Home
1![Woaaaaah! [C-Rank Mission/Private/NK] Empty](https://2img.net/i/empty.gif)
Woaaaaah! [C-Rank Mission/Private/NK] Sun Sep 06, 2015 10:32 am
Zinan
D-rank
![Woaaaaah! [C-Rank Mission/Private/NK] Left_bar_bleue](https://2img.net/i/fa/i/left_bar_bleue.jpg){kind=small}
![Woaaaaah! [C-Rank Mission/Private/NK] Empty_bar_bleue](https://2img.net/i/fa/i/empty_bar_bleue.jpg){kind=small}
The cry of a falcon was easily heard over the silence of the forest. A thick browed, raven-headed man looked up from the tree that he was in. He had been sitting in the fork of two large branches that made of the bulk of the tree. He had been reading a small book and relishing the peace and quiet of the forest. Upon closer inspection of the book, one would see the title “An In-Depth Study of Sensory Techniques” emblazoned on its glossy, hard-backed cover. Under the title were three circles that were connected by lines and were arranged in the shape of a triangle. Each of the circles had a small image inside of them; one had an ear, another had a nose, and the third possessed an eye. In the middle of the triangle was a fourth, small image: a brain. This book was a C-Ranked book that delved into the techniques and tactics of sensory techniques that were employed by many shinobi. Though it was not Zinan’s main function as a shinobi, as he wanted to focus on trapping, sensory techniques are useful to a trapper, due to the fact that they provide a trapper with the ability to sense and located an enemy, so that they may spring their traps.
Zinan lifted his left arm at the shoulder, so that it provided a stable perch for the falcon and was parallel to the ground. With another squawk, the falcon descended in a lazy spiral before settling on the genin’s arm with a rustle of feathers. The ninja smirked; clearly the message was not urgent, for the sender would have dispatched a more mission-focused messenger. This one clearly took its time and did not worry about the message that was strapped to its leg. Zinan brought his arm around to the front of his body by bending his arm at the elbow and rotating his arm at the shoulder so that the bird was even with his eyes. The bushy-browed man smiled before gently yawning. After stifling the yawn back down, he reached up and stroked the raptor’s head before he untied the message from the bird’s leg. When the falcon was freed of its burden, it hopped up Zinan’s arm and settled on the shinobi’s shoulder. With both hands freed, the genin unfurled the tightly folded strip of paper and read its message:
At least the message was quick and to the point. It left very little room for confusion or doubt, as it provided a solid command interrogative, as well as clear and concise language. The limited space on the small slip of paper also led to the message being short. Zinan rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a small notepad and a graphite stick. He scribbled a quick, short response back, and then folded the message into a small cord. With his left hand, he stroked the side of the falcon’s head and pointed down to the branch next to him. The bird understood what the ninja wanted it to do and hopped from Zinan’s shoulder down to the wooden perch that they both shared. With nimble fingers, from years of working glass and silken webs, Zinan tied the message onto the falcon’s leg. Afterwards, he hoisted the bird into the air, told it to fly back to the village, and provided a helpful toss into the air. With another squawk, the bird of prey opened its wings at the peak of the assisted launch and winged into the air. After a moment, the bird disappeared from Zinan’s sight, as it flew past the lofty branches of other, larger trees.
Zinan sighed. Of course, he’d get called in for a mission. It only makes sense that the world would crush his relaxing morning by having him do actual work. And, to make matters worse, he had to work with children. The last time that he worked in the academy, he came inches away from sending a child through the window. He didn’t feel right in the academy when he was a student, having been the quiet kid who sat in the back and watched as all of his classmates got into trouble or got involved in some other harebrained antics. He was a loner and an outsider, though not for lack of trying. Being back in the academy, even to teach, drudges up old memories that Zinan would rather leave forgotten to the sands of time.
The genin slowly packed up his belongings. He put the book on sensory techniques back into the satchel that he brought, tugged at the near invisible line of glass web, which brought several tree branches down around him, with loud snaps. He had set them up as a defensive screen, should an enemy shinobi attempt to attack him while he was in the wild. Zinan had tied kunai to two of the branches and, on the third, wedged shuriken into the end, making a trio of sharp points. The traps were designed to snap down, from their hidden locations in the trees, whenever Zinan pulled on the invisible tripwire and impale the enemy as they came through the trees. No longer having a need for the traps, Zinan leapt from tree to tree, and with some effort, tugged the weapons out of the branches and recovered his metal wire. He rolled the wire back up and, along with his kunai and shuriken, the shinobi stowed it in his weapon’s pouch that was strapped to his back at his waist. Zinan reached back and made certain that his tantō was secured on his shoulders. His fingers brushed the hilt of the blade and he smiled. He knew what he was going to teach the children at the academy.
Zinan dropped from the tree to the forest floor below and began to trudge back to the village. It was not a long walk and, at the crest of the hills, he could see the Hokage Mountain in the distance, as well as many of the iconic, and tall, buildings in the village. Despite all of misgivings and occasional lonely feelings he felt about the village and the people in it, Zinan would never give up, nor forsake, his family’s ancestral home. For generations, his clan has dwelled just outside the village’s walls and sent member after member to the village to be trained as Hidden Leaf shinobi. He was, after all, one of those clan members that the Village Hidden in the Leaves had taken in and trained. It was, indeed, home.
Zinan smiled as he crested the last little hill and the gate came into view. It was open today; the village feared not an attack by an enemy village or any bandits. There were several patrols dispatched into the surrounding area of the village and roamed the forests, providing an effective screen against outsiders. Zinan often wondered what it would be like to be a part of the ANBU Black Ops Division. He specialized in trapping, which should be of some use to the ANBU Black Ops forces, and he had hopes of delving into sensory techniques. Would his father take notice of him then? Would his brother concede that Zinan did have some talent as a ninja? Would it be a good substitute for working with his clan’s spiders, which did not seem willing to attach to the young genin? These were all questions and fears that Zinan held concerning his future as a Hidden Leaf shinobi.
As the genin passed through the gate, he nodded to the two gate guards, a smile on his face, but thoughts of disappointment in his mind. The two of them were slacking off. One was reading a magazine, which, by Zinan’s quick examination, was full of sexy women and nudity, while the other gate guard was kicked back in his seat, arms crossed behind his head, snoring; sound asleep. Would that be Zinan’s destiny? To become a chuunin and forced to spend countless hours sitting in a booth next to the gate? Would he be destined for a lackluster life that he would try to spice up with smut magazines, or try to ignore by sleeping the days away? Zinan shuddered and shook his head. No, he thought, I will not end up as a worthless ninja. And, if I can help it, I’ll show all of these lousy shinobi that they have much more to live for. He narrowed his eyes and gave the two gate guards a sideways glare. Zinan straightened his shoulders and continued on into the village.
Konoha was busy today, as it was market day, and the streets were flooded with market goers. Children ran amuck, their mothers calling after them and admonishing their bad behavior. At least the older children were contained in the academy, where Zinan was clearly headed. He gently, quickly, and quietly shouldered his way through the crowd. He drew very little attention, as usual from the people of the village, and slipped out of the market street. The academy was right in front of him now. A few more meters and he crossed the precipice and threshold of the building. The genin made his way to the administrative room and rapped his fist on the wooden desk that the secretary sat behind. She lifted her head from her work with a smile. “Yes? Can I help you?” She asked with a soft and lilted voice.
Zinan smiled back. The lady was pretty and she looked young. Eighteen or nineteen, a similar age to his. “I was sent here to help instruct one of the classes today. Kumonosu Zinan is my name.” The secretary nodded with another smile and rummaged around on her desk. She pulled out a slip a paper and wrote down a room number in ink. It read Room 201. Zinan took the slip of paper with a gracious nodded and headed out into the hall. Room 201; that was his classroom when he was in the academy. Just the mention of it brought many memories back from the past, and they were memories that he’d rather leave forgotten. Thoughts of loneliness and boredom raced through his mind, which he shook out of his head with a grimace. He would not dwell on such matters today.
Zinan made it upstairs and stood that the door to the classroom. The noise inside was raucous and he could hear the classroom’s home room teacher struggling to bring the children’s attention to order. Of course, leave it to Zinan to get the unruly class. Again, Zinan knocked on the door, which, after a moment, slid open. He stood face to face with a young shinobi instructor that only had a few years on him. The instructor was cleanly shaven, though Zinan thought that it could have been due to the fact that the man looked like he never had to shave once in his life. With a welcome, the teacher invited him into the room and introduced him to the class. Finally, the kids in the room settled and several of them gasped when they heard the subject that Zinan would be instructing them in.
“Bukijutsu.” Zinan stated. “The art of weapons.” The genin reached over his shoulder and pulled free his tantō. “More precisely, I’ll be teaching you the art of kenjutsu, or the art of the blade.” Zinan turned to the class’s instructor and posed a quick question. “Do you have wooden practice swords? The kids will need them.” The homeroom teacher nodded and trotted over to a weapons cabinet and unlocked it. The doors swung open and, wrapped in silk ribbon, many wooden swords were hung inside.
“Alright, young and future ninja. Split off in groups of two and form a line, starting at the cabinet. Each of you will receive a practice sword and, once everyone is still and quiet, we’ll begin our lesson.” With that, and a few whoops and hollers from the kids, a line quickly formed. Zinan and the class’s teacher began to hand out the wooden swords to the kids. The classroom was soon divided into many sparring pits. Zinan squared off with the homeroom teacher and spoke loud enough for all the kids to hear. “The most important thing to know about a sword, knife, or blade, is that it is to be an extension of your body. It is not a weapon, as many people believe, but rather, it is a part of you, just as an arm or leg is. That understanding and belief is what makes a true sword wielder. Only by that understanding, will some of you master the art of the sword and surpass your friends and foes with the blade.”
And thus began a day’s worth of teaching. Zinan discovered that the homeroom teacher had no talent with the sword, at all. He should have realized this when he received the mission, for if the teacher did have talent, an outsider and specialist would not have been called into the classroom to teach. The genin eventually had a student replace the homeroom teacher as an opponent. The student was already instructed in the art of the sword and proved a much more beneficial instructing partner than the class’s normal instructor. That ninja fell into the gap that the student left and began to be instructed by Zinan as well. It may have been humiliating for the teacher, but Zinan did not care; he would not have his lesson ruined by someone who was incompetent. He also did not know how someone who had absolutely no talent for swordsmanship became a teacher.
The lessons that Zinan taught the kids began with the basics. He described the different parts of a sword, starting with hilt, which the wielder holds, then he moved onto the cross guard, that protected the hand from enemy swords that slid down the blade, and finally, the blade itself. He described the different types of blades and edges, as well as the different lengths of different swords.
Next, he moved onto the simplest techniques; thrusting, slashing, and blocking. He taught the children that a thrust should be a single movement, an extension of the arm from the shoulder through the arm and through the blade. Zinan told the students that the force behind a thrust should be enough to stab someone behind the opponent. He did not, however, allow the kids to practice thrusting the swords on each other. That would lead to injuries that he did not want to be responsible. He did, however, let the students practice slashing and parrying against each other. The pairs would take turns swinging their practice swords at each other, while the other would block with their sword, by turning the slashing sword away. Then, the pair would swap duties, and repeat the process. The children enjoyed this part of the training and Zinan was able to identify the ones that had true talent for the sword.
Several hours later, Zinan called the class to order. Every single student was dripping with sweat. They were breathing heavy from the exertion, but not a single one of them was frowning. The genin smiled at them all and bowed to them and turned them back over to their homeroom teacher. The man asked the class to thank Zinan, to which the entirety of the students bowed and called out, “Thank you, Zinan Sensei!” The genin beamed with appreciation and, with a smile, left the room. He stopped by the administration room on the way out of the academy, so that he could inform the secretary that the day’s duties were complete.
Outside, he turned to the Village’s Administrative Building. He had to report on the success of his mission. The wind tumbled by, carrying a few leaves and the scent of barbequing meat. Zinan’s stomach growled. He had worked up quite a hunger today and he decided to treat himself to lunch in the village before he returned to his studies. The genin trudged over to the Hokage’s building, his body feeling weary from the teaching. Every step he took up the stairs was a pain. Zinan had not trained this hard since he was in the academy himself. Maybe he should start his physical training again, so that he would not be so easy to tire. He shrugged to himself and realized that he was standing outside the Hokage’s office. He righted himself, steeled his expression, and knocked on the door. Once invited inside, he began his report…
WC: 2811/1000
C-rank Jutsu: 1000 Words
D-Rank Jutsu: 750 Words
Total Words Used: 1750
Mission Reward: C-Rank Jutsu
Zinan lifted his left arm at the shoulder, so that it provided a stable perch for the falcon and was parallel to the ground. With another squawk, the falcon descended in a lazy spiral before settling on the genin’s arm with a rustle of feathers. The ninja smirked; clearly the message was not urgent, for the sender would have dispatched a more mission-focused messenger. This one clearly took its time and did not worry about the message that was strapped to its leg. Zinan brought his arm around to the front of his body by bending his arm at the elbow and rotating his arm at the shoulder so that the bird was even with his eyes. The bushy-browed man smiled before gently yawning. After stifling the yawn back down, he reached up and stroked the raptor’s head before he untied the message from the bird’s leg. When the falcon was freed of its burden, it hopped up Zinan’s arm and settled on the shinobi’s shoulder. With both hands freed, the genin unfurled the tightly folded strip of paper and read its message:
”Report to the Academy. Mission Posted. Teaching Students Martial Combat.”
At least the message was quick and to the point. It left very little room for confusion or doubt, as it provided a solid command interrogative, as well as clear and concise language. The limited space on the small slip of paper also led to the message being short. Zinan rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a small notepad and a graphite stick. He scribbled a quick, short response back, and then folded the message into a small cord. With his left hand, he stroked the side of the falcon’s head and pointed down to the branch next to him. The bird understood what the ninja wanted it to do and hopped from Zinan’s shoulder down to the wooden perch that they both shared. With nimble fingers, from years of working glass and silken webs, Zinan tied the message onto the falcon’s leg. Afterwards, he hoisted the bird into the air, told it to fly back to the village, and provided a helpful toss into the air. With another squawk, the bird of prey opened its wings at the peak of the assisted launch and winged into the air. After a moment, the bird disappeared from Zinan’s sight, as it flew past the lofty branches of other, larger trees.
Zinan sighed. Of course, he’d get called in for a mission. It only makes sense that the world would crush his relaxing morning by having him do actual work. And, to make matters worse, he had to work with children. The last time that he worked in the academy, he came inches away from sending a child through the window. He didn’t feel right in the academy when he was a student, having been the quiet kid who sat in the back and watched as all of his classmates got into trouble or got involved in some other harebrained antics. He was a loner and an outsider, though not for lack of trying. Being back in the academy, even to teach, drudges up old memories that Zinan would rather leave forgotten to the sands of time.
The genin slowly packed up his belongings. He put the book on sensory techniques back into the satchel that he brought, tugged at the near invisible line of glass web, which brought several tree branches down around him, with loud snaps. He had set them up as a defensive screen, should an enemy shinobi attempt to attack him while he was in the wild. Zinan had tied kunai to two of the branches and, on the third, wedged shuriken into the end, making a trio of sharp points. The traps were designed to snap down, from their hidden locations in the trees, whenever Zinan pulled on the invisible tripwire and impale the enemy as they came through the trees. No longer having a need for the traps, Zinan leapt from tree to tree, and with some effort, tugged the weapons out of the branches and recovered his metal wire. He rolled the wire back up and, along with his kunai and shuriken, the shinobi stowed it in his weapon’s pouch that was strapped to his back at his waist. Zinan reached back and made certain that his tantō was secured on his shoulders. His fingers brushed the hilt of the blade and he smiled. He knew what he was going to teach the children at the academy.
Zinan dropped from the tree to the forest floor below and began to trudge back to the village. It was not a long walk and, at the crest of the hills, he could see the Hokage Mountain in the distance, as well as many of the iconic, and tall, buildings in the village. Despite all of misgivings and occasional lonely feelings he felt about the village and the people in it, Zinan would never give up, nor forsake, his family’s ancestral home. For generations, his clan has dwelled just outside the village’s walls and sent member after member to the village to be trained as Hidden Leaf shinobi. He was, after all, one of those clan members that the Village Hidden in the Leaves had taken in and trained. It was, indeed, home.
Zinan smiled as he crested the last little hill and the gate came into view. It was open today; the village feared not an attack by an enemy village or any bandits. There were several patrols dispatched into the surrounding area of the village and roamed the forests, providing an effective screen against outsiders. Zinan often wondered what it would be like to be a part of the ANBU Black Ops Division. He specialized in trapping, which should be of some use to the ANBU Black Ops forces, and he had hopes of delving into sensory techniques. Would his father take notice of him then? Would his brother concede that Zinan did have some talent as a ninja? Would it be a good substitute for working with his clan’s spiders, which did not seem willing to attach to the young genin? These were all questions and fears that Zinan held concerning his future as a Hidden Leaf shinobi.
As the genin passed through the gate, he nodded to the two gate guards, a smile on his face, but thoughts of disappointment in his mind. The two of them were slacking off. One was reading a magazine, which, by Zinan’s quick examination, was full of sexy women and nudity, while the other gate guard was kicked back in his seat, arms crossed behind his head, snoring; sound asleep. Would that be Zinan’s destiny? To become a chuunin and forced to spend countless hours sitting in a booth next to the gate? Would he be destined for a lackluster life that he would try to spice up with smut magazines, or try to ignore by sleeping the days away? Zinan shuddered and shook his head. No, he thought, I will not end up as a worthless ninja. And, if I can help it, I’ll show all of these lousy shinobi that they have much more to live for. He narrowed his eyes and gave the two gate guards a sideways glare. Zinan straightened his shoulders and continued on into the village.
Konoha was busy today, as it was market day, and the streets were flooded with market goers. Children ran amuck, their mothers calling after them and admonishing their bad behavior. At least the older children were contained in the academy, where Zinan was clearly headed. He gently, quickly, and quietly shouldered his way through the crowd. He drew very little attention, as usual from the people of the village, and slipped out of the market street. The academy was right in front of him now. A few more meters and he crossed the precipice and threshold of the building. The genin made his way to the administrative room and rapped his fist on the wooden desk that the secretary sat behind. She lifted her head from her work with a smile. “Yes? Can I help you?” She asked with a soft and lilted voice.
Zinan smiled back. The lady was pretty and she looked young. Eighteen or nineteen, a similar age to his. “I was sent here to help instruct one of the classes today. Kumonosu Zinan is my name.” The secretary nodded with another smile and rummaged around on her desk. She pulled out a slip a paper and wrote down a room number in ink. It read Room 201. Zinan took the slip of paper with a gracious nodded and headed out into the hall. Room 201; that was his classroom when he was in the academy. Just the mention of it brought many memories back from the past, and they were memories that he’d rather leave forgotten. Thoughts of loneliness and boredom raced through his mind, which he shook out of his head with a grimace. He would not dwell on such matters today.
Zinan made it upstairs and stood that the door to the classroom. The noise inside was raucous and he could hear the classroom’s home room teacher struggling to bring the children’s attention to order. Of course, leave it to Zinan to get the unruly class. Again, Zinan knocked on the door, which, after a moment, slid open. He stood face to face with a young shinobi instructor that only had a few years on him. The instructor was cleanly shaven, though Zinan thought that it could have been due to the fact that the man looked like he never had to shave once in his life. With a welcome, the teacher invited him into the room and introduced him to the class. Finally, the kids in the room settled and several of them gasped when they heard the subject that Zinan would be instructing them in.
“Bukijutsu.” Zinan stated. “The art of weapons.” The genin reached over his shoulder and pulled free his tantō. “More precisely, I’ll be teaching you the art of kenjutsu, or the art of the blade.” Zinan turned to the class’s instructor and posed a quick question. “Do you have wooden practice swords? The kids will need them.” The homeroom teacher nodded and trotted over to a weapons cabinet and unlocked it. The doors swung open and, wrapped in silk ribbon, many wooden swords were hung inside.
“Alright, young and future ninja. Split off in groups of two and form a line, starting at the cabinet. Each of you will receive a practice sword and, once everyone is still and quiet, we’ll begin our lesson.” With that, and a few whoops and hollers from the kids, a line quickly formed. Zinan and the class’s teacher began to hand out the wooden swords to the kids. The classroom was soon divided into many sparring pits. Zinan squared off with the homeroom teacher and spoke loud enough for all the kids to hear. “The most important thing to know about a sword, knife, or blade, is that it is to be an extension of your body. It is not a weapon, as many people believe, but rather, it is a part of you, just as an arm or leg is. That understanding and belief is what makes a true sword wielder. Only by that understanding, will some of you master the art of the sword and surpass your friends and foes with the blade.”
And thus began a day’s worth of teaching. Zinan discovered that the homeroom teacher had no talent with the sword, at all. He should have realized this when he received the mission, for if the teacher did have talent, an outsider and specialist would not have been called into the classroom to teach. The genin eventually had a student replace the homeroom teacher as an opponent. The student was already instructed in the art of the sword and proved a much more beneficial instructing partner than the class’s normal instructor. That ninja fell into the gap that the student left and began to be instructed by Zinan as well. It may have been humiliating for the teacher, but Zinan did not care; he would not have his lesson ruined by someone who was incompetent. He also did not know how someone who had absolutely no talent for swordsmanship became a teacher.
The lessons that Zinan taught the kids began with the basics. He described the different parts of a sword, starting with hilt, which the wielder holds, then he moved onto the cross guard, that protected the hand from enemy swords that slid down the blade, and finally, the blade itself. He described the different types of blades and edges, as well as the different lengths of different swords.
Next, he moved onto the simplest techniques; thrusting, slashing, and blocking. He taught the children that a thrust should be a single movement, an extension of the arm from the shoulder through the arm and through the blade. Zinan told the students that the force behind a thrust should be enough to stab someone behind the opponent. He did not, however, allow the kids to practice thrusting the swords on each other. That would lead to injuries that he did not want to be responsible. He did, however, let the students practice slashing and parrying against each other. The pairs would take turns swinging their practice swords at each other, while the other would block with their sword, by turning the slashing sword away. Then, the pair would swap duties, and repeat the process. The children enjoyed this part of the training and Zinan was able to identify the ones that had true talent for the sword.
Several hours later, Zinan called the class to order. Every single student was dripping with sweat. They were breathing heavy from the exertion, but not a single one of them was frowning. The genin smiled at them all and bowed to them and turned them back over to their homeroom teacher. The man asked the class to thank Zinan, to which the entirety of the students bowed and called out, “Thank you, Zinan Sensei!” The genin beamed with appreciation and, with a smile, left the room. He stopped by the administration room on the way out of the academy, so that he could inform the secretary that the day’s duties were complete.
Outside, he turned to the Village’s Administrative Building. He had to report on the success of his mission. The wind tumbled by, carrying a few leaves and the scent of barbequing meat. Zinan’s stomach growled. He had worked up quite a hunger today and he decided to treat himself to lunch in the village before he returned to his studies. The genin trudged over to the Hokage’s building, his body feeling weary from the teaching. Every step he took up the stairs was a pain. Zinan had not trained this hard since he was in the academy himself. Maybe he should start his physical training again, so that he would not be so easy to tire. He shrugged to himself and realized that he was standing outside the Hokage’s office. He righted himself, steeled his expression, and knocked on the door. Once invited inside, he began his report…
=Exit Thread=
WC: 2811/1000
C-rank Jutsu: 1000 Words
D-Rank Jutsu: 750 Words
Total Words Used: 1750
Mission Reward: C-Rank Jutsu
Hokage: 
Kazekage: 
Raikage: 
Tsuchikage: 
Mizukage: 