It started as a casual mid-week day for Michino. Life was starting to set itself back into order with his current plans to make a special pilgrimage slowly coming into fruition. The last time he went out of the village was on a trip to Tea country and he felt that enough crap had happened since coming back home that he deserved another trip back out. Except this time he didn't have any plans on leaving the country.
A good distance away from the village was an area of the desert known as the Godsfall where the Ancients and the First of Men clashed for the last time. It was said that around that area was all sorts of weird phenomena, sightings of the supernatural, and even the occasional bandit group would camp out there for a week or two to escape justice. Why was Michino going to such a harsh part of the great expanse that was the Wind Country? Religious reasons. Last week he found himself in a emotional storm of turmoil when his local priest gave him the idea.
It had been close to a century if not longer since any member of the Sunan religion made the trek since the path had long been lost to the sand and the area riddled with dangers. However it was still believed that a truly faithful servant of Mother Suna would be able to find the path and make it through unscathed. The first half of the week had been mostly digging through the library to find as many old maps as he could and relocate the geographical location of The Path. The second part of study the teen had been working on was more or less the proper ritual one went through while on the path. What he had dredged up so far was that the walk would take at the very least three days, provided the weather didn't turn nasty, he could only carry one canteen of water and a single pound of dried meat. There was still some work he needed to translate but he at the very least had a basic list of the things he was going to need for the three day trip around the Godsfall.
The librarian actually bid Michino farewell that day. It was eight 'o clock and, unfortunately, the library closed at that time. Much like his father before him the boy was a well known patron of the books and they often let him stay until they were ready to lock the door for the night. Hoisting his old pack full of books and scrolls a little higher up on his right shoulder he started a speedy stroll towards the Bazaar; his stomach craved street grilled meat.
An hour later he was strolling down through the streets lit up with chakra crystal lamps hanging from the roof of the late-night street shops. It was closer to the end of the night when most of the shops were closed except a select few and the weird ones in the back alleys that only opened around this time. He was absently chewing on the flavored grilled meat on a stick, scanning the stalls with his eyes in search of anything useful for the journey ahead. By the end of the next half-hour the teenager had bought himself a decent traveler's pack, a bedroll, a new canteen, and a handful of depleted chakra crystals that he used for his ninjutsu training. He had actually gotten pretty decent at fire techniques because of these things and was looking to use them for a bit of advanced training before he headed out. Unfortunately the Toraono had one of those weird protagonist luck streaks where no matter how good a day is eventually someone is going to want a piece of him.
This time it came in the form of three unemployed thugs who, honestly, just sucked at being shinobi. From time to time a few students graduate the Academy, get their Genin license, and then just sit on the starting funds they are given for the first year. Afterwards, because they didn't use the year to study an actual technique to prefect for missions, they fail most of the assignments given to them until their license is revoked. Their names are put on a list and someone from the General Branch are to keep tabs on their activity. Sadly the Gen Branch can't keep up with every last drop out and some of them are even cunning enough to find ways to get their names removed from The List. The three mid-twenty somethings stalking Michino were of the latter.
Right as Michino neared the edge of the Bazaar he looked up from some of his notes he had pulled out to read on the walk home and noticed a wall. He was pretty sure he was walking the right direction back to the Dojo, but, the most direct path back was also the most convoluted. He shrugged, turned left, and started down one of the back alleys. He didn't get very far down before he ran into a few more dead ends with only two sided exits. By the time he reached the third one the teenager was aware that someone was using Genjutsu to trick him away from the general public. He was so wrapped up in his research that he'd probably would have never figured it out had he not been the fact that this area had an especially nasty scent to it.
The dark-skinned youth slowed down his walk until he stopped and turned to face two guys slowly walking up to him. Where once there would be near nothing but fear the boy's sky blue eyes now glared at his on comers with determination.
"Hey," he said in an unwelcoming tone, "I don't appreciate having my head screwed with by a bunch of wannabe nukes. I suggest you scoot back to whatever hole you crawled out of, you don't want to mess with me. I'm a Toraono," and as if to punctuate his sentence he snarled a little at them showing off his unnaturally long canines. The demon blood that ran strong in his clan often gave light features of a feline to any of their blood who was gifted enough to wake it up; even then it was usually skin markings like tiger stripes. Those who were Blessed by the blood, like Kuro and Michino, showed off a few more exotic demonic features naturally. In fact, if he wanted, it wouldn't take a lot of chakra to extend his spine and grow a tail. His demonic Id had done it to his body a few times before it trapped itself in his weapon.
However, mentioning his clan's name seemed to backfire. For a moment the teenager wondered just what kind of drugs these idiots had to be one to attack him when he remembered that his clan wasn't exactly famous with everyone in the village. The faces of the two men before him changed into a darker complexion and began to step up their walk towards the boy. Instantly Michi was reminded of his trip to Tea Country and the three dirtbags that had tried to attack him then. The look in his eyes didn't go away. He rolled his shoulder that was holding up his packs and let them slid off his arm onto the ground. The same hand dipped into his pocket and flicked out the battle razor. The edge of the blade seemed to have a wicked gleam to it and the teenager crouched down into an expert defensive stance waiting for the chance to counter the first attack. Michino hated violence to its very core, but also realized that he was absolutely lucky for these idiots to attack him instead of someone else who couldn't fend for themselves.
Bad luck for them, though, Owari quipped from the blade, gleefully.
A good distance away from the village was an area of the desert known as the Godsfall where the Ancients and the First of Men clashed for the last time. It was said that around that area was all sorts of weird phenomena, sightings of the supernatural, and even the occasional bandit group would camp out there for a week or two to escape justice. Why was Michino going to such a harsh part of the great expanse that was the Wind Country? Religious reasons. Last week he found himself in a emotional storm of turmoil when his local priest gave him the idea.
It had been close to a century if not longer since any member of the Sunan religion made the trek since the path had long been lost to the sand and the area riddled with dangers. However it was still believed that a truly faithful servant of Mother Suna would be able to find the path and make it through unscathed. The first half of the week had been mostly digging through the library to find as many old maps as he could and relocate the geographical location of The Path. The second part of study the teen had been working on was more or less the proper ritual one went through while on the path. What he had dredged up so far was that the walk would take at the very least three days, provided the weather didn't turn nasty, he could only carry one canteen of water and a single pound of dried meat. There was still some work he needed to translate but he at the very least had a basic list of the things he was going to need for the three day trip around the Godsfall.
The librarian actually bid Michino farewell that day. It was eight 'o clock and, unfortunately, the library closed at that time. Much like his father before him the boy was a well known patron of the books and they often let him stay until they were ready to lock the door for the night. Hoisting his old pack full of books and scrolls a little higher up on his right shoulder he started a speedy stroll towards the Bazaar; his stomach craved street grilled meat.
An hour later he was strolling down through the streets lit up with chakra crystal lamps hanging from the roof of the late-night street shops. It was closer to the end of the night when most of the shops were closed except a select few and the weird ones in the back alleys that only opened around this time. He was absently chewing on the flavored grilled meat on a stick, scanning the stalls with his eyes in search of anything useful for the journey ahead. By the end of the next half-hour the teenager had bought himself a decent traveler's pack, a bedroll, a new canteen, and a handful of depleted chakra crystals that he used for his ninjutsu training. He had actually gotten pretty decent at fire techniques because of these things and was looking to use them for a bit of advanced training before he headed out. Unfortunately the Toraono had one of those weird protagonist luck streaks where no matter how good a day is eventually someone is going to want a piece of him.
This time it came in the form of three unemployed thugs who, honestly, just sucked at being shinobi. From time to time a few students graduate the Academy, get their Genin license, and then just sit on the starting funds they are given for the first year. Afterwards, because they didn't use the year to study an actual technique to prefect for missions, they fail most of the assignments given to them until their license is revoked. Their names are put on a list and someone from the General Branch are to keep tabs on their activity. Sadly the Gen Branch can't keep up with every last drop out and some of them are even cunning enough to find ways to get their names removed from The List. The three mid-twenty somethings stalking Michino were of the latter.
Right as Michino neared the edge of the Bazaar he looked up from some of his notes he had pulled out to read on the walk home and noticed a wall. He was pretty sure he was walking the right direction back to the Dojo, but, the most direct path back was also the most convoluted. He shrugged, turned left, and started down one of the back alleys. He didn't get very far down before he ran into a few more dead ends with only two sided exits. By the time he reached the third one the teenager was aware that someone was using Genjutsu to trick him away from the general public. He was so wrapped up in his research that he'd probably would have never figured it out had he not been the fact that this area had an especially nasty scent to it.
The dark-skinned youth slowed down his walk until he stopped and turned to face two guys slowly walking up to him. Where once there would be near nothing but fear the boy's sky blue eyes now glared at his on comers with determination.
"Hey," he said in an unwelcoming tone, "I don't appreciate having my head screwed with by a bunch of wannabe nukes. I suggest you scoot back to whatever hole you crawled out of, you don't want to mess with me. I'm a Toraono," and as if to punctuate his sentence he snarled a little at them showing off his unnaturally long canines. The demon blood that ran strong in his clan often gave light features of a feline to any of their blood who was gifted enough to wake it up; even then it was usually skin markings like tiger stripes. Those who were Blessed by the blood, like Kuro and Michino, showed off a few more exotic demonic features naturally. In fact, if he wanted, it wouldn't take a lot of chakra to extend his spine and grow a tail. His demonic Id had done it to his body a few times before it trapped itself in his weapon.
However, mentioning his clan's name seemed to backfire. For a moment the teenager wondered just what kind of drugs these idiots had to be one to attack him when he remembered that his clan wasn't exactly famous with everyone in the village. The faces of the two men before him changed into a darker complexion and began to step up their walk towards the boy. Instantly Michi was reminded of his trip to Tea Country and the three dirtbags that had tried to attack him then. The look in his eyes didn't go away. He rolled his shoulder that was holding up his packs and let them slid off his arm onto the ground. The same hand dipped into his pocket and flicked out the battle razor. The edge of the blade seemed to have a wicked gleam to it and the teenager crouched down into an expert defensive stance waiting for the chance to counter the first attack. Michino hated violence to its very core, but also realized that he was absolutely lucky for these idiots to attack him instead of someone else who couldn't fend for themselves.
Bad luck for them, though, Owari quipped from the blade, gleefully.
