Exhausting several breaths into the open air, crystals forming from the cold born of the high altitudes of the village; I felt a satisfying crunch every step or so beneath my feet as the frozen earth strained only lightly underneath my weight and the wooden geta as footwear. Staring just a few hundred feet ahead were the imposing gates of Kumogakure, set to defend against a siege in both size and fortification; remarkable certainly but alas even the greatest feats of man had flaws and imperfections if you looked with a keen enough eye. Cracks, blind-spots, paid guards; nevertheless the trailing thoughts danced in my mind to pass the time. It was nearly time I had to interact with others once more, shame.
Upon arrival officially, my right hand carefully slipped into the fold of my shirt fishing out a passport to offer to the first guard to check my identity and the like. Nothing terribly remarkable for most, my years of fame had long since been aged; certainly further long than most of the youth were born. My usual ragged appearance of a seemingly barbaric nature given a fairly rough fringe of hair, furs, tans and hide donned about my persons with make-shift armor of scales of a porcelain creature many a year ago certainly didn't paint me much a shinobi-- Then again, that was kind of the point.
Given a dour half-lidded gaze I typically wore had been set on my guard. Finally speaking as I figured they'd time enough to discern the legitimacy of the document.
"Ay'er should'a be clear'n day. N'e thing outta' order or cann'I enter?" Poor soul, I thought; my Marshian accent was never terribly easy to grasp. They'll survive, probably.
[Requesting ENTRANCE]
[MFT]
[287 WC]
Upon arrival officially, my right hand carefully slipped into the fold of my shirt fishing out a passport to offer to the first guard to check my identity and the like. Nothing terribly remarkable for most, my years of fame had long since been aged; certainly further long than most of the youth were born. My usual ragged appearance of a seemingly barbaric nature given a fairly rough fringe of hair, furs, tans and hide donned about my persons with make-shift armor of scales of a porcelain creature many a year ago certainly didn't paint me much a shinobi-- Then again, that was kind of the point.
Given a dour half-lidded gaze I typically wore had been set on my guard. Finally speaking as I figured they'd time enough to discern the legitimacy of the document.
"Ay'er should'a be clear'n day. N'e thing outta' order or cann'I enter?" Poor soul, I thought; my Marshian accent was never terribly easy to grasp. They'll survive, probably.
[Requesting ENTRANCE]
[MFT]
[287 WC]