Kauru ambled aimlessly down an unfamiliar street, the still dark of the evening settling into the bones of the village. Ahead, a series of fires glowed dimly, casting soft flames and harsh shadows in the newborn dusk. Still shaking with nervous excitement from his recent encounter in the Obsidian Palace, Kauru failed to notice the area worsening around him, and the grins on the faces of strangers as the scrawny young man, clearly lost, wandered further away from safety. The Grand Palais had caught another fly in its web, and the spiders began to swarm.
When the first beer bottle exploded next to him, Kauru was already on the other side of the street. This was, in part, a product of his natural Hashigaki ability to hear danger well before it came his way coupled with his natural acrobatic tendencies. His back was now turned to the cascade of glass and fine mist of stale beer. The bottle’s eruption seemed like desolate windchimes to Kauru, something overly pleasant and serene for such an inauspicious occasion.
Kauru felt it take over. The adrenaline now coursed through his veins. Everything was clearer, sharper, a different level of polished. He could smell the overwhelming stench of the sweat and hear the contraction of every muscle around him before it had chance to fully give birth to a movement. This was the feeling that had led to his opponents’ dismay so many times before.
His back still to the crowd, drawing ever closer, mocking him as they approached, he knew that this was a situation best fit for his alter-ego. Nothing personal, he thought. As he drew the ANBU Mask from his bag and pressed it to his face, he felt his blindfold cut away. Not exactly orders from the Kazekage, but there’s no room in Sunagakure for scum. Kauru had installed two small blades that would immediately cut away anything obscuring his eyes when he donned his ANBU mask as Toumei. This allowed his piercing emerald demonic eyes to glow through the eye sockets of the mask.
With a tremendous exertion of force and a smattering of chakra, Toumei leapt into the air, bouncing off a wall and flipping backwards onto an unlit balcony. “Sorry to ruin the party, but I just don’t do well in crowds. Anxiety, you know?” He slipped into the shadows and was gone. He had always been a natural stalker, and the thrill he got from slinking around in the darkness, waiting for the perfect moment to strike was icing on the cake.
The small mob of men allowed their heads to pivot wildly, scouring the dark street for some sign of the boy. As they strained their eyes in search of the boy, the very ground beneath them gave way. The gravel and sand of the street shifted beneath them, and the ensuing dust cloud served Toumei as a shroud, cloaking him even further and allowing him ever closer.
Seeking to fully cripple his opponents and let fear echo through the chambers of their hearts, Toumei concentrated his focus intently, singing one of the mournful dirges of the Hashigaki from the shadows. His pitch was perfectly attuned to the fears of the men, and the genjutsu took its crippling toll on each of them. Even better, the echoes which reverberated throughout the street allowed him to maintain his near invisibility, leaving Toumei still entrenched in darkness.
For all the theatrics and cultivation of horror, Toumei still had a myriad of tricks up his sleeves – both literally and figuratively. After all, he had been assigned the rank of ANBU for a reason. He was a sentinel, a watcher in the darkness, and to that end, he was resilient and patient. Toumei analyzed the group from the lingering and pervasive dark, and it dawned on him that as rag-tag as the band of would-be thieves and murderers might seem, there was clearly a hierarchy and cohesion. One man, bald head shining and dripping sweat profusely, seemed to be calling the misguided shots from the center of the ring of bandits.
Well then… Let’s start with removing the head and see how the body reacts, he thought to himself. Toumei was a trained assassin and duelist. He thrived on disabling multitudes while destroying one target at a time, and this night would be no different. Let’s not get too cocky, though, he thought once more, tempering the beating of his heart and the frantic urge to respond to violence in kind.
In a flurry of handseals, he began channeling chakra to his palms and felt them push apart as they filled with a glowing orb of energy. He had become quite practiced in the Rasengan, and had learned to push the ability well past its normal boundaries – expanding it into a more powerful and destructive form, although still a notch below his Perfected Rasengan, which was also infused with the element of fire. He charged the bald man, thrusting his Rasengan directly into him and felt his will give way as he collapsed to the ground.
When the smoke and sand cleared, the bald man sat exasperated, desperately gasping for breath. His cohort grimaced as they assessed his wounds, turning their eyes rapidly from the grisly wound to the cold ANBU mask looming over their seeming leader. Toumei simply shrugged, assuming a defensive stance in front of the potential horde. Once more, the men eyed each other and in a silent begrudging accordance, began frantically sprinting down various alleyways and side streets.
After the men had run off, save the large bald-headed one who sat limp in the street, bleeding and clinging to consciousness, Toumei crouched down to his level and dragged him to the nearest alleyway. Toumei lowered an ear to the bald man’s chest and listened to the pulsation of his heart. One-two, one-two, one-two. Nothing irregular there. The skin which hung from the behemoth’s wound dripped blood at a steady pace, but Toumei could hear rumblings of onlookers eager to make amends with the now crippled scum-lord. I’m not sure why they care so much about a low-life like this, but it seems like he’s in better hands than he deserves.
He snapped to his feet and brushed himself off. He assessed a street sign and pondered the best way home. Maybe this time I’ll stick to the rooftops, he thought as he ascended a nearby set of balconies and ran off into the warm evening air, nothing more than a ghost in the slums. As he pressed on, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, Toumei was stopped suddenly by the whistling of a kunai in the night. It soared through the evening air and landed with a clang at his feet, planting itself firmly in the rooftop.
Toumei quickly surveyed the area, looking for any sign of an assault, but none was found. Recourse for earlier? A little more action on the menu, huh? But as he scoured the darkness, there was still nothing but the Suna breeze coating the village in a fine coat of sand. Toumei tensed his muscles and prepared to depart again when out of the corner of his eye he noticed a small piece of parchment loosely tied to the kunai. He picked it up and unfolded it. On it, there were four words harshly scrawled in deep, messy black ink: Bazaar. Red Lights. Chatter.”[/u] Toumei wasn’t entirely sure what chatter he was meant to find, but he knew that it would probably make itself apparent when he heard it, and with that, he pivoted again and dove headfirst off of the rooftop, springing off several walls before landing on the dusty ground with a dull thud. Removing his mask, Kauru brushed himself off and walked casually toward the belly of the beast.
OOC: Ability training and prelude to A-rank mission "The Bizarre Bazaar".
MFT: 1323 WC
When the first beer bottle exploded next to him, Kauru was already on the other side of the street. This was, in part, a product of his natural Hashigaki ability to hear danger well before it came his way coupled with his natural acrobatic tendencies. His back was now turned to the cascade of glass and fine mist of stale beer. The bottle’s eruption seemed like desolate windchimes to Kauru, something overly pleasant and serene for such an inauspicious occasion.
Kauru felt it take over. The adrenaline now coursed through his veins. Everything was clearer, sharper, a different level of polished. He could smell the overwhelming stench of the sweat and hear the contraction of every muscle around him before it had chance to fully give birth to a movement. This was the feeling that had led to his opponents’ dismay so many times before.
His back still to the crowd, drawing ever closer, mocking him as they approached, he knew that this was a situation best fit for his alter-ego. Nothing personal, he thought. As he drew the ANBU Mask from his bag and pressed it to his face, he felt his blindfold cut away. Not exactly orders from the Kazekage, but there’s no room in Sunagakure for scum. Kauru had installed two small blades that would immediately cut away anything obscuring his eyes when he donned his ANBU mask as Toumei. This allowed his piercing emerald demonic eyes to glow through the eye sockets of the mask.
With a tremendous exertion of force and a smattering of chakra, Toumei leapt into the air, bouncing off a wall and flipping backwards onto an unlit balcony. “Sorry to ruin the party, but I just don’t do well in crowds. Anxiety, you know?” He slipped into the shadows and was gone. He had always been a natural stalker, and the thrill he got from slinking around in the darkness, waiting for the perfect moment to strike was icing on the cake.
The small mob of men allowed their heads to pivot wildly, scouring the dark street for some sign of the boy. As they strained their eyes in search of the boy, the very ground beneath them gave way. The gravel and sand of the street shifted beneath them, and the ensuing dust cloud served Toumei as a shroud, cloaking him even further and allowing him ever closer.
Seeking to fully cripple his opponents and let fear echo through the chambers of their hearts, Toumei concentrated his focus intently, singing one of the mournful dirges of the Hashigaki from the shadows. His pitch was perfectly attuned to the fears of the men, and the genjutsu took its crippling toll on each of them. Even better, the echoes which reverberated throughout the street allowed him to maintain his near invisibility, leaving Toumei still entrenched in darkness.
For all the theatrics and cultivation of horror, Toumei still had a myriad of tricks up his sleeves – both literally and figuratively. After all, he had been assigned the rank of ANBU for a reason. He was a sentinel, a watcher in the darkness, and to that end, he was resilient and patient. Toumei analyzed the group from the lingering and pervasive dark, and it dawned on him that as rag-tag as the band of would-be thieves and murderers might seem, there was clearly a hierarchy and cohesion. One man, bald head shining and dripping sweat profusely, seemed to be calling the misguided shots from the center of the ring of bandits.
Well then… Let’s start with removing the head and see how the body reacts, he thought to himself. Toumei was a trained assassin and duelist. He thrived on disabling multitudes while destroying one target at a time, and this night would be no different. Let’s not get too cocky, though, he thought once more, tempering the beating of his heart and the frantic urge to respond to violence in kind.
In a flurry of handseals, he began channeling chakra to his palms and felt them push apart as they filled with a glowing orb of energy. He had become quite practiced in the Rasengan, and had learned to push the ability well past its normal boundaries – expanding it into a more powerful and destructive form, although still a notch below his Perfected Rasengan, which was also infused with the element of fire. He charged the bald man, thrusting his Rasengan directly into him and felt his will give way as he collapsed to the ground.
When the smoke and sand cleared, the bald man sat exasperated, desperately gasping for breath. His cohort grimaced as they assessed his wounds, turning their eyes rapidly from the grisly wound to the cold ANBU mask looming over their seeming leader. Toumei simply shrugged, assuming a defensive stance in front of the potential horde. Once more, the men eyed each other and in a silent begrudging accordance, began frantically sprinting down various alleyways and side streets.
After the men had run off, save the large bald-headed one who sat limp in the street, bleeding and clinging to consciousness, Toumei crouched down to his level and dragged him to the nearest alleyway. Toumei lowered an ear to the bald man’s chest and listened to the pulsation of his heart. One-two, one-two, one-two. Nothing irregular there. The skin which hung from the behemoth’s wound dripped blood at a steady pace, but Toumei could hear rumblings of onlookers eager to make amends with the now crippled scum-lord. I’m not sure why they care so much about a low-life like this, but it seems like he’s in better hands than he deserves.
He snapped to his feet and brushed himself off. He assessed a street sign and pondered the best way home. Maybe this time I’ll stick to the rooftops, he thought as he ascended a nearby set of balconies and ran off into the warm evening air, nothing more than a ghost in the slums. As he pressed on, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, Toumei was stopped suddenly by the whistling of a kunai in the night. It soared through the evening air and landed with a clang at his feet, planting itself firmly in the rooftop.
Toumei quickly surveyed the area, looking for any sign of an assault, but none was found. Recourse for earlier? A little more action on the menu, huh? But as he scoured the darkness, there was still nothing but the Suna breeze coating the village in a fine coat of sand. Toumei tensed his muscles and prepared to depart again when out of the corner of his eye he noticed a small piece of parchment loosely tied to the kunai. He picked it up and unfolded it. On it, there were four words harshly scrawled in deep, messy black ink: Bazaar. Red Lights. Chatter.”[/u] Toumei wasn’t entirely sure what chatter he was meant to find, but he knew that it would probably make itself apparent when he heard it, and with that, he pivoted again and dove headfirst off of the rooftop, springing off several walls before landing on the dusty ground with a dull thud. Removing his mask, Kauru brushed himself off and walked casually toward the belly of the beast.
OOC: Ability training and prelude to A-rank mission "The Bizarre Bazaar".
MFT: 1323 WC