The crumbling ruin of a house still darkened this street of Sietch Zensunna. Crumbling, rotted walls, faded writing and layers of dust over every surface. Riyota had called this place home for eleven years of his life, and now it merely lay a wreck. Old, forgotten, dying. Merely waiting to be torn down fully and replaced with something new and beautiful. The shinobi had no clue why he had felt such a compulsion to return here on this day, but he did. He needed to, perhaps he was merely wishing to see it one more time before he moved to stare death in the face. Perhaps he was scouting out a home to live in after his impending declaration of war. Whatever the reason, he stood outside the once home of the Kuromairu family.
With a sigh he strode forward, entering through a large hole in a broken wall that had removed the boundary of the doorway anyway. The house itself had never been grand, just like the family whom resided within it, but it had been a home, it couldn't be called as such anymore. Riyota started with the kitchen, thankful that all the food had been confiscated in the investigation following his parents' disappearance so he didn't have to endure the sensual assault of rotten provisions. The entire area was stripped mostly bare, either by ANBU or scavengers over time. So there wan't much to be seen. As such, Riyota didn't bother with areas like the living room, knowing he was likely to find as much as the kitchen. Instead he made his way upstairs, to the bedrooms. Trudging up the creaky rotted wooden staircase he could feel each bit strain under his weight, when he reached the second last step it collapsed in on itself and he tore through the flesh of his ankle in order to free his leg. For a long moment he sat as his skin slowly fused itself back together, he bittersweetly reflected on all the days he had charged down the stairs to greet his returning Father or Mother, every time assuring himself that was the time he would hug them so hard they fell over. He remembered when he had broken his leg attempting to imitate his Father's shinobi skills on the bannister at the top of the stairs. He could see all these reflections of memories through the eyes of an observer. Riyota could no longer put himself in the position of the young Kuromairu boy.
Wordlessly, he stood and continued his path to his own former bedroom, not daring to enter the room of his parents. Out of memory, he at least did not want to disturb that spot. Slowly opening the door to his room which immediately snapped off the hinges upon use he was greeted by a typical child's bedroom. Decorated by drawings of his own since he had never really had anything else to decorate the walls with. He ripped one of these drawings off the wall and smirked at the sheer chidlish awfulness of it. A stick figure with scraggly hair and a dopey smile on its face stared back at him from the page. The name 'Mama' scrawled beneath it. Casting aside the drawing, he concluded that there would be nothing here for him except more painful memories.
With a glance he looked over to the end of the corridor. His Father's study, a room he had been absolutely forbidden to enter. The metal door still solidly in place. Looking rather dd against the decrepit state of the rest of the house. Considering for a short moment, Riyota decided that now was finally the time for him to enter. To discover what had been so important that his Father had kept it behind locked doors for so long.
Opening the door he saw that the room was not a room at all, but some kind of lift. Surprised and a tad confused, he stepped inside and hit the button. The door shut and he began descending. When he reached the bottom, the door slowly opened again and he stepped through into a large, ancient looking crypt. The walls were carved intricately with images depicting ancient battles and at the very back of the room was a throne with a family tree on the wall behind it. Moving to approach this Riyota saw the names of many people he didn't recognise, but all the way back the direct descendants all shared the name of the person at the top of the tree. Kuromairu Shido... Riyota's family name...He was standing in the clan hall of his ancestors. A building evidently buried by time. He looked further down the bottom of the tree and saw his parents. His father's name had been scratched and burned out violently. The young shinobi looked further down but saw his name wasn't there. Evidently there was no-one else to inscribe it.
Stepping back and looking at the facility in a whole new light he knew immediately what this place was soon required to become. It was to be his base of operations in the crusade against Akkuma.
MFT
With a sigh he strode forward, entering through a large hole in a broken wall that had removed the boundary of the doorway anyway. The house itself had never been grand, just like the family whom resided within it, but it had been a home, it couldn't be called as such anymore. Riyota started with the kitchen, thankful that all the food had been confiscated in the investigation following his parents' disappearance so he didn't have to endure the sensual assault of rotten provisions. The entire area was stripped mostly bare, either by ANBU or scavengers over time. So there wan't much to be seen. As such, Riyota didn't bother with areas like the living room, knowing he was likely to find as much as the kitchen. Instead he made his way upstairs, to the bedrooms. Trudging up the creaky rotted wooden staircase he could feel each bit strain under his weight, when he reached the second last step it collapsed in on itself and he tore through the flesh of his ankle in order to free his leg. For a long moment he sat as his skin slowly fused itself back together, he bittersweetly reflected on all the days he had charged down the stairs to greet his returning Father or Mother, every time assuring himself that was the time he would hug them so hard they fell over. He remembered when he had broken his leg attempting to imitate his Father's shinobi skills on the bannister at the top of the stairs. He could see all these reflections of memories through the eyes of an observer. Riyota could no longer put himself in the position of the young Kuromairu boy.
Wordlessly, he stood and continued his path to his own former bedroom, not daring to enter the room of his parents. Out of memory, he at least did not want to disturb that spot. Slowly opening the door to his room which immediately snapped off the hinges upon use he was greeted by a typical child's bedroom. Decorated by drawings of his own since he had never really had anything else to decorate the walls with. He ripped one of these drawings off the wall and smirked at the sheer chidlish awfulness of it. A stick figure with scraggly hair and a dopey smile on its face stared back at him from the page. The name 'Mama' scrawled beneath it. Casting aside the drawing, he concluded that there would be nothing here for him except more painful memories.
With a glance he looked over to the end of the corridor. His Father's study, a room he had been absolutely forbidden to enter. The metal door still solidly in place. Looking rather dd against the decrepit state of the rest of the house. Considering for a short moment, Riyota decided that now was finally the time for him to enter. To discover what had been so important that his Father had kept it behind locked doors for so long.
Opening the door he saw that the room was not a room at all, but some kind of lift. Surprised and a tad confused, he stepped inside and hit the button. The door shut and he began descending. When he reached the bottom, the door slowly opened again and he stepped through into a large, ancient looking crypt. The walls were carved intricately with images depicting ancient battles and at the very back of the room was a throne with a family tree on the wall behind it. Moving to approach this Riyota saw the names of many people he didn't recognise, but all the way back the direct descendants all shared the name of the person at the top of the tree. Kuromairu Shido... Riyota's family name...He was standing in the clan hall of his ancestors. A building evidently buried by time. He looked further down the bottom of the tree and saw his parents. His father's name had been scratched and burned out violently. The young shinobi looked further down but saw his name wasn't there. Evidently there was no-one else to inscribe it.
Stepping back and looking at the facility in a whole new light he knew immediately what this place was soon required to become. It was to be his base of operations in the crusade against Akkuma.
MFT