Sal Norongachi

Character Information

Name: Sal Norongachi

Age: 23

Bloodline: Uchiha

Elemental Affinity: Earth and Fire

Desired Rank: A

Desired Village:

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 168 lbs

Description:
Dark brown short hair that is generally unkept and scruffy looking. His eyes are also a very dark shade of brown/almost black. His skin is pale white. Even though Sal is only 23 various vices (alcohol, smoking) have worn his skin along with the stresses of his life. He is often mistaken for 26 or 27 rather than closer to his real age.


History:

Sal never knew who he was, or where he came from. He was, as his adopted mother had said, reborn from war. Found wandering in the midst of a bloody conflict, an orphaned 4 year old, he was taken in by Li'Sha of the Red Dawn Mercenary Group and raised as one of them.

Within thier ranks he found out, quickly, that the life they lead was fraught with danger and he lost many friends and those h considered family over the years. It was down to Li'Sha that he survived however, teaching him all that she knew the powerful Missing Ninja of Konoha brutally drilled the child on the Ninja Arts, honing a killer instinct that would see him through many a life or death situation.

He currently resides in the deserts of Suna, he and the Red Dawn operating out of a low mountain range within its unforgiving sand.


RP Sample: (Taken from BWF)

Six weeks passed quickly. His hands were hard and callused, his clothes ripped and torn, his entire body a lean and deadly composition of muscle and speed. He also had a ruddy big stick. In short he was a very naughty boy right now, a very naughty boy indeed. It was mid-afternoon when he strolled into Zaraki, his t-shirt long since tattered now served as a sling for his over sized weapon which hung down his back at an angle and was still barely off the earthen path.

Looks of confusion were evident on onlookers faces, he could almost hear their thoughts. "Here didn't we kill that strange looking guy?" was possibly at the top of the list right about now but one look told them that trouble was on the horizon, something far different from the man who walked into town six weeks ago was coming back for seconds and the dirt and the grime and the hard rock like abs gave the impression that he aimed to misbehave and pity the idiot that tried to stop him.

One thought had kept him going these long wee-he caught a whiff of himself in a gust and made an amendment-two thoughts had kept him going these long weeks: Revenge and a hot bath. He stopped right at the very spot where he'd not so long ago been chewing on his own teeth and waited. The crowd were a tad more cautious this time round, he'd come back for seconds, no one came back for seconds. Top it off with the fact that he had brought half a tree to a stick fight and they were a touch worried that the odds weren't in their favour but a thought stirred confidence amongst the rabble of branch wielding hardmen. 'We know what we're doing, we do this all the time, we've turned a hobby into an art form, we beat up people with sticks like Da Vinci creates a masterpiece.'


So the same five men stepped out from the crowd, same look, same smirk and the same big bastarding sticks. The fight was inevitable, that much was true but like all simian looking twats the world over a bit of smack talking was required, it was tradition after all.

"Ah our friend with the funny accent returns!" Smiled the leader, his nose still a bit red and skewed to one side.

"I must say the nose is a marked improvement mate, draws the eye away from the rest of you." Sal smiled, his eyes holding a feral look. If there was one thing a Scot hated above all else it was persecution and if there was one thing a Glaswegian hated EVEN above that it was some foreign fucker taking a stab at their accent.

"Maybe we can make some improvements to YOUR face." Chimed one of the lesser grunts, evidently not the brightest of the bunch.

"Ask your Mrs if my face needs improvement bad boy." Salem retorted with a cheeky wink. That was the straw that broke the camels back as they say in more polite circles, this in the form of a pissed off husband screaming like an angry school girl who'd just had her first period who just happened to be swinging a bloody big stick at Sal's head.

It didn't find his head however, it found air, but the Glaswegians fist sure as hell found the mans chin and flung him off his feet with an upper cut. The others weren't very sure what to make of this and the stupid amongst them stared slack jawed at the gurgling figure sprawled before them.

The leader urged his fellows on, cannon fodder Sal reckoned, to wear him down. Sticks flashed through the air but the Scotsman was to quick, the blows appearing sluggish to him as adrenaline pumped through his body. He hadn't unslung his own weapon yet and like a child playing with an insect ducked and dove gleefully between the three attackers. Then the look of almost manic joy vanished and as a stick came down from above he side stepped, wrapped his left arm round both the mans wrists, cupped the back of his head and then pulled it forward whilst driving his own to meet it. The sound was like a pair of steel balls being swung against each other. The man went right of his feet and slammed into the ground and when Norongachi turned to face the remaining two offenders his face carried a burst of crimson from their possibly dead, certainly unconscious friends nose.

"That ladies and ladies was a Glasgow Kiss, next one is with tongues. Any takers?" He grunted and as the two steeled themselves, unconvincingly, for round two Sal unsheathed his stick and what a beautiful stick it was. You could tell when someone had just took a fear induced dump in their pants. Generally there was a whitening of the face, a generally rush of blood away from the brain, a glazed look in the eye before hand and then a look of surprise at the unprompted bowel movement and finally the blood rushed back and in great quantities to join the look of utter embarrassment. I don't think I need to mention the obvious pong that accompanies such an event, now do I?

Such a thing had befallen thug number two as he stared open mouthed at the large, painful looking, stick rising into the air like the tree it had been cut from. He made a decision, run, and so he did. His two friends had a little more courage about them and came side to side, weapons held ready. They weren't taking him lightly any more.

One came in high, the other low, but against the thickness and length of Salem's defence he could easily cover his height with his wooden blade and caught both blows mid and low against the tempered oak and with a heave of strength that even he couldn't believe pushed both men backwards into a stagger. They came in again one left, one right, quick slashes at mid-level. It took only one hand and quick side to side motion to deflect the blows but like he had noticed before his weapon was large and ponderous and as such quick counters from this vertical angle were hard to accomplish. So he did a quick flip on the spot as his blade caught and deflected the last blow and in a microsecond his body was upright again the momentum from his spin bringing his sword crashing against the chest of the leftmost attacker and keeping the flow going let the sword slide up the falling targets body, twisted his upper body the other way and with a small jump brought his lower body into the same turn smashing the gargantuan stave down across the head and shoulders of the remaining man, who didn't so much crumple as deflate to the floor.

Salem stood over the leader, the last to fall, and looked down at him. The man managed to semi focus on Sal, much to his credit, and with a wavering stare asked.

"What-what are you?"

Salem took a heartbeat to think about it and then thrusting his stick out to the side and a clenched first in the opposite direction responded. "Like Oasis said," He began and then in a half scream half sing continued. "I'm a rock and roll starrrrrr!!" The crowd didn't get it, they didn't know who Oasis was, but what they did understand was that this mad man had a big stick and he bloody well knew how to use it.

Sal looked to the horizon, saw the gleaming Seireitei far in the distance and turned to a peasant. "What the hell is that?" He said pointing the long piece of wood at Seireitei the man stammered something about that being where the Soul Reapers were.

"Oh reallly, and tell me," He said with a smile. "How exactly does one get to this Seireitei?


Stats

Strength: 20

Speed: 10

Endurance: 20

Stamina/Chakra: 10

Ninjutsu: 10

Taijutsu: 20

Genjutsu: 10

Total-100


Items



Justu: (Your char will know all Jutsu of his element choices from E rank to his rank)

Custom Jutsu: (When you create custom Jutsu they will be placed here)

Abilities: (When you attain Sharingan, Cursed Mark ect they will be added to this section of your bio)