual of playful smacks and teasing pushes, laughter coming from his lips as David fought back.
Davids "dad", looking through the rear view, barked a few words.
“Hey, settle down you guys. It's hard for me to drive with you behaving that way.”
And They would. This new dad was scary, sometimes, being the only real father figure he ever had in his life. Still, David loved him, and despite the mans slightly cold demeanor and his strange need to hide his emotions David was very attached. He wasn't cruel or mean- he played with his kids and laughed with them and had lots of fun, but he was stern and strict when needed and kept a careful eye on David and his brother, making sure they did their best to grow up like respectful men. Still, a single order from a parent can only go so far, and a few minutes later they were back to their game of push-shove-tickle-laugh. The drive wasn't long by any standards, a two hour excursion from the daily drawl each of them were forced to go through. Still, David was excited, and when his mom mentioned a small park near the beach, he felt as though he could barely contain myself.
The park was interesting- large and uninhabited, there was nobody to be found. It had an eerie peacefulness to it, and David, being the strong swimmer he was, loved to go into the small, sectioned off area that was dedicated to the children playing. On the deepest end it was three feet, and David loved to walk and run in it, feeling the sand squish between his toes. Unknown to him, a part of that small sectioned off area had collapsed, the shelf dropping to a drastically deeper fifty feet. When his small soles found nothing but space, his head dunked under, liquid pouring down his throat into his lungs. He couldn't remember how long he flailed and sank, the dull screaming of his new brother piercing the water and space, slowly getting softer as time went on.
Last remembered as his eyes began to close were a pair of feet, the shorts and stomach of his new dad, then all went black-
Dream
We're Catching Up
[/b][/u][/url]We're Catching Up
"You can't run forever."
The body belonging to voice rose, shrugging off his tattered cloak as though it were a weight he didn't wish to carry, or couldn't carry. Yet at the same time, he seemed light as a feather, impossible to burden. His flowing beard, white with age, blew gently in the breeze. Around the mans feet was the bodies of those he loved- Emily, Bastille...his friends- Mitsuki, Olesya, even Gabriel and Alex and Drea...Leon was bleeding, draining away to nothing, bodies of those he knew nothing of were scattered about- Matrim and Sara, Jason and Arthur. Before him was a man who just broke those he cared about most, and he could do nothing to stop it. He was, in essence, totally powerless. He coughed blood, coming to his feet for what he thought and knew would be a final battle.
To his mouth he brought his fruit, his last resort, and Activated his Qi. (Dex, 6400)
The old man just stared as the sky lit, striking David with its power and rebounding off. The old man sighed, giving a heavy grumble to go along with the fireworks display.
"You will die, David Blaze, and your secret will be mine."
The shirt on the man burned away, and fire leapt around him. His body was burning, and from his side he drew his blade, pointing the tip skyward as a torrent of heat and flame torched the sky. David could do nothing but watch in awe. The mans body was massive, chisled to the core, and crisscrossed with more scars then both him and Leon Combined. His eyes glowed a fire red, and as the burning earth below him began to torch his clothes, he fell simply to his knees in sheer admiration. Strength. Such as he had never seen before.
A Vision of sheer power in all its glory.
David watched, helpless and dumbstruck, as the arm came down, ending his life with a single swipe of his flaming blade.
Memory
Stumble No More
David put a leg out to the side, tilting his body and stretching the muscles located near the groin. He moved from leg to leg, giving thirty seconds to ease the cold morning stiffness from his bones, and to get a small amount of blood flowing and to make it easier to move and work. He grabbed the wrist of his gloves, having pulled them from his under-used bag, shaking them a little to remove the dust. Pulling them onto his hands, he stretched his fingers through the fingerless holes and made a fist, smiling slighting at the tightened leather over his skin before doing the same with the other hand. It felt good. It had been far to long since he had used them. He stretched his arms, pulling his left one across his chest and doing the same with his right.
He stood in the middle of a small clearing, one he had hunted for earlier in the week. He was to spend the weekend in solitude, or at least with minimal outside activity. Training. Always training. To survive, you had to constantly work the mind and body, be relentless, never surrender to the overpowering mediocrity of a weakened existence. No, not with what he planned. He hungered to work his muscles as he did every morning, only this time to an extreme- in combat with the weather and nature itself. He needed it. His body craved it, day in and day out. He was in his prime, the peak physical condition his body had ever felt. He wasn't done, not even close, and he would attain more...beyond more. His muscles were tight, toned, and large- far bigger than they were when he was exiled. He seemed to be made of stone, Yet, as he began to move, he felt and looked like anything but stone. His body, while large, had developed an unnatural speed, his movements taking on a ethereal quality. He had never before met another individual on this side of this side of the world who could fight and move like himself.
He unzipped the green sweater that was held over his torso, pulling it off to reveal a black T-shirt, his breath coming out in a fog. His legs were kept hidden beneath a Black Gi, his tight, toned muscles flexing a little as he shook his body loose, refusing to let his muscles tighten up from the cold. A tent, set up behind him, would be his only solace, his comfort- a time when he could relax, read, meditate- when he wasn't in his daily eight hour training sessions. It was said that working your body to excess wasn't good for you, and he believed it, so he would split his training, taking an hour break every four hours. Now, while this may not seem long enough, His body was more then able to handle it, and he had a large cooler, carried in on his shoulders, filled to the brim with water, forty-five bottles in all.
He placed his feet directly next to each other, bending over and placing his hands flat on the ground as he stretched. He looked up, checking the position of the sun. Ten in the morning, or around it. Right on time. He would be done by seven that night, and would have time to relax and watch the stars. He stood back up, cracking his neck from side to side. Run. Sure, he had just hiked for almost thirteen miles, but he felt ansy to get things started, and had taken a half hour out to set up camp. He started, looking around himself to make sure he would know how to get back before beginning. He took off, a steady pace coming easily to him as he stepped over logs, the flat, smooth earth under him moving beneath his feet. He came to a river, not slowing down but instead running up it, alongside it, looking down at his watch to see how far he had come. Two miles.
He turned back west, having jogged a little back the way he had come. He checked the sun, the trees, the earth, noticing some familiar looking limbs and footprints from his small, one mile scouting trip the previous weekend. He wasn't in the mood to get lost, and had therefore checked on this place before coming. He was glad to have found it, and was glad for the solitude, but wouldn't lie and say a training partner, or even small amounts of company wouldn't be nice. He found his camp in short order, a chipmunk darting away quickly as he sprinted in, only slightly winded. He wouldn't stop now. He rolled his shoulders, a large scar on his arm barely being seen near the bottom of his right shoulder, the pain of its making still fresh in his mind, the healed skin moving up his large bicep, across his clavicles, and down across his back just off the scapular bone, stopping about two and a half feet down That was another story for another time, however, and he wouldn't contemplate it on his weekend away.
He got down, placing his hands shoulder width apart in a standard push-up position, the weight easily being supported by his large, strong arms. Down and up. One. Down and up. Two. Down and up. Three. Classic. He did them slowly but surely, his muscles starting to slightly feel the burn after reaching fifty. Not done yet. Down and up. Down and Up. He came to his feet, one hundred push ups later. He rolled his shoulders once more. He walked to the center of the clearing, breathing deeply and smoothly as the day began to warm up. The only sun he would see this weekend. He slid his right foot back smoothly, placing his left foot forward, slightly bent, his right fist clenched near his chin as his left was held a little further forward. He twisted his hips and torso, whipping around his right leg for a solid kick to his invisible partners head. He brought it back, doing it again and again, twenty times, getting the feel for it.
He reversed the position, this time his left leg back, and did twenty kicks that way. Then he ran for a tree, his mind working sporadically, taking whatever move came to his mind as he fought and struggled with his mental foe. He ran for a tree, taking two steps up it and spinning one hundred and eighty degrees to the left, a classic right footed Roundhouse to the head. Not a move he would generally use in combat, but good to work the muscles and to keep your mind refreshed and at both of they're maximums. He landed softly, his right leg forward, his body turned to the side. He wasted no time, standing to his feet and snapping out a right heel kick. He placed his foot, after the kick, down approximately two feet from his left and a little back, his hands opening up and facing outward, palms toward his enemy, hands slightly relaxed.
He began working defensive combos, blocking quickly and efficiently, his left hand blocking a punch, his right a knee, constantly moving, not just going through the motions but effectively fighting his mind, if such a thing were made sense to the reader. His mind worked quicker than his body could, and so the blows of his imaginary foes would always be above the capability of his motor functions. While to some, it may seem like he could easily block and guard his "foe", it was not so, his brain separating his material fists from his imaginary ones, so his foes, in a sense, were real. It was a technique taught to him by a martial artist his "father" had recommended, an older man, though graced with youth and flexibility. This technique, while difficult, worked both your body and mind, causing you to have a strength in both areas that your enemy didn't know you could possess.
He stopped, two hours in, a sheen of sweat pouring over his body. He grabbed the first water-bottle, slightly Luke-warm. It wasn't wise to drink Iced-water while your body was at such a peak of strain, your blood running hot and suddenly being introduced to it having been pronounced only "slightly dangerous." He drank half the bottle, gasping as he set it back on top of his cooler. He stepped over to a bare tree, the limbs strong but lifeless, grabbing the branch that was nearly a foot above his head. He gripped it do the back of his hands were on the same side of his face, opposite of how the classic pull-up was done. He brought himself up, breathing quickly and deeply as his muscles cried out. It felt amazing. It was Ecstasy for him, his mind constantly consumed by fighting and training, this session dedicated to himself, a relaxing way of working his body, no stress. Fifty chin-ups later, David released himself, hands on his hips, his body covered in dirt and sweat.
He laid down on his back, hands behind his head, feet planted. He used his stomach muscles to pull his body up, his elbows touching his thighs before he went back down, not letting his back fully lay out before coming back up into a sit-up. He did these quickly, not wanting to keep his mind constantly on it, instead wanting to move on to the fist work out. One hundred. He came to his feet, his body groaning in pain. He grabbed his water-bottle, taking another quick swig before placing it down again and stepping to the nearest tree. He held up his fists, elbows in, his right hand near his chin in a fist, his left hand out a little more as he rotated his arms at the elbows, keeping good circulation and air. Left punch. Bam. Right punch. Bam. Stiff jabs to the tree, the defiant wood shaking its leaves in protest at being used in such a way, or so it seemed to him.
He moved through one hundred jabs each arm, a full set of two hundred. He then worked on his hooks, not whipping back his arm into an over-exaggerated hay-maker, but keeping the hook close to his body, about twenty inches out In front of him, the twist of his torso and the close proximity to his body only adding to the effect and combination of both speed and power. He did another set of two hundred, one hundred each arm, before stepping back out into the clearing, and working for the next hour and a half on uppercuts, combo blows, judo and ju-jit-su throws, as well and quick take-downs and easily landed maneuvers. Four hours. He stopped, gasping as sweat poured from every possible pore in his body. He drank what was left of the first bottle, not wanting to water-log his body too much.
He stepped inside his tent, retrieving another small cooler that did have ice in it. He placed a small rag on his back for ten seconds, retrieving the cold item and applying it to his neck right after. Against what he would normally do, as it had been stated early with the water-bottles, but he needed a strong cool-down. It felt good, a small moan coming from his lips. He sat on a sleeping bag made for his comfort, a small flashlight to the left and his sword in its sheath next to a bow and arrows, just in the happen-stance he felt the need to hunt. He had a book, "Peace for the mind, war for the soul" by TJ Anvon, as well as a few apples and dried fruits. He looked down at his watch after a period of relaxation and book reading, sighing as he was three minutes late for his next set.
He stood, stretching his muscles before cracking his neck again. He was looking forward to it, and started right in, beginning again the first set he had done this morning. Four hours later, he was brutally exhausted, almost to the point of over-exertion but still able to move his aching limbs. He lay on the ground gasping, eyes taking in the now-fully viewable stars. He groaned, pushing himself to his feet and stumbling over to a tree, mustering up his strength to climb it halfway and view the world around him. It was amazing, the stars and moons casting a cold, Grey glare over the trees. He chuckled a little to himself, hardly believing he had time away. He thought a little about who he would want here if he had a choice. His thought his first option would be Xiao Ten, a perfect opponent to pit himself against for training. But his thoughts wandered back to a blind female he had met on the beach somewhere north, a person whose name he had forgotten but had heard plenty of, especially regarding a guy named Nicolai.
David wasn't without his allies, and he just wished he could have a moment to offer his assistance to her, such as it was, and to possibly make a friend, which he had yet to do. Another would be the lone fighter he met on occassion, or Perhaps the old Captain from back in the hayday. Again, both good training partners- the first one to beat the shit out of, the second one to simply train with. He didn't like this lone fighter, and could tell they would be at odds in the future. He sighed, climbing down the tree and making his way back over to his tent. Eight o'clock. Time for shut-eye. Tomorrow would be a busy day.
And he would Enjoy every minute of it.
