Ninjak

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• Vital Stats

  • Name: Ninjak
  • Gender: Male
  • Played by: Lorn
  • Nicknames: Jak
  • Race: Spirit Beast
  • Class: Raid Boss
  • Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
  • Age: 24
  • Size: Mini-Boss
  • Body Type: Athletic
  • Height: 6'
  • Weight: 190 LBS
  • Complexion: Radient
  • Hair: Silver
  • Eyes: Blue
  • Handedness: Left
  • Personality: INFJ

• Character Sheet

  HP	120 Mil
  STR	244/255
  DEX	255/255
  CON	247/255
  INT	243/255
  WIS	240/255
  CHA	241/255

• Description

  A rather strange canine indeed, his breed on appearance seemed to be very hard to determine. He himself has no definitive clue of his true heritage, all he knew was that he was classified as a little known mythical creature called a Spirit Beast. This worg-looking pup however had some pretty distinctive features; Luminescent turquoise eyes that emanate a soft blue haze, his large canine tongue stained a similar shade. That same fog drifting from his maw whenever he parted his lips. He also had a pair of tusks that protruded a couple of inches from his jaw, as well as a pair of viciously sharp smilodon-esque fangs. What was unusual about this was the fact that most worgs had their elongated teeth protrude from the lower jaw. Very rarely were they seen with them sprouting from the top, down, it was an aspect of himself that he rather liked. His hair was a disheveled mess of silver spikes, an electric blue tint streaked throughout. His fur, a lustrous deep blue that caught the light in such a way that it shifted its shade depending on where you stood, in a rather metallic manner. scattered about his sides and arms were large bright glowing splotches, the occasional wisp-like streak marring the delicate pattern. Those intriguing markings gave off a strange phosphoric aura when exposed to air. This aura oxidizes when it mixes with the oxygen in the air, causing plasma to form, which in turn discharges in a bright flurry of sparks which arc around his body in rather dazzling array.
  
  The mutt stood bare chested save for a scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. A faint pattern was embroidered in the silky fabric, the thread rippled and shimmered as it caught the light of his sparks. His lower body clad only in simple, black, free flowing cotton pants. They were held in place by a thick cloth belt and were quite loose, giving him great mobility. The hems of the legs clasped to his shins with a rather sleek emblem, the crest of his faction embossed in the metal. He preferred that his paws remain bare, as this allowed him to move about noiselessly if he so desired.

• Bio

  His story starts as all stories do, with the connotation of content. A normal cub raised to normal parents, with the twists and turns of a normal cub's life. The length of which always seems endless, though somehow so limited in time by necessity of the evolution from life to death. Some, however don't pass so easily.
  The time came when by fate's twisted hand the cub was left to his own devices, parents so easily slaughtered in the name of peace, love and understanding. War-time novelty, like a collectable figurine often worn on the sleeve like a badge, was the constructive criticism which created him. The remnants of his childhood masked in propaganda and the recognition of the truth of forgotten freedom.
  He aged in the pervading poverty of the streets, travelling as he wished and surviving as he could. He sought knowledge, truth, understanding and most of all a purpose. We all have reasons for what we do and no act goes unpunished by the necessity to explain one's own existance, if not to others than to ourselves. It was long thereafter when he found his reason as the uninvited stow-away on a ship destined for disaster.
  The ship itself was quite large, carrying red and black sails. It wasn't until it had reached open sea that a flag was raised, bearing the mark of a dead dream; The Jolly Roger. Throughout history pirates were always dramatized as dark mysterious figures, ratty from months at sea and crude, with the heart of an animal and the mind of a madman. The pirates he was faced with now were no such monsters, they were men just as he, down on their luck and abused by destiny.
  Destiny it was, with a black hand upon the fate of that crew, when the sky went dark and the waves rolled like mighty beasts. The ship was ravaged, and those who weren't tossed into the eternal arms of the sea were marked with disorientation as the storm passed just as abruptly as it had approached. The skies remained dark, a fog encroaching like an ominous spirit around the ship. It was then that they saw the shimmering red glow which preceded the approach of another vessel.
  It was a sight to behold, the ship which slowly coasted forward through the mist. The sails were tattered and torn, the old wood of the ship rotted and green with mold and moss. At the very front of the ship was a devilish dragon's head, eyes aglow with a mystical red light. To say that the crew was terrified would be to under-estimate the true horror which they felt.
  The Captain hollered to his men, desperately urging them to their posts in some slim hope for escape. It was then that the sea seemed to turn to fire, tendrils of flame rising to lick hungrily at the boat. Menacing roars were heard just moments before terrified screams. The fires vanished, the sea went dark, and the world seemed naught but an empty void.
  When he awoke, he was drenched and freezing. Minutes seemed like hours as he tried to pull himself together. The sound of the waves brought him to his senses as he finally recalled his last moments of consciousness. The massive ship, the wicked flames, and the darkness. As he stood he squinted through the bright sun to explore his surroundings. It was only seconds before his eyes widened, despite the sting of the bright morning sun. He was in the middle of a calm sea, alone aboard a gigantic ship with tattered sails and the head of a dragon guiding it's way. He feared all was lost, his fate was to die alone at sea. It was then that a raven alighted to the boards before him, cawing at him almost as if chiding his foolishness. With the guidance of a rather unique raven, he managed to sail the eerie ship to shore.
  
  Ten long years followed as he remained the Captain of that ship. The sails repaired, the wood restored and painted in blacks and reds. The ship was dubbed the Dark Raven, and he took on the name Ninjak, Captain of the Dark Raven. Feared and respected alike, he sailed the seas exploring new and old lands, taking his fill along the way. Some claimed he was a demon, others claimed he was much worse. Rumors spread of the dread Pirate Ninjak, Demon of the Sea.
  That all came to a desperate end one night, as the Dark Raven approached a storm. The crew would later claim it was a storm the likes of which they had never seen, though there was someone on the ship that night that had seen such a storm once before. The waves rolled, the lightning crashed, and then all went dark and calm as a fog set in around the ship. A crimson glow lit up the fog before the ship, and slowly they approached another vessel. Panic stricken, Ninjak began to bark orders at his astonished crew. He would sooner be drowned than so easily give up his legacy.
  This time he awoke in darkness, only the dim light of a candle lighting the surrounding environment. His head pounded, and his heart sank as his eyes adjusted to the dark which entombed him. Entombed was a good choice of words, as that appeared to be his fate. Sandy colored bricks with strange engravings and articulate symbols stared back at him. He tried to stand, but found himself bound by old rags wrapped about him. There were no words to describe the terrified confusion which befell him in that moment. Hours passed as he struggled at his burial garbs, slowly working them loose before slipping free from their ancient grasp. Surrounding him on all sides were treasures the like of which he could only have dreamt of, though for the moment they only aided in increasing the quiet breakdown of his mind.
  The door to the tomb was a stone slab, sealed tightly into place from the outside. He struggled to dislodge it before it finally moved, leading him into a large hallway, the faint glow of sunlight reflecting in the distance. He stumbled toward that light, till he finally felt the warmth of the sun's rays beating down on him. Desperately he crawled forward, eyes slowly adjusting to the bright sand on which he crawled, before he saw it. A massive statue stood before him, sandstone accented in gold and glowing blue sapphires for eyes. He was at a loss for words as he stood, staring up at the easily recognized visage. He was staring at a rather large statue of himself.
  He returned to the burial chamber in which he had awoken, lighting torches and desperately searching through the ancient treasures. He found elegant clothing to dress himself in and blades to tuck in his belt, and taking whatever few treasures he could easily carry he fled from that eerie tomb without a second thought. The surrounding desert seemed barren and empty, aside from the few ruins which he passed, somehow in hope of finding a sign of life, or better yet an escape. What he did find was both promising and disillusioning at the same time. There, half buried in the sand, was the remains of the Dark Raven.
  He didn't have the energy or sanity at this point to wonder how it got there, or even how he had ended up in a tomb.