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
NINJA-TALES was designed and created by Mitsurugi, Nugiita, and the NT staff team, with information templates and our banner image created by Tatarigami for use only on NINJA-TALES and not to be replicated or reproduced without permission. Special thanks to Pharaoh Leap for creating this skin and Linear Icons for the use of their font icons. All original characters and content on the site belong to their respective owners unless otherwise specified. We claim nothing that is not ours.
honey don't you cry [break] The absence of the light. Even the Sun must rest his weary eyes So let the night wrap stars around you Weigh the anchor And sail into the night's joy
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It seemed like it was just yesterday when the misty marshes on the outskirts of Kirigakure chilled her bones with unease.
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But now, it felt more comforting than the sensation of the body soured with soreness and exhaustion sinking into the cushions of a warm bed. The lingering threat of death – like a whisper that could be heard, but never truly understood – had become her blanket.
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A quietude had enraptured the dark, empty landscape, only to be disturbed by the random, intermittent sounds of shinobi leaping above from branch to branch. The bellowing of crocodiles prowling for both prey and mates was a cherished background ambience, and just enough of a reminder to know that security was a false promise in this world. An earthy, rich scent dominated the area, partnered with the musty stench of algae, mud, and the rotting of half-consumed animals.
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It was the perfect place to put the finishing touches on her new novel, ‘Affairs of the Mist.’
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“...And as he looked into her eyes…” Though face and her body were scarred with burn marks, with her short dark-brown hair disheveled, with biceps larger and more defined than many of the men in the Bloody Mist, her voice was as soft and soothing as a mother caressing their newborn. “No, no…”
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This was Zetsubou Rini, one of the newest members of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. With only a month of the title, and many of the other swordsmen handling the Mizukage’s orders, she hadn’t been properly introduced to her new assortment. The legendary explosive weapon was planted into the ground, serving as her center as she paced back and forth through the muddied grass with a notepad in one hand and a pen twirling in the other. The pen lifted near her eyebrow, the pointer finger edging up her large-rimmed, nerdy glasses.
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A silent predator prowled in the water behind her. The eyes of a grand crocodile fell upon her backside, and though she paused for a moment, noticing it with the slight churn of her head, she continued with the matter that was most important. “..And when their lips met…”
It’s long past dinner time. The moon hangs low in the sky like an overripe fruit as harbour grey mists flood the streets of Kirigakure. There’s a persistent sense of foreboding in the heavy, odoriferous air; it’s a night befitting the Bloody Mist— marred by a shadow of unease like a voice, an ill omen. [break][break] He slinks through lamplit streets and jumps over a rusty iron fence separating the village’s urban cityscape from its surrounding wilds. Buildings turn to marshland and thickets, the concrete pavement beneath his feet cuts to grass; the change is stark, but familiar. A shrill cry tears past the lips of an unfortunate soul somewhere in the distance— another victim of the mist. Kōki pays it no mind, instead he studies the darkness of his surroundings with caliginous eyes. [break][break] If the whispers in the taverns and alleyways hold true, he knows he’ll find her here. [break][break] Everything about the new wielder of Shibuki bleeds like an exception. From the death of her predecessor to her formal admission into their ranks. Kōki recounts the few interactions he’s had with Zetsubou Tayato with pointed disinterest; he was, by all accounts, an odious man much too proud of himself— a quality he shamelessly displayed in lieu of a proper personality. [break][break] Yet none could doubt his skill with the blade, especially not with Shibuki. So when Kōki realised its new wielder had claimed it by rights through combat, he couldn’t help but wonder about her character, and subsequently develop a fascination with their association. Tayato had never mentioned a wife, nor family of any kind. If anything, the man spoke mostly about himself. [break][break] He rides this train of thought as he cuts through dense foliage under dim moonlight choked by fog, and finds his quarry alone in the wilderness, circling Shibuki whilst deeply lost in thought. Secured snugly on his back, Samehada writhes against its bandages in recognition of another fabled blade in its presence. [break][break] She cuts an intimidating figure, illuminated by what little light peeked through the darkness, the stench of moss and rot hanging in the air around her. She’s a tapestry of wounds and muscle, scars like veins of lightning carved into her skin. Kōki knows the shape of those wounds. [break][break] She cradles something in her hands on which her thoughts seemed entirely focused, but before he can step forth for a better glimpse, a large crocodile— catching the scent of prey— captures her attention first. She regards it briefly. [break][break] The creature, driven by hunger, floats like a dead log in the murk, beady eyes an inch above the water. It creeps forward, positions itself to strike, and in moments its gaping maw breaks the surface, revealing dirty, razor sharp teeth like rows of senbon. [break][break] The sheer size of it is enough to obscure his already poor view. [break][break] Kōki’s blade comes down with whistling, deadly velocity. He’d leapt into action with the intention of removing an obstacle, burying his katana through the crocodile’s skull and digging his heels in its rough hide. The blade lances through thick bone, pierces through the flesh of its throat, and emerges cleanly from the underside of its jaw, digging into the earth beneath shallow waters. Agony explodes from the creature but briefly— a violent splash turns into a series of thrashes and then… silence. [break][break] “Sorry.” He dislodges the katana effortlessly when he pulls himself upright, “It was in the way.” [break][break] Mud and stray blades of grass cling to his clothes when he steps ashore, ridding the katana in his hand of crocodile blood with a practiced swipe. Samehada bristles slightly on his back, discontent with the mud that painted the bandages wrapped around its frame.
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big exposition energy. tayato sounded like a shithead so i wrote him like one - let me know if that needs changing.
Post by zetsubou reni on Mar 17, 2024 17:27:54 GMT
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120 hp[break]110 sp
100 dp
80 cp
90 ap
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...In the way of what? She thought. [break][break] Always. Her needs were never as important as the needs of a man – be they young, old, or deceased and haunting her dreams. [break][break] Her first set of novels had garnered the attention and a small set of fame all over the Lands of Water and Lands of Fire, and the next book was set to be her biggest yet.And yet, her thread of concentration was pierced like the fingers of a Hyuuga tapping all over the body. [break][break] As she turned, the dull gray of her eyes cut and pasted onto the large bandages enwrapping the weapon on his back. Though as the young shinobi came to a height almost as tall as her and the katana cleanly departed from the meat and bone of the crocodile, nothing else had gathered her attention. Throughout her time as a shinobi of the Hidden Mist and as the husband of a former seven swordsmen, she had grown very knowledgeable of each legendary weapon and some of their abilities. Even if her deceased abuser had never shared a thing, much less let her get close to any of them. [break][break] “...Is that the Samehada on your back?” The notepad in her left hand slowly drifted down, sliding into the pouch over her bottom side. “I know Lord Mizukage doesn’t have any orders for me, and I earned the Shibuki through blood.” As everything was earned in the Hidden Mist. Rank, respect, power – all through blood, and Tayato was notorious for having an excessive amount of all three. [break][break] From what she knew of the Samehada, if this young man was able to contain that monster of a weapon, then he had an enormous amount of chakra to contain that monster of a weapon. And through her eyes, he was undoubtedly one of Tayato’s friends and comrades here to reclaim the Shibuki and gain vengeance for his death. [break][break] It was an insult that he wouldn’t come with reinforcements. [break][break] There was but a split-second that she dared turn her back to a potential threat, before snapping within a moment with a loud growl, “Raagh!” The pen in her hand flicked turned his neck like a senbon as she spun halfway, giving room for the handle of the Shibuki to come into her main hand, taking a step forward and effortlessly horizontally swinging the non-explosive end of the weapon towards the midsection.
“...Is that the Samehada on your back?” [break][break] Kōki doesn’t answer. He only dips his head and tilts it sideways, as if affording the new wielder of Shibuki a better look at the fabled sentient ‘greatsword’, fastened to him with leather straps and bound with gauze bandages. His dull, dark eyes are half-lidded but unblinking in their intensity, belying a level of attention and alertness behind his monotonous gaze. [break][break] “I know Lord Mizukage doesn’t have any orders for me, and I earned the Shibuki through blood.” [break][break] He presses his lips together, the corners of his mouth tugging into a frown. The deep furrow in his brow doesn’t show signs of lifting as the seconds tick by; he feels they’re barreling towards a misunderstanding, and yet no words leave him. He’s always been shockingly terrible at avoiding and de-escalating possible conflicts. Or perhaps he had wanted this: to test his strength against the newest member of the swordsmen. Perhaps he might have felt it his duty, perceiving himself the weakest among them. [break][break] Whatever the reason, he doesn’t miss her chilling battle cry, nor the projectile whistling towards his neck like an arrow thereafter. Swiftly, but loathe to waste even a single movement, he shifts the weight on his feet to dodge its deadly tip by a hair, feeling the rush of air as it rips past the space a millimetre above his skin. [break][break] Her movements are quick and feral— like a wounded animal still not convinced of its safety. If brokenness is an art, then Kōki believes this woman must be a masterpiece. He moves to block her subsequent strike with unerring calm; refusing to be spun up into the web of her momentum, he slows the pace to suit his needs. [break][break] One can tell much from an opponent from a single clash— the opening notes like a prelude, a preview to a symphony of steel. As the blastsword’s blunt side grinds against the edge of his katana, Kōki notes that, if she weren’t holding back, they seemed to possess similar levels of strength. He hardly budges from the force of the impact and the subsequent push, heels anchored into the soft ground, free hand reinforcing his block by palming the blunt edge of his blade. His eyes narrow, but betray nothing else that constitutes as a reaction. [break][break] He loosens his guard for the briefest of moments, shifting his centre of gravity with the weight of his feet. It disengages the deadlock enough to allow his blade movement, and in a blink Kōki replies: tracing the katana upwards in a vicious crescent to swat Shibuki away. The katana glints in the low light, leaving a silvery glow behind as it arcs through the air. [break][break] Kōki isn’t the quickest on his feet, but the dextrous manoeuvrings of even the swiftest swordsmen can often be emulated by eliminating unnecessary movements. In this, he’s well practiced. He adjusts his grip, and before the light from the katana’s last strike begins to fade it lances through the air again, this time in thrusts one. Two. Three in different places— quick enough to seem almost simultaneous in their execution. [break][break] They’re off mark, off balance on purpose to all but smother their lethality. He finishes with a swift downward carve to return to a defensible stance; the blade’s honed edge whistles through the air, and slices cleanly through a strip of overgrown reeds on its descent. Still, he makes no moves to release Samehada; in fact, Kōki doesn’t even spare it a single glance.
Post by zetsubou reni on Mar 19, 2024 17:21:49 GMT
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shibuki blast leap initiated (ends next post)[break] 120 hp[break]110 sp
100 dp
80 cp
90 ap
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Ching! [break][break] The clash of blades was a thing galaxies apart from the sound filling the air from kunai and shuriken. Through those that had the blade within the heart, it was a dance that expressed the soul from the depth, and each step exchanged showed a facet of the inner self. [break][break] And as the deadlock faded in the movement in the younger shinobi, transitioning into a three-set lancing off the angle of having a true threat of piercing her body, it would’ve been obvious to those oblivious to the art of swordsmanship that he had little intention of actually trying to harm her. Or to those seasoned in the realities of this world, he had a talented mind meant to learn her modus operandi, throw her off of her game, and then deviate to his killing stroke. [break][break] Her body swayed backward with Shibuki held halfway outward in one hand, steps shifting her balance to carefully evade the piercing tips of his blade, if it had been a feint veiling a true threat. The way in which she held her weapon would have seemingly set the stage for numerous vulnerabilities in her torso and left side of her neck, but if he was truly one of the Seven Swordsmen, he would have recognized the slightly risen calves in each of her four backsteps; a movement signaling readiness for quick, countering reactions. [break][break] And as he stroked downward to assume a defensive position, Rini had gathered five feet of distance between them, her brows pinched in a mixture of a question and irritation. “...Are you fucking with me?” As her throat funneled skepticism, she turned the Shibuki sidelong with the explosive end outward, angling it directly behind her. “You have a damn shark on a stick and you’re trying to assassinate me with a…katana?” Such a weapon might only last a minimal amount of clashes against the explosive end of Shibuki before cracking and shattering. [break][break] A logical person would have simply talked and understood the situation before continuing with unnecessary violence against what was probably an ally and direct teammate, but unfortunately, that was not Rini. Her body was poised in a neutral manner, lacking the bend of the knees and the canting of the back for proper shinobi movement, and by all accounts, she was not prepared nor on the verge of proposing violence aside from the awkward angling of her weapon. Though, she paced slightly to the right. [break][break] And by the next beat of the heart, tags at the frontend of Shibuki had exploded and propelled her forward in a blinding speed that was just shortly surpassed by the Shunshin technique, bringing her hardly a foot to the back left of the young man. In the split seconds that she blitzed forward, she planted her left foot downward and closer to him, while the right foot was set outward to balance. With all of her weight forced down for a powerful strike, the top-end of Shibuki’s explosive end slammed downward towards his cranium with her head held slightly backward. [break][break] For a weapon like Shibuki, which in the right hands, could obliterate most enemies from mid-range, her steps in this dance were one of testing even though every bit of it was lethal. The blade could have potentially split his head open and the matter incinerated and exploded. And if he could react, which part of her secretly hoped and anticipated, her left foot was prepared to shift her stance to minimize vital damage from a counterattack, while a dodge would had blew up the ground and provided a veil for her or her enemy, and a block might have sent him reeling… And all of this was completely unnecessary.
The woman’s movements erase any doubt Kōki may have had about her suitability for the position among their ranks. Despite having no intention to do harm, she evades his strikes quickly, without losing balance where an average fighter may have faltered. There’s something animalistic about her, as though every step and strike were fuelled by unresolved anger. [break][break] “...Are you fucking with me? You have a damn shark on a stick and you’re trying to assassinate me with a…katana?” [break][break] His heart rate quickens, a familiar feeling of exhilaration stirring in the depths of his belly— something like a concoction of anticipation and pride. “Assassinate…?” He asks quietly, slowly, like he's chewing on the word and the weight behind its meaning, rolling it over his tongue for taste; there’s a lightness to his tone that almost speaks to childlike innocence and curiosity, though it can just as easily be interpreted as subtle mockery. He’d be trying much harder if he had any real intent to harm. [break][break] Perhaps he gave her too much credit, but Kōki is too smart to let his mind divagate at a time like this. His eyes track the movements of the wielder of Shibuki, far less subtle than simply using the Body Flicker Technique, she dashes forth with the ferocity of prey turned predator. He understands then that she has sounder reflexes, that she’s faster, probably far more physically capable than he is in matters outside of strength. [break][break] Because when next he knows to react Shibuki’s explosive edge is bearing down on him from behind like a guillotine, and Samehada, whose bristles of discomfort had at that point become inconsolable writhing, reacts before he can. [break][break] It explodes into a mass of razor scales on his back, each gnashing like teeth, grinding against one another in a cacophony of clanging and screeching as pieces of the bandage and leather that once held it in place drifted away like scattered snowfall in the wind. Taking the hint, Kōki reaches up with a free hand and grabs Samehada’s lengthy hilt, but he doesn’t draw it. Instead, he exerts the smallest amount of pressure and, following the motion, takes a small step and leans forward, allowing the engorged, sentient blade to blanket him like a turtle’s shell. [break][break] A famed chakra-eating blade, Samehada quickly renders the explosive tags at Shibuki’s edge mere shredded, scribbled-on paper, drawing what little chakra infused in them into itself on contact before they can explode. It squirms, clearly unsatisfied with the paltry meal; Kōki feels frustration in its flailing, and the corners of his lips tug into a small, acknowledging smile. [break][break] “I’m sorry, Samehada.” He loosens his grip on the hilt, allowing it to take on its flexible form, then tightens it again with a mighty pull, ‘drawing’ the freed ‘greatsword’ from its place. The force of the movement drags its mace-like body upwards; it arcs and carves through the air like a massive, living flail, intent on dislodging Shibuki and indiscriminately shredding through the space behind its wielder. Every cut, every bit of contact with it draws more chakra into its body. [break][break] “…I forget that you hate to lose.” By the time he turns to face his attacker, Kōki is wielding Samehada in one hand and a katana in the other. Truth is, he hadn’t expected nor wanted to draw the fabled blade. While he loved and doted on it as one would a treasured pet, he can’t help but feel over reliance on it would dull his swordsmanship in the long run. [break][break] He switches his hold on his katana, wielding it with a reverse grip as one would a far shorter blade or a kunai. Samehada has returned to his side, once again taking the vague form of a greatsword. There’s a bend in his knees as though they were coiled springs as Kōki readies himself for another possible burst of speed from his opponent. [break][break] He knows better than to underestimate Shibuki in the hands of a wielder who knows its inner workings like the back of their hand.
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i cant believe i didn't really know what shibuki was actually shaped like until just now. it looks kinda crazy.
Post by zetsubou reni on Mar 25, 2024 18:26:23 GMT
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shibuki blast leap initiated (ends next post)[break] 120 hp[break]110 sp
100 dp
80 cp
90 ap
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The dance floor was but a sigh away from terminating the tapping feet, though the sentient shark of a sword continued the music. [break][break] Untamed brows underneath messy dark-brown bangs furrowed in a question, her mind trailing down to the bones and nerves of her feet. It was a blessing that unraveling his battle tactics had cleared the bloody mist of her mind before the dance music had been joined by the grunts, gurgles, and adlibs of brutality. This was not an assassin – this was just a young man who had happened to be near her. No assassin prepared to take on the Shibuki would give up their element of surprise or underestimate the threat of taking one hit from it. [break][break] Not everyone was out to kill her. Not everyone was out to undermine her. [break][break] That part of her life was over. [break][break] And so, as Samehada’s fins engorged ever so slightly to nibble on the appetizer of chakra about the explosive end of Shibuki, Rini twisted her wrist to wrangle her blade from the sharp fins and angled the blade upward as the younger shinobi grasped and unleashed his legendary weapon into his grasp. While the fins came upward to shred the air, the sound of a tamed, and definitely non-deafening explosion from Shibuki’s constantly refilling tags burst from above the head and purposely sent Rini’s footwear and ankles backward about five feet through the mud. [break][break] Bringing her blade to a neutral, frontal stance with a two-handed grip, her eyes peered through her glasses and narrowed into the young man’s eyes. “...What are you doing?” The words departed from her lips as if her voice had been wrung out of the bloodlust, and the wiggles of her tongue had cooled into the softer, but stern voice. Almost like something of an elder sister on the edge of a lecture. [break][break] “You have a weapon that eats chakra, yeah? If someone attacks you with another blade literally famous for making mince meat out of people by accident, why would you try to defend yourself with a damn katana? If you didn’t have that thing, you would have been dead. You need to stay on the offensive, dammit. If I surprise you again, you could die. Let’s fucking go.”
