1 Leeches, Serpents and a Jackal [Private] Mon Jun 18, 2018 8:35 pm
Rokumaru
D-rank
It really amazed Rokumaru how quickly life could drain away from somewhere, seeming to dwindle further and further every day while at the risk of dying completely, before suddenly flooding the area within a matter of days. He was able to see it happen first hand with Sunagakure, seeing the village continue to stagnate without any considerable wins or advances, it’s admittedly inevitable fall and the short period of inactivity that followed immediately after. Looking back he had thought that would be the final chapter for Kaze no Kuni, that the nation would be forgotten in the wake of the remaining villages’ schemes and exist as a desolate and forsaken land once more.
Apparently this was not the case, as Roku had forgotten to include the inevitable wave of foreigners coming to his home and picking through its corpse for themselves. Or he had wanted to think it wouldn’t happen; either one. It had come regardless, the village shinobi appearing in droves to recruit those who still dwelled here and show their dominance over the fallen Sand. When it would end was anybody’s guess, and how far they various factions would go to carry out their schemes could only be speculated on. No one would risk war over the dwindling resources that still lay within the borders, but having numerous powerful shinobi with agendas in the same place was asking for trouble. Trouble that he could not resolve himself, despite the home-field advantage the desert gave him. Rokumaru was forced to observe the outsiders decide the fate of his home and could do nothing to stop it.
One day, of course, they would all be forced to recognize his authority in this desert when the very sand beneath them could collapse and seal them beneath the surface, or when titanic waves of ochre stretched higher and wider than they could hope to escape from. Only due to his own weakness, stemming from a mixture of the poor mentoring from those within Suna and his own complacency, was he unable to make his voice heard in the discussion of Suna’s fate. Just one more refugee, forced to accept the changes brought about by those who could have kept this whole disaster from happening.
At first the redhead had been extremely upset, impotent rage ruining his days as he watched foreign dogs trample over sacred ground, rifling though the ruins for the belongings of the dead. Now, while not completely over it, Roku tried to feel indifferent towards the fate of this land and its people. He never had a stake in Wind Country itself, only to the village it contained. And the unyielding loyalty he felt toward that glassed graveyard was only due to the fact his heritage and because his loved ones occupied the desert settlement. Without anyone left here to come home to, there was no point fighting. The Daimyo was only important to him when the man was funding the village; whatever he was doing now, Roku felt no obligation to flock to his cause.
There was no one left he actually wanted to support, which was extremely frustrating for someone who felt useless if he could not serve. The villages were all pleased to have a competitor removed from the game and shed no tears despite their empathetic public stances; his ancestors would damn him if he aided those who they had opposed for countless generations. None of them even had anything exciting planned for the desert: Konoha seemed genuine in their recruiting and aid efforts, but that was to get their own share of the plunder. Kumo was being much more active in their plundering, which he respected as the village did not disguise their pragmatic and professional approach to the situation. Kiri and Iwa were wild cards both, but neither were especially inspiring when it came to foreign opinion. So, Rokumaru watched as they all scurried about, deciding this had become a vacation for as long as they villages were offering aid to those in the area.
Thinking about who could possibly still be alive, the redhead had not failed to notice he had not heard a single thing about anyone he had close contact with in the village. His squad was gone, Kazekage was gone, Hayo had moved his family somewhere else, and his own family were corpses buried somewhere in the Sabaku compound. All very discouraging, likely traumatizing if the boy had never been so withdrawn and introverted, but somehow he managed. What helped him considerably was knowing that he had not been the only one to escape the carnage wrought by the Sarutobi and the turncloak. It took him several days after arriving in and adjusting to the harsh dry heat of his homeland, but the redhead eventually remembered not all who he was in contact with before the fall of the village had been killed or fled.
In fact, from the appearance of the settlement the Jackal had raised between two tall dunes of sand just a short distance from the ruins itself, Roku figured the shady man had succeeded in becoming the most influential Suna native around. Sick of the incessant chirping of the Konoha-nin with their recruiting, the redhead had harassed those who encountered him until he had finally been pointed to a spot just a short walk from the ruins of the village itself. Apparantly this was the place the rogue had been hiding out at since the attack, and Roku had heard absolutely nothing about his activity in the area. Even in the face of foreign invasion the Jackal did not involve himself.
Deciding the man had the right idea all along, Rokumaru intended to visit him again after several long months and see how he had fared since their time on their own. He seemed to be doing well as a community had sprung up around the man. The stone dwellings dotting the land between the dunes that had been raised using Doton seemed to be his handiwork, an unusually altruistic gesture from someone he knew so little about, and it spoke well for his character that he had done something to help those displaced by the attack. Stopping at the well that was centrally located in the settlement to refill his own supply, the redhead called out to a group of boys wrestling in the sand, asking them if this was where the Jackal lived.
Their enthusiastic confirmations were amusing to hear, as it seemed the man was well liked by those who resided here. By revealing he had been a Suna-nin and an associate of Myugan’s the boy’s were happy to tell him what they could, and he was curious about what the Jackal had been up to these past few months. Stars in their eyes, he learned that using his influence and skill as a shinobi Myugan has become some sort of tribal leader to these people. Many of the groups who remained in the Land of Wind recognized his authority and gave him tribute, actually making him a pretty effective warlord. Had the Jackal been at his maximum potential strength, Roku was sure a large majority of those who dwelled here would join him outright from fear.
Dressed in his flak jacket that had yet to become soiled since being laundered in Konoha, people were able to see his familiar Suna attire long before his gleaming hitai-ate came into view. He saw no faces he recognized among the people who lived here, but it was almost therapeutic being able to speak with so many former denizens of the Sand. One middle aged woman with horrendous burns marring her back and shoulders shared his lamentation about the destruction of the indoor oasis that had now likely sunk into the sand, and another man who once managed the Mystical Glass Museum appeared rather offended when the boy admitted he never had the chance to tour the building. He had so much in common with these people that he almost felt at home again, and he vowed to never take what little he had for granted again.
Hoping to speak with the Jackal himself, Roku continued to hang around the well that the small settlement was centered around, unusually talkative as he spoke to those that rested from their daily chores with a water break. He would keep an eye out for the man he had come to speak to, trying to remember what exactly Ryu looked like.
1423
Apparently this was not the case, as Roku had forgotten to include the inevitable wave of foreigners coming to his home and picking through its corpse for themselves. Or he had wanted to think it wouldn’t happen; either one. It had come regardless, the village shinobi appearing in droves to recruit those who still dwelled here and show their dominance over the fallen Sand. When it would end was anybody’s guess, and how far they various factions would go to carry out their schemes could only be speculated on. No one would risk war over the dwindling resources that still lay within the borders, but having numerous powerful shinobi with agendas in the same place was asking for trouble. Trouble that he could not resolve himself, despite the home-field advantage the desert gave him. Rokumaru was forced to observe the outsiders decide the fate of his home and could do nothing to stop it.
One day, of course, they would all be forced to recognize his authority in this desert when the very sand beneath them could collapse and seal them beneath the surface, or when titanic waves of ochre stretched higher and wider than they could hope to escape from. Only due to his own weakness, stemming from a mixture of the poor mentoring from those within Suna and his own complacency, was he unable to make his voice heard in the discussion of Suna’s fate. Just one more refugee, forced to accept the changes brought about by those who could have kept this whole disaster from happening.
At first the redhead had been extremely upset, impotent rage ruining his days as he watched foreign dogs trample over sacred ground, rifling though the ruins for the belongings of the dead. Now, while not completely over it, Roku tried to feel indifferent towards the fate of this land and its people. He never had a stake in Wind Country itself, only to the village it contained. And the unyielding loyalty he felt toward that glassed graveyard was only due to the fact his heritage and because his loved ones occupied the desert settlement. Without anyone left here to come home to, there was no point fighting. The Daimyo was only important to him when the man was funding the village; whatever he was doing now, Roku felt no obligation to flock to his cause.
There was no one left he actually wanted to support, which was extremely frustrating for someone who felt useless if he could not serve. The villages were all pleased to have a competitor removed from the game and shed no tears despite their empathetic public stances; his ancestors would damn him if he aided those who they had opposed for countless generations. None of them even had anything exciting planned for the desert: Konoha seemed genuine in their recruiting and aid efforts, but that was to get their own share of the plunder. Kumo was being much more active in their plundering, which he respected as the village did not disguise their pragmatic and professional approach to the situation. Kiri and Iwa were wild cards both, but neither were especially inspiring when it came to foreign opinion. So, Rokumaru watched as they all scurried about, deciding this had become a vacation for as long as they villages were offering aid to those in the area.
Thinking about who could possibly still be alive, the redhead had not failed to notice he had not heard a single thing about anyone he had close contact with in the village. His squad was gone, Kazekage was gone, Hayo had moved his family somewhere else, and his own family were corpses buried somewhere in the Sabaku compound. All very discouraging, likely traumatizing if the boy had never been so withdrawn and introverted, but somehow he managed. What helped him considerably was knowing that he had not been the only one to escape the carnage wrought by the Sarutobi and the turncloak. It took him several days after arriving in and adjusting to the harsh dry heat of his homeland, but the redhead eventually remembered not all who he was in contact with before the fall of the village had been killed or fled.
In fact, from the appearance of the settlement the Jackal had raised between two tall dunes of sand just a short distance from the ruins itself, Roku figured the shady man had succeeded in becoming the most influential Suna native around. Sick of the incessant chirping of the Konoha-nin with their recruiting, the redhead had harassed those who encountered him until he had finally been pointed to a spot just a short walk from the ruins of the village itself. Apparantly this was the place the rogue had been hiding out at since the attack, and Roku had heard absolutely nothing about his activity in the area. Even in the face of foreign invasion the Jackal did not involve himself.
Deciding the man had the right idea all along, Rokumaru intended to visit him again after several long months and see how he had fared since their time on their own. He seemed to be doing well as a community had sprung up around the man. The stone dwellings dotting the land between the dunes that had been raised using Doton seemed to be his handiwork, an unusually altruistic gesture from someone he knew so little about, and it spoke well for his character that he had done something to help those displaced by the attack. Stopping at the well that was centrally located in the settlement to refill his own supply, the redhead called out to a group of boys wrestling in the sand, asking them if this was where the Jackal lived.
Their enthusiastic confirmations were amusing to hear, as it seemed the man was well liked by those who resided here. By revealing he had been a Suna-nin and an associate of Myugan’s the boy’s were happy to tell him what they could, and he was curious about what the Jackal had been up to these past few months. Stars in their eyes, he learned that using his influence and skill as a shinobi Myugan has become some sort of tribal leader to these people. Many of the groups who remained in the Land of Wind recognized his authority and gave him tribute, actually making him a pretty effective warlord. Had the Jackal been at his maximum potential strength, Roku was sure a large majority of those who dwelled here would join him outright from fear.
Dressed in his flak jacket that had yet to become soiled since being laundered in Konoha, people were able to see his familiar Suna attire long before his gleaming hitai-ate came into view. He saw no faces he recognized among the people who lived here, but it was almost therapeutic being able to speak with so many former denizens of the Sand. One middle aged woman with horrendous burns marring her back and shoulders shared his lamentation about the destruction of the indoor oasis that had now likely sunk into the sand, and another man who once managed the Mystical Glass Museum appeared rather offended when the boy admitted he never had the chance to tour the building. He had so much in common with these people that he almost felt at home again, and he vowed to never take what little he had for granted again.
Hoping to speak with the Jackal himself, Roku continued to hang around the well that the small settlement was centered around, unusually talkative as he spoke to those that rested from their daily chores with a water break. He would keep an eye out for the man he had come to speak to, trying to remember what exactly Ryu looked like.
1423