Blood. It was a glorious thing. You strive as a shinobi to learn how to best spill blood, to drain it from another. As you get better at it, you learn how to spill it without splashing yourself, how to make it look messier than it should be or make it as if it was never there to begin with. Red, deep, thick. It's metallic and harsh yet elegant.
But to lose your own, to have your own blood spread over the front of your body, staining your clothing beyond repair... it's not so glorious anymore.
Sometimes missions go well. Being part of the ANBU, you are told to do something, anything the village needs you to do. You sneak in, slash a throat and leave. Once he was even ordered to murder a whole family including two newborn babies. Saemon rarely returned with a scratch.
Sometimes missions go very wrong. As the world grows evermore technologically advanced, so stealth techniques become less and less useful. Sometimes you sneak in and trip an alarm. Sometimes you leave a trace of yourself. Sometimes there's a bunch of bigass dogs. Course that's nothing new.
Saemon's last mission had the 23 year old to leaving the village under darkness. He had to seek out a man disguised as a merchant who had come to Suna and stolen secret somethings from someone important, neither was his business it seemed. And the man was supposed to be strong, talented and a threat. At least an A-rank threat. He was labeled top tier, one of their best so he was sent out alone. The man had been easy to deal with, but the others who had been waiting for Suna's retaliation were not so easy. Three skilled ninja; one who had a strong affinity for ice ninjutsu, one with an axe and the last one could fool the mind.
He found himself overwhelmed swiftly, taking damage left and right. Crimson life being stolen from him in droves. Yet he had never lost a fight. When he was down, he was stronger than ever. He was able to get in close to the ninjutsu user and tear a hole into his chest with spikes made from earth. He had nearly broken his wrist holding him in place for the last second he needed. He did get a huge gash over the right side of his neck, thankfully it was superficial.
With the first one down, he fought the illusionary man next, unwilling to allow his mind to be taken over. But this even required him to break his own toe to get free from a vision. That man ended up with his head smashed into chunks. The last man was the hardest and fought like he did; recklessly, powerfully. His raccoon ANBU mask saved him from a killing blow to the skull, but broke in the process. His enemy fell to a crushed solarplex. Saemon's warhammers were not to be trifled with.
With everyone dispatched, Saemon was able to return home with the stolen goods. Well, only after turning the bodies to dust, leaving no trace.
Once he reported in he was finally allowed to seek out aid from the medical ninja. Usually he would tend to himself, but not this time. His ribs were cracked, his toe broken, his neck cut and probably infected, his head was in agony and he was losing blood from a wide cut over his lower abdomen that wouldn't clot. It needed stitches.
The tall brunette was tired, and covered in fuckin blood. He was put into a room right away and sat holding a towel to his middle waiting for some aid. He was wearing only black pants (having removed his entire ANBU attire as required for anonymity) and sandals. His long brown hair hung limpy and matted before his face. He was trying not to wince. He hoped he wouldn't end up with someone foolish.
[looking for a med nin.]
But to lose your own, to have your own blood spread over the front of your body, staining your clothing beyond repair... it's not so glorious anymore.
Sometimes missions go well. Being part of the ANBU, you are told to do something, anything the village needs you to do. You sneak in, slash a throat and leave. Once he was even ordered to murder a whole family including two newborn babies. Saemon rarely returned with a scratch.
Sometimes missions go very wrong. As the world grows evermore technologically advanced, so stealth techniques become less and less useful. Sometimes you sneak in and trip an alarm. Sometimes you leave a trace of yourself. Sometimes there's a bunch of bigass dogs. Course that's nothing new.
Saemon's last mission had the 23 year old to leaving the village under darkness. He had to seek out a man disguised as a merchant who had come to Suna and stolen secret somethings from someone important, neither was his business it seemed. And the man was supposed to be strong, talented and a threat. At least an A-rank threat. He was labeled top tier, one of their best so he was sent out alone. The man had been easy to deal with, but the others who had been waiting for Suna's retaliation were not so easy. Three skilled ninja; one who had a strong affinity for ice ninjutsu, one with an axe and the last one could fool the mind.
He found himself overwhelmed swiftly, taking damage left and right. Crimson life being stolen from him in droves. Yet he had never lost a fight. When he was down, he was stronger than ever. He was able to get in close to the ninjutsu user and tear a hole into his chest with spikes made from earth. He had nearly broken his wrist holding him in place for the last second he needed. He did get a huge gash over the right side of his neck, thankfully it was superficial.
With the first one down, he fought the illusionary man next, unwilling to allow his mind to be taken over. But this even required him to break his own toe to get free from a vision. That man ended up with his head smashed into chunks. The last man was the hardest and fought like he did; recklessly, powerfully. His raccoon ANBU mask saved him from a killing blow to the skull, but broke in the process. His enemy fell to a crushed solarplex. Saemon's warhammers were not to be trifled with.
With everyone dispatched, Saemon was able to return home with the stolen goods. Well, only after turning the bodies to dust, leaving no trace.
Once he reported in he was finally allowed to seek out aid from the medical ninja. Usually he would tend to himself, but not this time. His ribs were cracked, his toe broken, his neck cut and probably infected, his head was in agony and he was losing blood from a wide cut over his lower abdomen that wouldn't clot. It needed stitches.
The tall brunette was tired, and covered in fuckin blood. He was put into a room right away and sat holding a towel to his middle waiting for some aid. He was wearing only black pants (having removed his entire ANBU attire as required for anonymity) and sandals. His long brown hair hung limpy and matted before his face. He was trying not to wince. He hoped he wouldn't end up with someone foolish.
[looking for a med nin.]