A new generation of shinobi, heirs to their predecessors’ legacies, must rise to face the challenges ahead. Their paths are intertwined with the villages’ fate and the essence of the shinobi way as they confront powerful enemies and unforeseen challenges unlike any before. Welcome to Ninja-Tales, wanderer— we’re glad you found us, and we can’t wait for you to jump into our world.
CRE DITS
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Post by Kurogane Kōki on Mar 12, 2024 14:19:51 GMT
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dramaturgy
so i throw away this human form of mine
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Kōki spends many nights shivering beneath the fabric of his bedding, as strips of thin moonlight spill across his floor and down the walls, casting a ghostly silver light on the swirling dust motes that dance around his room. He would stare at these twirling motes until his eyes lose focus and grow cloudy with fatigue, then blink it away, feeling the hands of sleep grasping at him, desperately attempting to pull him into slumber— and every time Kōki would wake after mere minutes, sometimes an hour if he were lucky— from dreams that morph into nightmares. [break][break] Dreams of old memories sewn into new fears. A surreal experience that strikes a little too close to home— a flash of moonlight glinting off the edge of a tanto, an encroaching figure in the shape of his father, wearing a murderous smile. He falls backwards, his stomach lurches, and when next he’s lucid he sees his hands painted red— the only colour in pitch blackness. In this void, he finds a monstrous beast, skittering like an insect, its shadow suffocating him, mandibles closing in on his neck like a wolf going for the kill. He would suffer in this choking dark until he shakes himself awake in a cold sweat, and the circles darken under his eyes. [break][break] So when he wanders aimlessly to the proving grounds in the dead of night, he wonders what it would take— what he must do to rid himself of these haunting images awaiting him in slumber. He thinks of the insect in his dreams, and he feels a sort of strange kinship with the monster. Monstrous. Haunted. Haunting. His sanity teetering on a razor edge, made increasingly unbalanced by perpetual insomnia. [break][break] He doesn’t count how many there were at the proving grounds. What he had counted on instead was it being empty, because his mind is a chaotic whirlwind of myriad thoughts— a storm of contemplations flying around in a stark white chamber. He finds himself itching, veins thrumming with a rabid sort of heat: a fire waiting for the spark to catch. He tries to steady himself lest he falls, untangle threads of irrational anger, of murderous anticipation that seemed to come so naturally to him in these moments of sleeplessness. [break][break] “Hey, these grounds are in use, find somewhere else to be!” [break][break] One of the shinobi, a freshly graduated genin by his unfounded confidence and pristine flak jacket, approaches to confront him. Late night training, Kōki thinks to himself, it’s unfortunate it had to be this way. He tries to pin his focus on anything else— on keeping that coiled tightness in his chest contained. He can only imagine the trouble he would be in, the mess he would make if he lost control. [break][break] But the genin reaches to clutch a rough fistful of his shirt in his hand, and all is lost. [break][break] The last thing Kōki feels is his mouth curving into a wolfish grin. The piece of himself that has struggled to break free inside him has woken up, cracked open his skull, and made a home for itself in his thoughts. It thirsts for blood and hungers for death, and when next he wakes he’s holding a gorged Samehada in one hand and a severed arm in another— the training grounds a sea of viscera so scattered and pulverised it’s impossible to count how many shinobi they belonged to. A smell of blood in the air mixes with the village’s thick mist, carrying the heavy scent of iron and tragedy. [break][break] Hey, it wasn’t even my fault this time. [break][break] “Not now, Chōmei.” Kōki groans, tossing the severed limb aside; it lands with a soft, lifeless thud. He hears footsteps approaching— was it one person or several? He knows whatever he’s done will have made enough noise to rouse at least a quarter of the village.
Post by Kamizuru Watabachi on Mar 13, 2024 20:06:38 GMT
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[attr="class","lightposting"]Freedom was a unique, wild feeling. A fleeting ambition that shinobi could only dream of. Often bogged down by traditions, legacy, and the good ole ninja way. Cloaks of a bygone era that had long since overstayed their welcome. Iwagakure learned such things the hard way. They were sharpened by tragedy and honed further by the losses that ensued in the aftermath of it all. The Kamizuru clan felt this sting the hardest. It was like losing all over again. As if it was the only thing they could ever manage to do. If you didn't count the stranglehold they had over the few black sheep the tight-knit families had tossed off to the side that is. Free to do whatever it was they took a fancy to.
For Watabachi it had been traveling, not for the sake of doing so of course, but out of need. A cryptic desire to collect rare if not downright endangered insects on a path to increase their strength. Or at least it was the excuse he used to slip out of the village this time around. Didn't even go far...Just all the way to Kirigakure. It was a hop, jump, and skip away in this day and age after all. And surely it wouldn't hurt to see what creepy crawlies lay beneath the mists. Now what he didn't expect was to stumble into a commotion from the start. A bloody spectacle is what it was, but he could hardly say that aloud after witnessing the aftermath. Someon- No. Something tore those poor genin apart. Something he only came to notice after the crimson-colored beetle he had been chasing took off faster than he'd hoped it would.
Be it scattered limb or a bloody lump of flesh it all seemed to perfectly paint the proving grounds in such a manner that you'd think a stampede of hippo had run through. Scratching his chin Watabachi couldn't help but be intrigued by it all. Who did this? Why did they deem such a thing necessary? And above all else. How? Where did such power hail from? These questions slithered throughout his mind. Broke apart his thoughts and before he knew what he was doing his gaze had settled upon what seemed to be the only breathing face still around. The culprit, perhaps? "Nghhh..." Watabachi uttered. Unable to decide if he should approach the potentially dangerous boy with little to no information. "Grrrr." A growl this time around. Clearly more frustrated than he cared to let on.
So much so that he didn't even seem to notice let alone recognize Samehada. It wasn't something that interested him after all. Just the weird weapon of a strangely bloody boy who so casually tossed a severed limb away from himself as if it were the normal thing to do. By now Watabachi had decided to approach Kōki all the same. Cheeks flexing and shifting between a smile and a smirk as he practiced his opening line; "Hey there!" "Hi?" "Call m-" It was cut short by how quickly he arrived. Even for a teenager this was an awkward start to any meeting. Yet alone a conversation. So what did he say? How did our Avenger introduce himself after all this time? "Sure, you aren't going to eat that?" Yeah. He said that with a straight face. Didn't even try to smile or rather he couldn't. A tad more nervous than he thought he'd be after all. You could practically hear his bones scraping against one another as goosebumps crawled down his skin.
A stranger. Kōki tenses, the muscles in his shoulder coil tight like a spring; the chakra signature is not one that Samehada recognises, not from his immediate acquaintance nor from the village. The greatsword growls and writhes in his hand, twisting as if to regard the newcomer with bloodlust still yet to fade; having broken through its bandages, its scales ripple in waves down its side, emitting a grinding noise reminiscent of blades clashing. “Calm down, Samehada.” The swordsman says, the sound of his gentle soothing wildly contrasting against his messy appearance. [break][break] He stares past the blood-soaked dirt, stench of death all around him— all he can focus on is the encroaching figure. It’s not a small man, though shorter than him in height, with a slender build that lends a snakelike quality to each minute movement he makes. He mutters and mumbles as he approaches, reminding Kōki much of himself. Before long, the two are standing mere steps apart, staring each other down with a backdrop of blood and guts. [break][break] “Sure you aren’t going to eat that?” [break][break] It’s a question that was asked with such a straight face that Kōki can’t quite help but be taken aback, but if he’s shocked, the complete lack of emotion in his features betrays none of his surprise. [break][break] Oh joy, it’s someone just as weird as you. [break][break] Chōmei’s voice echoes through his mind, and the swordsman’s dull gold eyes narrow in suspicion. Strange introductions aside, this is not a shinobi from Kirigakure. One can tell from his garb, all baggy clothes and earthen colours— reminiscent of what ninjas from arid countries would wear— given the state of Sunagakure, Kōki can only presume they’re from the Hidden Rock. “Not worth a taste… but you’re free to indulge if you’d like.” He finally responds in monotone, head tilting inquisitively to one side, “Bit far from home for a midnight stroll, aren’t you?” Kōki asks quietly, a touch of curiosity in every word. [break][break] He remains guarded. There’s a tension in the air that one can cut with the razor edge of a knife, both men staring at one another— fuelled by a sort of morbid curiosity. Kōki sheathes Samehada, though in its unwrapped state it simply sits like a large fish against his back, ready to lash out if needed. He figures if the other shinobi were there to assassinate him, he would have already made an honest attempt instead of awkwardly starting a conversation. [break][break] But the night is in its adolescence and there’s time yet left for such a development. [break][break] “My name is… Kōki.” He says, words slow and hesitant, testing the waters of conversation. He’s well aware of how comical it all is, attempting small talk amidst a sea of corpse fragments. “Who are you, shinobi of Iwagakure?” There’s a pause, a wait for an answer that would satisfy his curiosity before his golden gaze moves to drag along the ground around them. [break][break] “And… you’re not afraid of being accused of this carnage?” He exhales sharply, it’s a huff that bears a whisper of laughter— amusement at the absurdity of it all. It would be all too easy to try to pin the deaths of these genin on a shinobi from another land, even if Kōki were the one covered in their blood. Nevertheless and if nothing else, he appreciates the other man’s sheer boldness, “I’d assume you’re here for more than just the… entertainment.” The swordsman lazily gestures to the viscera still on the ground, the blood soaking into the dirt quickly drying to a deep burgundy colour.
Post by Kamizuru Watabachi on Mar 15, 2024 23:19:40 GMT
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[attr="class","lightposting"]Was that a beast or a blade? A monster trapped in the form of both perhaps? Normally you'd find the sight of a writhing mass attached to a handle alarming, right? Any normal person would. That was to be expected of them. That goes especially deep for any genin. A fledging that had yet to rise above the ranks and soar. Or in the case of those from Kirigakure maybe surf was the better turn of phrase. Whatever the case may have been the thing was quite attractive to Watabachi. He'd never seen something so strange before at least outside the realm of insects that is. Now those creepy crawlies could really get your blood boiling. But this Samehada had him strangely intrigued.
"Samehada was it? Where have I heard that word before?" Wata whispered his inquiry softly, almost tenderly as he allowed a grin to seep into his expression suddenly. Curiosity oozed out from fanged teeth before he was brought back to his senses. That idle nervousness easing back in once he heard the others' words. -Right. Right. He wasn't from here. Now wasn't the time to sate his whims. There was a conversation at hand after all. "Me? Far from home. You must be mistaken. I'm a Mist born through, and through. I just scream, Kirigakure blood don't I?" As if. Now he was just lying through his teeth, and he wasn't even good at it. Yet alone great at speaking with others.
His arms were shaking as he spoke. Almost as if he was afraid of what would happen if he was found out. Sure he was prepared to sneak out of Iwa for a bit, but our foolish avenger was hardly prepared for much else. A fight was the last thing he had on his mind given the unstable nature of his chakra. Turns out that training to be a sage put much more of a toll on you than he'd ever thought was possible. "And I'll pass on the snack. My taste buds are a little lacking." That said his eyes were inevitably from the bloody banquet that painted their surroundings onto the sight of Samehada once more. Only to sigh heavily once it was sheathed.
At least that meant he wasn't going to die. Not tonight at least. "Glad you decided against slicing me up, Kōki. Would've been terrible for ya." Not in the sense that Watabachi could've put up much of a fight, but rather from the fact that his body would practically explode into a geyser of insects. A visceral party of bees, wasps, and flesh honey. Not to mention those poor scorpions that would've been caught in the middle. "As for my name...Isn't it more fun if you don't know. You can just call me Sting. My clan would get a kick out of it." More than a kick out of it. They'd probably help frame him for the murders if given half a chance.
Would've been the perfect excuse to do away with him after all. But that didn't mean he would be on board with it. Not fully that is. Now arching his brow our avenger chuckled lowly under his breath. Almost as if amused by a joke he alone was privy to hear. "To be honest I welcome the spice. Who knows what I might find in Jail or the afterlife. I came searching for power in the form of friends. This was just my first ill-tempered stop. Isn't my luck just great?" For now, whatever nervous tick had plagued him seems to have cleared up a bit. Tossing both arms into the air he swiftly tucked them behind his head, cupping it with each of his digits. Dancing on his heels he twirled about for a moment. Dodging a few of the corpses only to end up landing in a puddle of tendons, or maybe they were intestines? Watabachi couldn't tell the difference either way. "Framing aside. Are we going to hide these bodies?"
Kōki rests his dead eyes squarely on the stranger, his gaze evocative of the same blankness he holds within him. The man is either a stunningly poor liar or a clown, perhaps both— he silently decides the two of them are separate breeds of ‘weirdness’ altogether. [break][break] "As for my name...Isn't it more fun if you don't know. You can just call me Sting. My clan would get a kick out of it." [break][break] His eyes narrow subtly and his lips draw into a straight, unenthused line before he has the time to regulate his reaction. “I will not.” He responds flatly, suddenly feeling as though he were one half of a comedic duo with their varying personalities. He doesn’t even try to guess the clan the man is from, deciding that knowing wouldn’t ease his suspicions; especially not after the insistence on being called 'Sting'. [break][break] Samehada’s scales shift slightly, uncomfortably, as if adjusting to the other shinobi’s chakra signature— perhaps deeming it strange. For his part, Kōki finds the man odd as well; there’s a measuredness to his chatty whimsicality that speaks to a more cunning personality lurking underneath. The talkative ones always have the most to hide. “Friends…?” Kōki asks, his response level as he takes care not to be sucked into the man’s performative conversation. [break][break] "Framing aside. Are we going to hide these bodies?" [break][break] The conversation moves a mile a minute. For someone as unexperienced and awkward in conversation as Kōki, the speed at which the stranger speaks sends his thoughts reeling. He takes a moment to suck in a calming breath, tasting the blood in the mist on his tongue. “Hide the bodies…” He repeats, mulling the question in his mind. “No. People die here all the time.” Kōki shrugs, “There’ll be someone to clean it up… eventually.” [break][break] Probably in the morning, but he’s never taken the time to find out exactly when it happens; the proving grounds are always pristine again when he returns. He slides his gaze over their surroundings before adding: “Besides, there’s no way anyone is hiding any of this without a dustpan, and something to scrape the rest of them out of the dirt.” [break][break] The ‘bodies’ were just as he left them— pulverised to little pieces, with the largest surviving ‘bit’ being someone’s arm, tossed aside and stiffening by the minute. “Welcome to the Bloody Mist.” Kōki’s welcoming words are slathered with sarcasm, but hold about as much enthusiasm as a sieve can hold water. [break][break] He’s still not sure what the other shinobi meant by ‘friends’, and how they could grant him power. Kōki hopes it’s not some hackneyed attempt at teaching him the power of ‘bonds’, but he couldn’t delve too far into his thoughts before Samehada growls in its place on his back, clearly still eager for more. There are more chakra signatures nearby, deeper within the grounds. [break][break] The bloodlust he’d forgotten surges forth within him again, clearly not sated. Desperate for what little sleep he can get once it’s gone, Kōki regards the mystery shinobi from another land again. “There’s more to hunt. I’m going to find them.” He pauses, mulling over in his mind whether he could trust turning his back to this man without knowing his true intentions.[break][break]“Come along… or don’t. Maybe you’ll find those ‘friends’ you’re looking for.”
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the mobile murder bug-finding party doesn't clean after itself! also stealth fc change.
Post by Kamizuru Watabachi on Mar 20, 2024 12:22:38 GMT
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[attr="class","lightposting"]Liar. Clown. It doesn't matter what label you slap on Watabachi could only ever be himself. As terrible as such a state may have been. So Kōki was right on the money in shoving him off into a different corner of strangeness. It was for the best. Better not to understand someone who barely understood himself let alone his origins. Frankly speaking given the appearance of his teeth alone he suspected that his father hailed from the Hidden Mist. Had to have been. Otherwise, those shark-like canines were just a useless ornament that wound up in his gene pool randomly. What was he even going to do, bite some random guy? Wouldn't that just be downright barbaric? Not even Wata was willing to go that far.
Or so he said to himself. Yet that maw of his was surely itching to sink into the air of his new associate. Especially when he just coldly declined his nickname suggestion. "Rude!" How could he decline? Sting was an excellent name. It just oozed mystery, and intrigue didn't it? Well, he certainly thought so. "Fine. Fine. Watabachi Feller Of Worlds it is!" Excitement kissed his throat as what would normally have been a frown melted into a wide grin. Twirling on his heels once more our dear avenger quickly took to doing a handstand at the sight of the scaled blade trembling before them. Wata was more put off by it than he originally let on. Who wouldn't be? The damn thing seemed to have a mind of its own after all.
“No. People die here all the time.” - “There’ll be someone to clean it up… eventually.”
Barely able to manage himself Watabachi walked around a bit. Blind to his destination and yet chuckling all the same. So that was why they called it the Bloody Mist? All the massacres that piled up one after the other as a result of never tightening the leash on their shinobi? "Fantastic!" He shouted aloud before tumbling onto the bloody floor below. Rolling about until he was positively coated in the shredded mess of some poor genin. Nodding his head along with the words the other spoke as if they were law. Not bothering to explain why he called them friends, or what he meant by the power they could provide.
Though you could bet it didn't mean anything pleasant. For Watabachi the power of friendship wasn't going to be magical. He needed something more tangible after all. Something he could rely on in a desperate struggle, and holding hands wasn't going to cut it. So he planned to follow Koki around with the intent of getting some dirt on him. Even if that meant rolling around in entrails like a fool. It wasn't all bad though. Some insects were attracted to such things and he wanted to lure them closer through this method. Even now odd-looking beetles had begun to gather just as he expected. Nothing like what normally interested him so he ignored them for the most part. Scoffing softly before focusing on their conversation once more. A clueless expression plastered across his face as he vaguely recalls being welcomed to the Bloody Mist. And did he say there were more?
“Come along… or don’t. Maybe you’ll find those ‘friends’ you’re looking for.”
Oh. He was being invited along? Not that he didn't have any intentions of following after the swordsman all the same. Scratching the back of his head Watabachi yawned softly as a small wasp flew out of his open maw. One of his hive workers. A common insect that most members of his clan were able to breed themselves. Unlike his scorpions, they weren't particularly useful in his eyes. At least outside of the swarm that is. Without even speaking to it the small insect instinctively knew what it was called for, and flew off in a random direction. And it was at that moment that Wata leaped off of the ground, and stood up once more. "Yes! An adventure to test our bonds!" Our he says. As if Koki hadn't already rejected his plea for friendship with his silence alone.
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[attr="class","lightmiscnote"]Oh! I think it fits though. 040 HP 040 SP 070 DP 070 CP 080 AP
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His real name is Watabachi. Though featureless, Kōki maps out every detail and blemish on the man with a focused gaze; ‘odd’ is perhaps not enough to describe the shinobi, who refers to himself as the ‘feller of worlds’, as though he were the antagonist in some serialised novel. He’s dramatic in his movements and much too chatty. Kōki laments to himself that he can never quite find another person as quiet as he is. [break][break] Watabachi almost gets a reaction out of the swordsman when he throws himself to the ground, tumbling around in the gore of Kōki’s creation. Bone chips and shredded entrails cling to his skin and clothing like flies on carrion. He can already tell, as the minutes and seconds pass, that the man is going to start to stink heavily of corpse rot in two hours’ time if not before, owing to the pervasive moisture of the Land of Water. [break][break] There’s a realisation that hits Kōki when a bug flies from the man’s open maw. He recalls two such clans of insect users in recent memory— the Aburame Clan from the Hidden Leaf, and another, lesser known family of beekeepers from the Hidden Rock. The insect seems to pay him no mind as it buzzes off into the distance, likely under orders that Kōki is not privy to. [break][break] "Yes! An adventure to test our bonds!" [break][break] He wonders if Watabachi may be more dangerous than his demeanour suggests. The most theatrical ones often hide the greatest secrets, after all. Within the confines of his own mind and thoughts, he signals to Chōmei and Samehada to remain alert as he makes a short noise of affirmation in response to his fellow shinobi’s declaration. [break][break] The grounds are sparsely used this time of night. Small pockets of shinobi train quietly until the sun peeks over the horizon, and rays of sunlight cut through the dense mists. It’s this time they least expect to be interrupted, especially if practicing something forbidden or frowned upon. [break][break] It takes a mere two minutes of brisk walking to find the next group of genin in training. They wield real blades against one another, steel clashing against steel as they fought with the intent to harm. Kōki notes this is a common practice in the Hidden Mist— to train as though one could die at any time is said to enhance one’s strength of will. [break][break] The shinobi notice their approach, and at once they break from their clash— the song of grinding steel halted by Kōki and Watabachi’s intrusion. A spark of recognition catches in one’s eye. [break][break] “The weakest member of the Seven Swordsman,” The man huffs, though it sounds more like one of laughter, rather than exasperation. “Here to look for a replacement in death, are you?” The two men snicker, flourishing their katana in the empty air. “— and you brought an intruder from another village, did you? Bet the Mizukage would be sad to hear of your death when he wakes up today, though I’m sure the loss will be made up for when we present this foreign shinobi’s body to him alongside yours.” [break][break] "You're both covered in blood and guts," The other would-be enemy shinobi adds, "Way to make it easy for us to blame you for whatever happens in these training grounds tonight." [break][break] So confident, and yet so foolish. "A bit too... early for celebrations." Kōki draws his katana, leaving Samehada settled against his back - there would probably be no use for it against such weak foes.
