The night temperature still hung in the air with a nasty bite, covering most of Sunagakure in a light frost. Before even the sun’s rise, the frost would be gone, but for the hellish two hours between four and six in the morning, most stayed inside.
The military and their scientists had come a long way in temperature control, nearly to the point that building a fire to heat the house before bed was unnecessary beyond tradition. Of course, that was more for the residents of the Diamond District and some of the swanky places of the Residential; rumor was the Journeymen were going all out for the refugees…but most of Suna had to deal with this icy blanket that covered them. In the winter seasons the frost started building up only an hour after the sun went down in some parts of the country. There used to be stories of entire villages that would be abandoned by those living near the mountains in the north in order to avoid the inevitable freeze. They would return in the spring, usually to a harvest from the handful of brave souls left there to look after the winter crops. Since the Swarm began to attack though, those villages would no doubt remained abandoned permanently now.
Crunching through the mix of fine sand and lightly frozen water, a dark skinned giant hobbled through the main street of the Bazaar, his eyes looking back and forth for signs of a red-haired woman. In a pouch on his belt, folded into a square, was a sheet of paper describing a very special sword, and he believed she could help him make it.
It had once belonged to his lover’s mother, and due to tragic events set into motion by his deceased bastard of a father, Chiyo never saw it. The weapon was destroyed in order to wound the nigh-unkillable evil, so that Tama could escape, as Ame had already suffered fatal wounds. From the battle, the scientist took with him the full knowledge of what the sword was made of…but with her death, the technique to forge it was lost to time.
Michino, in his grand schemes, thought it would make an exceeding present if he could gift his love the blade she was supposed to inherit in the first place. Yet every time he looked down at the list of ingredients, he quirked an eyebrow. The Toraono was far more well-studied than his appearance belied, but even he didn’t know what half of the materials were. Never a man to easily give in, he casually began asking questions of the local blacksmiths, his own brother when he could find him, and even Sousuke at one point who knew at least what Carmot was. The rest, stayed a mystery, until one day his tailor, of all people, said there might be one person who could solve the mystery. She was an outsider, but apparently was well traveled and powerful enough to fight back the Swarm from a supply caravan. Another day of talking to the right people and had a location with description of a woman wondering around that area.
Now, Michino, for all his intelligence, was something of a simple man. He figured that a person who might be well traveled enough to know what it was he sought, must surely be a smith of some sort herself. Why else would they know what might be on his list? Pure guesswork. For all he knew, in reality, he could be accidentally tracking a serial killer. He wanted to believe that this new well traveled person would magically know everything he needed, and could make the sword.
A simple man.
Frosty breath huffed as he looked around, suddenly lost now, as the icy mist had covered most of the posted signs. The Bazaar was also a place that was easy to get lost in when there was a bunch of people telling you were to go; let alone in the wee hours of the morning without guidance. He spun in place about three times before dropping his hands to his sides in frustration. It was about then he heard glass breaking, someone yelling, and swears being thrown between at least five people. Right as the Chuunin turned his head he witnessed a man flying out the front door of a place that, on the outside, looked very closed. The smells that came soaring out with the man, on the man, and spilling from a broken bottle in his right hand was liquor. Strong liquor. It had been awhile since the Toraono had taken the time to unwind from his duties, even a little, and since he was already awake this early in the day, might as well try to enjoy himself a little. He was off from the Dojo today anyways.
Michino stepped over the drunk and beaten man as his long staff clicked against the stairs leading up to the porch in place of his missing left leg. Once he reached the door the same staff knocked an old code he used back when he was doing underground boxing at a certain old dive bar. In seconds the locks began switching, chains unbolted, steel slid out, and the door opened to welcome the old one-legged soldier to the smell of tequila and a bar that should of closed four hours ago.
The military and their scientists had come a long way in temperature control, nearly to the point that building a fire to heat the house before bed was unnecessary beyond tradition. Of course, that was more for the residents of the Diamond District and some of the swanky places of the Residential; rumor was the Journeymen were going all out for the refugees…but most of Suna had to deal with this icy blanket that covered them. In the winter seasons the frost started building up only an hour after the sun went down in some parts of the country. There used to be stories of entire villages that would be abandoned by those living near the mountains in the north in order to avoid the inevitable freeze. They would return in the spring, usually to a harvest from the handful of brave souls left there to look after the winter crops. Since the Swarm began to attack though, those villages would no doubt remained abandoned permanently now.
Crunching through the mix of fine sand and lightly frozen water, a dark skinned giant hobbled through the main street of the Bazaar, his eyes looking back and forth for signs of a red-haired woman. In a pouch on his belt, folded into a square, was a sheet of paper describing a very special sword, and he believed she could help him make it.
It had once belonged to his lover’s mother, and due to tragic events set into motion by his deceased bastard of a father, Chiyo never saw it. The weapon was destroyed in order to wound the nigh-unkillable evil, so that Tama could escape, as Ame had already suffered fatal wounds. From the battle, the scientist took with him the full knowledge of what the sword was made of…but with her death, the technique to forge it was lost to time.
Michino, in his grand schemes, thought it would make an exceeding present if he could gift his love the blade she was supposed to inherit in the first place. Yet every time he looked down at the list of ingredients, he quirked an eyebrow. The Toraono was far more well-studied than his appearance belied, but even he didn’t know what half of the materials were. Never a man to easily give in, he casually began asking questions of the local blacksmiths, his own brother when he could find him, and even Sousuke at one point who knew at least what Carmot was. The rest, stayed a mystery, until one day his tailor, of all people, said there might be one person who could solve the mystery. She was an outsider, but apparently was well traveled and powerful enough to fight back the Swarm from a supply caravan. Another day of talking to the right people and had a location with description of a woman wondering around that area.
Now, Michino, for all his intelligence, was something of a simple man. He figured that a person who might be well traveled enough to know what it was he sought, must surely be a smith of some sort herself. Why else would they know what might be on his list? Pure guesswork. For all he knew, in reality, he could be accidentally tracking a serial killer. He wanted to believe that this new well traveled person would magically know everything he needed, and could make the sword.
A simple man.
Frosty breath huffed as he looked around, suddenly lost now, as the icy mist had covered most of the posted signs. The Bazaar was also a place that was easy to get lost in when there was a bunch of people telling you were to go; let alone in the wee hours of the morning without guidance. He spun in place about three times before dropping his hands to his sides in frustration. It was about then he heard glass breaking, someone yelling, and swears being thrown between at least five people. Right as the Chuunin turned his head he witnessed a man flying out the front door of a place that, on the outside, looked very closed. The smells that came soaring out with the man, on the man, and spilling from a broken bottle in his right hand was liquor. Strong liquor. It had been awhile since the Toraono had taken the time to unwind from his duties, even a little, and since he was already awake this early in the day, might as well try to enjoy himself a little. He was off from the Dojo today anyways.
Michino stepped over the drunk and beaten man as his long staff clicked against the stairs leading up to the porch in place of his missing left leg. Once he reached the door the same staff knocked an old code he used back when he was doing underground boxing at a certain old dive bar. In seconds the locks began switching, chains unbolted, steel slid out, and the door opened to welcome the old one-legged soldier to the smell of tequila and a bar that should of closed four hours ago.