A lowlife, drunken "samurai" on a quest to reunite with his one true love. It's more alcohol, btw.

Crackle... crackle... crackle....
 
The ominous sound echoed throughout the halls of the Crammed Gorge Tavern in the dead of night. The human owners housed upstairs - Dassai and Mizunowa Nomisuke - awoke in a cold panic. Their minds raced. Just what were they hearing? The crinkling of leaves? Or perhaps the crushing of bones? Confusion transmogrified to fear as the sound relentlessly tormented their ears, growing louder and louder with each crack.
 
The couple eventually decided to take matters into their own hands. Swallowing their fear, they armed themselves with miscellaneous tools throughout their bedroom and creeped downstairs. Creeks, crackles, and muffled breathing filled the air as the Nomisukes shuffled to the source of the sound: the tavern kitchen. Fed up with the noise, Dassai kicked through the kitchen door, ready to strike with his deadly candelabra. What he found was not an assailant, but a hatchling kenku squirming around in a pile of it's own broken eggshells, echoing each crack. Honestly, it was a pretty pathetic sight to see.
 
Needless to say, the circumstances surrounding Kuromatsu Nomisuke's birth were completely normal.
 
Kuro was taken in by the Nomisukes and was treated like the son they never had. Despite the peculiar family dynamic, the three truly loved and cared for one another. Just as his adoptive parents raised him, though, so too did the Crammed Gorge Tavern. Kuro spent most of his spare time growing up sweeping the floors, chatting with the locals, etc. He had many responsibilities around the tavern, but his parents deemed him too clumsy for the kitchen - so he never really learned how to cook for himself. He was never even taught how to make the omelettes that their restaurant was known for. However, Kuro didn't care much for the cooking. His infatuation instead lied with the wandering samurai that would often stop in. They'd humor Kuro's obvious starstruckedness with stories of adventure and suspense, have a quick drink, and then walk out the door, never to be seen again. From their heroism to their outfits, Kuro looked up to the samurai and aspired to be one himself. Although, his efforts were generally limited to swinging the broomsticks around like katanas... and smashing them to pieces. Those came out of his allowance.
 
Kuro's admiration for these warriors would eventually lead to a spat with his parents. He dreamed of learning the ways of the Bushido and taking up a katana of his own (for real this time), hoping to one day spread stories just as magnificent as those from his idols. Dassai and Mizunowa, however, were much less enthusiastic about their son's aspirations. They believed that this path was one of a derelict, and pushed Kuro to focus on educating himself and maintaining the family tavern. They would argue frequently over this topic.
 
The tension of this dispute eventually came to a breaking point when Kuro ran away from home in the dead of night to seek out his dream. The money he had saved up from working at the tavern is what kept him alive as he jumped from town to town - wandering samurai to wandering samurai - looking for a mentor to finally train him properly. Yet, even with promises of coin, no one that he came across cared to shoulder the responsibility of being his teacher. The seemingly endless search dwindled Kuro's enthusiasm and dulled his sense of wonder.
 
After months of searching, Kuro finally found a group of samurai willing to take him under their wing. However, they weren't exactly the noble warriors he hoped he'd find; quite the opposite, actually. Led by a gruff old human named Raiden, wanted posters and town gossips referred to them as the Sepuku Clan: a small group of traveling dishonored samurai who had abandoned their sworn responsibilities, opting instead to use their skills to raid shops and wealthy households, and even take on hits throughout any town they wandered through. Instead of fighting for others, they fought to line their own pockets. Their work was dangerous and crooked, but his months of searching left Kuro desperate for training of any kind. After many begs and bribes, Raiden agreed to let Kuro join the group and study under him.
 
Although strenuous and unrelenting, Raiden's training proved to be quite effective. Despite the immorality of his group, Raiden was kind, patient, and thorough; he embodied all of the qualities of an excellent teacher. Kuro picked up on these teachings quickly, and, before long, he joined the clan in their raids. He found these outings almost therapeutic; an effective way - albeit unhealthy - to release all of his pent up aggression. It wasn't necessarily the samurai life that he had dreamed of, but Kuro was making the best of what he was given.
 
One raid in particular changed Kuro forever. The job seemed fairly simple: jump a caravan in the night as it makes its routine delivery into (CITY NAME), collect the spoils, and skip town. Kuro must've already taken on five or six similar jobs. And just like those jobs, this one went off without a hitch; the two caraveneers were swiftly taken out and their goods seized. When it came time to divvy up the treasure, Kuro had the last picks, given his newbie status. In fact, the only thing left for him to pick was a shimmering gold tokkuri bottle. On it, the characters "欲望" were beautifully written. Tied to the neck of the bottle was a well-worn katana, cracked and wrapped with bandages. Contained within was a scentless, clear liquid. As far as loot goes, Kuro was incredibly disappointed - as was usually the case. That is, until he took a sip from the bottle.
 
Kuro recognized the taste immediately: sake; it was a drink he often served at the tavern. He had never cared much for it before - or for any alcohol, for that matter - but as soon as this sake touched his lips, fireworks exploded in his mind. The flavor was unlike anything Kuro had ever experienced. The alcohol was strong and bitter, but just sweet enough for it to go down easy. The grains with which it was created made it heavy, yet it's cold temperature made it crisp and refreshing. It was like the apple Eve gave unto Adam; the ambrosia feasted on by the Gods of Olympus. Kuro's life flashed before his eyes. The bad memories suddenly became good; the good memories suddenly became beautiful. Even the tears that began to stream down his face seemed to be touched by the magnificent flavor.
 
Kuro finished the entire bottle in record time, yet his thirst had not been quenched. He stumbled around crying, screaming for more. He assaulted his teammates, feeling around each person to see if anyone had taken another bottle from the caravan. Pats turned to shoves, shoves turned to punches, and pretty soon the entire team had dogpiled Kuro to keep him in check. He laid at the bottom of the mountain of bodies in a squirming slumber.
 
Days continued to pass, but Kuro's mind was stuck in that one beautiful moment. The sake became the only thing that mattered to him. Friendship, wealth, love... he didn't care about any of it. The only reason he continued to go on raids was to rummage through fridges and kitchen cabinets. He insisted that the clan visit every single tavern they came across to try out their selection of alcohol. Even though everything he drank was now tainted with the taste of dirt, Kuro began to drink so much and so often, that he could barely even function without being intoxicated. Kuro became erratic, unwell, depressed. So much so that the Sepuku Clan - along with his master, Raiden - abandoned him.
 
Years have since passed. Now, Kuro roams from town to town, tavern to tavern, all by his lonesome in a desperate attempt to satiate his undying thirst.

Age

36

Gender

Male

Eyes

Yellow, beady black pupils

Hair

Jet black

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

Charcoal

Height

5 ft. 10 in.