Journey of a Thousand Steps

The Mission Details:

The Stats:

A young, lithe-looking woman sits at a stray, wooden bench by her lonesome with a journal in hand and another that holds a pen as she guides it with careful and long strokes. Her long, ashen-gray hair was tied into a ponytail down to her upper waist with two braids that flow at either side of her shoulders down to her lower chest. She has a pair of deep, brown eyes and sharp facial features accompanied by an ivory complexion with two odd scars across her forehead and right cheekbone.

Her attire remarkably resembles that of a Gakuran uniform, consisting of a buttoned shirt with a white framed collar having the kanji「 滅 」engraved on the back in white, a shirt pocket on top of the left breast, and a white undershirt. It also consists of long, saggy tattsuke-hakama pants strapped by a white buckled belt and a pair of maroon-colored Kyahan that extends into tabi socks. Additionally, she wears a lavishly, redwood and old rose-designed haori over her uniform with sleeves reaching up to her wrists and its folds stopping just at her knees.

Yukagakure no Sato image resembles just as much as she could remember it from yesteryear that last she passed through. To her fortune, she came across no mishaps among the cultists from yonder at the Temple of Jashin and the local denizens of the village are no less weary of vagrants and wanderers that travel to or through here. In a fashion, it does offer her to some extent, solace, to gather her thoughts, appreciate what little peace she acquires, and plan ahead for the things necessary for her upcoming trip to the Hyogagakure no Sato.

The trip to the Land of Snow is the first stepping stone toward improving herself as a capable sellsword and amassing her personal wealth. One can only get by on pure coincidence to make a living and the demand for her level of work is in dire need of upgrading. And Yugagakure is anything but short of an amalgamation of work to be done. While she busies herself jotting down notes, she overhears faint whispers within earshot yet she pays no mind. Over time, those selfsame whispers soon become clamorous, enough to wrangle her hazel gaze toward the host of sounds.

"Is there not anyone in this village who can best the greatest marksman to have ever lived?" A masculine voice cries. In the distance, she can make out a man with gray, long hair slightly and a fresh, menacing face. Bright gray eyes set graciously within their sockets and a goatee that handsomely compliments his hair. His attire comprises a very long-sleeved, silky jacket covering him to well above his knees and is almost completely buttoned up at the bottom right side. The sleeves of his jacket are quite wide and reach down to just above his wrists, they're decorated with a single thread lining from top to bottom.

The jacket has a wide v-neck which reveals part of the rather simple shirt worn below it and is worn with a small cloth belt, which is held together by an ornate pin. The cloth belt is entirely decorative and a way to show off. His pants are a simple and comfortable fit and reach down to his rugged leather boots. The boots are made from a very uncommon leather but are otherwise a design found commonly.

Understandably, no one rises to the occasion to otherwise prove him wrong.

"Oh? Are there those who fear for — by some impossible feat — outperform against me, that you will not be provided due compensation? So be it! I shall wager 500 Ryo to those brave enough to challenge me, then!"

And thus, her ears perk at attention to the wager. The woman finalizes the last several words in her journal, tucks it away into her, and approaches the gray-haired man, whose gaze transfixes upon her form.

"Considering," She starts. "That little no one here will try, less so approach, then consider me your final contestant."

"Oh ho!" He hollers. "We'll soon see for ourselves, young lady. And to whom do I owe the pleasure?"

"Ryou. Yushia Ryou."

"Well then, Yushia, step right up!" He gestures toward two hastily erected target boards that stand on decaying wood parallel to the pair approximately 20 meters away. "The rules are simple," He begins. "Any projectile or object can be thrown at your target — which stands to the right — and aim for the center. It can be a rock, a shuriken, kunai, whichever you want! However, there will be no tricks, no lollygagging, and certainly no using of me as a means to win. That is," A whimsical curl of his lips appears. "If you do, anyway."

"Sounds simple enough." She remarks.

"Best out of three, wins." He unfurls three kunai from his pouch at the thigh, holds two in his spare hand, and readies the third in the other. "Whenever you're ready, girl."

Yushia briefly studies the man's posture and then toward the distant targets from where they stand. Humming to herself, she moves a fold of her haori to reveal her katana and wakizashi sheathed in their respective scabbards and holds the handle of the latter.

"Ready."

"Steady… Go!" The man throws his first kunai at a relative speed to land just shy of the bullseye of the target. He smiles to himself and before he turns to face Yushia, a sharp whistle echoes followed by an audible thunk. He then quickly turns to look at the results and finds her… Wakizashi struck the bullseye dead center. His jaw nearly drops but he quickly recollects himself as Yushia simply readjusts her posture.

"Beginner's Luck!" He bellows. "You won't be so lucky with the next shot." He then readies his second kunai.

"I'm sure. Ready?"

"Steady… Go!"

The man throws his second kunai, this time, it strikes true and lands square on the bullseye. His once-shaken resolve renews upon the results of his efforts and, thus, turns to face Yushia, who firmly grasps the handle of her katana.

"Lass, did you bump your head or something? How do you expect to hit a target with something that large, eh?"

He receives no reply other than another sound of her katana escaping her scabbard, traveling through the air with a sharp and louder whistle, and landing adjacent to the bullseye struck by her wakizashi earlier. Now, his eyes widen, and his jaw hangs open.

"That's best out of three, correct?" Her monotone voice sunders the silence. "I believe this makes me the victor, then."

The man looks at her and likewise receives a calm yet stern gaze from his opponent.

"I… you… but how?"

"Practice, of course." Her lips gently curl. "The Wild can teach one a number of things." Her hand outstretches toward him.

Still awestruck he looks at the woman, then her hand, and grumbles to himself as she sifts through his pockets and drops rubber-band bound of 500 Ryo into her open palm and counts each paper fold. Five hundred exactly and as promised.

"Thank you very much." She adds. He, on the other hand, offers no welcomes or even thanks. With his head lulled and his brows furrowed, he strides to retrieve his thrown kunai and saunters off as his feet drag behind him. Yushia then recollects her weapons and sheathes them into their scabbards.

WC: 1,239
TWC: 1,239

Later in the afternoon…

Yushia stands in front of a dilapidated building. When her gaze rises to the front sign that hangs two feet above her head, "The Mankanshoukou Izakaya".

From the outside, it looks unfriendly, broken, and horrible. Softwood and wooden pillars make up most of the building's outer structure. It's impossible to see through the closed windows, but the coldness from within can be felt outside. At least, the integrity of the infrastructure stands on somewhat stable yet shaky and weathered foundations, though the support beams that hold the ground and first floor apart and stable appear to be recent renovations. Despite its somber age, the fact that it remains and operates says much to the tenacity of the owner and whoever else assists in its maintenance.

As she enters the tavern through the worn, wooden door, she's welcomed by the crinkle of the doorbell and thick air. The bartender is sleeping and makes no effort to acknowledge your presence. Resting on his laurels on a stool while leaning against the creaking backboard of a long drawer with each breath he takes. Her eyes scan the immediate surroundings and… it's as dull inside as it is on the outside. Squared, stone beams support the upper floor and the sconces attached to them. The walls are loaded with pictures, though the dust and cobwebs reel you from taking a closer look.

The tavern itself is almost completely abandoned. The few people inside appear to be dangerous in one way or another, but whoever they are, they give her an uncomfortable though familiar feeling of dread. She recalls hearing rumors about this tavern, supposedly it's infamous for something, but for the life of you, you can't remember what for. Though judging by the dirt and unhygienic circumstances, it's probably food poisoning.

Finding a stool to sit nearby, she hesitates to grab one of the standing cups at the table before withdrawing. Considering the state of the place, she'd be prudent to avoid her hands from getting intimate with the foreign microbes still lingering inside and outside the cup. Maybe it would've been best had she remained outside, now unsure whatever possessed her to enter here with the tense atmosphere, piercing gaze of the patrons, the heavy air that still looms, and whatnot.

She hums to herself and uncorks the gourd at her hip as she eyes the bulletin board for anything interesting. And to her fortune, she finds something worthy of note. Shuffling off the stool and toward the board, she grabs one of the hanging fliers and looks at it. Looks like a local troupe is preparing for an assortment of entertainment which consist of, and is likely not limited to, storytelling, dancing, singing, and acting, and requires the aid of another for practice and offer any feedback to help enhance the quality of their performance prior to this coming evening.

Although the task itself was simple enough, the activities involved requiring practice and feedback feel like it's totally out of her depth. She's had her scant moments of viewing street performances during her travels and the elusive memories of her younger years when she was still a laborer, but to actively participate in the process of the effort that goes into it — regardless of how small her impact may be — could hardly apply to her immediate self. The thought alone makes her skin crawl. Yet, beggars can't be choosers. If there's work to be had, then there's work to be done. After noting the time and location, and neatly folding the flyer into a square, she tucks it away into her breast pocket heads and exits the izayaka.

It doesn't take her long to find the retinue. Nor to spot the five of them, either. Each of them was dressed in an array of what she can only assume to be costumes, an abundance of masks, each with facial expressions of their own, an array of haori, hakama, and kimonos caked in vibrant colors, and a plethora of props such as umbrellas, tenugui, swords, and the classical sensu fans. The quintet converse among themselves until Yushia's approach, and thus, began a jubilant exchange from business to practice. One of the actors, Chin Yamane, beckons Yushia, along with Kageuji Soga, to provide pointers for her sensu dance for their opening performance.

While Soga watches with a studious set of bright eyes, Yushia found herself captivated by Yamane's rehearsal. Each step is measured seamlessly, the movement of her limbs appeared gracefully bold, and all the while her attire synchronously flows with her movements. And yet that was only the beginning when Yamane unfurls a sensu fan from beneath one of the sleeves of her kimono and strikes a pose. Then, her wrist flicks, the fan hovers over her face, and smiles before her arm weaves and her fan traces various shapes in tandem with her free hand. Maintaining the calculated movements from prior, her arms contrasted with fluid ebullience.

By the time the performance ends, Soga's clapping rouses Yushia from her stupor, who follows suit. Initially, Yushia couldn't provide any feedback. Soga, on the other hand, had a couple of pointers to add, which Yushia makes mental notes of before she formulates her own critique again. Whether her response would contribute toward any improvement for what they have planned this evening, she would have to see for herself in due time. Next, she would attend to the varying costumes for any further additions, changes, and omissions, and the presentation and props of how they'd regale well-known tales with the troupe's own interpretation.

When the sun settles comfortably upon the horizon, Yushia then became aware of how much time had passed. While she exchanges her final pleasantries and farewells, one of the members notes of a painter's guild in need of a helping hand. She thanks them and before they part ways, reminds her that she's welcome to watch them perform should her schedule permit.

And off she went to the Painter's Guild.


WC: 1,002
TWC: 2,241

Later in the evening…

Yushia stands in front of what she presumes to be the Painter's Guild establishment. And compared to the inn prior, From the outside it looks beautiful, cozy, and rustic. Logs and wooden pillars make up most of the building's outer structure. It's difficult to see through the large, stained glass windows, but the warm noises from within can be felt outside.

As you enter the guild house through the decorated, wooden door, you're welcomed by the smell of dry paint and murmuring voices. It's as lovely inside as it is on the outside. Rounded, stone beams support the upper floor and the rows of small lanterns attached to them. The limestone walls are littered with so many different memorabilia, you're not sure if they tried going for a specific style at one time or just put up anything they like.

The building itself is packed. Groups belonging to some kind of organization, whether sport, music, or other you're not sure of, seem to be the primary clientele here, which is often a good sign. Several long tables are occupied by separate groups of people, all enjoying themselves, but they keep to themselves. The other, smaller tables are also occupied by people surrounding an acrylic work, and, judging by their laughter, are either telling jokes or great, perhaps embarrassing, tales.

The receptionist is busy but still manages to welcome you with a wink.

"Welcome!" The receptionist woman says jubilantly and Yushia could guess she's calmly scrutinizing her. "You're not from around here, right?"

"What gave it away?"

"The headband," She gestures with her index finger toward Yushia's headband that hangs at her right hip. "You're definitely no vagrant, you're more well-mannered than most." She then straightens up. "So, what brings you to the Painter's Guild, today?"

"I was directed by a 'colleague' that the guild was in need of help?"

"A colleague, you say?" Her eyebrow raises. "Does said 'colleague' have a name?"

"Kageuji Soga, I believe."

"Ah, one of the troupe members who're scheduled to perform tonight? Now I remember, I believe a couple of our painters are working on commissions they ordered before tonight's event." She taps her chin. "But, now that you've mentioned it, we could use a hand with getting some of the equipment cleaned up for the last batch coming in. It's nothing too complicated, you only need to get them washed and rinsed thoroughly in our cleaning room then set them down by the shelf in the room next to it. What do you say?"

"Simple enough, just show me where I need to go."

And show Yushia the way she shall. Through a corridor and past several open rooms, Yushia manages to catch a glimpse of the inner machinations of the many who reside here at work. One room was littered with splotches of paint, at varying states, using watercolor to draw what appears to be a figure and a somewhat humanoid being atop a mountainside. In another room, there are two persons, perhaps an apprentice and their master, with the latter instructing the former how to properly create different strokes with his brush at his wrist. And finally, there stood three conversing amongst themselves accompanied by several gestures toward the object of their attention.

"Here we are," The receptionist announces and slides the shouji door open. To say the equipment was in a state of disarray would be an understatement. Multiple brushes scattered along the wooden tiles, many palettes stacked and rowed with embarrassing exactness, and several maulsticks toppled over. "Pardon the mess, everyone's been in a bustle to get these commissions out before the coming evening. Anywho, this is where you'll find the equipment, and the door over," She shuffles to the corresponding door and opens it to reveal a far less cluster-bombed room. "Will be where they're cleaned up before being settled back into the same room you'll pull them from. Any questions?"

Yushia peers into both rooms. Considering the size of the establishment and the number of painters and clientele present, this endeavor could easily spill into the late evening of the day if she were to work fast enough.

"How long before the event begins?"

"Well, I'd say about… three hours, give or take. Would it help if—" Yushia gestures with an open palm parallel to her shoulder.

"I'll manage. If anything changes, keep me informed."

The receptionist nods. "Of course, best of luck and we appreciate the help."

If there's one thing Yushia's now-absent father taught her, was to start with the big rocks of life before getting down to the smaller ones. After all, when she grasps one of the maulsticks in her hand and examines it, there's a plethora of dry and wet paint interspersed. And thus, she begins her service of cleaning with those. Bundling four into her arm and coiling them together, she trots from the equipment to the cleaning room towards a steel sink with a large basin. Turning the faucet clockwise, the sounds of rushing water flow, and, with a rag caked in fragrant soap, she meticulously sifts through the wet paint first. Then, she bathes the drier parts of the maulstick and wipes them down with her rag. Intermittently, she uses the nail of her thumbs to burrow a little beneath the tougher spots that failed to adhere to the rag's surface.

After the first bunch of maulsticks have all been cleansed and refurbished to their base state, she would then move on to work on a handful of palettes and brushes, making sure each sheaf of bristles gets their fair share of donning their oatmeal-like color. Once she finds her rhythm, it's simply a matter of dealing with the "smaller rocks". Although she likes to think of herself as dextrous with her hands, by noticing which part of her cleaning process requires a slight adjustment, she can subsequently maximize saving any leftover time before the troupe's performance.

An hour has since passed and half of the equipment has already spruced up until her ears perk up as the shouji door behind her slides open.

"Excuse me," Says a familiar voice. Yushia slowly turns her face and sees it's the receptionist from earlier.

"Hm?"

"You've been doing stellar with the equipment, but may I beg your pardon to also get us a fresh coat of paint with the palettes you've cleaned so far? We're running short on them."

"Ah, sure." Yushia smiles. "Not a problem."

"Thank you. It's only six colors they'll need red, blue, yellow, white, black and brown. Here, I'll show you how to mix and portion them."

The receptionist then demonstrates the ideal sizes for each color in the palette and how to carefully mix them to create the color, brown. And in-between, the two avoid cross-contaminating and must wash the respective brush used before acquiring another dollop. A simple procedure Yushia had no problem picking up and went about getting the palettes tidied and prepped with a fresh set of paint.

This process would last until the final 30 minutes prior to the performance began. Outside the guild, she hears crowds clamor and laughter echo within the once desolate village. Surprising, as she finds it, to hear the antonym of silence reverberate through the streets that stand in opposition to her first impression of the place. Nevertheless, she tidies up the equipment room until there are 10 minutes left to spare and informs the receptionist of her finished work, and presents such. When all's said and done, payment is exchanged and Yushia decides to retire for the night. Certainly not at the Mankanshouku, and so, she settles for setting up camp by the outskirts in the wilderness.

She wonders if fortune will grace her with the opportunity to wind down and witness the troupe at work in the coming years ahead.


WC: 1,308
TWC: 3,549

The following morning…

The forest was colossal, bright, and primal. Its canopy was contested by maple, beech, and hemlock, their leaves and branches allowed for just enough light to pass down for scattered bushes to rule the sloping and slanting ground below. Thick climbing plants drooped from most trees, and a hodgepodge of flowers, which grew in a sprinkled and disorderly fashion, enhanced the otherwise uniform landscape. A hodgepodge of beastly noises, which were caused by birds and insects, reverberated through the air and formed a chaotic orchestra with the occasional splashes of frogs jumping in the nearby lake.

Yushia, now awake from her yearning, eternal slumber, hunting for game to whet her morning appetite. Armed with a makeshift bow and a handful of fletched arrows, and crouches atop the trees. She nocks an arrow against the bowstring followed by a slow and sharp inhale. The arrowhead rests just behind her index finger extended along the neck, and poises herself 20 meters away from a deer, whose business remains unperturbed while it grazes the land. She keeps her target trained until the breeze finally settles.

Swish!

The arrowhead pierces through the air and the fletch distorts it enough to mimic the low sound of a whistle.

Fweet!

Although the arrow strikes at the neck of the deer, it lands closer to its base. It cries a staggering bleat, recoiling from the initial impact before it hops into the forestry. Yushia clicks her tongue and holsters her bow against her person and follows the growing blood trail left behind by the creature. It doesn't take her long to find her quarry, as the size of each puddle exponentially increases until she finds it on the ground. Though the life that once coursed through its veins involuntarily slips through the gash, there's enough of it left for its hooves to kick against the ground and let loose a hideous croak.

She leaps down from the tree branch she stood on and kneels behind it. The shot itself was adequate enough, she luckily didn't have to waste another arrow to confirm her kill. Maybe she was having one of those days? No, not likely. Nothing comes to mind that would disrupt her flow of thought. Perhaps, her skills were getting rusty? Improbably, she's spent more time in the wilderness than she has in any human civilization. Whichever the case, she unfurls a hunting knife from her pocket and, with rapid precision, seizes what little life flickers in the deer's eyes.

Tying each pair of hooves to either side of her shoulders, she slowly rises and treks back toward her camp as her mind whisks itself away in a library of recipes to cook her game with. Somewhere along the way, she stops mid-walk and pivots her head slightly toward her right. A peculiar warmth draws her attention.

"And that smell…" She sniffs, recognizing quickly the stench of decay. Uncommon, it wasn't outside the realm of possibility for the wildlife here to compete for survival. Oftentimes resulting in the cessation of one's life for another but this one… well, curiosity never quite killed the cat, didn't it? Spurred on, she changes her trajectory and walks five meters toward the source of the smell and as it grows stronger, cups her nose to filter some of its intensity. By now, the source of the odor makes itself known and to her surprise, it wasn't the body of a deceased animal, but a human instead.

Odd, She thought. What happened here? Could this be a trap?

She stands still for a moment and feels the cool morning breeze graze her skin. When her eyes dart between the treelines and shrubbery, nothing stands out or announces itself shortly after. This must've occurred a good while past before her hunting excursion. She kneels and turns the body over and nearly recoils from the gruesome display, several lacerations and a couple of deep wounds across the vitals. And village insignia engraved on their headband, which thankfully rules out the possibility of them being a missing-nin from the get-go. Were they out on a mission and got caught in an ambush? Or perhaps encounter other shinobi hailing from another village and were assassinated? The many footprint impressions may suggest the latter, as she couldn't find any resembling the local fauna of the former village.

It's probably best she keeps her nose where it belongs and continues her way back to camp, where she then skins the hide of the deer and divides up the pieces into smaller chunks before roasting them over the campfire. Occasionally turning the at their sides, she picks from a small palette of herbs and spices she'd plucked from her last camping trip and sautees them over her then-cooked meal before she indulges them in earnest. Any that were leftover she would lay them out on a piece of cloth and douse them in salt on both ends before stringing them up and stowing them away for the coming evening.

Though, the earlier body of the deceased still hangs over her head. Maybe someone in Yugakure may know something of a shinobi who was sent out on a mission and could inform and retrieve them for processing. Upon entry into the village, she scouts for a village official, which takes her some time to intuit until she finds a man dressed in a very short-sleeved, animal skin jacket that covers him to just below his waist and is buttoned up completely at the bottom right side. The sleeves of his jacket are wide and reach down to just above his hands, they're decorated with a decorative band almost at the edges.

The jacket has a deep, rectangular neckline that reveals part of the rough shirt worn below it and is worn with a wide cloth band, which is held together by an intricate knot. The cloth band is a functional addition but does have some decorative value. His pants are simple and a loose fit and reach down to his bound cloth boots. The boots are made from a fairly uncommon cloth but are otherwise not that special.

"Pardon me," She announces.

"Hm?" He looks at her. "What?"

"I believe someone belonging to this place was found in the forest a little way away, deceased, while I was out hunting for game."

"Someone?" He eyes her. "And deceased, you said? Not the first time I've heard of anyone here getting ganged up on. What makes you so certain that it's not just some poor sod who got caught unawares?"

"Had your village insignia plastered on his headband. It's been sitting out there for at least several hours, now."

His piercing gaze locks with her nonchalant brown orbs.

"Alright then," He says. "I'll have a look, but you're coming with me. Show me where you found 'im."

And show she did. She retraces her steps back into the wilderness and where she found the body earlier. When they arrive, he scrutinizes the scene, looking at the tracks, the wounds, and their outward surroundings.

"Hm. Strange."

"About?"

"We'd sent a search and rescue party for him two days ago. To think he was this close when he died." He then pats him down and sifts through his belongings until he finds a deddo scroll. "Ah, there it is." He then tucks it into his ninja pouch. "Just couldn't make it in time, I suppose. All's well that end's well. But," He turns to face the vagabond. "You. I can tell you're not from here. And I'm typically privy to comes and goes through this village, but you don't come across to me as the type to stir up trouble nor allied to any other village. You a merc'?"

She nods.

He exhales through his nostrils. "Tell you what," He continues. "Help me get this body processed and you'll get your dues. Not the most fun thing on this rock to do, but someone's gotta do it right?" He unfurls a scroll from his pouch and performs a series of handseals. Then, in a puff of off-white smoke, the deceased body disappears and the scroll rolls up and he catches it in the air. "C'mon, I'll explain the details as we walk."

The assignment sounded simple from his exposition: she was to aid in delivering the corpse back to Yugakure and wait for processing. Afterward, she will be accompanied by a clone of the recently deceased that will be made so the family belonging to the fallen shinobi can receive closure. Thereafter, a funeral rite will be held followed by an entombment in which the official will be responsible for the oration and subsequently offer them a glimpse of the time spent with said loved one before the end of the ceremony.

When they arrive back at the village, Yushia sits by the building where the accompanying shinobi enters and waits for his advent. She's had her fair share of experiencing losses, from both allies and foes alike, but never so much so that she would be intimate by assisting in the delivery, process, and burial of either or.

It must be nice, she thinks, to have a village, a place to call home, commemorate your death for your services.

The thought manifests an image of a familiar and ill-begotten man. Someone who she once considered family. Would she eventually have an inner circle of her for those who would mourn for her loss? For her death? The very next day could possibly serve to be her last, and would a soul feel a twinge of remorse or pity were she to pass? How would she even confront the family the fallen belongs to? Should she stand close to the clone or at a distance? She feels like a fish out of water, but she's sure she'll come up with something at least passable until the end. How hard could it be, really?

A couple of hours go by and the door leading into the facility swings open.

"Oi," He calls out, rousing the ronin from her stupor. "You ready?"

"Right, of course." She answers, rising to her feet as he gestures for her to follow.

"You'll be attending the funeral rite ceremony with me. But I'll need help getting everything set up before then, I've already got a couple of my boys to get started, but the sooner we can get this done, the better. Oh, and don't worry about the family either. I've got that covered already."

That's at least one less worry to think about.

Arriving some one or two hundred meters away, she finds a retinue setting up the props and equipment ready for the ceremony and assists where she can to make sure everything is where it should be. After a few slight adjustments and replacements, the ceremony is soon underway and because she had left her haori back at the camp, one could argue she's dressed for the occasion in all black prior. The rite itself follows a seemingly orthodox method, sutra's uttered, incense is burned, and flora decorates the body prior to the cremation. Afterward, the bones are picked and passed along with chopsticks by the deceased's relatives before Yushia aids in sealing the ashes in an urn and burying it among the other gravestones with a stone monument with the fallen's name engraved.

By the end of the rite, the family and those who attend go on their separate ways. As for the official who brought her along—

"Here," He tosses her a bag which she catches reflexively in one hand, her gaze never peeling away from the monument. "Don't stay too long." This is his last remark before he departs from the scene. Even then, Yushia remains, maybe too long until clasps her hands together and closes her eyes. An indefinite length of time passes before they reopen, she turns on her heel and trots off back to the forest to reacquire her haori. A lot weighed on her mind, questions for herself she has yet to find answers to. But in due time, if graced with a long life, she may find them along the way. At least, until she gets to Hyogagakure first.


WC: 2,045
TWC: 5,594

Later in the following afternoon…

The wind howled through the narrow streets of Yugakure, carrying with it the scent of freshly fallen rain. The city bustled with activity as merchants shouted their wares and pedestrians hurried to their destinations. Among the chaos, a lone figure walked with purpose—a woman with a lithe physique followed by long, ashen-gray hair tied into a ponytail down to her upper waist with two braids that flow at either side of her shoulders down to her lower chest. She has a pair of deep, brown eyes and sharp facial features accompanied by an ivory complexion with two odd scars across her forehead and right cheekbone.

Clad in her Gakuran uniform billowing in the breeze, her attire consists of a buttoned shirt with a white framed collar having the kanji「 滅 」engraved on the back in white, a shirt pocket on top of the left breast, and a white undershirt. It also consists of long, saggy tattsuke-hakama pants strapped by a white buckled belt and a pair of maroon-colored Kyahan that extends into tabi socks. Additionally, she wears a lavishly, redwood and old rose-designed haori over her uniform with sleeves reaching up to her wrists and its folds stopping just at her knees.

She converses with a merchant with a fairly long-sleeved, hide jacket that covers him to just below his knees and is tightly tied with string at the right side. The sleeves of his jacket are wide and reach down to below his hands, they're decorated with a decorative band almost at the edges. The jacket has a narrow, round neckline that reveals part of the refined shirt worn below it and is worn with a large leather belt, which is held together by an ornate pin. The leather belt is almost entirely a functional addition. His pants are simple and narrow and reach down to his hard leather boots. The boots are made from a very uncommon leather but are otherwise a common design.

Behind him is a laundry list of wares, mostly comprised of general goods and Yushia only needs to purchase the fletched arrows from the morn' and a few animal hides and cloth to patch up her tattered gear. After a transactional exchange was performed, she then dawdles toward the direction of her camp just on the outskirts of the Hot Springs until she stumbles across izakaya from the other day. For as much as she'd like to never return to such a dreadful place, there's also the likelihood of new, open contracts since then.

Mustering up an ounce of courage, she enters through the main entrance, ignoring the sour looks of the inn patrons and the still somnolent bartender. Her eyes scan through the bulletin board and… it appears four more contracts were posted, two of which she's quite familiar with or knows the employer from services rendered in the past. She plucks the three contracts individually from their pinned confines, folds them neatly, and stashes them away into her breast pocket before heading outside once more to her intended destination.

Once she arrives, she gets out a slightly rustic sewing kit. Should've grabbed a rag to wipe away the rust or gotten a new one, she thinks. Nevertheless pinching one end of her sleeve, she wipes large bits of old metal before she begins to sow cloth together with her sleeping bag first. Sowing, to her mild bewilderment, was a favorite pastime during her childhood. Outside of searching for menial labor and jobs to address the wherewithal to keep a roof over her and her father's heads, the minute focus and simple repetition of the activity always help quell her sporadic mind. No need to hypothesize the several scenarios for an optimal outcome, no need to fret whether she should look over her shoulder when traversing over long distances, and certainly no need to think of how she'll get by and feed herself until her next venture.

It's only her. The pinpoint accuracy of the needle. And the thick fabric of the cloth. Weave one way, through the other, fasten them close, and repeat the motion. And the once lively cries have since reduced to ambient thrums of nature renew with chorus chirps, audible buzzes, and soft rustles of abundant fauna. Her mind hasn't registered it yet, but her body recognizes the scant feeling of… peace. Not the type that tends to rouse one in the absence of the clamorous company, or the bustling commercial hub of the townsfolk, but the type that one may feel once in a while amidst the calm state of being that flows as gently as the summer sea breeze.

After the blanket accustoms itself to its new cloth friend, she then patches up her tent. Although the task for this item has a larger surface area to cover, it would only take a little more time than the sleeping bag did, as she would only need to stitch up the small hole from wear and tear. And once again, with the same precision and steadiness, weaves one way through the other, fastens them close, and repeats the motion until the patch securely tightens around the gap. She feels confident this time, at least, she'd like to believe that she did a job well done. Maybe in a few days, she'll proverbially eat the fruits of her labor.

She then sifts through her breast pocket and, at random, plucks one of the folded papyruses and unfolds it. And as fate would have it, Yushia's journey leads her to a bustling construction site on the outskirts of the city. Upon her advent, the workers toil under the watchful eye of a stern foreman named Jiro. Sweat drips from their brows as they labor under the scorching sun, and their muscles strain with each swing of the hammer.

"Looks like a lot of work," Yushia remarks, as she strides toward the foreman while she watches the men at work. "I saw your flyer on the bulletin. Jiro, am I correct?"

"Aye, that'd be me." Jiro eyes her with a mixture of skepticism and intrigue upon seeing her sword. Ronin were not known for their reliability, but the sincerity in her eyes are difficult to ignore. "We're short-handed, but the work is demanding. Can you handle it?"

"I'll do my best, sir, you have my word."

"Good, then. The boys'll be glad to have a fresh face 'round to speed things along. Come, I'll show how things work around here."

With a nod, Jiro accepts Yushia's offer and introduces her to the rest of the construction team. Her task was this: to deliver any tools, materials, or aid in labor needed by the crew. The workers themselves watch her cautiously, unsure of the ronin's true intentions. However, as time passes and Yushia proves herself a tireless worker, their silent skepticism transformed into whirring admiration. Yushia's strength and skill were unparalleled. Whether it was carrying heavy loads with the aid of her clones, sawing timber with one of the workers, or nimbly climbing scaffolding to deliver more materials, she performs each task with grace and precision. The other workers marvel at her abilities, whispering rumors of the possibility regarding her samurai past.

At one point, while holding down one of the planks affixed to form a wall surrounding the infrastructure, one of the workmates on their ascent to the second floor loses grip on one of the heftier materials and falls above the other workman nailing the plank. Nearby, one of Yushia's clones notices the workman strain to maintain hold of himself as the materials slip through. Digging her heel into the dirt, she darts toward him, and as she shouts a warning, before tackling the man out of the way, the materials above slam with a dreadful clatter. Subsequently, a puff of off-white smoke disperses followed by a soft clinging of metal-against-metal. Thankfully, she could make another with no problem but was more rapt to know the worker himself remained unharmed. Though, that does earn the ire of the foreman as to what exactly happened.

In another instance, one of the workers needed a fresh set of wooden planks. Noticing that one of the wooden beams lacked the sturdy integrity to uphold the first floor above. The foreman, ready to designate a small group to quickly replace the beam with something fresher, didn't expect the mercenary to volunteer in earnest. With the aid of additional hands from her clones, they held the beam steady to give the workers leeway to hammer in the new support beam. As for the original, she kneels atop and adjacent to hammer the opposite side of the beam in place.

Despite her skill, Yushia remains humble. She works alongside the laborers, sharing their hardships and listening to their stories. She learns of their dreams and struggles, their hopes for a better life. In return, she shares, with some reluctance and cares to leave out the grueling tidbits, tales of her past, weaving a tapestry of honor and regret. This wasn't an experience she was all too accustomed to participating in, but she welcomes it nonetheless. It's a rarity by itself that allows herself to wind down and behave as she would in good company.

Toward the evening's close and the sun gingerly set upon the horizon, at the foreman's request, the workers were to stow away their tools, cover any materials that'd be exposed to the elements, pack up their things and head home before the coming demands of the morrow.

"You did well today, lass," The foreman says as he strides over to an inspecting Yushia looking at the project's progress thus far. He pats her shoulder, which does make her flinch a little, but not enough to cause a scene. "A fine job you did, thinking on your feet this way and that."

"You flatter me," She whimsically ripostes. "I only did as you asked."

"Tch, come now," He counters. "You did plenty more than that. I saw what you did and the boys've taken a liking to your company. Here." He hands her a green stack of paper. "Already counted 'em for ya. Why not hit the Mankan' for a bit? Drinks are on me."

She smiles and waves with her hand dismissively. "I'll be fine, but I appreciate the gesture."

"Maybe another time, then." He releases his hold of her and trots towards the izakaya. "Be seein' ya!" He waves.

And now, she finds herself by her lonesome. She affixes her gaze towards the white sparkled sky in reminiscent silence before she turns on her heel and treks back to her camp. Thereupon, she stirs up a campfire, hangs her haori inside her tent along with her equipment, save for her wakizashi and katana, and sits upon her sleeping bag. She rifles through her bag and unfurls a peculiar confectionery she'd bought earlier from the same merchant she received her cloth and hide from.

It's a delightful and visually appealing dessert that captures the essence of summer. As her eyes set s upon the slice, she notices a golden-brown exterior, gently crumbly and enticingly moist. The vibrant, luscious strawberries. The cake is generously adorned with fresh, ripe strawberries, strategically placed both on top and within the layers. Each strawberry is plump and juicy, boasting a brilliant red hue that contrasts beautifully against the pale cake. The aroma of strawberries wafts from the slice, filling the air with a sweet and tantalizing fragrance. It's an invitation to indulge in this fruity paradise. As she takes her first bite, her taste buds are greeted with a harmonious blend of flavors.

The cake itself is subtly sweet, allowing the natural sweetness of the strawberries to shine. The strawberries burst with flavor, providing a delightful tartness that perfectly balances the cake's sweetness. Their soft texture complements the delicate crumb of the cake, creating a harmonious marriage of taste and texture. As she savors each mouthful, she'll also encounter a velvety smooth cream that adds a luxurious element to the cake. This creamy goodness, perhaps a whipped cream or a velvety strawberry-flavored frosting, wraps around the cake, harmonizing the flavors and adding a touch of indulgence.

To enhance the overall experience, a light dusting of powdered sugar or a drizzle of strawberry syrup may grace the top of the slice, adding an elegant touch and a hint of extra sweetness. With every bite, she experiences a symphony of flavors and textures—the tender cake, the burst of juicy strawberries, the silky cream, and the delicate sweetness. It's a slice of pure bliss, reminiscent of lazy summer afternoons and joyful celebrations.

Alas, many of the good things life has to offer must also come to an end. But the memory of what happened today deserved even a memorable slice of the deeds done today, and hopefully, what the coming morrow brings.


WC: 2,147 x 2 (via x1 Strawberry Cake) = 4,294
TWC: 9,888

The following morning after…

It was another sunny day, partly decorated in bulbous clouds that masked the sun's rays for a time before passing by to unveil its golden glow. An ashen gray-haired woman donning a black, Gakuran uniform and a lavishly, redwood and old rose-designed haori over her commences a routine checkup on her equipment thus far. Rifling through her With a whetstone in hand she collected from another trek prior, she carefully glides the stone across the edge of her katana first.

Shing.

Shing.

There's a pause that drones between each stroke, each one adjusted upon each brief inspection so as to not over-temper one side of the blade to maintain its edge and sharpness. Thereupon, with a small bottle of Choji Oil, she steadily dips a thin line across one side of the blade, and then, with a spare rag, wipes the same side to spread the oil evenly. Then she thinly douses the opposite side of the blade and spreads the only evenly again.  Afterward, she holds the handle with both hands and inspects it for any spots missed, angling it so the sun's glare helps her locate what would otherwise be tough-to-see areas.

She sheathes and sets the katana aside by a nearby tree trunk and repeats the procedure next with her wakizashi, which takes noticeably less amount of time than the katana, considering the scarce apertures littered along the edge. With her general weaponry taken care of and spruced up, she then sets about cleaning her clothes. With her haori over her shoulder and a small kit of cleaning supplies, she strides over to a nearby stream about a mile away from Yugakure. Before doing anything else, she scouts the perimeter for anyone who may have either passed through here recently or resides close by. Satisfied to know that only the flora and fauna are her only company, she then disrobes and wears her haori over her naked form.

Now for the arduous part: starting from the toes going up, she starts with wetting the maroon Kyahan and tabi socks, intermittently coating them in a soapy substance before handwashing them between the backends of her fingers. Oftentimes, this would cause a considerable amount of friction and, subsequently, pain from constantly scrubbing away at the dirt that clings to her attire. But because she's been doing this for half as long as she's lived, with consistent practice, the calluses as a result strengthened them enough for it to become a tolerable activity. This process would continue toward the tattsuke-hakama, then eventually, both the over and undershirt of the uniform. Rinsing all of them of any excess water left, she slips into her sandals and trots back to her camp, hanging her now clean though damp clothes on a makeshift clothesline before she dons her substitute ronin robes: She wears a deep indigo blue kimono that is unadorned, showcasing its simple elegance and serving as a symbol of the one's humble existence. The sleeves of the kimono hang gracefully, slightly extending past her wrists, adding a touch of fluidity to her movements.

Over the kimono, she wears a hakama that flows down to their ankles. The hakama, in a somber black color, sways as she walks, accentuating her confident steps. The pleats of the hakama reveal her precision and attention to detail, a reflection of her training as a warrior. Around her waist, a narrow and understated obi is tied neatly, securing the layers of her garments together. The obi, also in a dark shade, contrasts subtly against the kimono, adding a touch of depth to her ensemble.

Her feet are adorned with white tabi socks, providing comfort and flexibility. The split-toe design of the tabi ensures ease of movement and stability, essential for a warrior always ready for action. Completing the ensemble is another haori. It's in a muted gray tone, and drapes over her shoulders, adding an extra layer of protection against the elements. The loose and relaxed fit of the haori allows for unrestricted movement, ready to be shed when action calls.

She traverses through the front gate of Yugakure and, to her surprise, she sees a familiar entourage adorned in vibrant colors and, this time, with a horse and cart packed with a seemingly innumerable quantity of props, costumes, and accessories. All five of them are enrapt in animate conversation until one particular face recognizes her from his peripheral.

"Yushia!" Hollers Soga, offering a friendly wave to which the mercenary returns the gesture. "Hey there, you look good in those new robes. Is it because you hear about our return here in Yugakure for our second performance tonight?"

"No, not at all, actually," She replies. "Just needed to get into a fresh set of clothes. It's my first time wearing something that isn't just my typical wear."

"Mhm, I hear ya. Say, you wouldn't happen to be free at the moment, would you?"

"That would be the case, yes. Is it another contract you have for me?"

Soga rubs his chin. "Somewhat? Yamine, I, and the others have been scratching our heads over what our next playwright will be. You know, to spice things up a little than what we're all usually comfortable with. And just when I was thinking of someone who we may know could offer us a unique perspective, lo' and behold! I catch you off in the distance!"

Yushia hums pensively. "Storytelling isn't particularly a forte of mine, truth be told." She explains. "I wouldn't be much help in the creative process of coming up with anything novel."

"Oh? Who said you'd have to do all the thinking? All of us will be pitching in to brainstorm an idea that can work with what we have in here." Soga slaps one of the beams of the cart. "Of course, you'll get compensated for it, with the help you've given us last time, we've scrapped up sizeable profits since then. So, why not give it a go, eh?"

Her arms akimbo, she affixes her gaze sideways for a moment before replying.

"Sure," She answers. "I think I have an idea that can work out quite well."

Soga clasps his hands together. "Excellent! Come, come! Let me introduce you to the others and we'll get you caught up to speed with what we've come up with so far."

Yushia is then introduced formally to the rest of the troupe: Chin Yamine, hailing from a minor settlement toward the southeast, is a renowned kabuki actor that often leads with the narrative flow and structure of each playwright the troupe performs. Kageuji Soga, hailing from the now-sundered Tanbogakure, was once a wandering minstrel until he came across Saito, who was entranced by his taste and expertise after cajoling the others listen.

Speaking of which, Chikamune Saito, hailing from another minor settlement toward the north-northeast, who formally was a painter, is now responsible for, together with Chin, creating a captivating story that will pull in the audience into an immersive experience. Next, there's Honjou Sumako, an instrumentalist and weaver, who looks after the troupe's costumes and clothing, oftentimes adopting her many muses to refurbish or create new items for many of their plays. And finally, Hondou Yoriteru, hailing from Amegakure, is an expert mime who bridges the gap between the explicit and implicit nuances in each story.

The group then proceeds to recount the few ideas they have with Yushia, which quickly devolves into a realm of disorderly arguments. Saito and Yamine bicker back and forth between the desire to maintain the integrity of a story's structure and to keep the audience in the know of what's going through each part. Yet, Saito begs to differ, imploring the troupe to manifest a story that will through the audience into a thought-provoking narrative that will encourage them to think about the current state of the shinobi world at large. Sumako and Yoriteru seem to be at an impasse regarding a disconnect between the Yoriteru's clothes to reflect his character's emotions and ambitions, although Sumako rebukes that, with what expenses had to be covered since their last performance, the option of expanding their wardrobe was beyond their immediate scope, lest he can somehow muster a spell to give her every and all the necessary fabrics to yield to his wishes.

Soga tries to steer the group back on track and quell any disputes. Yushia, on the other hand, while in the thought of what to suggest amidst the ensuing chaos, conjures up an idea from the tidbits of information she could gather from the group. After the troupe's steam cools down, Yushia gives a general overview of her idea: The Enhancted Mirror: A Magical Reflection!

She explains in summary that the playwright, "The Enchanted Mirror: A Magical Reflection", is an act that combines the elements of illusion, storytelling, and audience participation to create a captivating and interactive experience., the troupe will need a propr, specifically a mirror, that will act as a primary medium in which the story revolves around. Said mirror will be described to the audience as a mystical mirror that holds the power to transport individuals to different realms and times.

In order to successfully execute the performance, Yushia details a step-by-step rundown of how each act will unfold and play out:

First, Setting the Stage: The troupe sets up a grand stage with an ornate, full-length mirror as the centerpiece. The mirror is decorated with intricate designs and its frame shimmers cement the concept of its enchantment.

Second, the Introduction: The troupe's charismatic host, Yamine, introduces the act, explaining the magical properties of the mirror and its ability to reveal hidden wonders.

Third, a Volunteer Selection: Yamine will invite an enthusiastic volunteer from the audience to become the main participant in the act. The chosen person is then asked to stand in front of the mirror, ready to embark on a magical journey.

Fourth, the Illusion and Transformation: As the volunteer gazes into the mirror, the reflection begins to distort, and the stage transforms with stunning visuals and lighting effects. The mirror acts as a portal, whisking the participant and the audience into a mesmerizing realm. Yamine, Soga, Saito, and Sumako will work together to place the props, set off the stage effects, and costume changes to illustrate a transition between the "real world" and the "magical world".

Fifth, the Interactive Adventure: Within the realm accessed through the mirror, a unique adventure unfolds. The troupe's mime, Yoriteru, utilizing context clues, will take on various characters, guiding the volunteer and engaging the audience in the narrative. They encounter mythical creatures, solve puzzles, and overcome challenges, all with the help and support of the audience.

Sixth, the Lessons and Messages: As the adventure progresses, the story weaves in valuable life lessons, inspiring messages, or environmental themes, depending on the troupe's desired focus. These messages are subtly integrated into the narrative with Yamine and Yoriteru's aid, leaving a lasting impact on the participants and audience members.

Seventh, the Climactic Resolution: The journey reaches its climax, with the volunteer and troupe successfully completing their quest or overcoming a final challenge. The mirror guides them back to the real world, leaving them with a sense of wonder and accomplishment.

And finally, Eighth, the Celebration and Farewell: Lastly, the troupe concludes the act by celebrating the volunteer's bravery and the collective experience. They bid farewell to the magical realm but remind the audience that the mirror's power lies in everyone's imagination and ability to embark on their own adventures.

"By carefully designing the act, documenting the narrative and illusions, and training other performers, the troupe can create a replicable and scalable performance that can be passed on to others. This ensures that 'The Enchanted Mirror: A Magical Reflection' becomes a timeless tradition, inspiring and enchanting audiences for generations to come."

There's a pregnant pause that follows. At first, Yushia initially thought that it would've been better to slow down between each part of the play then unload a scholarly description of her idea. But then, that doubt is soon discarded by the troupe's jubilation. In earnest, they have Yushia jot down the key points from her earlier oration unto a sheet of papyrus and act as the spearhead to guide the group for how each act of the playwright turns out, occasionally interspersed with new concepts and ideas injected by each of the members. Soon enough as the afternoon comes, they've nailed the general gist of the performance with gusto, thanking Yushia for her help and personally inviting her to their next performance should their paths cross.

While the troupe rehearses their new playwright, she returns to her encampment to check on her attire. So far, so good. No stray rodents raided her goods and not a single rogue to have snatched her goods. Rifling through her bag again while she sits upon her sleeping bag, she unravels the slice of her confectionery delight from last night. Today started off better than she expected.


WC: 2,175 x 2 (via Strawberry Cake Prior) → 3,706 (Max Limit Reached) + 322 Remainder = 4,028
TWC: 13,916

The following late afternoon…

Yushia's journey takes her back to the Painter's Guild establishment. This time, she received another contract to complete from the Guild. Her task is to fetch paint from within the establishment and help to repaint a chipping building located near the heart of Yugakure no Sato. Although she wasn't any world-renowned artist herself, she was nevertheless eager to make her mark and add a fresh style and look to the building. Yushia then sets off to meet the receptionist inside the building to begin the project.

As she arrives, Yushia's warmly greeted by a familiar face.

"Ah, it's you again!" The receptionist exclaims. "Did you come for a commission of your own or were you looking for more work?"

"The latter," She unfurls a HELP WANTED flyer and sets it carefully down on the desk. "Thought I could help with adding a little color to this place."

"Well, aren't you full of surprises? I wouldn't peg you for someone with a taste in artistry, but who knows? Here, I'll fill you in on the finer details before we get started." The receptionist provides Yushia with all the necessary details about the building: its history, architectural elements, and the community's desire to transform it into a comparatively vibrant symbol of unity and creativity.

Armed with the knowledge of the building's background, Yushia set off to fetch the paint from the Guild's designated source. She entered the large storage area, where she was met with a spectrum of colors that seemed to dance before her eyes. Perhaps she misunderstood the scope and importance of the project at hand, but that no less deters her than she would from fulfilling the arrangement. The last time she could ever recall indulging in any form of fine art was from the stories her father told her while she was still a babe. It was an odd memory to think about now in retrospect, she firmly believes every ounce of what little artistry she possessed was rusted in favor of the blade and lost to time as a result.

Nevertheless, it wasn't as though she was higher by a noble repaint their entire estate with a fresh assortment of colors. Heavens, what a disastrous venture that'd have been were she the poor soul out of Kami knows how many other artists are more qualified than herself. Yushia slowly paces herself and occasionally stops to examine the numerous options she has at her disposal for what combination of colors would work well with others. She meticulously studies each shade, carefully considering the impact they could have on the building's transformation. After much deliberation, she then decides to embark on, perhaps, her most bold artistic endeavor yet. She chooses a palette of lively and rich hues, blending warm tones like "Sunset Orange" and "Golden Yellow" with cool shades such as "Ocean Blue" and "Emerald Green." This vibrant combination would infuse the building with energy and capture a different spirit of the surrounding community.

Equipped with her chosen paint, Yushia ventures back to the chipping building, ready to work her magic. She picks up her brushes and rollers and lets her creativity flow freely. Using her limited Jutsu roster, she takes advantage of painting the entire building using all three-dimensional spaces and creating a handful of clone copies to assist in the recoloring of the building. Carefully, each clone and the original addresses the chipping areas, gently smoothing them out before applying a fresh coat of paint. They allowed the colors to intermingle, blending seamlessly and forming enchanting patterns that seemed to tell stories of hope, unity, and progress.

Inspired by the diversity and cultural richness of the many communities she's come across during her travels, Yushia decides to incorporate elements from various art styles into her design. She lays out intricate patterns reminiscent of indigenous art, delicately intertwining them with vibrant art design and motifs from her haori to celebrate the city's contemporary spirit.

Minutes then turn into hours as Yushia and her dopplegängers diligently loses themselves in the creative vortex and enter a "Flow State" of sorts as she indulges herself in the project. Over time, the building's transformation would progressively look more and more refined, one may argue it could be nothing short of extraordinary. Passersby who before wouldn't have batted an eye now couldn't help but stop and admire the newfound beauty that radiated from every brushstroke.

By the time she was done, she leveled herself with the building in question. It… looks surprisingly remarkable, even with her groveling expectations. From behind her, she could hear whispers among the townsfolk filled with intrigue and curiosity, how a mercenary of all types, could be capable of exploring the more mundane things in the absence of what would expect to be filled with violence and death. But, in a rare spur of the moment, Yushia feels proud of herself. Not in opposition to the folk's stereotypical idea of what a vagabond was capable outside of combat and warfare, but that she'd found—no—reclaimed a piece of herself she once discarded to time barely over a year ago since past.

"I wonder if I should do the interior next," She murmurs to herself, then shrugs her shoulders. "Should probably go ask first before I do anything else crazy with my artist's inspiration." She sets down all her tools and buckets of paint before she strides over back to the Painter Guild to request the receptionist's attention for a review of her "work of art".

"Oh, wow," She remarks leaning this way and that and pacing around the building before standing parallel with an awestruck expression. "I know I said you were full of surprises earlier when you asked to paint the build but this… are you sure you aren't secretly an artist disguised as a mercenary or something? Because this style of contemporary art could go for a pretty sizeable stack of Ryo."

"Oh, no, I assure you I'm just a simple wanderer. But, I appreciate the high praise, I suppose. It isn't exactly my finest but, it's at least pleasing to the eye for some."

"Oh, hush you. Quit being so modest, you deserve to give yourself a pat on the back every once in a while, this is amazing!"

Then, after a transactional exchange and one filled with pleasantries, she tucks away the last stack of Ryo she collects, having completed all three contracts within the good time she's been here in Yugakure. In the fading light of the setting sun, Yushia returns to her encampment and pats down her clothes that hung on the clothesline.

"Mostly dry," She drones. "Wait until tomorrow to pull 'em down and be on my way to Hyogagakure. It's certainly been an interesting experience for a place that looked so doom and gloom to actually have a little spark of life in it. Maybe my destination may have others just like them, if not, a little less desolate with much more life."

As she steps through the threshold of her tent, Yushia removes her armor piece by piece, the weight of her warrior persona lifted with every sash released, and a profound sense of freedom embraced her. She relished the feeling of being unencumbered, her true self unveiled beneath the armor's protective guise. Finally attired in simple garments, she approaches the campfire and prepares to journal her adventures. The moon, radiant and full, cast a silvery glow upon the blossoms, illuminating their delicate beauty. She found solace in the tranquility of nature, a reminder that even the fiercest warriors could find and experience peace in the most delicate of things.

After some time transpires, with a sigh of contentment, Yushia retires to her bed, its warmth and familiarity a sanctuary for her battle-weary body and mind. As she closes her eyes, a sense of fulfillment washed over her, a culmination of her accomplishments and the knowledge that she's contributed, however small it may be, to add a color of her own in the world. Dreams of coming victories and future possibilities danced in her mind, promising a tomorrow filled with new beginnings and hopefully friendships along the way.

And when the morning of the morrow comes, she packs her things, restocks on supplies, and heads out in earnest. A dozen steps away from the main entrance into Yugakure, she turns back, a meek curl on her lips as she readjusts her travel bag and trots with a pep to step toward her intended destination.

Hyogagakure no Sato.


WC: 1,425
TWC: 15,341


[EXIT THREAD]


Requesting approval for the following claims:

Rewards acquired upon completion of all missions listed at the beginning of the thread:

Total Ryo Earned: +12,250 Ryo
Total Bonus AP Earned: +60 Bonus AP

Investing the 15,341 TWC in the following Skills:

→ Clan Pureblood (2,250/2,250; +25 Vigor) [13,091 TWC Left]
→ Water Breathing (1,500/1,500) [11,591 TWC Left]
→ Permafrost (Free) [11,591 TWC Left]

Investing the 11,591 TWC in the following Jutsus:

→ Total Concentration Breathing @ A-Rank (1,875/1,875) [9,716 TWC Left]
→ Genjutsu Release + Handseal Mastery (375/375) [9,341 TWC Left]
→ First Form: Water Surface Slash @ B-Rank (1,125/1,125) [8,216 TWC Left]
→ Second Form: Water Wheel @ B-Rank (1,312/1,312) [6,904 TWC Left]
→ Third Form: Flowing Dance @ B-Rank (1,312/1,312) [5,592 TWC Left]
→ Quickdraw (750/750) [4,842 TWC Left]
→ Iron Wall @ B-Rank (1,125/1,125) [3,717 TWC Left]
→ Temple Style: Bark @ B-Rank (1,312/1,312) [2,405 TWC Left]
→ Perfect Body @ B-Rank (1,312/1,312) [1,093 TWC Left]
→ Adjustment @ D-Rank (375/375) [718 TWC Left]
→ Iaigiri @ B-Rank (718/1,125) [0 TWC Left]

*25% Discount applied via max stats below.

Spending the 15,341 TWC on the following Stat Points (max stats):

→ Adding +75 Speed (-7,500; 7,519 TWC Left)
→ Adding +75 Vigor (-7,500; 19 TWC Left)

→ Expunging the remaining 341 WC left over.

Sayuri Yuki wrote:Requesting approval for the following claims:

→ Genjutsu Release + Handseal Mastery (375/375)
→ Iaigiri @ B-Rank (718/1,125) [0 TWC Left]

Adjustments to Genjutsu Release WC + remaining WC towwards Iaigiri

Approved.