Member
Taka
vietmyke
NoriWasHere
Letter Bee
veenknight343Maema Nisshoku
The time to strike has come!
Maema stood casually beside, Roga, a detached expression frozen on his face. It was obvious he was feigning some kind playful disinterest in the situation. It was a skill, one to exude calm during hyper-aggressive situations. Outwardly this was effective. Inwardly, Maema was beginning to think it was a useless ploy. A stormed filled his being. Fear, anxiety, and a tad bit of excitement rolled and coiled inside. His arms shivered with anticipation.
The moment Senhime presented them with their “chariots” Maema descended down it. His smirk had faded into a thin line of unassuming analytical discovery as he accessed the situation. His sandals tapped against the ground. The moment they did, he noticed Roga engaging an enemy and Akumako dealing with another. A uniformed man approached Maema from his side, receiving a apathetic glance in return.
The smell of timber drifted in the air. Maema realized it came from the roughly hewed staff in the opposition's hands or perhaps the smell had stained him perpetually. The rather average looking ninja held a confidence in his eyes and a frivolous smile on his face.
Maema felt like he was a talker.
“I’m not usually into beating on girls but I can make an exception for you.”
Maema narrowed his eyes harshly at the man before dropping onto the relic he called a scabbard. For some reason that act seemed to be the catalyst for the pre-destined battle. The man dashed towards him spinning the splintered staff in his hands with finesse. With a calculated retreat Maema leaped back, unclipped his scabbard from its place on his side, and bounced the man’s hasty attack off the sturdy sheathe. In the same moment, the enemy unnaturally twisted his body, and whipped the scabbard with the staff three times. Behind that thin frame was a profound moxie, it was almost worth it to have battled the young warrior. Maema had been reminded that prodigious luck was not always the key to victory, this man’s skill was going to force him to use his Kekkei-Tota.
The time to attack was forced upon him when the man turned out to be relentless. The shinobi bent the staff like rubber and stabbed out at him as if it was a spear. It was a tad overwhelming. The moment Maema gleamed an opening to attack, the shinobi hesitated and became uncomfortable. He blinked before continuing his action; Maema willed Kusari ( the halo-like, silverish, oval and tendrils that lived inside) to impale, disarmed, and sling the man into the ground savagely.
A groan hissed into the air from the prone adversary, in the same instance the mercury oval blinked out of existence. Maema loosened his tense jaw just a bit. “Fucking idiot,” he uttered, his scabbard in hand. A moment of respite was interrupted when he felt someone’s eyes on him. He looked in Roga’s direction. The guy's red battle-suit was flashy if nothing else and his prying or concern was met by a hard nod.
The moment Senhime presented them with their “chariots” Maema descended down it. His smirk had faded into a thin line of unassuming analytical discovery as he accessed the situation. His sandals tapped against the ground. The moment they did, he noticed Roga engaging an enemy and Akumako dealing with another. A uniformed man approached Maema from his side, receiving a apathetic glance in return.
The smell of timber drifted in the air. Maema realized it came from the roughly hewed staff in the opposition's hands or perhaps the smell had stained him perpetually. The rather average looking ninja held a confidence in his eyes and a frivolous smile on his face.
Maema felt like he was a talker.
“I’m not usually into beating on girls but I can make an exception for you.”
Maema narrowed his eyes harshly at the man before dropping onto the relic he called a scabbard. For some reason that act seemed to be the catalyst for the pre-destined battle. The man dashed towards him spinning the splintered staff in his hands with finesse. With a calculated retreat Maema leaped back, unclipped his scabbard from its place on his side, and bounced the man’s hasty attack off the sturdy sheathe. In the same moment, the enemy unnaturally twisted his body, and whipped the scabbard with the staff three times. Behind that thin frame was a profound moxie, it was almost worth it to have battled the young warrior. Maema had been reminded that prodigious luck was not always the key to victory, this man’s skill was going to force him to use his Kekkei-Tota.
The time to attack was forced upon him when the man turned out to be relentless. The shinobi bent the staff like rubber and stabbed out at him as if it was a spear. It was a tad overwhelming. The moment Maema gleamed an opening to attack, the shinobi hesitated and became uncomfortable. He blinked before continuing his action; Maema willed Kusari ( the halo-like, silverish, oval and tendrils that lived inside) to impale, disarmed, and sling the man into the ground savagely.
A groan hissed into the air from the prone adversary, in the same instance the mercury oval blinked out of existence. Maema loosened his tense jaw just a bit. “Fucking idiot,” he uttered, his scabbard in hand. A moment of respite was interrupted when he felt someone’s eyes on him. He looked in Roga’s direction. The guy's red battle-suit was flashy if nothing else and his prying or concern was met by a hard nod.
