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Reminiscence in a Foreign Land { Invite Only, No Kill } Thu Feb 09, 2017 12:25 pm
Rena
D-rank
32The Land of Lightning was a very different place from what Rena was used to in the other parts of this curious continent that her shipwreck had brought her to. She was used to flat lands dominating the terrain, coloured varying shades of green or brown from the cultivating or fighting that took place atop them. Only rarely did she have to hike up the steep slopes of a mountain, far as they were, and those were the rare times that she had been in charge of a critical ambush to her father's strategy – often times she would be placed at one of the vanguards for her decided strength and the power of her image.
Both of which she'd lost with all her men when they were ambushed at sea.
The path beneath her was gravel and rock, grinding under her boots as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Her arms were stiffly and strictly crossed over her chest, and the stuffy helmet sat upright on the bench beside her, sharing in her gaze at the hulking man who worked behind the counter, sweat sticking to him like second skin. His right hand raised with a large hammer firmly in his grasp, and crashed down with a clang of metal on metal as he shaped the blade in the form that he imagined.
She could already see the results of his hard work. They were hung up at various places in his armory, policed by employees he'd hired to avoid the occasional thief making away with one of his treasured pieces of equipment. But none of them had suited her. All his armor was second quality to what she'd seen her whole life, and his assortment of blades and weapons could only be called complete, not outstanding. They were the result of an amateur polishing his skills, or an expert who couldn't be damned to perfect each and every creation of his that was contracted for mass production.
And yet she still saw fools purchasing equipment of sub-par quality for twice what she'd be ready to pay, if she had as much ryo as they'd thrown onto the table.
Getting shipwrecked did that to you. It tended to take all your money, and Rena was left with only the meager amount she'd been given as a humble donation by a kind couple, as well as from a few odd jobs that she'd volunteered to take on during her short travels before settling in the choking airs of Kumogakure.
What had drove her to accept the receptionist's crazy offer to seek refuge in a village so cut-off from its neighbours and from, really, any form of life save the never-ending roars of the skies above, still drove her to confusion as she threw the blankets over her at night. The village was also simply recovering from drawing the short stick against a nation much mightier than theirs, ones who in their barbarianism had marched up the village and humiliated the leader before turning tail with no spillage of blood. According to the rumours, that was the tragedy that struck the people of this village, anyhow.
And seeing the poor quality of these weapons convinced her that there was absolutely no way they would've won.
Toujou Rena was a warlord despite her blooming age and gender. She was one of her father's most trusted men when it came to planning and executing an attack. She was the woman her men looked up to in more than just carnal lust when they donned their armor and unsheathed their blades, so she could tell from a glance that despite the village's strategically defensive position, there was no way that rusted metal would have been effective at repelling any form of invasion, lest they were nothing more than rabid dogs on a leash at the command of their master.
Which they could have been.
The blacksmith soaked his completed blade in water before putting it to one side and getting started on a new one, intending to move them all to the front of the store in bulk when he was done. He spotted her waiting impatiently at the side, but given that only silence had passed between them, he deigned to ignore her, and her his ignorance. Normally, people would walk to the back hoping to order something custom-made from one of the supposed most legendary blacksmiths in the country, but with what she had seen, she was beginning to doubt that would be anywhere close to the katana she was used to.
{ 780 words}
Both of which she'd lost with all her men when they were ambushed at sea.
The path beneath her was gravel and rock, grinding under her boots as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Her arms were stiffly and strictly crossed over her chest, and the stuffy helmet sat upright on the bench beside her, sharing in her gaze at the hulking man who worked behind the counter, sweat sticking to him like second skin. His right hand raised with a large hammer firmly in his grasp, and crashed down with a clang of metal on metal as he shaped the blade in the form that he imagined.
She could already see the results of his hard work. They were hung up at various places in his armory, policed by employees he'd hired to avoid the occasional thief making away with one of his treasured pieces of equipment. But none of them had suited her. All his armor was second quality to what she'd seen her whole life, and his assortment of blades and weapons could only be called complete, not outstanding. They were the result of an amateur polishing his skills, or an expert who couldn't be damned to perfect each and every creation of his that was contracted for mass production.
And yet she still saw fools purchasing equipment of sub-par quality for twice what she'd be ready to pay, if she had as much ryo as they'd thrown onto the table.
Getting shipwrecked did that to you. It tended to take all your money, and Rena was left with only the meager amount she'd been given as a humble donation by a kind couple, as well as from a few odd jobs that she'd volunteered to take on during her short travels before settling in the choking airs of Kumogakure.
What had drove her to accept the receptionist's crazy offer to seek refuge in a village so cut-off from its neighbours and from, really, any form of life save the never-ending roars of the skies above, still drove her to confusion as she threw the blankets over her at night. The village was also simply recovering from drawing the short stick against a nation much mightier than theirs, ones who in their barbarianism had marched up the village and humiliated the leader before turning tail with no spillage of blood. According to the rumours, that was the tragedy that struck the people of this village, anyhow.
And seeing the poor quality of these weapons convinced her that there was absolutely no way they would've won.
Toujou Rena was a warlord despite her blooming age and gender. She was one of her father's most trusted men when it came to planning and executing an attack. She was the woman her men looked up to in more than just carnal lust when they donned their armor and unsheathed their blades, so she could tell from a glance that despite the village's strategically defensive position, there was no way that rusted metal would have been effective at repelling any form of invasion, lest they were nothing more than rabid dogs on a leash at the command of their master.
Which they could have been.
The blacksmith soaked his completed blade in water before putting it to one side and getting started on a new one, intending to move them all to the front of the store in bulk when he was done. He spotted her waiting impatiently at the side, but given that only silence had passed between them, he deigned to ignore her, and her his ignorance. Normally, people would walk to the back hoping to order something custom-made from one of the supposed most legendary blacksmiths in the country, but with what she had seen, she was beginning to doubt that would be anywhere close to the katana she was used to.
{ 780 words}
Hokage: 
Kazekage: 
Raikage: 
Tsuchikage: 
Mizukage: 