Ninpocho Chronicles

Ninpocho Chronicles is a fantasy-ish setting storyline, set in an alternate universe World of Ninjas, where the Naruto and Boruto series take place. This means that none of the canon characters exists, or existed here.

Each ninja starts from the bottom and start their training as an Academy Student. From there they develop abilities akin to that of demigods as they grow in age and experience.

Along the way they gain new friends (or enemies), take on jobs and complete contracts and missions for their respective villages where their training and skill will be tested to their limits.

The sky is the limit as the blank page you see before you can be filled with countless of adventures with your character in the game.

This is Ninpocho Chronicles.

Current Ninpocho Time:

Private A rockin roll brawl! (req Michino)

Kureji

The insane rocker
Joined
Jan 27, 2021
Messages
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Yen
742,665
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OOC Rank
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The Toraono Dojo was known for its training center for students, for its occasional sparring sesssions between ninja, and being owned by a military clan. At least, that's what Kureji got from it as someone had specifically called him to come to the Dojo.

Toraono Machoman. At least... That's what he thought someone had said the guy's name is. He made his way to the biggest sparring room that was available, and there was already an audience that were gathered. Many people were sizing up Kureji, making comments about how this is the guy that Michino wants to fight? How Kureji doesn't even look all that much to be a challenge for the Toraono clan Head.

Kureji wouldn't even mind all the chitter chatter as he would walk into the middle of the sparring room and put his hands in his pockets. "So Machoman wanted to talk to me?" He would call out plainly, "I'm guessing he wanna throw dem hands and whatever."

Those from the clan looked at each other, some smirked, others let small giggles as he called Michino, Machoman. Kureji surveyed the area, should be big enough to avoid hitting any of the spectators. His overall casual attitude screamed that he was different from the usual people that come to spar here. Now apparently, he did hear a little about Machoman. He was the thirteenth Kazekage before Glowy Dude took back over. Kureji doesn't know much other than that.

He would wait for Machoman to arrive so that they can get on with it.
 
The Toraono Dojo has been the witness to many legendary fighters. Passed through this home of marble and stone, their blood has long mingled in and created a foundation for my clan for generation. These men and women come from far and wide to meet with our wrath. Some, even do so willingly.

His voice was deep and it resonated through the halls despite the gathered crowd, and it struck them silent. Sound itself seemed to turn to vacuum. Burning purple eyes foretold his approach as the tall swordsman stepped from the shadows of a pillar, each slap of his barefoot resonating through the arena. Like a cloak, the darkness ebbed away from his body to reveal a finely crafted form of ebony flesh; clothed only in baggy black pants. From his waist he pulled a purple bandanna out with deliberate slowness before wrapping it around his brow. A beard had began to grow, and with passing care he gently scratched at it as he raised his hands up. Electricity crackled through his fingers as he pulled them through his afro, twisting the hair into locks with a simple twirl of his digits.

I welcome you, Kureji, to my home. I am Toraono Michino, the former thirteenth Kazekage of Sunagakure, and current Sennin of Education. It is my duty, to be here today so that I may give my clan a lesson.
You are a mercenary. A wildcard. Something unpredictable on the table in our little war that I cannot, will not, ask anything less of than pure devotion. Trust is not something that can be asked of either of us, so, we shall build it in exorcise.” The 13th raised his right hand casually, snapping his fingers towards the freelance soldier.

Runes spun all throughout the arena, spidery tentacles that started from a circle of them in the center of the arena. They quickly attached to the walls of the that lifted the viewing seats, covering the edges and raising a barrier of indescribable strength. The ruby red runes scatted all across the ground and pillars were written in an illegible tongue born from demons. Scryed upon the stone in its infancy, the power poured into them, and barriers that protected the Toraono Dojo, were both considered absolutely indestructible. The walls were formed mixing special clay, and the bones of their most powerful. Sandworm chitin reinforced the structure, and refined the chakra poured into every inch of his home. At the snap of his fingers the lord of the dojo commanded them with his blood to erect a barrier between spectators, and the unwitting combatant.

So I will simply challenge you. If you can stand my onslaught then I will offer you a place on our side; if you cannot, then Hyou will gladly feast. Think of it as a warm-up, for the battle to come. The barrier I have just drawn to bare can withstand the attack of a fully powered Jinchuriki with nary a crack. So, don’t hold back friend…because I, cannot any longer…

Michino’s raised hand turned at the wrist to grasp at the air, gripping from nothing a sword covered in shadow that he drew and tossed the scabbard away; it returned to where it came. Standing straight out from the flickering shadow of its hilt, was a black and silver blade of pure menace. Emerald green runes snaked across the shadowy black steel with an energy leaking from the weapon that made it hard to fully perceive while staring directly at it. Taking a stance the swordsman let out a lungful of air so cold the vapors were entirely visible in the room’s passive heat; a temperature that suddenly began to drop as the Sennin steadied his blade.

Ready to learn your lesson, Kureji?

[Calling B-Mod]
 
Umm, Hello!
76A647024FE05CC291798F6DD06864FEB3BC5A74

It appears you all are fighting! That's crazy, I guess I'll be your BMod to ensure objective results! I will need the following:

Direct Message #1: Battle Information
  • Custom Class
  • Stats
  • Ability List
  • Inventory
  • Contracts
  • Jutsu List
  • Bloodline or Core Ability
  • Kinjutsu
  • Any other information you would like me to have
Please include links to everything! If it's not in this first message and linked to that specific thingie it will not be viable in this combat!
Direct Message #2: Actions!
This is the layout I prefer, using unordered lists with indentations to acknowledge separate actions with all of their stuff attached to it
  • AP cost, Action with link, at Target
    • Rank being used
    • Any Sensory/Affinity moves
    • Passives that apply
    • Reminders you don't want me to forget
  • AP Cost, Conditional with Link, Trigger
    • You'll notice I am requesting the same layout as your Actions
    • This will allow me to mod faster
    • Please have your Conditionals either in a separate column/spoiler/section as to not be mixed up with actions
  • I will assume everything is Rank 1 and being Maintained unless told otherwise

If you have any question, comments, concerns, and/or donations please let me know! K thaaanks!
 
"Oh, we're doing it the ol, mano el mano type of thing Machoman?" Kureji would ask as, in one swift motion, he would take both his shirt and jacket off with speed and ease. His lean muscles were enough to make some of the women swoon. "Though don't expect me to take my shoes off. You wouldn't imagine some of the times I did that and stepped into some funky things. I will say. Making your own beard grow super fast like that is super cool. I haven't thought of doing something like that with my powers." Granted, he changed the very appearance of this body just days ago during that big battle.

Machoman would speak more, how Kureji is unpredictable and a wild card. Kureji shrugged, "Sometimes unpredictability is the best thing about a plan. There is a saying. 'If you want to trick your enemies, you must first trick your friends.' Albeit, we aren't the best of buddy ol pals" He would pat Machoman on the back, "We do share a common enemy. My reasons are different than yours. But I plan on giving em hell with or without your permission."

Kureji would cock his head to the side as Machoman would issue his challenge to Kureji. "The who will feast?" He scratched his head. "You hear a Who?" Kureji may be insane at the worst of times, and just slightly weird at the best of times. As Machoman drew a sword out of pure darkness, Kureji reached out and it would seem as if reality would shimmer and form a guitar out of thin air. It was prominently black with two red stripes on either side. It looked like a bass guitar as Kureji would strum some chords.

"This place can withstand a jinchurikki attack? Then I can Rock my heart out Machoman!"

(actions sent)
 
It was clear the mercenary thought this was going to be a good time, or that the Toraono who had called him out for a duel was more bark than bite; or, perhaps the man was really just insane. The cocky smirk plastered across Kureji’s face told the Toraono; the rocker was underestimating him. He stood there in the brightly lit arena, rolling his shoulders with casual arrogance, as if this were nothing more than another gig, another guitar string to pluck. The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows across the walls, making the space feel almost alive, as the crowd waited with bated breath on the first move.

The warrior, by contrast, remained perfectly still. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone, his amethyst eyes focused with an intensity that should have warned the mercenary that something was terribly wrong with his assumptions. The air between them grew heavy, thick with anticipation and the promise of violence. The warrior gripped the hilt of his weapon with both hands, entwining his fingers tightly around the cold writhing hilt of shadows. The blade itself seemed to pulse with a life of its own, ancient runes etched along its length beginning to glow with a faint, otherworldly luminescence. The temperature in the room dropped perceptibly, but his opponent simply draw forth his own weapon and began to pluck a tune.

Michino feet slid softly across the concrete floor like a whisper, the sound barely audible even in the oppressive silence that had fallen over the chamber. Each movement was deliberate, measured, the product of decades of training, and by the guidance of his ancestors. He raised the weapon slowly above his head, the muscles in his arms coiling with controlled power. The blade caught the torchlight, reflecting it in sharp, dangerous angles that seemed to slice through the darkness itself.

The warrior took in another breath, deep and centering. His chest rose and fell with practiced calm, his heartbeat steady despite the explosive violence about to be unleashed. Time seemed to slow, stretching out like taffy, giving the mercenary one final moment to reconsider his choices, to understand the magnitude of his error; but Michino doubt the man had much thought between his ears.
When he relinquished control, like a cat’s coiled muscles, the Toraono was simply, gone.

[Actions Sent]
 
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