Lost Painting [Zang]

Mission:

Haru is lonely.

Of course, he had known academically that leaving home would be this way. None of his siblings or cousins were willing to embark with him - none shared the taste for danger he harboured. Even in himself, that taste has been sullied. He wonders if the man who had given him the package currently safely nestled with his belongings had been a Chakra-user. Such a thought assuages his ego, but also fills him with regret, curiosity, and worry. Such potential lies within him, but he has little knowledge on how to coax it out. In the mean time, what chance does he have against those better armed, better trained, or capable of acting as petty gods? Especially alone?

He imagines bandits on his trail, somehow clued in that he is carrying the package that that mysterious man had handed off. Somehow, that sort of danger is more entertaining. He is much more familiar with those kinds of thugs. Still, the shape of his broken sword where it lies hidden in the cinch of his kimono reminds him that he is vulnerable.

"I am blessed, but not near blessed enough," he chuckles to himself. "A little something more? Inari? Are you listening?"

Even without considering danger, the forest path is isolating and dark. Compared to the terraces he is so familiar with, it is stiflingly claustrophobic, and even the birdsong feels threatening. Haru eyes his surroundings briefly before taking another look at his worn map. It should just be another few days' travel, and there is a town along the way - perhaps he will be able to find better travel for the last leg of the route.

278

For someone like Zang, this was simply another job that would add to the notch on his belt. There was no grand scheme, no need for the fancy decadence of clandestine work. The contract had been a simple one; a courier was meant to pass through the region carrying a parcel, and Zang was to intercept them to seize whatever the hell it was and take it back to the mysterious benefactor who had taken great lengths to stay withdrawn. Despite this, Zang had managed to walk away with a name. Zukumiki. Apparently, the name held some sort of weight; the locals were loathed to speak on the person and Zang had more issue digging for answers than a simple contract was worth. It hadn’t offered much in the way of payment, and thus did the ronin take on the job with a semblance of reluctance. Truth be told, Zang preferred work that was about more than a simple snatch and grab from some unsuspecting fool. He preferred work with a little elegance- something that was above that of a common road bandit. But his trip to the Land of Volcano had been a heavier expenditure than he anticipated, particularly with the destruction of Kazangakure. His original intent had been to blend into the village, learn its people and its methods before collecting a bit of coin and make a little niche for himself in the village proper. Now that plan had gone to wash just like the home of the people that had sunk his home. A sweet irony. Only that he was there to see it happen.

Sighing to himself, the ex-ninja would lean against the tree he had taken up as it concealed his form from the road behind. Lengthy purple robes adorned his body down to his feet, a sword sheathed across his back. With any luck, there would be no need to draw it, and Zang would walk away with what he wanted with no bloodshed. It was almost never worth the risk of life for the petty coin of some mysterious figure; this was how boys were recruited to fight the wars of men, and Zang was not willing to fall for that trap again. Turning his gaze down the road, he would spot what he had been waiting for. The target was within sight. Alone. No guard. No horse. The man was too far away for Zang to approximate any sort of threat he might carry whether of weapon or technique, so he would put his plan into motion. With subtle movements around the tree to obscure him from the view of the road. A few quick hand seals and his physical appearance would morph, taking on the visage of that as a generic elderly man wearing a simple but tattered traveler’s cloak. Appearing much shorter than his normal form, this new appearance was that of a hunched figure of the sturdy but ragged physique. White hair sprouted from the sides of an otherwise balding head, and a scraggly, unkempt beard matted across his face. By all accounts, he appeared to be a traveler that looked to be in rough shape and nothing to show for his travels.

Next, another quick set of hand seals and he would feel his vocal cords alter. The deep, rasping voice of an aged man he had met some time ago in his travels. Taking a moment to adjust his posture to one who was a little more than road-weary, he would fall into character and close his eyes. In his mind, he reached for distant emotions. Panic. Fear. Remorse. Loss. These would guide the persona he was about to display as the courier made his way up the road. Within moments, his now deep brown eyes would open once more and he’d turn to begin pushing his way through the underbrush and towards the road. “Help, help!” He cried out. “Somebody help me!” The pain and concern were genuine enough, the techniques he employed adding to the illusion as he pushed through the brush and stumbled into the open road as though he had been hurriedly moving back towards it. With a few quick movements, he would glance first down the road to his right, then to his right, where he would show visible signs of spotting the oncoming man in the road. “H-hey! Over here! I’ve been robbed!” He said, lifting his hands in an attempt to flag the man down, though there was little issue in seeing him; they were the only two on the road, after all.

For all intents and purposes, Zang appeared now to be a haggard and weary traveler, his pack gone from his back and a distinct lack of weapons or wealth. Heavy breaths would offer the illusion that he had just fled from some sort of trouble, his head turning to cast nervous glances back into the brush he had just come from. Even as this strange would approach, the game would not change; he had to get an idea of just the sort of person this courier was before he made a move, and any information he could gather before ultimately deciding what to do. As the man approached, Zang would lift a crooked finger to point back the way he had come. “Bandits! They stole my pack, said they knew what I was hiding. I didn’t have anything- they wouldn’t believe me!” Playing the part of an elder in hysterics, he’d pat himself down as he fought to catch his breath.


WC- 925

Jutsu Used:

At the shouting from the brush, Haru immediately draws back and pauses in his stride, wary. The shape of danger resolves into the shape of a panicked old man, and Haru slowly eases. In the gentleman's sort of offended, panicked huff, he recognizes his own grandparents and uncles. Despite this quick familiarity and sense of fondness, Haru immediately identifies the man as foreign - his dress and accent give him away. What on earth is he doing all the way out here, in this backwater among backwaters? Haru walks briskly forward to catch up to him, eyeing the brush that he had emerged from as though a herd of bandits may spring unbidden from it at any moment.

"Are you hurt?" Haru asks as he nears, eyes wide with concern, face credulous. He is fully grown, only a little younger than Zang, but clearly something of an innocent. If this truly is Zang's mark, he must be a courier of circumstance, rather than vocation - the dedicated messengers of Rice are much more cautious, riding on horseback with at least small arms to defend themselves with. There is a fair chance they would not even stop, with things as bad as they have been recently. Haru nears, and goes to place a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "...how long have you been running through the woods?"

This is the only road for a fair while, with this pocket of forest surrounding them on all sides. There is little chance that he had been confronted by bandits in the middle of the woods, or that such a man would be out wandering the deep countryside rather than taking one of the main roads... unless he had chanced it for that precise reason and it had backfired. It is almost as though he has manifested from nowhere. It is curious and worrying, as Haru is somebody who likes to have a read on all aspects of a situation, and the idea of some unknown element unnerves him - especially with this leg of the trip as stressful as it is with him unarmed and carrying mysterious cargo. With his free hand, Haru reaches to his pack, drawing out his waterskin to offer to the man.

371
TWC: 649

“Yes. Good. Come a little closer.” The thoughts in Zang’s mind could be compared to that of a spider, watching patiently as its prey inched closer and closer to their web. Masked eyes would peer over the young man as he approached, taking in a careful read of his mannerisms. “A lack of weaponry. No armor. His approach is far too quick for someone who is world-weary.” Despite all of these internal thoughts, Zang continued to play the part of the bewildering man who had just apparently escaped with his life. A thin veneer of panic and fear covered the calm, cool attitude of the assassin. It almost felt easy. A little too easy. Normally such a clean prize would signify someone with a great deal of confidence in their abilities, but something about this man told Zang that a careful, well-laid plan would be all he needed to accomplish his goal. With any luck, this could still end without bloodshed. “No, no. Not hurt, thankfully. Those young fools wanted my pack, not my life,” the elder explained, welcoming the touch to his shoulder in the same way anyone who was receiving the comfort of a stranger who was their newest lifeline might. A dangerous prospect, to allow physical contact, but Zang had to keep his cool and play the part, less the illusion be spoiled by an itchy trigger finger. “Not long. Not long.” Zang sighed out, catching his proverbial breath as the voice of the elder carried on the rouse. “I had stopped to rest not far from here and thought a spot off the road might have been safest. Little did I know I had picked the same spot as those no-good thieves.” The attitude of the image shifted, growing frustrated and angry at the very nerve of these imaginary foes having wronged him.

This man was a good man. The expressions on his face, the scrunching of his eyebrows in concern, and then to withdraw a waterskin to share with a hapless stranger who had been taken for all of his worth. Chances are that Haru was just some poor fool who was grabbed and asked to see a parcel with no real warning that someone else had intentions of nabbing it. It almost made Zang feel bad. Almost. “Thank you, young man,” he breathed out in a deep sigh, taking the water skin with both hands and offering a bow of the head in thanks. All part of the play. Lifting the water bottle to his lips, there was a brief pause just before he would begin to sip as the sound of a man’s voice came from the woods in the direction Zang had just been retreating from. At ten meters distance, anything that could have made the noise was obscured by the sight of trees as the unintelligible speech was made. In truth, it didn’t matter what had been heard as Zang’s next actions would lend them credibility nonetheless. A startled noise exited the old man’s lips as the waterskin slipped from his hands, falling to the ground with a gentle thump as Zang turned his head in the direction of the imaginary foe. “Oh no. Oh no no, they are back!” Hurriedly, Zang’s next actions were of much importance. Rushing to the side of Haru, a hand would be placed on the young man’s shoulder as Zang would scoot behind him as though to place Haru between himself and the oncoming bandits as a form of barrier. “Please, you have to protect me.” Zang pleaded, a showing of his acting skills as he took position behind Haru, placing both hands on either shoulder before releasing him entirely to take a few worried steps backward.

This was it. Time to close the trap. In the hopes that the little show would distract the courier long enough, Zang would put a doubles arms reach in length between the two of them as he hoped the man would act as a stalwart- if perhaps somewhat nervous- defender. This momentary distraction was all he needed to form a quick set of hand seals before pointing a single finger at Haru’s back. All at once, his demeanor changed. From a frightened old man to one who stood tall and straight, the finger of damnation pointed at his would-be savior. “Found you.” His voice had changed, shifted in pitch to his more normal one, and certainly one that would be alarmingly different given how close it had just come from. If Haru was to turn, he would notice the hand movement of Zang as that finger shifted downward to point at his torso, the effect of the genjutsu triggering as sprays of thick, sticky web would spring from his finger like a loaded pistol. The strands wrapped themselves around Haru’s arms, legs, and torso in an attempt to rapidly bind him in place with a single seal of his hands forming once the strands made contact. The symbol of the Ram.

Barring any immediate actions the man might take upon recognizing the jutsu, the ability would activate and paralyze Haru completely save for the uppermost section of his torso, allowing his head to move freely in order to capture the new reality of the sticky binding the courier now found himself in. Before his eyes, Zang would morph in form from the haggard old traveler to the splendid swordsman with flowing purple hair and robes as the transformation was relinquished before his very eyes. “I really do apologize about that. I had preferred to approach this situation without the intent to kill you. Please do not make me change my mind.” Zang offered, a hand dipping into his weapon pouch and retrieving a kunai, the metal loop capturing one of his fingers as the instrument spun slowly and was caught by the palm of the very same hand. Slowly, Zang would approach the now captured man with the kunai held low but present nonetheless, and with a few careful tugs, would attempt to relieve Haru of the wrapped parcel he had been sent to capture.


WC - 1,017
TWC - 1,942

Jutsu Used:

The man is certainly suspicious, but Haru's sense is allowed no entry to his heart. He is in trouble, and needs Haru's help.

At the sound of incoming bandits, Haru steps forward, squinting into the trees. He has little means to defend himself, or this man, so he is deliberating whether to simply shout that they should run when those noises cease - replaced with a stranger's voice from behind him. Haru turns, puzzled at the pointing figure towards him... and he gets webbed for his trouble, Zang's genjutsu effortlessly clamping around his mind and paralyzing him. Haru swears in indignation, but finds himself unable to even struggle against his bonds. Oh, stupid, stupid. Damn wizards.

Zang speaks his polite apology as he reveals his true form... and then the tall purple stranger will find himself unable to move. He seems to have forgotten that using a paralytic genjutsu will freeze him in place just as surely as it will freeze his quarry. Haru has no idea of this, of course, so he is not quite sure what to make of it.

Haru blinks, looking expectantly to Zang - his look of betrayal and embarrassment turning to worried bemusement. If Zang does not immediately have something to say, a short, awkward silence will follow as Haru contemplates the fact that his toes have been completely frozen with no webbing to speak of binding them. What tricky sorcery. Well, if all he has is his smart mouth, he may as well use it...

"You got me," Haru admits freely after his brief face journey, giving Zang a charming smile. "What do you need?"

Those suspicions of the man being a foreigner are immediately proven correct. Which sort, Haru cannot say - the violet tones of his clothing must be from a wealthier land, indicative of expensive dyes or access to the sort of industry that can provide artificial alternatives. Lucky duck. As for potential hires... well, Haru has been targeted specifically, which makes the list quite short unless the Tokita have made new enemies while he has been gone. It's most likely this man is after the package he ferries, in which case it's quite lucky that he hasn't already been killed. A nervous bead of sweat runs down the back of Haru's neck, but he keeps his cool. If this guy is to be taken in good faith, Haru can walk away from this so long as he doesn't do anything rash.

409
TWC: 1058

And so it would seem a particularly important detail of his plan had managed to slip by him. Immobilized as he was, Zang’s fingers locked into place in the symbol of the Ram, strands of webs connecting the two of them as they were both held in place by the genjutsu that had his prey captive. It hadn’t been exactly what he had in mind, but as the energy from the courier would begin to be sapped away by the genjutsu that wrapped around him, Zang would begin to utilize the second portion of the technique; if he could keep him in place long enough, the man might simply fall asleep. Until that time, however, Zang had to be certain to keep the man’s attention and not allow him to observe too closely the technique that had him now wrapped up in the bands of webbing that held him tight. Of course, the taller ninja would not allow his expression to betray his thought process as he observed the man. Instead, he would observe the reaction of the nameless package handler and take a measure of him. He hadn’t responded how one might usually- the implicit fear that accompanied having one’s agency stripped of them was absent for the most part. Or at least well hidden. Nonetheless, the trap had been sprung and Zang was now committed. After all, he couldn’t just allow this fellow to walk free just yet, and instead, he would alter his objective slightly.

“It’s simple, really.” Zang would admit, continuing to hold the symbol that kept them both paralyzed. “As I said before, I would rather not bring you harm. I could release you from this technique and free you of both it and any subsequent harm that might come of you. In return, you will surrender that package you carry. I’m not certain who you are, nor what the package contains, but I do know that there is someone out there who is quite invested in having it to themselves, and are willing to pay to make it happen.” The yellow eyes of the Akari would scale over the man in such a way to obviously display that Zang had taken measure of him, even though the actual measure had been done long ago. “You don’t seem well equipped to be playing package boy for someone who clearly didn’t give you all the details. So do the both of us a favor and don’t struggle too much further..” the last few words of his sentence trailing off as though there was a threat to be made, but none would actually come. Despite his position, Zang would give off a calm demeanor. One that was meant to presume quiet command of the situation.


Tilting his head slightly, Zang would bring his eyes back up to the face of Haru. Although he couldn’t move, Zang would have withheld his approach at this point anyway. The spider of the web though he might be, Zang was genuine in his lack of interest in any true fight. Particularly for the paltry sum he was getting for the job anyway. “So. What will it be, then?”


WC - 527
TWC - 2,469

Jutsu Used:

Why bind himself? For that matter, how had the webbing ensnared Zang...? Haru must have blinked and missed it. More importantly... he'd like to talk himself out of this situation. His life is obviously of more importance than this package, but the plight of the man who had handed it to him still troubles his conscience. Haru must at least try.

What do shinobi want?

Haru is conscious that painting all shinobi with the same brush may bite him in the ass, but his past experiences are all he has to draw from. That handful of down-on-their-luck guards from the Land of Fire that seemed to have their own language... they reminded Haru almost of scholars emerging from years of cloistered study, so talented in their specific field and so under-equipped to live a day to day life among other people. Those shinobi considered themselves apart from other people, either from upbringing or ability.

"Zukumiki, right?" Haru asks, a note of sympathy in his voice. "I'm not interested in fighting for this parcel, so you may take it if you like. I think it would be worth your while to reconsider, though.."

"If you are in need of more than a short job, he is not an ideal employer. His economic management is unsustainable and he has little understanding and little trust of shinobi." Haru's words are pure conjecture, but spoken with confidence, relying on his natural position as an 'insider' in comparison to Zang. He has no leverage, and though he is stretching his own knowledge, he does believe in the general gist of what he says, lending his words an air of sincerity.

"I have heard rumor that the castle I am delivering this package to is being fortified and built up to become a Hidden Village. Tanbogakure, they're calling it! Likely a better use of your talents, particularly if you acquaint yourself early. That village in Haven has done well for itself after just a few years, after all," he hums.

334
TWC: 1392

The expression of Zang would shift a few times over the course of the explanation. It was becoming increasingly clear that the individual with whom he now finds himself entangled was less than prepared to deal with any manner of authentic threat, making Zang believe that, if he was a shinobi, he was either fresh into his studies or had been poorly trained. Still, he managed to keep himself composed in the face of what might have been a disadvantage, though the advantage was paper-thin at this range- a fact that Zang was grateful that the man had not seen through just yet. The fact that this man hadn’t realized that he was stuck in a Genjutsu yet had been a benefit, though that benefit was going to come to an end soon one way or another. He could feel the tug of the power beginning to wane on him despite the fact that the power continued to drain at the man’s energy in order to sustain itself. Zang was going to have to come to a decision quickly, though the courier was doing a good job of helping to assize that worry as he continued to speak.

At the mention of Zukumiki, Zang put effort into keeping his expression from shifting. It was not a particular loyalty he had for the contractor as much as it was a simple standard. Selling out the people that hired you was a good way to get one’s self marked; it was a fate worse than simply being marked a failure, it was the sort of scent that carried one that couldn’t be trusted. And for a man like Zang, who thrived off those being close to him knowing little to nothing about him, a disposition that spoke of unease preceding him would put any tricks he tried to pull at a disadvantage. Still, this man seemed to know a few things he didn’t. Although the particular details of Zukumiki brushed past the purple-clad swordsman like a gentle breeze, there was an unmistakable glint in his eyes as the mention of Tanbo was brought forward. “Oh?” He cooed, head tilting ever so slightly in the immobilization of the jutsu, his expression growing thoughtful. “So the County of Rice has grown tired living among the feet of giants, has it? Tanbogakure. How very interesting.”

For a time, Zang would appear to be contemplating something. The vast possibilities of an up-and-coming village within the shinobi world were dangerous- no small amount of promising villages had been destroyed for their ambition in the past, but there was the unmistakable scent of potential that lingered like honey over the thought of a recent establishment. And one likely in need of skilled shinobi to take care of things about the country. There was a pause as Zang allowed Haru to interject as he’d like, though given a moment to collect himself, Zang would return his wayward gaze to his captured companion. “And I take it this is where you were headed with that parcel. That same parcel now seems a lot less interesting in the wake of what you have presented to me. It seems there is a small debt to pay for the revelation of such knowledge, and as such, I have decided to nullify the contract for its retrieval.” Moments after he finished speaking, the hand sign of the Ram would break and the webbing would disperse into cotton-like threads before evaporating like a mist, releasing both of them from the bind of the Genjutsu.

“You may call me Zang. I am a former ninja of Konohagakure.” With the technique released, Zang would take a half step back and prepare just in case the man had played him for a fool; he would have very little time to react to an attack if one came and didn’t fancy himself being on the back foot. Granted, what he had offered the man wasn’t the entire truth but it wasn’t a complete lie either. Before going rogue, he had been stationed at Konohagakure. So, geographically speaking, that was where his lone adventures had begun. Of course, there was a certain risk in using his own name, but this too was carefully calculated. A long-term plan to sow uncertainty would begin to take form, but it required a small amount of trust, to begin with. And that trust would have to be born of a nugget of truth. “What is your name, and what village do you hail from?” He questioned, his hands falling back to his side now that the confrontation had come to a close.


WC - 768
TWC - 3,237

Presumably after a pleasant conversation (despite their rough meeting), Haru continues on his adventures.

Exit
Will make claims... someday.