Datteel

[datteel]

Name: Zach Datteel

Age: 19

Gender: Male

Species: Human

Position: Neutral

Powers: None

Weapon:
Datteel never really carried around weaponry. However, not too long ago he decided it would be best to arm himself in some way or another. His choice ended up being a bokken. It possessed the effectiveness required by the wielder, in this case Datteel, and it was basically not a lethal weapon. A man Datteel once knew expertly crafted the weapon. The design was near flawless and the polished wood gleamed in whatever light was available. It was crafted from white oak, a very hard wood good for taking hits. The sword guard was made out of a black metal and the handle was evenly wrapped in shreds of white cloth.

Appearance:
This teenager stood roughly at six foot. His build was fairly lean and he was moderately tanned. His light black hair looked rather unkept and rested just at his shoulders in the back. The sides covered his ears and the front cascaded down to rest gently over his sky blue eyes. He rarely bore any facial expression outside of combat. His normal attire consisted of old ebony tennis shoes, which had begun to fade with time. He wore dark blue jeans, which came across looking surprisingly new compared to his other choices in clothing, and a black long sleeve t-shirt. The shirt had lost some of its darkness, as if it was poorly washed and some of the color bled out. The front of the shirt was tucked into his jeans exposing a black belt with a silver buckle, and the back of the shirt hung loose. Covering his hands were a pair of leather fingerless gloves. Upon closer inspection, it was obvious the ‘fingerless’ part was not in the original design on the gloves. The leather itself had begun to crack. A bokken was normally strapped diagonal across his back, handle leaning toward his right shoulder for quick access.

Personality:
By the looks of it, Datteel was generally a laid back individual. He was quite most of the time, and occasionally made a joke. He had a general distaste in violence, but could hold his own if the situation called for such measures. When in battle, his laid back nature receded and his true side reared. His sanity could easily be questioned in this state of mind. This does not mean he’s ill informed, however. He possessed the ability to think properly on his feet and in tight situations. When it came down to it, he wouldn’t hesitate to assist a comrade in battle. He had a sense of morale’s, you could say. There was no right and wrong in his vision, just beneficial and useless, but he would never share that thought with any other person. Datteel was not a hotheaded person. He preferred to seek other means besides jumping straight into combat to subdue particular situations and arguments. Deep inside, however, he just longed for a place where he truly felt he belonged. Tired of being constantly in the middle of the classic battle between good and evil.

History/Background:
The first five years of his life was normal. Not a single aspect out of place. He had a nice home located in a friendly neighborhood, loving parents, properly fed, clothed, ect. Three weeks and five days before his sixth birthday, his father lost his life. It wasn’t a noble death, either. He had to pick up a few items at the local convenient store after pulling a double shift at the town power plant. As he was making his exit, a neighborhood kid intervened with his desired schedule.

The boy was extremely pale; nose was bleeding, and shaking profusely. He waved around a knife threatening to kill the father if he did not hand over his wallet. The father, not wanting any trouble, reached to his back pocket to remove the wallet and give it to the kid. After all, it was a small town, tracking down the culprit would be child’s play. The kid freaked, though. He must have thought he was reaching for a gun because he stabbed Datteel’s father. He dropped the grocery bags he was carrying and sunk to the floor with a loud thud. Someone screamed. The kid panicked, dropped the knife, and ran. The father died shortly thereafter.

Several days later, the kid was caught, tried as an adult, and arrested. As it turned out, the kid was hyped up on some sort of drug. It messed with his senses and caused him to make irrational decisions. Go figure. The years rolled by as normal as they could be until Datteel became 13. His mother finally explained the story of why his father died and that the killer was still jailed in the very town they lived in. It disgusted Datteel to know that person was still living, but the justice system did what it could. Three years later his mother was dating regularly again. The arrangement failed to please Datteel in the slightest, but it was his mothers’ life.

One day after school, he came home and noticed the place was empty. And by empty, I don’t mean no one was home. I mean entirely empty. All the furniture was gone, pictures, ect. The only thing that remained was a folded up sheet of parchment centered in the middle of the room. The letter was drawn out but the main focus is that his mother sold all their possessions, took all the money except for 200 of the local currency, which was folded in with the paper, and ran away with her boyfriend. This left Datteel alone in a house he could not afford rent on. This forced him to move to a crummy apartment and drop out of school in order to get a job to pay rent. Things proceeded like this for some time.

Three and a half months after his nineteenth birthday, the kid that killed his father was actually released from prison. How the hell could someone get released for murder? It was absurd. Someone on the inside or someone with a lot of money, no doubt. He lost many hours of sleep dwelling over this. It was one night, around 1 am when he decided to take action. He was laying in his shabby bed staring at the roof as usual. He threw his sheets to the ground and climbed out of bed. Within a few short minutes, he was fully dressed. Normally he wouldn’t have any weapons, but the area he was living in could be quite dangerous. He had managed to purchase an old revolver from a friend’s father. Datteel walked over to his desk, rummaged through some papers, and removed a revolver. The metal glistened in the moonlight. A smirk had found its way across Datteel’s face, a wicked one at that. He had a taste for revenge.

He navigated the small town at around 2 am, making it top priority to stick to the shadows as he did. It wasn’t long before he found himself at this father’s killers current sleeping accommodations. He wrapped his fingers around the doorknob and slowly began to twist. It wasn’t too long before it stopped and he realized it was locked. He muttered under his breath and went around to the back. There was a small window positioned slightly higher than Datteel with a couple of bushes at the bottom. He had to be careful to not touch those; else he would make an excessive amount of noise. With a quick push of his feet, he jumped and caught the windows ledge and his feet rested an inch or so above the bushes. He held his breath and listened to see if anyone had been woken by this noise. His target wasn’t the only person living in the area. There was another person on either side and a person living above the target. When he was satisfied no one had awoke, he hoisted himself up and slowly slide the window up until he could fit underneath.

He had infiltrated the targets sanctum. He slowly crept through the hallways, searching for his location. He was located within the bedroom, simple enough seeing the time. He crept in and shortened the distance between him and his target. There he was. The sleeping fool. Probably all happy he was freed from jail. Datteel was here to end that. He was going to sentence this man to death. He grabbed a free pillow and prepared to make his move. All within a few short seconds, he slammed the pillow over his targets head, shoved the gun barrel into the pillow, and fired. Blood and feathers went everywhere. Datteel let out a small laugh at first. Then it grew louder and louder. Had he lost his mind? Hard to say. He fled from the room, back to the window, and slide out. Afterwards, he just ran. Ran and ran and ran. His heart was pounding, his muscles were screaming from him to stop. Sweat beaded down his figure. Shortly there after, he blacked out to awaken in a completely different setting…

Role Playing Sample:
Datteel stood in the middle of an open field with a friend, one mostly known for their expert craftsmanship. The gently breeze caused each individual blade of grass to sway slightly, as if they were dancing. Datteel smiled lightly as he held out his newly crafted bokken. The sun gleamed off the polished wood. He ran his fingers along it several times admiring the work. “Ready to begin, kid?”

“Eh?” Datteel was snapped back to reality. He had become lost in his own thoughts again. He nodded his head lightly and took a normal fighting stance, gripping the bokken handle firmly in both hands. “You bet.” He smirked again and darted toward the old man who wielded his own wooden sword. The two weapons smashed together, emitting a loud clack. Datteel pulled back and swung at a wide arc downward toward the mans’ shoulder.

“Eh, ha ha! Too slow, boy!” The sword was parried effortlessly by the man and followed by an offensive maneuver with plenty of force behind it. His mans sword collided forcefully with Datteel’s stomach, knocking him to the ground and the breath out of him. After a bit Datteel managed to climb back to his feet and shake off the blow.

“My, my. Not going easy on me?” He laughed again and charged. The wood clashed again and again. After about the fourth attack blocked by the man, Datteel changed up his tactics slightly. The next attack was blocked as well, however, upon contact Datteel pushed forward. This put the man slightly off balance and Datteel rammed his foot into his gut, sending him to the ground this time. Datteel tilted his head back toward the sky and laughed. “You should not have underestim-“ The man cut him off with a leg sweep, sending Datteel to the ground.

“Put a sock in it.” Said the man as he raised his bokken high and brought it down quickly toward Datteel’s nose. The hit was halted at the last minute, the wood barely touching his nose. Datteel let out a sigh of relief as the man laughed and offered him his hand. Datteel took the gesture and let the man help him to his feet. They both laughed and headed back to town.