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Komosatuo
08-24-07, 02:34 AM
((Closed to 016573))


Two and a half weeks earlier.

"A mind," the ninja said cheerfully, as he finished tying the last knot on a still slightly squirming package. "Is such a terrible thing to waste. Don't you agree, Professor?"

"Mmmmm! Mmm hmm mmm!" The muffled screams of the condemned man only brought a chuckle to the ninjas lips and he finished the last of his knot with a zip of the cords and a pat on the old mans shoulder.

"My employers didn't seem to think so either." Then he laughed aloud and stood from his crouched position. "You really shouldn't be so hard on yourself," he said jollily, as he picked up the lead ropes that were connected to the man. He leaned forward and began to pull the struggling man across the planked floor of the river pier. "You were a good man, a smart man." He stopped and looked over his shoulder, his eyes the only thing the man could see, but they were still filled with amusement. "A little too smart perhaps, but still." The ninja once again leaned into the ropes and dragged the man across the planks. "That, umph. Is usually, grrraahk. What they, mmmmph. All, hrrrk. Say, aaugh."

Relaxing his grip on the lines the ninja stood for a moment, staring out across the rushing water toward the far bank of the river. There was a light fog, hung low in the branches and it obscured whatever lay hidden just that side of the bank from sight. He cocked his head to the side for a moment, breathing in and out at a slightly heightened rate, staring into the fog, before turning around and crouching next to the tightly bundled man.

"Now, you're a smart man," the ninja said quietly, patting the man on the shoulder. "I've said as much, you've said as much. Hell, the people who want you dead have said as much, which why I think you'll enjoy what I'm going to do next." He then rolled the still protesting man over onto his stomach and pulled up three loops that were laying flat against the mans back. "Because, you see, when a man falls into a torrent of fast moving water, and he is bound head to foot by strong rope, he becomes a very effective mode of transportation." While he spoke the ninja deftly wove a single long piece of rope through the three loops and tied it tightly to itself, and clean to the mans back. The man lifted his head, trying to see what was going on but the ninja only shoved it back down, hard into the planks of the pier. "Uh-uh, no looking. This is a surprise." Then the ninja stood and tied the other end of the long rope around his waist.

It was just at that point that a light appeared some distance away, along with a pair of disjointed voices. "I think he went this way." "Oh? And what makes you say that?" "The skid marks of the boots here." A moment of silence while the light drew close to the ground. The ninja deftly rolled the bound man onto his back, holding a hand to the mans lips.

"Shhh, almost time." His smile went unnoticed beneath his mask. He stood and hooked one leg over the top of the man, who had by this time heard the voices and gone still. The light bobbed up and wiggled side to side for a moment and then stopped.

"Hey, look 'ere! These tie downs have been cut loose." The light shifted to the right. "Aye, and look. The skid marks got bigger. He used them to bind the poor fellow." The light advanced toward the pier and the ninja tensed his leg against the body of the bound man, his eyes narrowing. His instructions had been explicit.

Kill the professor, but in such a manner that he was not seen, but the professor was. This required careful timing and precise movements. The light began to draw closer and in the morning haze two figures materialized. Both were the armed militia of the small community nearby. One of the men squinted toward the pier.

"Hey!" He said, batting at his companion and pointing toward the pier. "Look, there's someone out there." The other man stopped and held up his light.

"Ahoy to thee! Speak your business and your name!"

The ninja remained silent, as was his nature in these types of situations, but the bound man had become anything but. Fervent on the hope of rescue from the mad man sent to kill him, the man had begun his struggles and muffled screams anew. It did him no good, in his bound state and in the manner in which the ninja held him, he wasn't going to get far, if anywhere at all. But his screams, muffled though they were, did get somewhere.

"Hey, you 'ear that? Sounds like some bloke screamin'."

There was a ring of steel on steel as a sword was drawn from its sheath. "Aye, I hear it." There was a second sound of steel on steel as the other man drew his blade.

Then, silence. The ninja's smile grew wider.

One of the men leaned over and whispered something, but it was lost to the ninjas ears. Then, with very little warning but with every ounce of predictability there was in the planet, the two men charged.

The ninja, having been planning on this for the past half an hour, rolled his forward foot back and leapt backwards into the air, over the raging waters of the river. As his foot rolled back it rolled the bound man over and slowly tipped him over the edge of the pier. His screams intensified as he slowly fell into the raging black beneath him and as the ninja flew up into the air, he reached into two specially designed pockets on his thighs and pulled two throwing knives free. There was a distant splash of the bound man hitting the water, just as the two charging men reached the pier and in the instant that followed, the ninja threw his daggers.

The last thing he heard before plunging into the inky depths of the raging river were the surprised screams of the two charging men as they took the surprisingly non lethal daggers to the chest. Then, the black of the river swallowed him whole and he vanished from sight. Moments later there was a great tug against his chest and he was quickly hauled down river, pulled by the bound and soon to be lifeless form of the late, Professor Harl J. Pennington.


Three days ago.

Radasanth. The city of dreams for some. The city of ruin for others and for still further more, just a city that they could call home. For the ninja and his five companions, a chance at a quick job before they silently made their way back home.

Well, at least, Kiomata'Ly would be heading home. He had some important business to attend to with the clan. He had express interests on returning to find Kiomatosa, but so far, he hadn't revealed any plans for such a course of action. Not that the ninja wasn't going to miss the grandmaster when it did come time to leave, it was just that he was going to find it hard to adjust to him coming back again, should it ever happen. In the short time out on his own, away from his clan and his superfluous grandmaster, the ninja had developed an independent streak. One that the grandmaster didn't much approve of.

Take for example his most recent job, the one with Professor Harl J. Pennington. He hadn't even known Komosatuo had embarked on that mission and by the time it was over and done with, the body and reward of seventy five gold pieces collected, it was too late to do anything but grimace and nod. The ninja felt he had won a great victory that day but the day following that, he quickly realized he had only simply prolonged the inevitable for himself. As he was rapidly reintroduced to that difficult and painful life of a ninja in training.

So, as they all walked into town, the only one that wasn't positively brimming over the fact at having a good, civilized rest and possibly a side job that paid well enough, was Komosatuo. Xiosle caught onto this and came over to pat Komosatuo on the shoulder.

"'Ere, 'ere eh? Cheer up, yeah? I'm sure he'll get over it eventually, besides, with what we might find here? Who knows, maybe you'll get a second chance!" Abruptly he and Yokoisumi burst into laughter, the larger man turning around to walk backwards in front of Komosatuo.

"Yeah, and this time, maybe you won't have to swim so damn much just to get yourself out of that river!"

They're laughter resumed, if not louder this time, and even the other three spared the ninja a glance and a passing smile. Komosatuo was fortunate enough, that at that particular time, Xiosle decided to live up to his reputation and trip on and up turned cobble stone. Komosatuo was able to catch him before he lost his good looks and all laughter ceased, as if cut by a hot butter knife.

"Thanks," Xiosle said a little sheepishly as he needlessly dusted himself.

"No problem," Komosatuo said, a smile in his eyes and on his hidden lips. Xiosle smiled back and they hurried to catch up to the others.

Finding a job in Radasanth, a job that fit their specific needs, turned out to be easier then expected. There were always wanted signs or recruitment posters up along the streets or in the squares of the city. All it took, was finding the right one.

"Here's one," Yokoisumi called out from across a fairly wide street. In his hand was a long, slender piece of parchment he had just ripped off the wall. The other five moved to join him and when they had, he slowly read off the words written on the parchment.


Wanted

For the crimes of smuggling illegal contraband into the City of Radasanth, the following are listed wanted by the request of the Civil Guard:

One Pete A. Cummingham and his wife accomplice, Patricia M. Kent Cummingham.

For details on the crimes or last known where abouts, please see Civil Guard Captain-Lieutenant Horus V. Benahocker.

"Huh," Yokoisumi grunted after he had read it, handing it to the waiting hands of both Komosatuo and Xiosle. "Well, it'll keep our minds occupied."

Kiomata'Ly, the one who really had to be impressed with the job, only stood with his arms crossed, his eyes thoughtful. It was only after Komosatuo and Xiosle had read over the parchment for themselves and handed it back to Yokoisumi, that he spoke.

"That sounds like a good job for our two youngest members," he pointed to Komosatuo and Xiosle, both of which received chuckles from the other three. "We will go speak to this Horus of the Civil Guard and find out the finer details to this cake walk. After that, the rest of us can enjoy hot tea at one of the more, finer, establishments of this city." His eyes smiled politely but Komosatuo saw something else in them that he was sure the others did not.

Revenge.

His stomach twisted into a knot as he slowly followed the other four down the street. Xiosle looked surprisingly calm, but Komosatuo could detect a slight sense of fear in him as well. This would be his first real mission under the gaze of his grandmaster. Mistakes, were not very often accepted.

*~*

"Two?" Horus V. Benahocker was a stout man, who was rapidly nearing his retiring age by the looks of him, and was seated lazily behind his great hickory stained desk in the offices of the Civil Guard, just a few blocks from the place where the ninja had found the wanted poster. He was slowly shaking his head now. “No, we don’t need two. One is all that will be required for this job, low security, low liability. Besides, we’ve already contacted a local man to help with the project, so all we need is one more slot filled.” He then shifted his gaze between each of the six men in front of him. “Still interested.”

“Ko nay Kiomatosa‘Ky, no toa Xiosle‘Ky.” We send Komosatuo, not young Xiosle. It was Kiomata’Ly that spoke and of the five, three nodded and two bowed deeply. The Captain-Lieutenant raised an eyebrow at this, and looked from the two that had bowed, to the three that had nodded, to the one that had spoken. His face spoke of confusion and doubt, but this was quickly replaced with understanding when it was translated into a language he could understand.

“Right,” he said gruffly, hauling himself out of his seat. “Which one of you then is this Komo fella?”

Komosatuo stepped forward and offered the man a small, respectful bow. Which the man returned, a little rustily, before he motioned toward a large pin board against one of the walls. “You’re contact on the inside will be a body servant, we’ve already spoken with him and he’ll be able to get you past the first gate. After that, it’s up to you to get in and get the job done. The details are all listed here. We’ve kept the name of the other fellow a secret for a reason. Should one or both of you get captured, you won’t be able to turn the other guy in and get us pinned. Like I said, small liability. If you die, we’ll deny all affiliation.”

Komosatuo, who had the entire time been casually looking over the details of his newest assignment, nodded absently and looked up at the Captain-Lieutenant. “Any restrictions I should know about?”

The man shook his head. “None, just do what it says and get the job done however possible. And don’t kill our other man, he’s an important asset to us and has been a big help. We don’t want to go losing him now, on this cake walk assignment.” Behind him Kiomata’Ly chuckled, as did the other four and the Captain-Lieutenant turned around to look at them. He shrugged uncomfortably after a moment and returned his attention back to Komosatuo. “Any other questions?”

The ninja shook his head, looking back to the paper.

“Good,” the man said as he returned to his seat. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have some paper work I need to fill out.” It was as clear a dismissal as any and the ninja all took their leave as one. Once outside the room, Xiosle grabbed a hold of Komosatuo’s shoulder.

“Good luck,” was all he said before giving it a gentle squeeze and then turning around to join the other four as they walked away.

That was standard behavior when a ninja took an assignment. To the rest of the clan, he didn’t exist from that point on. Only when he returned, alive and with the job complete, was he recognized. Should he return and it not be finished, he would be banished on the spot and then hunted down and killed. It was a cruel process, but one that had served his clan, and all the other eleven clans for generations, as a sure way to retain all secrecy on the job and those involved.

Still, watching his brother ninja turn their backs and just walk away from him without a word of goodbye or good luck, save for Xiosle’s break in custom, the ninja suddenly felt uneasy. So far as they were concerned, he no longer existed. It was disheartening, in a sense, to be alive and recognized one instant, then dead and cold to the world the next.

But is this not how life ends, for real?

Indeed, it was. And so, with squared shoulders and his mind set on the possibly long and difficult task ahead of him, the ninja set off down the long hall toward an uncertain future and the beginning of the rest of his unknown existence.

Breaker
09-16-07, 06:29 PM
The Present Day

Darren Barkema trudged gamely along the dry earthen path, each shuddering step kicking up a small cloud of dust. His rolling gait was that of a determined older man, a former athlete who could no longer move with the dexterity his body had celebrated in its youth. Despite the glaring sun, the day was crisp as an autumn leaf, the air cool enough to chill a man to the bone. Barkema wore baggy clothing, beige denim slacks and a canvas overcoat to match. Undoubtedly the style of dress had been chosen to conceal what had once been a muscular body, now gone to seed in the nether years of his life. Darren did not limp, but his legs had clearly been over the mountain once, or twice, or perhaps thrice too often. His head bowed, his one good eye concentrated on the well beaten road, wary of loose rocks or potholes that might trip him up.

Many years before, when he was a successful smuggler running caravans and river ships from one end of Corone to the other, Barkema had lost his left eye to a sadistic government inquisitor. The hardened old man now wore a black patch over the useless socket, adding to his garish appearance. His face was streaked with sweat and dirt, the skin beneath the grime sun darkened from long hours outdoors. A wide-brimmed hat protected the old man's eye from the sun's harmful rays. He tugged the hat lower, concealing the upper half of his face, and trudged onward.

The road was a long one, continuing for miles behind him before vanishing into the horizon at the crest of a high hill. Clusters of tough trees and blackthorn bushes dotted the landscape, but for the most part it was prairie land, the ground covered in motley brown grass. Ahead of Barkema, the road became a stone bridge which spanned a fast-flowing river. The smuggler's throat yearned to for a drop of water, begging him to make his way down to the river's edge and drink 'till he could not stand. The old man ignored his body's weakness, pushing it aside and concentrating on the task at hand. A short distance beyond the bridge, there was a blemish upon nature's terrain. A grand, well made blemish, true, but a blemish all the same. Darren had no appreciation for fine architechture or fancy gardens; he had slept under the stars most of his life, with nothing but a blanket (and sometimes not even that) for company.

The estate was a particularly grand one, grand enough that it made Barkema want to spit on it. He did not, however, unwilling to sacrifice the small amount of moisture his mouth retained. He had a little water in a flask concealed in a pocket, but was saving the precious liquid for when he truly needed it.

As he stepped onto the solid stone bridge, Darren raised the brim of his hat an inch, allowing himself a full view of the estate. He grunted in distaste. Caution had kept the old man alive so long, and he liked to be able to see any area he was about to enter. All that he could see was a grey stone wall, at least ten feet tall, and the upper story of the house within. It was a sprawling ranch abode, with many plate glass windows and fancy triflings; woodwork, coloured paint and such. Undoubtedly, the grass inside would be lush green, watered everyday by the estate's staff. The thought of so much wasted water again gave rise to the desire to spit.

"Now that's what you call ironic."

Beneath the grim mask my face had become, I was smiling. There was no trace of mirth in my eyes, but I was still amused by the turn my thoughts had taken. Impersonating someone else went so much deeper than dressing up like them; I had adopted the very core of Darren Barkema, a fictional smuggler successful in his trade. I trudged on at that frustratingly slow pace, never once breaking character. Ahead of me, the road made a straight line to the Cummingham Estate's gates. Setting myself on an arrow-like course, I continued at the same pace, closed my right eye and opened my left.

High above, where clouds would be found if there were any clouds, the angel eye drifted lazily. It was disconcerting; I found myself looking down on the Cummingham Estate from a bird's eye view, all the while trying not to stumble. I re-opened my right eye to allow for a little damage control, and immediately felt queasy. Dividing one's vision was not something the human brain took well to. I closed the eye behind the patch, telepathically commanding the angel eye to drift downwards, slowly. I had seen what I needed to see.

Barkema had been right about the landscape inside the walls; it was a rich forest green, the grass dark and fat with regular waterings. Speckles of color made up by various flowerbeds surrounded the ground house, which from above could be observed as brown thatchwork. There were stone paths leading around the estate, lined by tall hedges that looked like a maze from above. If things went sour and I had to run, the hedges would make excellent cover.

Darren Barkema's old legs shuddered to a halt outside the gate. Raising one dirty, gnarled hand, he yanked on the brown bell chord. A non-musical chime rang across the empty terrain, notifying those within that the visitor had arrived. Barkema's scowl deepened, he hated waiting around. I comforted the irate old man I had become, consoling words unheard by his ancient ears.

"Don't worry old man, in less than an hour you'll be holding what you came for, and when that happens I'll take over. Then you can go back to not existing again."