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 Chronicles Time:
Mission Muse of the Maker
- Thread starter Chikamatsu Nashi
- Start date
Sota had come to the realization that he was undergoing a midlife crisis. Let's explain:
As of late, most pranks he'd attempted to pull fell through before he could get his kicks from them. Then, there was the ordeal of a broken circle of friends (not too distraught about that one), endless and unfair punishments dished out to him at the worst times possible, and — don't even get him started on the sennin-guy. A can of worms that he'd tried to close back up since day-fucking-one of meeting Keniwa. But alas. What topped it all — the icing on the cake, if you will — was this shit. Missions that spanned on with their tedium. Was this the life of an adult? Stale surveillance and escorting tasks?
The umpteenth breath leaves Sota slumped more than ever, but he continues to drag his feet across the so called 'City of Thieves'. A wasteland suited for those of less savory means. His job? Not to gamble away his eyes. Not to partake in an underground fighting ring. Not to have fun, god forbid, but to deliver —
"these fuckin' paintings."
Midlife crisis sounded about right.
—
wc 190 (190/1200)
As of late, most pranks he'd attempted to pull fell through before he could get his kicks from them. Then, there was the ordeal of a broken circle of friends (not too distraught about that one), endless and unfair punishments dished out to him at the worst times possible, and — don't even get him started on the sennin-guy. A can of worms that he'd tried to close back up since day-fucking-one of meeting Keniwa. But alas. What topped it all — the icing on the cake, if you will — was this shit. Missions that spanned on with their tedium. Was this the life of an adult? Stale surveillance and escorting tasks?
The umpteenth breath leaves Sota slumped more than ever, but he continues to drag his feet across the so called 'City of Thieves'. A wasteland suited for those of less savory means. His job? Not to gamble away his eyes. Not to partake in an underground fighting ring. Not to have fun, god forbid, but to deliver —
"these fuckin' paintings."
Midlife crisis sounded about right.
—
wc 190 (190/1200)
As Sota approaches his destination a man seems to be tailing him. The man in question wears a hood obscuring most of their features, but it is obvious to anyone that he is following Sota. He has his hand tucked into his pocket, presumably holding onto something he intends to assault the boy with. As he bobs and weaves the crowd in a very sloppily untrained fashion, Sota would notice something was off about the man. While the proportions were right, it was clear that the movements he was making were all wrong. Maybe sota was on edge, or maybe this was about to be a serious problem.
As the man got closer he grumbled out sloppily like a drunkard would, "Hey, shin.." Burps "Shinobi fucker? you got any food on you? coin?"
In that moment something was clearly wrong, it wasn't what he said to him but where it came from. The scratchy voice sounded as if it had come from an alley off to his left and not the man approaching, even though the hand movements and head bobbing would suggest that it had. This was a set up, a distraction, but it was a shit attempt at one. Why would they make something so obviously a fake be the distraction?
It was in that moment that the boy would realize that it wasn't the case. The fact was the voice thrown was the distraction as the man rushed forth with a kunai attempting to get ahold of the paintings. His one hand reaching out and the other thrusting forth, this wasn't just some random thug but someone with some actual skill under their belt. If Sota was supposed to keep the paintings in tact and away from him, he was going to have to work for it clearly.
[wc 298]
[twc 298/1200]
As the man got closer he grumbled out sloppily like a drunkard would, "Hey, shin.." Burps "Shinobi fucker? you got any food on you? coin?"
In that moment something was clearly wrong, it wasn't what he said to him but where it came from. The scratchy voice sounded as if it had come from an alley off to his left and not the man approaching, even though the hand movements and head bobbing would suggest that it had. This was a set up, a distraction, but it was a shit attempt at one. Why would they make something so obviously a fake be the distraction?
It was in that moment that the boy would realize that it wasn't the case. The fact was the voice thrown was the distraction as the man rushed forth with a kunai attempting to get ahold of the paintings. His one hand reaching out and the other thrusting forth, this wasn't just some random thug but someone with some actual skill under their belt. If Sota was supposed to keep the paintings in tact and away from him, he was going to have to work for it clearly.
[wc 298]
[twc 298/1200]
Dangerous as this city rumors itself to be, and sloppy as the shinobi's ways are, the truth is this; Sota doesn't instantly spot the man. In a street full of slanted characters, he almost blends in. So much so that — when he sways up to Sota, the boy thinks to ignore him and press on. Nearly does. Then, he's properly interrupted. This time by an actual attack, "what — "
(Slaps the boy with enough surprise to have him leaping in the air. Nothing he'll mention in his report, of course) —
"the fuck!" Reflex kicks in. Sota's grip tightens around the package nestled between him and his arm, and he yanks his shoulder to one side in an attempt to shield the cargo. Tries to bring up his other arm to, what — block a blade? Of course he does. The kunai digs into his flesh, and he spits out another curse. "I just got this jacket, you fuck." And with the new restrictions they were setting up, stealing it hadn't come easy. But Sota doesn't let the man in on this fact lest it somehow ends up bonding them.
Another yank; this time his body to the back. Places a safe distance between them while he mutters a bible of insults through clenched teeth. At his arm, heat was beginning to spread, kissing and biting at his skin. And, the more it poked at him, the wider his lips grew because he suddenly decides "good timing, actually."
Seems like spending an hour complaining internally yields results!
From his hip, he unhooks a long, metal chain with a fundo attached at one end and a kama attached at the other. Unspooling it would reveal a kusarigama. Lets its weight hit the ground before he flashes his pearls for the other. "Let's dance, then."
Sota will do the honors of initiating what has already been very much initiated. He uses one hand to jerk the chain upward. Starts a slow, vertical whirl at his side. Then, if the tasteless thief doesn't lunge for him again, he'd swing the chain in the air, ready to drop its sickle onto his opponent. Not in an attempt to kill — blade's too heavy for that — but to cut. One cut is all he needs, really.
—
wc 379 (569/1200)
(Slaps the boy with enough surprise to have him leaping in the air. Nothing he'll mention in his report, of course) —
"the fuck!" Reflex kicks in. Sota's grip tightens around the package nestled between him and his arm, and he yanks his shoulder to one side in an attempt to shield the cargo. Tries to bring up his other arm to, what — block a blade? Of course he does. The kunai digs into his flesh, and he spits out another curse. "I just got this jacket, you fuck." And with the new restrictions they were setting up, stealing it hadn't come easy. But Sota doesn't let the man in on this fact lest it somehow ends up bonding them.
Another yank; this time his body to the back. Places a safe distance between them while he mutters a bible of insults through clenched teeth. At his arm, heat was beginning to spread, kissing and biting at his skin. And, the more it poked at him, the wider his lips grew because he suddenly decides "good timing, actually."
Seems like spending an hour complaining internally yields results!
From his hip, he unhooks a long, metal chain with a fundo attached at one end and a kama attached at the other. Unspooling it would reveal a kusarigama. Lets its weight hit the ground before he flashes his pearls for the other. "Let's dance, then."
Sota will do the honors of initiating what has already been very much initiated. He uses one hand to jerk the chain upward. Starts a slow, vertical whirl at his side. Then, if the tasteless thief doesn't lunge for him again, he'd swing the chain in the air, ready to drop its sickle onto his opponent. Not in an attempt to kill — blade's too heavy for that — but to cut. One cut is all he needs, really.
—
wc 379 (569/1200)
Impact
The end of the chain slips through the man as his face turns into a bright and terrifying smile. His form rapidly shifts, dripping and slopping off as mud clumps begin to fall from his face. "Oops" the figure now more clearly a mud clone speaks as it begins to fall apart. In a flash a swarm of shuriken fly out of a nearby window and a small blur appears above Sota, a man kicking downward in case he tries to jump out of the way once again. Sota is left with a choice in that moment, does he attempt to fight the man above him somehow and pray he dodges the blades, or does he choose instead to try and out maneuver the blades before their impact. Time is running thin, as the foot and blades rapidly approach from apposing ends.
If Sota could think straight in this split second, he'd know now that he was at least dealing with someone of his level, but the movements would be far faster than those he'd trained with. More comparable to the Anbu he'd seen or the Sennin. Either way it was not time to worry about such things, it was time to act. He now had just the right moment to decide what his course of action was going to be, but if he chose wrong it would be him that wound up in the hospital this go round.
[wc 240]
[twc 538/1200]
The end of the chain slips through the man as his face turns into a bright and terrifying smile. His form rapidly shifts, dripping and slopping off as mud clumps begin to fall from his face. "Oops" the figure now more clearly a mud clone speaks as it begins to fall apart. In a flash a swarm of shuriken fly out of a nearby window and a small blur appears above Sota, a man kicking downward in case he tries to jump out of the way once again. Sota is left with a choice in that moment, does he attempt to fight the man above him somehow and pray he dodges the blades, or does he choose instead to try and out maneuver the blades before their impact. Time is running thin, as the foot and blades rapidly approach from apposing ends.
If Sota could think straight in this split second, he'd know now that he was at least dealing with someone of his level, but the movements would be far faster than those he'd trained with. More comparable to the Anbu he'd seen or the Sennin. Either way it was not time to worry about such things, it was time to act. He now had just the right moment to decide what his course of action was going to be, but if he chose wrong it would be him that wound up in the hospital this go round.
[wc 240]
[twc 538/1200]
Sota's smile flips on itself. Takes him a second to process, and a second is much more than he can bargain for. Never learned to spend his time wisely so he's back to propping up meatshields for arms, and — once again, he takes care to hide the paintings behind his person. Then, stumbles aside, hoping to evade as many projectiles as possible while god rains terror from above. Comes down in the form of a heel, hammering down his head — "kh!!" — and letting his balance crash over the earth. With the momentum of their little dance, Sota's chain is whipped back to its owner. If the man wouldn't leap out of its way, the sickle would draw a small gash over his skin. If he does decide to move, Sota cheers by spitting blood on the ground and pulling himself back onto unsteady feet.
Forget his arm, the entirety of his fucking body cries out. At his lip rests a cut; some sort of reminder to keep his jaws unlocked for the future. His arm? Littered with injuries. Small and big; shallow and deep. No reminders here, just a plethora of stings that begin to pour fog into his brain.
"Good... timing..." he mumbles. A reminder for himself to stay awake. That he needs to seize opportunities where opportunities present.
With the package wrapped in cloth and tape, Sota rules it safe to drop it to the ground. Needs the extra hand for what he's about to do. Whether his enemy fixes him with more cuts or not, Sota's hands clasp together and form the sequence of signs needed to transform their surroundings. Like the fog eating at him from the inside, haze washes over the air. Dirties it to a dimmed, heavy mist that should disrupt both of their visions.
—
wc 301 (870/1200)
[Used Hidden Mist]
Forget his arm, the entirety of his fucking body cries out. At his lip rests a cut; some sort of reminder to keep his jaws unlocked for the future. His arm? Littered with injuries. Small and big; shallow and deep. No reminders here, just a plethora of stings that begin to pour fog into his brain.
"Good... timing..." he mumbles. A reminder for himself to stay awake. That he needs to seize opportunities where opportunities present.
With the package wrapped in cloth and tape, Sota rules it safe to drop it to the ground. Needs the extra hand for what he's about to do. Whether his enemy fixes him with more cuts or not, Sota's hands clasp together and form the sequence of signs needed to transform their surroundings. Like the fog eating at him from the inside, haze washes over the air. Dirties it to a dimmed, heavy mist that should disrupt both of their visions.
—
wc 301 (870/1200)
[Used Hidden Mist]
"Ah I see the pup has a few tricks up his sleeve, me too" a voice bounced as if coming from a few different places around Sota in the fog. Everything about this felt off, but now it was off and there was a cloud between him and his enemies. While the situation was both an advantage and disadvantage, there was a quick movement near him as a volley of shuriken cut through the smoke in random directions. The problem with those who are against the village or hired guns, is that casualties of civilians isn't going to make them worry.
The rush also revealed that the shinobi was sliding low and attempting to get the now unprotected paintings. He apparently had very little interest in Sota himself and was strictly going for an attempt to steal them. He would kick his leg out in a low sweep as he passed Sota to cause the boy to either jump into shurikens or out of the way of the paintings. Either way, he was going to have a tough time bouncing out of this one.
"Sorry kid, but these are gunna have to come with me. Don't die for something you don't care about."
[wc 200]
[twc 768/1200]
The rush also revealed that the shinobi was sliding low and attempting to get the now unprotected paintings. He apparently had very little interest in Sota himself and was strictly going for an attempt to steal them. He would kick his leg out in a low sweep as he passed Sota to cause the boy to either jump into shurikens or out of the way of the paintings. Either way, he was going to have a tough time bouncing out of this one.
"Sorry kid, but these are gunna have to come with me. Don't die for something you don't care about."
[wc 200]
[twc 768/1200]
Excitement poised high in the air, wouldn't fully die down. Not until Sota's body was laid to waste. Hell, even then, it might still sit atop his grave.
See, before the mist had swallowed their surroundings whole, Sota had gone to work; had thrown an arm down to swipe the paintings and broken off in a sprint. As such; the explosion of blades behind him has him stumbling over his feet, tipping his own balance in a frantic attempt to duck. And, what came to be a meatshield would always be a meatshield. At least for the duration of this fight — point is: he brings his arm up once more and lets it eat the few stray shuriken that he doesn't avoid in time. As for the incoming low sweep —
"HAHA!! YOU FUCKING IDIOT!!!!!" Sota bellows out. At his chest rests a bloodied hand attached to a bloodied arm. Littered with metal and viscera, it shakes out with protest when he begins to tilt his wrist, and adjust his hand, its sequence of gestures promising to set the next stage. "WATER RELEASE: BLOODY MIST — "
his grin is interrupted by a sharp hiss, and he suddenly slips backwards, this time on nothing. Feels his weight crash one more time over the hard terrain. From his arms, the paintings slide and disappear off in the fog. Which, by the way, was now fully turned red. In this field, the stings of your wounds are amplified. Feel them stretch wide and feed into the jaws of the mist.
—
wc 256 (1126/1200)
[Used Bloody Mist]
See, before the mist had swallowed their surroundings whole, Sota had gone to work; had thrown an arm down to swipe the paintings and broken off in a sprint. As such; the explosion of blades behind him has him stumbling over his feet, tipping his own balance in a frantic attempt to duck. And, what came to be a meatshield would always be a meatshield. At least for the duration of this fight — point is: he brings his arm up once more and lets it eat the few stray shuriken that he doesn't avoid in time. As for the incoming low sweep —
"HAHA!! YOU FUCKING IDIOT!!!!!" Sota bellows out. At his chest rests a bloodied hand attached to a bloodied arm. Littered with metal and viscera, it shakes out with protest when he begins to tilt his wrist, and adjust his hand, its sequence of gestures promising to set the next stage. "WATER RELEASE: BLOODY MIST — "
his grin is interrupted by a sharp hiss, and he suddenly slips backwards, this time on nothing. Feels his weight crash one more time over the hard terrain. From his arms, the paintings slide and disappear off in the fog. Which, by the way, was now fully turned red. In this field, the stings of your wounds are amplified. Feel them stretch wide and feed into the jaws of the mist.
—
wc 256 (1126/1200)
[Used Bloody Mist]
There was a long silence as the man came to a stand in the bloody red fog, a debate in his mind on the worth of the goods versus the trouble this brat was causing him. In the end he decided it wasn't worth it, he'd already spent time and resources on this and was getting nowhere. It was supposed to be a simple snatch and grab and now some punk was ruining it. But, just then Sota yelled out and mocked him, that was the final straw. He pulled out a long sword that he had tied to his back. The blade curved and jagged, made of some darkened iron or perhaps a compound of metals.
"You think you're.." the thought was interrupted by the paintings landing at his feet from the slide. His luck turned, and with that so did his attitude. He sheathed the blade and knelt down in the mist to pick up the paintings. Given the direction it had gone it was...
He froze as the words came out, he knew in that moment it was checkmate. Bested by some brat? That's really how it ends? Thoughts like this rushed through his mind on repeat before the snapping and popping could be heard from within the mist. The painting dropping back down to the ground, though still safe within its containment. The body of the man lay next to it after a wet thud of it falling lifelessly to the ground rang out. He had not only failed to get the paintings but also he failed at one of the most important rules he had learned, never go into the easy expecting it to be simple.
Up in the window previously where volleys of kunai flew out of, a man called in on his headset before slipping off to get out of dodge. This situation was far worse than expected, but at least he wasn't the idiot that wound up paying his life for it. Though, it wasn't like there weren't punishments for messing up something so simple, he'd owe his pound of flesh when he got back to the boss that was certain. But for now, he counted his blessings that he was alive and able to escape.
The mist cleared revealing the situation as Sota stood. A successful encounter and a possible successful mission, all that was left now was to reach the end location and drop the paintings into the slot at the shop. He didn't even have to have a conversation after this, just drop and head on home. He definetely was going to have some explaining to do for the whole dead thief thing, especially after his last mission. At least this time he was able to say it was an expected risk given the type of cargo being moved and the city's nickname.
[wc 470]
[twc 1238/1200]
"You think you're.." the thought was interrupted by the paintings landing at his feet from the slide. His luck turned, and with that so did his attitude. He sheathed the blade and knelt down in the mist to pick up the paintings. Given the direction it had gone it was...
He froze as the words came out, he knew in that moment it was checkmate. Bested by some brat? That's really how it ends? Thoughts like this rushed through his mind on repeat before the snapping and popping could be heard from within the mist. The painting dropping back down to the ground, though still safe within its containment. The body of the man lay next to it after a wet thud of it falling lifelessly to the ground rang out. He had not only failed to get the paintings but also he failed at one of the most important rules he had learned, never go into the easy expecting it to be simple.
Up in the window previously where volleys of kunai flew out of, a man called in on his headset before slipping off to get out of dodge. This situation was far worse than expected, but at least he wasn't the idiot that wound up paying his life for it. Though, it wasn't like there weren't punishments for messing up something so simple, he'd owe his pound of flesh when he got back to the boss that was certain. But for now, he counted his blessings that he was alive and able to escape.
The mist cleared revealing the situation as Sota stood. A successful encounter and a possible successful mission, all that was left now was to reach the end location and drop the paintings into the slot at the shop. He didn't even have to have a conversation after this, just drop and head on home. He definetely was going to have some explaining to do for the whole dead thief thing, especially after his last mission. At least this time he was able to say it was an expected risk given the type of cargo being moved and the city's nickname.
[wc 470]
[twc 1238/1200]
When the airs finally push away the veil of red and the noises of the unfamiliar party die down to a quiet, Sota's grin begins to unwind. In one ear, he hears his heart thumping. Working the magic of adrenaline to keep him from dropping comatose. In the other: a ringing. Loud, impatient. An angry stream seeking respite. The blood of his opponent dwindling in its movement. The only sign Sota needs to confirm: he won. He fucking won.
Doesn't celebrate just yet. In fact, in the time it takes for his surroundings to clear up, he rules it safe to just — laze on the ground. More so a necessity, less an option, but he pretends like it's out of his own volition. Pretends like he's at home, in his bed; asking for just another five minutes.
"Fuckkkkkk...." comes a groan. Seems like the last of his adrenaline has packed its bags.
Using his unharmed arm, he rolls onto its side and pushes body and mind. Dangling below is his other arm; a waterfall of blood rushing down the limb and quickly forming a pool where his digits hang and point. Seeing it clad in an unholy number of shuriken — (like a goddamn training log) — has Sota physically cringing. Averting his gaze and searching for a distraction. Ah, yes. The paintings. Perhaps his best distraction yet.
Alas, the boy can do nothing but drag himself towards his package. Does slow down when the world begins to spin and does manage to break full-on when stars begin to glimmer. When he reaches his destination, he uses a foot to raise the worthless trash to hip level. Then, he places it back between his fatigued body and his injury-free grip. Turns on a heel.
Moves down the same path he'd been interrupted from. Towards the shop. In his wake, Sota leaves a long trail of blood.
—
wc 312 (1438/1200)
[EXITS TOPIC]
Doesn't celebrate just yet. In fact, in the time it takes for his surroundings to clear up, he rules it safe to just — laze on the ground. More so a necessity, less an option, but he pretends like it's out of his own volition. Pretends like he's at home, in his bed; asking for just another five minutes.
"Fuckkkkkk...." comes a groan. Seems like the last of his adrenaline has packed its bags.
Using his unharmed arm, he rolls onto its side and pushes body and mind. Dangling below is his other arm; a waterfall of blood rushing down the limb and quickly forming a pool where his digits hang and point. Seeing it clad in an unholy number of shuriken — (like a goddamn training log) — has Sota physically cringing. Averting his gaze and searching for a distraction. Ah, yes. The paintings. Perhaps his best distraction yet.
Alas, the boy can do nothing but drag himself towards his package. Does slow down when the world begins to spin and does manage to break full-on when stars begin to glimmer. When he reaches his destination, he uses a foot to raise the worthless trash to hip level. Then, he places it back between his fatigued body and his injury-free grip. Turns on a heel.
Moves down the same path he'd been interrupted from. Towards the shop. In his wake, Sota leaves a long trail of blood.
—
wc 312 (1438/1200)
[EXITS TOPIC]
Both approved,
Akamine Sota rewards: 82 stat points and 37500 yen
Tantasu Kino rewards: 112 stat points and 37500 yen
Akamine Sota rewards: 82 stat points and 37500 yen
Tantasu Kino rewards: 112 stat points and 37500 yen
Current Ninpocho Chronicles Time: