..+ Koori no Tashio +..

Name:
-Official title: Koori no Taisho
-Personal Name: Kazama Sen
No one is to call him by his given name. He is to be referred to as Taisho or Koori Taisho. Only people he has deemed worthy has the privilege of calling him by name.

Age:
-Unknown, and with his mask, it is further undetermined. However, he appears to be in his late twenties and early thirties.

Height: 6'7

Ability: Pressure

Attacks:

Dragon Pulse

Ice Beam

Blizzard

Glaciate

Home: Capital City
-Owns a house in the northern district
-Has allegiances towards the lands of the north, his home country.

Job/Classes: Noble
-Leader of the Intel Department and Internal Affairs

Personality:
The Koori no Taisho is a man of discipline and caution. It was said that in youth he was more open and more outgoing, but due to a tragedy in his home country that resulted in the loss of his mother, he has become withdrawn and almost as cold as the frosts he governs. He is tactical and at often times cruel. Only to the person he is close to, he is kind, and even gentle. No one can seem to convince him to take his mask off, not even once.

Likes: Warm tea, often alone. He only has a select company that he enjoys tea with, but even then, people cannot find the chance to glimpse the face under the mask. He likes poetry and reading fairy tales, though he would hide these in other books and scrolls. Steam buns, he adores these, especially ones made by the dragonair Sora.

Dislikes: New recruits. He hates their naivete, their overconfidence, their disrespectful nature, and their plain newness. He prefers to he have his brethren trained them first before sending to his department. But since not many of the nobles are in the Intel department, it is up to him to train. People who persists to see his face. People who call him not by title but by name. Even his surname is a no for him.

History:
Kazama Sen was born to the Lord and Lady of the northern lands bordering the empire. He was the second son of three children and the first to show an oddity of his brethren. No one has ever seen horns like his, his coloring was too far from the other dragons, and the thought of a possible affair whispered among the people. However, Kazama and his mother were both saved by the elder priest, who whispered about a being that was a dragon born of ice.

The Kyurem.

Disobeying tradition in which the first born son should lead, Kazama was taken and had begun to train to be head of the family. Things would have been fine if the boy had been favorable. He was weak and pathetic and definitely no fighter. The only true gift he had going for him was that he was the Kyurem and that was all. By the age of eight, he was no more an able swordsman than children half his age. His own brother had surpassed them all at the age of seven, and soon it was growing more and more favorable if the elder son should inherit instead.

However, the elder priest was against it. He explained that what Kazama needed was time. Glaciers did not form in a day and his power was just growing, waiting for the right time to be used to full potential. Again, the people was appeased but among the noble family, talk began to stir. The older son, who was fifteen now, felt jealous and betrayed that his father should continue to dote on a weak son instead of his obviously stronger child. He grew close to his uncle and complained to the elder, saying that he should be leader, that he had more talent and potential than his brother whom only cause was that he was born the ice dragon.

The Elder listened and he, who once was wronged by his older brother, began to spew poison in the teenager’s mind. Well, if he was so upset, why not take the position for himself? His father was obvious weak like his son, to continue to hope and wish for a miracle that would never happen. Kazama was as sluggish as a Regi. There was no way that boy would be able to lead.

And so, plots began to be formed.

The years passed and Kazama turned the tender age of fourteen. His abilities had grown and was now so so then the previous below average they had been. Still, the elder priest fed the boy hope, that yes, he was special, because he was the Kyurem. Not only that, once he learned to tap into his full powers, he would not only be fit to rule the Clan as head now, but make his parents proud.

There had been a rift that formed between the young Kyurem and his father. All he ever saw in his eyes, after all, was disappointment. So it was natural that the boy would look to his mother, a gentle frosslass woman, for the comfort that he needed. The Lady tried to treat all of her children equally, love them all the same, despite the differences in their rank. The people would even forget that she had a younger daughter, as well as two warring sons.

Life in the north became precarious and it was becoming difficult to survive the winter months. This would lead the Lord to make a treaty with the Empire of the South, establish trade routes between the two. They traded fur and in return would receive supplies to survive the winters. All in all it was a good treaty.

However, a certain other saw it as an opportunity to take care of opposing forces.

The Lord had made it to the empire. The scrolls found on his corpse said as much when they found him. Left bereft without a leader and without an object of vengeance, the people began to quarrel amongst each other, out of both outrage and fear. Even if the nobles of the Empire was responsible for the murder, they were no match for the strength of the armies. All was left was to bide their time for the perpetrators to show themselves.

Unfortunately, it also meant that it was time for Kazama to take the head position and lead the clan.

This was the moment his brother and uncle had waited for. At the coronation ceremony, his brother degraded Kazama, calling him unfit to rule the clan and that it should be him, following tradition and as the eldest son, that should rule. In a surprising turn of events, however, not many fell sway to the older brother’s claims. After all, comparing to the cruel older brother against the gentle and thoughtful younger, it was clear who the people wanted to rule them. And so, the coupe etat fought with Kazama’s supporters, and a civil war had been created.

It was the bloodiest in the North’s history. Families were pitted against each other and riots littered the streets, all in each brother’s name. Kazama had been taken into hiding along with his mother and sister, while the elder priest stayed behind to aid in their escape. The plan had been to take them down south, to the Empire, and Kazama would plead with the Emperor for help to stop his brother. Things were going according to plans, but no one had expected the traitor in their midsts.

Despite the priest’s efforts, the plan of escape had reached the elder son’s ears and he met the disguised caravan in the Peak, a cavern valley between two tall glaciers and the safest path to the Empire. The man had offered his “true” family an appeal, just as long as they gave up Kazama and chose him as ruler. His mother refused, as did his sister, and the fight began. Kazama had been trapped in the caravan’s trunks, courtesy of his sister, while she and the soldiers began to fight. Kazama begged his mother to free him, begging that became screams when he heard the gurgling sound of his sister’s death. His mother smiled at him, kissed him on his check, and told him she was sorry.

Sorry for giving birth to him.

With those last words, she left the caravan and slapped the rapidash on the flank, and met her son in battle. All Kazama would remember of that day was how cold it was, and how the tears on his cheek seem to freeze.

The rapidash ran for a day, before stopping at the first sight of greenery, not minding its cargo to eat and replenish itself. The caravan wagon had been so silent that it was no wonder that the loyal steed would forget that it was carrying someone.

Not even hours passed before a single zebrstrika would find the rapidash and its cargo. The wagon was opened and the face of his brother, bleeding with burns of frost, sneered at the broken, unmoving form of his brother.

Any last words? he asked.

Kazama twitched, looked up at the face of his tormentor. Not his father. Not the elder priest. Not his sister. Not his mother.
His older brother, the man who should have protected him.

Kazama shed one tear, and the ice dragon roared.

Months later, the matter of leadership was settled and the young Kyurem became head of the clan. As the last survivor of his family, it was suggested that he would go down south as it had been planned in the beginning, to enlist himself in the Emperor’s services and find himself a suitable wife. Kazama agreed, to an extent. He went south to the Empire, and so he has been for several years.

And though he detested the warm temperature, he figured it was better, than living among the ghosts of a legacy.

Additional Info:
-Kazama has worn a mask since the day his entire family has died. He had no urgency or expressed any desire to remove it.

-Kazama is the leader of the clan, but left an envoy in charge, who was the son of the priest that gave the kyurem his lessons.

-Kazama doesn't speak to his family and will rudely walk away when asked.

-Kazama has some ties to the Terrakion Tierra, though when meeting her would react like a stranger.

-Kazama is cousisn with the dragonair Sora, whom is his charge.

Textures:

(c) ~Absinthyium-stock

(c) *Jenna-Rose

(c) ~sailorjackie