(This is wordy, I apologize. I also had to kind of wing it when it came to Kiba's history since I only know what's on the front page and what little I skimmed out of the posts about the nations so... if this treads on any of your lore please tell me and I'll change it. Also... I just happened to be looking at my l5r character sheet before I wrote this... hence the name... it kind of stuck in my head. It's like 7am, I am going to bed now, lol)
Birth Name: Bayushi, Kiba
Character Alias (If applicable): Fang
Appearance: 
(Finding this was hard. Maybe next time I'll start with the picture :P Same general build, skin tone, and hair. Kiba is a little shorter.)
Written appearance: Kiba is a little squat for his frame at a mere five feet and change, broad through his muscular shoulders and barrel chest... in fact, Kiba is rather shaped like a barrel. His upper body is toned and muscular through years of hard labor and training, and he'd have a rock solid six pack... if you could pick it out beneath that layer of flab. He's not fat, by any means just... round about the middle. Kiba was one of those kids that stopped growing up, and instead began to grow
out as he reached the end of his adolescence, and it's a losing battle he's fought for his entire life. It was a rather disappointing turn since his father was basically a human "V" and looked like he could kill a man with a folded napkin. He probably inherited his shape from his mother who was a little plump, politely speaking of course. Needless to say, however, Kiba is built like a tree, and strong as an ox.
His face is a little round about the cheeks, though not heavyset and he keeps a kind of rugged handsomeness, with that perpetual scruff he sports. His black hair is shaggy but not long and hangs in his eyes on occasion. His eyes are striking, almost unforgettable and probably his most prominent feature, since heterochromia of the eyes is rare in Shaharan: his right eye is as blue as a clear sunny day on the beach, and his left is green like a freshly polished emerald. On his left shoulder is a tattoo bearing the crest for the Shaharan royal guard, and across his back angled up across his right shoulder is a spectacular tattoo of a white wolf springing through the flames of a bellowing forge.
Kiba normally wears a sand colored tunic with loose sleeves and a hood, belted at the waist by a worn leather belt with a silver clasp, black breeches and sturdy leather boots. A second strap crosses his back, loops over his right shoulder and then ties in to the buckle at his waist. Hung on the back of this harness is the baldric for his unusually shaped broadsword, the tip of which pokes out over his right shoulder and the handle, which is held in place by a leather snap hangs against his waist near his left hand. The sword itself was obviously crafted by a master smith, and though the scabbard has seen much wear, the sword itself is immaculate. The weapon is nearly forty inches in length from tip to pommel, with a grip designed for one handed use with the option to wield it with two. At the top of the handle is a simple cross guard with a trigger indentation for his index finger. The blade itself is three inches wide and made of fine Shaharan steel and has a gentle curve to it to facilitate slashing. It has a sharp point that can be used for stabbing, but ends in a wicked looking hook designed to trap and disarm opponents. The unsharpened edge has a serrated finish that will swiftly ruin an opponent's weapon. Underneath his tunic he's been known to wear a lightweight vest of lamellar plates hammered from Shaharan steel. Rumor has it, he also keeps a length of Shaharan steel chain weighted at both ends wrapped around his right forearm.
Sex: Male
Home Nation: Shaharan
Current Location/Residence: Veilbrand (which is where the party currently is if I skimmed correctly?)
Age: 31
Height: 5' 10''
Weight: 191 lbs
Hair Color: Black, with very... very... very slight, hardly noticeable graying about his temples. (It's a touchy subject for him)
Eye Color: Blue / Green
Complexion: Copper
! Body Type: Heavy
Blood Type: B-
Kiba is familiar with both styles of fighting. His build, brute strength, and heavyweight sword keep his fighting style hard and aggressive, however. Used properly, his broadsword can trap blades, spears, and shields, pull them out of position, or even break them. His sword is also not his only weapon: Kiba weighs close to two-hundred pounds and is mostly muscle. He fights using his entire body, including his mass to his advantage. Fists, elbows, knees, his head, crushing an opponent into a wall with his body, anything is fair game. While Kiba is naturally left handed, he trained himself to be ambidextrous after breaking his hand in a smithing accident. Though he is merely adequate with his off-hand, being able to grab and swing a chair or stool, or flip a table, or even land an old fashioned knuckle sandwich without lowering his sword is a huge boon... especially in bar fights.
Adaptability Ratio**: 7/10 (I gave Kiba a 7 for his unorthodox fighting style. In social situations he's more of a 3 or a 4... closer to a 3. :D)
!! Personality: Charming, a little brusque, a hit with the ladies, or he'd like to think so. Kiba is what happens when you give the gift of gab to someone who has trouble tying his metaphorical shoes in a social situation. He would LOVE to think that he has a silver tongue, but his
real skill is finding exactly the wrong thing to say at exactly the right moment to get himself in trouble. As you can imagine, this has lead to a long history of bar fights and duels. Being a fine purveyor of the brew hasn't helped much either, rather it's led to more than one fine night of reflection in the drunk tank. He's quick to champion a cause, and always
tries to do the right thing, but more often than not ends up causing more chaos than was intended. Sometimes he firmly believes that he was born under an unlucky star...
! Quirks: Heterochromia of the eyes, and his pair of tattoos of course. Kiba's hands are strong and rough from working the forge, as well as many small burn scars along his hands and forearms... and he has a
crippling handshake.
! Likes:
*Beer!
*Women
*The very occasional friendly bar scrap
*Defending the weak
*Contests of strength
*Fine crafts, forging, sword making
! Dislikes:
*Girly drinks... (Only women and effeminate men drink that fruity stuff)
*Squirrely assassins... especially those dodgy ones.
*Sneaking
*Hiding in the shadows
*Being quiet in general
Kiba isn't a master swordsmith, but he's right handy with a hammer and a forge and can repair damn near anything. The weapons he's made are of good quality, great for bounty hunters, soldiers, or generally anyone who uses a standard run of the mill weapon. A master crafted assassin's blade would be way beyond him. As mentioned, he's ambidextrous and quite strong, and if you count being able to chug a pint of beer in under fifteen seconds as a "special talent," there's that too.
Weapon/s of Choice: His broadsword, Manrikikusari (weighted chain), whip, rope, his body, the environment.
Weapon/s of Last Resort: Whatever is heavy and not bolted down... have you ever tried to parry a chair with a sword?
! Weapons you avoid: Small, lightweight weapons, those flimsy katana things, daggers etc.
!! Weapon/Training History (If applicable): "I'm gonna be a great warrior! A hero who defends the weak and 'whack, whack!' kills the bad guy!"
"Excellent, Kiba... a great warrior needs a weapon," his father exclaimed.
"Yeah, a mighty sword and a sturdy shield!"
"Here is your weapon, hero," his father said, thrusting a heavy stick into Kiba's hand.
"But, it's a stick," Kiba whined with a note of obvious disappointment.
"Yes, a stick. Every hero starts somewhere," his father explained as a length of rope with a small iron weight stuck on the end whipped around the end of Kiba's stick and it was suddenly ripped from his grasp, leaving him with empty hands and a startled look of wonder. "And when you can best this rope with your stick, I will give you the rope. When you can best the whip with your rope, I will give you the whip. When you can best the chain with your whip, I will give you the chain, and finally when you can best the sword with the chain, you and I will forge a sword worthy of a true hero together. Until then, you'll work this hammer at the forge: down on their luck heroes need to earn a living somehow and no son of mine will be a slacker!"
This was Kiba's childhood. He worked his body at the forge, learned metallurgy, proper care of his equipment and handy trade skills like shoeing horses, repairing pots and pans, and forging kitchen knives. In his free time he studied with his stick. Kiba's father was once part of the Royal Guard, and since he was little Kiba wanted nothing more than to be a great soldier and a hero like his dad... because what good father isn't their child's hero? His father found love fairly young, and retired once his wife was with child to pursue a safer career... though not before he absorbed years of training and service at the guard. He hadn't any non-martial skills, save some natural strength and an impeccable work ethic which was good enough to land him an apprentice position with a local swordsmith.
Kiba was raised in this manner, training his body and muscles at the forge from a young age, and honing his hand-eye coordination with the hammer at the anvil. Smithing was hard work, and Kiba grew up to be a promisingly large and strong youth, much larger than the other kids his age... though his height stopped increasing in his early adolescence and the other children quickly outstripped him. Instead Kiba's girth increased in spite of his many hours of hard labor at the forge. Nobody dare tease him, however, since he could pick up and throw a fifty pound bag of sand fifteen yards over his head. As his skill with the stick and his father's strict training increased, he eventually graduated to the rope, which took him years and many black eyes to master. It wasn't until his early twenties that he graduated from rope to whip, and then whip to chain... ah that age they start letting fresh young whelps into bars. The training and work weren't enough for Kiba, and in spite of being a little heavy, he always had plenty of energy to burn at the end of the day and chose to refine his art in bar brawls. There's no substitute for experience as they say. When Kiba was twenty-three he finally graduated to the sword, which Kiba designed himself to fit his unique fighting style, and his father forged from the finest materials as project to finally graduate to master swordsmith.
Biography: Well, a life of cheap booze, women, and bar fights only get a man so far. Kiba spent two years further honing his training and applying to the Shaharan military schools for service before a freak accident burned down his home with his parents inside. Or what he thought was a freak accident anyway, an investigation uncovered evidence of arson, and the people responsible for the death of his parents were never found. Kiba found his comfort at the bottom of a bottle, and quickly racked up a record which disqualified him from military service. When he wasn't working for a local smith repairing pots for beer money, he was fighting in bars or spending his nights in the drunk tank. The local guards even knew him by name.
It was such a day that his life changed. Drunk (again), it was no surprise that he ended up in a bar fight when someone accused him of... something: that detail was probably lost to the minor concussion he suffered after the local guard became involved. When he awoke in the drunk tank there was someone waiting for him and, much to his surprise, it wasn't the bailiff with a bucket of cold water. This man was much too well dressed to be a grunt, he had to be a merchant or something, or so Kiba thought at first.
"Good morning, large one!" the man exclaimed cheerily, to which Kiba could only grunt... the morning light stabbed his eyes painfully and the sound of the man's voice made his head pound.
"Rgh," Kiba grunted again as he hauled himself into a sitting position against the cell wall... what he meant was 'Top of the morning, good sir! And how are you today?' though the muffled grunt was the only thing that would leave his lips as he pressed his palms into his eyes. Thankfully the man seemed to speak "hangover."
"Oh, I'm quite fine, thanks to you in fact," he explained, leaning back in the roughshod stool the bailiff had provided him with.
"Rraagh?" Kiba grunted in approximation of 'I'm sorry, what?'
"Well, you see I'm not really supposed to leave Court, but it gets so dull up there... and it's not like I'm next in line or anything so sneaking out to enjoy the town is something of a guilty pleasure of mine. Blah blah blah politics, blah blah mathematics, and blah blah lectures is enough to drive a man crazy after a few weeks," the man explained.
"Uhhhgh," replied Kiba, to which he meant 'Well of course, good sir, I do understand people need some excitement in their life,' as he draped one of his tree-like arms over his eyes. He was beginning to wish the bailiff would storm in with the bucket.
"Well, your brawl interrupted an, admittedly clumsy, attempt on my life... or at least that's what the Royal Guard believe: I think he was just looking to cut my purse. Anyway, the way you threw a table across the room to take him out (which was quite impressive), and then proceeded to knock two of the Royal Guardsmen senseless when they came in looking for me turned quite a few heads."
"Mm-hmm," Kiba replied, though he'd stopped paying attention at the mention of his brawl.
"Which is why I'd like you to be my personal bodyguard!" the man exclaimed cheerily.
"Uh," said Kiba, as he cracked his blue eye open and lifted his arm to look at the man in disbelief.
"Excellent! I knew you'd agree," he said, slapping his knees and getting to his feet. "I'll be waiting outside for you to get cleaned up."
As it turned out, Kiba had unwittingly performed a "heroic rescue" of a royal prince who was in apparent and mortal danger. So his record was expunged and he was allowed into the Royal Guard as the prince's personal escort, which was trying and thrilling at the same. Kiba and the prince became fast friends, and he often helped the prince escape his lectures so they could ride the countryside together... or what countryside there was on the edge of a vast and dangerous desert anyway. They spent a great deal of time wandering the local tavern scene and protecting one another from drunk women. See, the prince already had two brothers and was in no danger of assuming the throne being the middle child.
That was until his older brother became ill, at least. After years of enjoying a carefree lifestyle on the Palace dime it was time to mature a little. The prince did double duty, caring for his ill brother and assuming all the duties that were left open. It had been a fun few years, but they were both approaching their thirties and the Prince's father was showing his age. Finally, a life of waste, friendship, booze, and adventure was coming to a close, and Kiba would be the personal escort of a king! He finally felt like he was doing his father's name justice, and in celebration they had one last night of excess... within the palace, because it would be irresponsible to allow the crown prince to wander the dangerous streets of the city.
Kiba awoke to a vicious hangover, much like the one he'd had when he met the prince, and the many he'd had since their friendship began. The night was a blur, which wasn't unusual... what
was unusual was the cool steel in his hand when he went to press his palms to his eyes against the morning light. It was his chain. Only the prince and one or two others even knew he had the weapon, since it was frowned upon for a Royal Guardsman to employ such "brutish lowbrow tactics." With a sigh he tugged on it to find the other end to be surprised by the thud of dead weight on the stone floor. The other end was stuck to something!
"Giragh," he swore, shaking the chain to try and free it without standing and wondered if he'd been using it to swing from the chandelier like some swashbuckling buccaneer.
When it didn't come free he stood and followed the length to find, to his dismay and horror, that the other end was wrapped securely about the prince's throat. The prince stared back at him with empty eyes, his blue lips agape and gasping. What do you do when you find the strangled corpse of your best friend (who happens to be the crown prince) at the end of a murder weapon you happen to be holding? Well, try and free him of course! In a haze, Kiba hoisted the prince off the floor and tried to loosen the chain... which was how the Royal Guards found him when they burst through the galley door.
Kiba wasn't going to get a chance to rot in prison. With the death of a Prince on his hands, it would have been straight to execution: do not pass "Go," do not collect 200 coins. He'd never once raised a hand against the prince, even in the myriad of drunken bar brawls they both got into. Kiba was sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that he didn't kill the prince... okay with his memory of the previous night blank there were some definite holes in his defense, but with him dead who would look for the real killer? Certainly not the youngest brother who was now in line for the throne instead of his slothful, trouble making older sibling and that pesky bodyguard. Certainly not any of the Royal Guardsmen who'd just been presented with an orgy of evidence: Kiba with the murder weapon and dead prince in hand.
Hands started moving towards sword hilts, and still groggy from booze and whatever he was sure had drugged him, Kiba did the only thing he could think of: he threw the prince at the surprised guards. Of course he immediately regretted shaming his friend's memory in such a manner, but the added benefit was that his chain came free and the door was blocked by a Guardsman fumbling to keep from dropping a corpse (a harder task than you might think). Kiba followed closely: two hundred pounds of charging blacksmith's son with a length of chain and a chair smashed through the blockade and scattered soldiers like bowling pins. Escaping the castle before the alarm was officially raised through one of their usual routes wasn't entirely difficult... it was escaping the city with the entire Shaharan military searching for him that was the real challenge. Kiba couldn't go by boat, since crossing the entire city without being seen was near impossible and he couldn't run all nimbly bimbly from rooftop to rooftop like some assassin out of the storybooks. Not with his girth: he'd fall through the first ceiling for sure!
So Kiba followed his gut, trusting his blind luck and braved the desert, hoping to reach the mountains.
