A dangerous place for a child, but that was part of the appeal; no one would expect a child to be dangerous, nor carrying dangerous parcels. Which, he was; he was a hell of a dangerous package to those who supported the imperialistic government of Kumogakure, or the ruling party of Iwagakure.

There was treachery afoot this night; the scent of secrets and lies aloft on the sandy breeze of the twilight desert. So far out, the pungent odor of death and acrid burn of unnatural glass was last to the vast emptiness of the open world. To those that lived in ignorance of this wildland, nothing but sand and rock stretched for hundred of kilometers, far past even the country borders and into the other lands.

He knew better. He was close, but he couldn't find the hidden oasis himself. He was no sand fox, he was the child of dragons and lightning, not foxes and water. Only a Fennec could find the true path to their hidden paradise, but that was okay. He was invited, so he merely waited for his escort.

He had a bit of time, hidden as he was by a large rocky outcrop and covered in tan woolen robes that blended into the scenery so perfectly to anyone not if this land. There was too much lightning to his essence, he stood out quite well to a native of this place, this endless wasteland of grit and heat. Although, with the sun dipping to the horizon and a cool breeze pushing from behind the terminator, this place was rather comfortable. It would be a frozen night, with icy left crisp and shining on the surfaces of the world in a scant few hours; a sharp contrast to the broiling shimmers of sun-baked heat that ruled the daytime with an iron fist. In the distance, a screech of wind across the rocks, deep below the almost inaudible humming moan of the shifting sands, and to the lucky few with a good ear, the yipping of fox kits in the hidden oasis. Beautiful.

Green eyes surveyed from behind the wrapping woolen garb; face hidden by a long silken scarf that was woven of purples and gold and the shadow cast by the hood of his sand cloak. Everything but the scarf was a tan, yellow, or brown; earth colors to match the desiccated earth of the region. His father gave him the scarf, explaining the custom of the desert was to take a single thing, a weapon or scarf or other singular accoutrements and showing the colors of your house or clan via that. It was how friends were told from foe; without it you were risking death from overzealous clans that used xenophobia to justify destroying outlanders that didn't follow protocol. He trusted his father to keep him safe. So he took a scarf that proclaimed his clan better than any symbol ever could and wore it were it would be visible, but not a risk to himself or be in danger of being ruined in any of a million dangerous situations that could appear.

He found none. For all the thousands of ninja and marauder floating about, ‘allied’ and otherwise; he'd seen nothing but flashes of movement on the far horizon, beyond the lip of the rising dunes. Camel herds, wild and free, moving about; herders taking their flocks between oasis, traders skittering across the sands with skiffs filled with salt and other mercantile goods. But always the shifting of sand, shimmering heat, and howling of winds. Silence of the desert a myth of the outlander. Strange to be that, he was a dragon and dragons were of the mountains he called home. Here he was the outlander, and it scared him in a way. The disconcerting feeling of wrongness. That lack of knowledge. Strange. Uncomfortable. He didn't much like it. Then again, this might be home soon, sooooo… yeah. This was going to be an interesting future to his life, if that was what fate predestined to become. Leaving the mountains, after all this time. He'd soon understand the feeling his cousins had, leaving the volcanos behind.

Such was life.

So he waited. Patience was a virtue of the highest order to the desert peoples, so he knew he'd be waiting for a while. That was okay; it gave him time to ponder and time to rehearse. He needed to be perfect, this was a huge favor that the clan was calling for; so the risks were to high to fail.

WC 758.

“Oi… you okay? You lost?”

If not for his training and a mostly iron constitution, he would have leaped high into the air like a frantic rabbit;  the voice, so feminine and very young, was just that startling in the desert silence. More so, given he was a trained Sage, and as such he was privy to the world around him in ways that most weren't;  namely, he could sense life energy of other creatures when they came within a range of himself. She must have been just outside of it, or else he was slacking royally. Either way, his heart rate was decidedly elevated, as was the speed of his thoughts and the frequency of his breathing. Not fun times, no. He wasn't sure what, if anything, to say or do. Yes, the hospitality of the sands was legendary, and he would never think to cross someone that made a legitimate offer of help; not knowing what he did of the consequences of snubbing a desert dweller; but he also knew the sheer number of ninja and outlanders in the desert was astronomical at the moment, making it risky to converse with anyone you didn't know. This wasn't his contact, and he couldn't be sure she was an emissary of the foxes if he couldn't see her,  which was the situation given his position in relation to hers. So he needed to move, but moving wasn't always the best idea. He lacked the natural sense of who was whom that desert peoples had toward each other, so any incorrect action courted with very, very bad situations. Fuuuun.

“Your concern is noted, and appreciated. I am merely waiting.” Simple, concise, and minimal. Words were not wasted in this harsh land, it was a quick way to chains or worse to talk in excess. He knew he said enough to mark him for an outlander, but hopefully not enough to be offensive or triggering. He gave enough to show he was not looking for trouble, but not enough to guess the details of his errand to anyone not privy to the details already. He risked a small turn, enough to allow for his scarf and one emerald green eye to be seen, as well as allow him to see her better. Non-threatening in motion, slow and only moving as needed to allow for the action;  no tensing of his body or shifting of limbs and appendages. He was relaxed, but guarded,  without being excessively so. Enough to act if required, but not causing alarm or reactionary actions on the part of his company. Hopefully.

“May I be of assistance to you?  That is the custom, yes;  to offer help in return to a given?” Confirmation of his status as an outlander, but one with manners; or at least, one that attempts to have them and respect protocol. Maybe it would keep him safe.  Better to try than not. Sometimes that was all it took to save one's hide,  the attempt to follow the rules of etiquette that defined the lands one walked.

Gust of wind caused the sands around them to dance and swirl in complicated little patterns and designs that painted the grind and peppered the air in biting grit. The only reactionary movement he'd made sensitive eyes stung by the incessant rubbing of the granules whipped into frenzy by the caress of the moving air;  a hand raised to cover and rub at his burning eyes, the shaking of shoulders signaling that he was fighting back a cough; even through the silken scarf the sands were enough to irritate and choke the mountain child, badly enough to have him stuttering and hacking obscenely and reaching without a thought for the water pouch at his waist. He had to rinse his mouth, if nothing else, or this cough would double him over and leave him useless and vulnerable; more so than he was at the moment, anyway.

Wc 659. 1417 personal.

2362 thread total.

Strange one, this female. Concern shown in such a place; not the concern feigned of forced interaction, he could hear a sincerity that would be disarming had he not lived such a happy and peaceful life. It was the sincerity of genuine concern, and it reminded him off his mother in a way, that air of the true medic that aimed to heal, not to use the knowledge of the body to destroy as many did. Still he was wary in his own way; this strange world with its rigid policies and layered communications made him extra careful and very much caused him to subdue his natural inclination to just relax and not give a shit. A nasty habit from his father, but one he rarely bothered to check unless necessary. He puked his water skin free, making sure to keep it visible add he tugged the scarf across his face down just enough to reveal the stark snow white paleness his clan was known for, as they essentially lived underground as is, and the eternal maelstrom above blocked the sun's fury from their homeland. They lacked the high altitude tan that the other mountain dwellers usually had, to the point that they would be albino, if not for the ridiculous purple hair most of them sported. He moved to take a sip of the liquid, you never drank deep unless you had a way to refill your canteen, which he couldn't until he made contact our made it back to his camp, so he was conserving; only enough to wet his mouth and throat enough to calm the cough and allow him to speak again.

“The sand, that is all. “ He pulled the scarf back to where it originally rested, blocking the sun from his sensitive skin as well as filtering some of the sand from the air. Not a huge amount, but enough so long as the winds didn't blow to harshly. Sephora. She spoke a name he knew, but he wasn't sure it was the same person. He knew if Sephora by reputation, she was the wife and co-leader of the Fennec, standing equal to her husband Kin. Kind he'd met once when he was a lad, he could remember the melting amber gold eyes, that starlight silver hair that flared about as he walked, thin in the extreme but exuding a natural strength and presence of will that demanded your attention and respect, but a kindness, a gentle soul that made you happy to give it and want to follow him anywhere. Just like his father. Such magnificence, he hoped to be half that brilliant when he was older.

Could this person know the same Sephora? Could she be the contact he was waiting for? But he was told he would meet with a contact he would recognize. This person didn't strike him as a Sage, or from a Sage clan, so he was pretty convinced that she wasn't who he was supposed to be meeting with. Still…

“Forgive me for being forward, but you mentioned a name. Sephora. Did you mean Sephora of the Fennec…?” There was caution, yes; but a glimmer of hope in his voice. Anything to find allies in the desert wastes, after all. The clan was extremely populous, but not necessarily well known; they avoided the villages, Suna and otherwise, much as most Sage clans did. Being a progenitor Sage clan made that easier; they had existed so long that they were perfectly independent of the rest of the world in a way that he wished his clan could be, but hadn't managed thanks to giving into the pressure of the village invaders all those centuries ago. That moment of compromising weakness had led to this, but they would fix this failure in time. Patience in spades, the hallmark of the sages.


Wc: 643. 2060 personal total.
3875 thread total.

“Aye, I am actually. I didn’t expect someone from another world to know about her though…”

Oh, well… that was unexpected; even with his query, he didn't believe that the female would have known Sephora at all, let alone admitted to it. He didn't knew what to think now;  this person was kind and knowledgeable of the region in a way that had him questioning of maybe she was his contact, even if he'd been told that he would be certain of whom he was supposed to meet. This uncertainty had him confused and hesitant; a rare position for the young scholar monk. While not the most forward or definitive person, he was rarely tentative in his actions once he was this invested in his situation. Still, this situation could be a boon; any ally in a hostile world and all that noise.

But then there were bandits. Yaaaay bandits. Great. Juuuust great. It always seemed to happen, there was always a random screwy factor waiting to dick up the nicely laid out plans of dragons and men. Fuuuuun. Oh well. It seemed as if his newly met companion was ready to throw down;  he heard the word slaver and was all for ripping these beast apart, but he also knew he was not really much for combat. At all. He had his rope dart on him, sure;  but that wouldn't do much good here. That didn't mean he wouldn't at least try to help, but he also knew he was risking causing more harm than good.

Or he needed to move away quickly. Puppets. He had no talent for them, but he understood the basics. The chakra strings used fascinated him in an academic way, but he'd never really gotten the hang of using them. He'd never been able to do even shadow puppets on a wall,  let alone control the strings in a way that allowed a puppet to move in a meaningful way. He could control his dart pretty well, though. Maybe it was the physical weight of the rope that made the difference? Either way,  he needed to move. Not run, but back away enough to not get caught in this fight or make it harder for the female to move about. He did however have something that might just be useful. His one good offensive jutsu woks be useless here, but not all jutsu were offensive.

With his billowing robes, seeing his hands was nearly impossible. He wasn't going to take chances, though; he was moving as quickly toward a small rise of sand behind Niala as his skittering, slipping feet would allow for him too. He wasn't the fastest genin around, nor the most coordinated;  but he could still skitter pretty well when he needed to. It really very much helped that he was not even close to a target now that Niala had pulled out a rather intimidating puppet in response to the bandit slaver leader's rather disgusting misogynistic comment. That underestimating was his downfall, or would be, if they had anything to say about it. He couldn't win this fight, but he could contribute.

Once he was sliding over the top of the rise and settling behind it, he was able to move his hidden hands in a particular manner: that of the hand signs for Monkey → Horse → Dragon → Tiger → Ox → Rat → and Snake, the string that would mold the chakra he was focusing outward so that it would create a very deceptively tricky jutsu that would have the leader of the bandits freaking the unholy fuck out when he realized he couldn't move anymore. The weight of invisible ropes binding him, the slight shimmer of air around his body as the ropes of chakra tightened… it was a claustrophobic experience to be sure. Terrifying to boot, given that unless this man was sporting a hidden doujutsu of some sort, he couldn't see the bindings as anything more substantial than the gentlest of heat shimmers, without the heat. Just a tight binding of something that couldn't be seen or felt outside of the pressure it exuded. “He's bound, but it won't hold for long. Strike now, if you must; or else subdue him.”

711. 2771 personal total.

5651 total thread count.

jutsu and chakra:

Well, that was surprising. He was half convinced that he was going to fail in his endeavour; he was a rather weak little one when it came to overall jutsu power, and it didn’t take much difference in power to destroy the binds of the Temporary Paralysis jutsu. Really, he’d seen his younger cousins break his binds a few times; but they tended to be the physically stronger warrior types; not the sharpest of minds nor much of a thinker like he was. He really did gravitate toward the ways of a monk versus those of a warrior, but that didn’t mean he was entirely useless. Just situationally useful. He really should work on that one day. Maybe. If something gave him a good poke in the right direction he might just stop working on being a lazy monk, [he was great at faking his studies when he didn’t feel like dealing with people, he was so far ahead of his peers that he could rely on what he’d learned as a babe to get him through his teenage studies] and maybe work on being a useful person outside of the clan temple. Doubly so given the fact that they were going to be evacuating fairly soon. Hell, that should probably be motivating him more than it was, but now wasn’t the time to be thinking about that.

Just because some of them were retreating, didn’t mean all were cowardly scum.

Or. Well. They were.

Damn, that puppet was terrifying. He found himself actually trying to bury himself in the sand a bit in a vain attempt to vanish into nothingness just in case that thing was to go nuts and start attacking everyone. Which really, was stupid of him in many ways; he understood the basics of puppetry well enough; he’d studied the concepts a bit and even tried his hands with some pretty basic models a few years prior [discovering quickly that he had zero talent for the arts of the puppet, but that was fine with him], so he shouldn’t be panicking over something so outlandish. So long as the master didn’t go berserk, the puppet wouldn’t either. Niala was in supreme control of the situation, thankfully; he was just along for the ride and maybe being a bit of a help. Maybe. Not really. He was fairly sure she would have ended the ‘leader’ of the bandits just as easily whether he assisted or not; but it was at least a gesture of good will to assist as he did. The fact that he was nearly pissing himself in fear was less painful to his tiny well of pride because he was able to convince himself that he was helping in using the Paralysis jutsu; if only on one of the horrid specimen of the male gender that presented to them.

He could sense her attention turning toward him for a moment, and he swallowed an unseen lump of concern in his throat before the feeling vanished; allowing him to muster the courage to peek up and over the edge of the little dune he wished he could flatten himself against more effectively. He could see she was focused on the females, and for that he was grateful. He really should be bailing out of this situation as quickly as possible. Sephora wouldn’t appear in this mess if she hadn’t already; that none of the Fennec had appeared in response to what was a blatant act of hostility in their lands was surprising. He was sure they were watching, but to find a Fennec in the sands would be a feat approaching the divine; if they didn’t wish to be found, you would never find them, no matter the means available to you. This was their world after all, everyone else just walked in it; welcome or otherwise.

Given the lack of attention paid to him at the moment, he figured this would be the best time to slip away. There was little to nothing he could contribute to this situation; he was no medic, nor did he know enough of the locality to be of use in directing these poor women to somewhere safe. Niala would, however; and his gender alone made him a liability around these skittish girls. They would fear him on principle and conditioning; even as an outsider with a gentle disposition and softly spoken words; the very nature of his being would be an affront to their existence for a time. He would not undermine the kindness of the female puppeteer; her work was good, and it was not his place nor his intention to undermine it. His people had no love for slavers, nor for anyone that used and abused their fellow man. He would leave her to her work, and wait for another chance to meet with his contact. There were backups to everything; he had a list of locations and times to try and meet with Sephora at. If all else failed, she would come to him, and be overt about it. So long as her people say him trying to find her and following the established rules and such; he would succeed on his goal. That was good enough for him. He could depart in peace. Which he did, muttering a soft prayer for good luck and safe travels for the girls and his new friend in the language of the Thunder Sages; something he felt they would need in this harsh, unforgiving land.

-EXIT-
Post WC 917
Final Personal WC 3688
Final Thread WC 7656

Total EP Gained: 3 [7500/7500]

Chakra Flow D-C 1500/1500
Ninjutsu D-C 1500/1500

STR E0-E3 450/450
PER E0-E2 150/150

Remaining WC 88.