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[teakettles]

O, IMPERVIOUS TSUKOMOKAMI NASU ｡

_  

ooc,

Name: Kristen.
Age: 24
calabash 


ic,

(HE'S FIRE BURNING FIRE BURNING ON THE DANCE FLOOOOORR)

Character Name: Matsunaga Danjou Hisahide.
Age: Around late 40's.
Canon: Sengoku BASARA.
Canon Point: --- SB4 probably during that time frickin i don't know i need to fix this up

( OLD OLD OLD OLD - ADD NEW INFO, )

Background:  There is very little known about the widely proclaimed "Villain of the Sengoku Era": Matsunaga Hisahide. It is believed for a brief period of time he served as a retainer and adviser for the feared and notorious "Demon King" Oda Nobunaga, and watched his slow but steady rise to power along with his several subordinates. It is up to further speculation as to why Hisahide left his duties (unscathed, at that), although living a frivolous, nomadic lifestyle seems to suit him nicely. Since then he has gained a reputation as a collector of priceless antiques and valuable items, going through dangerous and almost tactful lengths to gain his subject of interest. From his endeavors he is branded a villain of sorts, a man not taken lightly and to be watched carefully at all times.

Personality: Hisahide is a man of few pleasures. Unlike his fellow swordsmen and acquaintances, he is surprisingly unaffected and uninterested in claiming territories and ruling the Land of the Rising Sun. His general outlook on humanity itself is often cynical and dismal, describing man as: "A tiring and useless pawn, awaiting the day he decays and disappears." He often preaches on the insignificance of man's relentless struggle to create his mark on the ever changing world. Everything will vanish into nothing, and all our rewards and goals that we have created will be reduced to ash. Despite his pessimistic opinions, Hisahide is described as an intelligent, witty, and charismatic man. He shows little fear in what he does and accepts defeat as an inevitability, although he would rather have himself blown up than be taken prisoner. Hisahide's bleak outlook on life, however, does not reflect on his passion or pursuing and possessing.

As stated earlier, Hisahide is an entrepreneur of sorts when it comes to collecting and gathering items. It is shown that he lives in a secluded area surrounded solely by all his treasured items, where he lounges and takes time overlooking every single one of them. His reputation as a ''villain' is associated with his love of collecting, since he has been known to do whatever it takes to capture and steal what he desires. He prides himself in his ability to gain what he desires, even if it means cutting down those in his path. One well known example of this was when Hisahide kidnapped Date Masamune's three soldiers and held them for ransom at the Great Hall of Buddha. He instructed Katakura Kojuuro to bring him Date Masamune's Six Claws (swords) and the treasured Takeda Clan heirloom armor. After facing off with Kojuuro and Sanada Yukimura and ultimately loosing the battle, Hisahide proclaimed he did not fear death, and promptly blew up the Great Hall, along with himself.

These two sides of Matsunaga Hisahide fluctuate between his continuing obsession of grasping what might become his and his view of the changing world around him as he sees it fit. He is collected and carries himself with a cool composure, making him a formidable enemy towards his victims and pursuers. He finds amusement in the weak and greater amusement in the powerful, often comparing the battles and wars in the Sengoku Era as a game that will eventually end. He finds the surge and passion in men to be only a brief state of joy that they have created to disillusion themselves from the painful and hypocritical truth of their crimes. Hisahide wishes to possess and capture all that he can before the world fades away, and he fades with it. Embracing the inevitable is one of his many talents.

Abilities: Hisahide is skilled in the art of swordplay, although it is shown he rarely uses his sword unless the occasion calls for it. His element his Fire, which largely relates to his use of bombs and explosives. He also tends to incapacitate his enemies with poisonous fumes in his surrounding battle area, which he emits using large jugs or vases in hidden places. (FIX THIS UP TOO!!!!!!)

Samples: 

First Person:

H'oh. It seems my number is up. I had planned not to leave my corpse behind but it seems under the current circumstances that will not be possible. I will have to make due with what this cruel twist of fate decides. It will be interesting, surely. Admittedly, I was not expecting the lack of feeling in my last moments. What an oddly peaceful feeling. It is all too entirely empty yet refreshing. Yes, I suppose I can grow to welcome this. Caught in this indecipherable void, slowly slipping from the axis of the other world. I am relaxed, yes. I do feel some sort of regret. I had yet to obtain all I could reach, everything I could grasp before it came to this end. It is a pity that these treasures will never feel the touch of my hand. They will never be discovered. Ah, perhaps it is better that way. Yes, it is better this way.

- Would you consider yourself a hero or a villain? Why? Neither is an option as well, but still tell why.

Contrary to popular belief, at times I am neither of these things. What is the use of heroic duties or villainous schemes when in the end all that matters is what I have obtained? I need no rank or name for my life's work. It is truly, and only that.

- Would you consider yourself a power hungry individual?

I have watched them all; those tyrants, the valiant lords and soldiers that this world has laid to waste. Power is only suitable when it is used for your own benefit. To admit to my own desires would only be scraping the surface of my objectives.

- Someone is trying to rob you! What do you do?

If I haven't caught them in the act yet, I am sure one of my paid subordinates would handle the situation easily. If that is not the case, I will take the hand that has so messily attempted to take what belongs to me. It is a pity that one would stoop so low to snatch a treasure under one's nose. I am much more sophisticated in the sense.

-Murder. What is your opinion?

Games we play, games we win and games we unfortunately loose. For the losers it is only a fitting end. A means to an end.

- If you could destroy a city, how would you do it?

I can't imagine why I would want to destroy an entire city. Such a task would prove to be very tiresome, if not time-consuming. If need be I would first collect the items from this city that I might want to keep at a later time. When I have swept it clean, I will blow it from the earth, and leave nothing behind.


Third Person:


Of course, he had been warned of them while seeking a place to stay within the village. He was told they could be rather placid, if not generous with their supplies of fruits or other grown foods within the fields. He took a great interest in watching them, for a while. A normally inanimate creature with no sense of self, no conscious thought or will to live or die, for that matter. Limp beings whose sole purpose was to hang poised-- a sacrifice, a monument.

He was particularly interested in their behavior. Could they extend a simple wish or gratitude along with a sweet smelling fruit? Could they bite he hand that so ruefully took those treasures away from them? He had, so far, only seen a glimpse of their attitudes, as fleeting as they were when they weren't perching themselves against the wind or hobbling around. They were almost like infants, peering up at the villages, bland, blank faces. It was hard to imagine them feeling anything beyond what they already felt. If not love? Hate? Could they feel hate? Normally he wouldn't be able to probe deeper into the matter during these restless days here. However, today was his lucky day.

Hisahide trailed a bit father than before into the fields, just enough so that the winds blew down in waves, blanketing the crops in slow sensual curves. His outfit, a pillar of black and yellow, stood out against the wheat brown of the dancing crops, almost beckoning anything else that might have been lurking around to present itself. It worked better than he would have imagined. From the moment he had caused enough of an imprint within the fields, the low rustling of a struggle could be heard. Unlike the ones he had met earlier, these looked to be extremely aggressive.

They gnashed their false teeth-- broken sticks, pebbles, small pieces of shrapnel dug deep into their cloths. Some crawled, clawing at the soft, fertile earth and grinding away at the soil with bitter nails and hooks for fingernails. It was truly amazing, in that moment. He was reveling in their animation, their ambitions. They made the oddest noises (he assumed they didn't have vocal cords but they were still writhing, like a low hiss of sorts) and the closer they came, the more he was enraptured. He folded his hands behind his back and watched.

"Am I trespassing? Have you come to take my head and make it your own? You're all so very interesting," He swept his gaze, almost fondly, at the scarecrows, watching as they reached for him. He took slow, wide steps back to avoid gripping hands and swaying arms. The wind whirled against his back, knocking a few of his aggressors to the ground. Slowly, they stood again.

"I cannot help but wonder if you realize what it is you're protecting," He narrowly missed one swipe of an arm, and again he expanded his gaze out to them. "You stay in these fields, like ghosts, almost. Always watching, I can assume. What is it you're all seeking? What are you feeling at this moment? Contempt? Rage? Jealously? Jealously that you are forever branded to be nothing more than a pedestal? Shall I end your misery here and now?" When he received no response, he knew then. "Yes. We are all in misery."

He took the bomb from his sleeve, only making a minor adjustment to the fuse so that it would burn quicker. He was a preacher, almost, a master to them, undeniably bringing them the end of their misery. They burned quickly, after the first explosion, and he watched them dissipate into the searing flames as if they were nothing but apparitions of his own imagination the entire time. He would have to make amends for the now burning fields, or perhaps leave the village and continue onward towards the city.

But he would watch the fields first, and take in the husky scent of smoke and destruction. There was much to learn, much to see. But the conflagration-- his conflagration. It was all but a warm familiar scene.