Jae Huan

Name: Jae Huàn
Nickname: Old One Eye (but no lol)
Age: 22
Gender: Mah-Male

Height: 5'7"
Weight: 160
Appearance: Notably short, the first thing of note about the man is his fiery red hair which, thick and short, stands up at crazy angles most commonly pushed back into a manageable slick. He has pale skin, though not ghostly, which generally sports of very feint tan due to the extended amount of time he spends outdoors in the sun. He has golden eyes which grant him a piercing vision and a generally smiling face which helps to prevent people from being too offset by his gaze.

When moving, he walks with an almost comical swagger which belies the extreme precision and grace of his movements. For someone so small, he appears to have the utmost confidence in himself which, as it turns out, is true. His body is toned to an equally comical degree, the valleys between his muscles cut as if by a chisel. He has a narrow, angular face which hails to his more eastern heritage. All in all, he is still not beautiful, primarily because his face is marred by 2 deep gashes upon his right eye, and these are not the cool or badass kind. No, where the twin blades touched him his flesh rippled, buckled, and appears to have bubbled slightly. The scars are not red but a thick, milky white and, while they blessedly do not leak pus, they have unfortunately ruined the otherwise handsome face the man had.
For this reason he frequently wears some form of eye covering, most often a simple bad or some sunglasses.

For his garb he chooses almost always to dress in a flamboyant twist of traditional garb with fine silks and other richly appointed fabrics. This, of course, stands at extreme odds with his heritage but more on that in just a bit.

Village: Iron
Character Rank: Chunin
Character Tier: B-3
Clan: Uzumaki
Element: Roll Dem Bones
Bijuu Roll: *Scoffs audibly but secretly wants one*

Personality: Irreverent. Above all else, when you have finally descended the mountainous formation of the man's personality, one finds that he has no reverence for anything sacred. He holds no particular burdens nor rewards of honor and one could never say that he is anything approaching sanctimonious. You probably wouldn't say that though anyway. Would you? Please don't.

Beyond this, he is fun in the pure freedom of his being. He does not take anything from anyone, does not stomach insult without warrant, and does not remain in rooms where he does not feel like he enjoys himself. Though he does not like it he has found that this utter disregard for formality and protocol - up to and including a disregard for reality itself - has drawn many he meets to him. I beg you, do not get drawn in by him. I know he's charming but just- yes his eyes are very pretty when he smiles but still.

Glib, fast, careless, and adaptable, the man is also ruthless and cunning in a way reminiscent of street urchins. He downplays his perceptive nature and quick wit by making outlandish accusations about the fabric of the universe or the strange voice asking people to do things but, alas, such intelligence is still there. But then again, what exactly is intelligence anyway? And how do we define the differences? And why weren't those last two questions in italics?
Character History: Hailing unbidden from the Uzumaki clan, the man, more gladiator than samurai, was sold early into slavery for reasons that he cannot fathom. Somewhere deep within the folios of a wandering slave trader are the records of his sale and his projected worth as a youngin' but, at least to him, these papers and values and measurements are all long lost. He neither knows what price he fetched nor what price he might now fetch, though he has to imagine that the overall worth of his manflesh has certainly increased as tiem has gone by. How much did you cost? How much would you cost now?

He did make for a very popular spectator sport though.

At first he simply worked, cleaning and mucking and mopping up the pits in which the older boys and girls fought lions and tigers and bears. And each other, if the price was right. Some of his age left to fight and did not ever return, likely fed to a wolf or something similar at the end of a weekend show. Luckily for him - and it was sheer luck - he avoided this fate and instead worked, ate, and grew.

Eventually, after a collection of boring details which would take up about 15 seconds worth of a montage, he was an adult, or at least had reached something approaching adulthood. Thus began a new career, one in training. Those who owned him ran both a small private militia and the gladiatorial show rings which earned them the other half of their profits. He was selected for the former and received a collection of rigorous and grueling trainings focused mostly on the sword and other armaments. However, when finally he had completed this regiment, he spoke up, choosing instead to fight in vein for his freedom in the pits. If given the choice, which would you select? Oh, well you don't have to answer that.

He became an instant hit, the marred and ruined face of his placed behind a mask crafted from the jawbone of the first gigantic monstrosity he slayed for the crowed and his name written across banners all over the place, beckoning the rich and mad from far and wide to come and watch this miracle slave defy all odds, killing man and beast alike in a desperate bid for his freedom.

While he is not yet free, he approaches it with every new foe he slays. And after that? Well who knows? What does a slave need of freedom, anyway?