Nakagawa Yosuke

Vitality: 6

History: The man dressed in the silly costume with the long sword blinked in confusion and quickly grinned widely, laughing in a manner suggesting that he was covering something up and not doing a very good job of it. Smoke clouded the sky behind him, and below, the smoldering ruins of a noodle stand. "Well... umm, I was... errr." The man said as he rubbed the top of his head, slowly backing away from the wreckage. As he moved to the side, a bike was revealed to have crashed into the side, and the bike's owner sat on the ground, glaring up at the man in the outfit. "He nearly killed me!" The biker shouted savagely. The man laughed once again, even more generally all around nervous. He backed a bit further away, and, upon seeing the look most of the crowd was giving him, took off running, one hand holding his hat on his head, the other holding his sword across his back. He really was wearing a rather silly outfit, dressed like a character out of an anime or something. His long brown g flapped out behind him as he ran as fast as he could, the crowd in hot pursuit. Oh, great... He thought as he picked up his pace, slowly making his way away from the crowd.

Nakagawa Yosuke. "A thieving bastard," some might say.
"One of the biggest moochers you'll ever meet," others would chime in.
"He always carries around that fake sword, it's annoying," they would all agree.
Little do any of them know, Yosuke isn't a just simple moocher. His carefree nature and tendancy to ride on other people's backs, so to speak, weren't always there. Born on a dark day, Nakagawa Yosuke was raised in poverty, all the way up until his early teens. He was originally a man of few words, and all force...

The thunder flashed brightly as the other boys gathered around him, closing in on him, surrounding him as though he were some prey and they were wolves, stalking towards the weak target, ready to feed, to rip, to tear, to kill. The rain splattered against the already sopping wet and muddy ground. The wet and matted hair of the boys only served to further their similarity to wolves, to violent animals who think only of where their next meal is coming from. They began to get even closer to the boy in the middle, the occasional insult uttered by them reduced to something resembling nothing more than an animal's growl in the roar of the rain.
One of the boys, the biggest one, suddenly swung a large, meaty fist out at the blonde boy in the middle of the circle. The blonde boy's head jerked back violently as his body stumbled back a few steps. He fell into the other boys, who shoved him back into the largest boy, who proceeded to swiftly kick the blonde boy in the stomach, causing him to gasp in pain and double over.
The boys laughed and cheered. This blonde child's pain brought them great joy. There was another bolt of lightening and the blonde boy was upon the largest boy in the group. He let out an almost inhuman cry of rage and pain, an incoherent cry, part shout and part yelp. The largest boy was knocked on his back in seconds and the blonde boy began to punch.
He punched and punched, deliervering blow after blow to an almost tribal beat. The large boy must've started bleeding at some point, because the water all around them was turning red. The blonde boy probably would've continued punching had a loud ringing not spilt through the night air, cutting into his rage like a scalding knife into butter. His rage seemed to swirl around in a drain as it was quickly refilled with another emotion: fear. The primal instinct that fuels human survival. This sound was programmed with that emotion, and thus, the truth came full circle. The boy stood up and ran, stumbling through the rain...

It was after this attack by forces unknown on his hometown that Yosuke was taken in by his Grandfather, who lived in a dojo in the mountains nearby. Yosuke's parents had turned up missing after a night of fire and pain, and Yosuke's mind was in turmoil. His Grandfather was a master of swords, and an excellent scholar to boot.
It was three years after the incident, and Yosuke had begun to recover from the shock slightly, dealing with it through aggression and a slowly developing personality. He had taken up training with his grandfather. The only problem was that he was very strict...

Yosuke sprinted through the woods, glancing left and right, looking for just the right one. There. He extended his arm and wrapped his fingers around the protruding brach, swinging off of it and breaking it, bringing it with him. The branch broke with a bone breaking like snap, and Yosuke lept out of the trees, nearly falling over as the branch stuck in the ground, revealing its long length.
Yosuke turned and blinked twice before attempting to pull the branch with him, to no avail. He grunted and strained, quickly trying to pull it in all different directions, desparte to get it to move. Just as he was sure it was about to budge, he felt a searing sharp pain on the side of his head as he was knocked carelessly away from the stick.
"Careless fool..." His Grandfather sneered at the now tearing up Yosuke. "If you're going to insist on bringing such an absurd weapon to me, then that is what you shall use." He said loudly, gesturing at the branch Yosuke had brought.
"But... it's s-so big..." Yosuke whined slightly, only to get another swift wack from the stick his Grandfather used...

And thus Yosuke began his unorthodox training in Odachi usage, learning how to use his long sword correctly. Many years passed and Yosuke, now just shy of 20, had nearly mastered the art of Odachi usage.
His Grandfather had died a year earlier, however, of old age. Having finished his time there, Yosuke left the dojo for the big city. Upon arriving, he was given many odd looks because of how he was dressed, and the Odachi he had recieved from his Grandfather as a coming of age gift. He lived on the streets, occasionally stealing from stores and the like, sometimes using intimidation as a factor, which never seemed to work out for him.

Custom Abilities: Kiryoku