Mission Galore

Mission Details:

Alu adjusted the scarf wrapped tightly around their neck, muting the brisk evening air as they peered across the alleyway. The restaurant—a favorite haunt for stolen moments of warmth and anonymity—buzzed with activity. But tonight, a faint shift in the air was unmistakable. The flick of a fly against their cheek told the tale even before the murmurs reached their ears.

The old bathhouse.

For the better part of a year, it had been a convenient refuge. Its cracked tiles and mildewed corners offered an unassuming cover, and its disrepair promised solitude. The previous tenant, a figure Alu once called a contact and perhaps even a friend, had left a quiet void upon their untimely death. Alu had moved into the silence they left behind, filling it with clandestine plans and the occasional lapse in discipline. Now, that carelessness had come home to roost.

Word had spread that the bathhouse was under scrutiny. The increased flies—attributed to rotting detritus Alu hadn't bothered to clear—had drawn the ire of the restaurant owners and their patrons. Local authorities, or worse, curious neighbors, were bound to follow. Alu couldn't afford the questions that would arise, nor the prying eyes that might uncover traces of their identity.

The plan was simple in its structure yet demanding in execution: clear out anything that tied them to the place, salvage what might still hold value, and slip away before dawn.

Slipping into the bathhouse, Alu moved like a shadow. They hadn’t bothered to light the lantern; the familiarity of the space guided their hands. A stack of correspondence sat atop a rickety wooden table in the corner. Letters in a tight, meticulous hand—cryptic, yes, but dangerous in their implications. Each one bore remnants of a web they could no longer afford to linger within. Alu set them ablaze in a small iron brazier, watching as the paper curled into blackened ash.

Further exploration led them to a locked chest tucked beneath a half-collapsed bench. Alu hesitated, their gloved fingers tracing the intricate carvings. The chest had belonged to the old tenant. A parting gift, perhaps, or a trap for the unwary. After a moment's deliberation, they pried it open with a senbon. Inside lay a collection of ledgers and a sealed envelope. The handwriting on the envelope was unfamiliar but bore the tenant's signature sigil: a crow in flight.

The ledgers would fetch a price; they brimmed with records of names, locations, and dealings from a bygone era. The envelope was more perplexing—a key to a future Alu had not anticipated. It would require interpretation, but that was a problem for another time.

As the first light crept over the rooftops, Alu slipped out of the bathhouse for the last time. Their scarf, now damp with sweat, clung to their skin. The satchel slung over their shoulder felt heavier than it should have. They cast one final glance at the building before disappearing into the city’s labyrinthine streets.

The restaurant’s problem would soon resolve itself when the bathhouse was razed or refurbished. Alu’s problem, however, had only shifted. But with each trial, they sharpened their skills, shed their weaknesses, and moved closer to the unyielding clarity of purpose.

WC: 538
MWC: 538 | 1500

The rain drizzled lightly as Alu approached the edge of the farmland, his boots sinking slightly into the damp soil. A tangle of emotions churned in his chest—disgust, resolve, and the faintest flicker of curiosity. The farmhouse stood modestly in the distance, framed by the encroaching shadows of the surrounding trees. Inside, the alchemist—a producer of potions and remedies—worked tirelessly, blissfully unaware of the awaited fate.

Alu had no love for the local gang. Their leader's grip on the distribution of medical supplies had left countless people suffering. But Alu also knew that disrupting the gang’s delicate balance would draw bloodshed across the district, chaos the people could ill afford. Business, as the boss had so dryly put it, was business. A burned farmhouse was a warning, not a death sentence. The line was clear, and Alu had agreed to tread it.

He crouched by the treeline, surveying his surroundings. The farmhouse was fortified by overgrown hedges and an aging wooden fence, no doubt remnants of a time when the land was used for something simpler. The soft glow of a lantern in the window confirmed the alchemist’s presence and the faint scent of herbs mingled with the damp night air. It was almost peaceful—almost.

Alu tightened his gloves, feeling the familiar tension of leather against his hands. This was not the first time he had been tasked with carrying out a “message,” but it was one of the few he’d struggled with. His mind worked methodically through the task: infiltration, preparation, and ignition. A simple plan, one without the need for confrontation unless provoked.

With practiced precision, Alu scaled the fence, his movements muffled by the rainfall. He slipped into the barn adjacent to the house, its old wooden beams creaking softly under his weight. This was the first step. The barn, lined with sacks of hay and crates of supplies, was an ideal ignition point. He set to work, pouring a vial of oil he’d brought along, creating a pattern that would spread flames rapidly while leaving the surrounding forest untouched.

As he worked, he caught sight of something that gave him pause—a small bench tucked into the corner of the barn. On it lay handwritten notes, diagrams, and vials of unfinished concoctions. The alchemist was no criminal—this was the work of a healer. A healer stubborn enough to defy the gang’s monopolistic hold. Alu felt a pang of something foreign: admiration.

Yet the resolve returned. The gang’s warning had to be delivered. If not for him, someone less restrained would carry out the task. He lit the oil, watching the flames take hold, and retreated into the night, the barn now a beacon against the dark.

The farmhouse remained untouched, its inhabitants unharmed, but the message would be clear. Alu stood on the forest's edge, watching the fire’s glow reflect off the rain-slicked ground. He felt no pride in the act, only the cold calculation of necessity. It was a step in his journey—a trial by fire.
This, too, would shape him.

WC: 512
TWC: 1050
MWC: 1050 | 1500

Alu adjusted the strap of his satchel, his sharp eyes scanning the fading light of dusk. This wasn’t his usual sort of job. Merc work typically demanded Kunai and strategy, not sneaking off with an person’s peculiar pet. The note had been clear enough: secure one of the offspring from the old shinobi’s creature and deliver it to the backdoor of a bakery. Payment would be dropped from a window above, no questions asked.

The lack of details about the "pet" left him uneasy. Alu had heard tales of retired shinobi keeping everything from miniature drakes to shadow foxes. To prepare, he’d packed smoked fish, glittering trinkets, and a net designed to restrain creatures. Whatever it was, he’d be ready.

The cottage appeared at the forest’s edge, a squat, ivy-covered structure with faintly glowing Fuinjutsu seals marking its perimeter. Alu crouched in the underbrush, his practiced eye studying the intricate patterns. The faint hum of chakra-infused energy told him the seals weren’t lethal, but they’d still alert the shinobi if triggered.

Silently, he approached, his fingers deftly tracing the edges of the seals. Years of dismantling traps taught him the importance of precision. The seals were complex, with overlapping layers of chakra that required careful deactivation. One by one, their glowing lines dimmed under his touch until the path was clear. Alu slipped inside, the scent of aged wood and dried herbs filling his senses.

The interior was a chaotic snapshot of the shinobi’s former life. Maps, artifacts, and dusty tomes cluttered every surface, but his attention was drawn to the hearth. Near the embers lay a small basket and a soft, shifting movement within it.

He approached carefully, crouching low to avoid startling whatever was inside. Four tiny creatures nestled together, their forms dappled in the warm light. They resembled kittens—if kittens had tufted ears, serpent-like tails, and a faint, shimmering glow to their fur. One stirred, blinking up at him with large, luminous eyes.

“Easy now,” Alu whispered, reaching into his satchel. He pulled out a piece of smoked fish, holding it out. The creature sniffed, chirped softly, and hopped into his hand with surprising agility. It was light, no larger than a small melon, its tail curling around his wrist.

“That’s it,” Alu murmured, slipping the creature into the satchel.

The way out was smoother than the way in; the seals didn’t react to his departure. Moving swiftly through the trees, Alu felt the tension in his shoulders ease as he approached the quiet town. The bakery loomed ahead, unassuming and dark save for a faint light in the upstairs window.

He set the satchel down at the backdoor, carefully lifting the creature out. It chirped once, then sat obediently on the cobblestones. Moments later, a small pouch of coins dropped from the window above, landing with a soft clink.

Alu pocketed the pouch, and his task was complete. Who wanted such a strange creature, and for what purpose? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t about to ask. The job was done, and the payment was secure. Whatever happened next wasn’t his concern. He disappeared into the shadows, already planning for his next task.

[Exit]

WC: 528
TWC: 1578
MWC: 1578 | 1500

Claims:
+3000 Ryo, +15 AP
+1500 WC purely towards training AP at 4 AP for 100 WC 1500/100=15 > 15x4= +60 Bonus AP
Discarding the remainder

Alu wrote:

[Exit]

WC: 528
TWC: 1578
MWC: 1578 | 1500

Claims:
+3000 Ryo, +15 AP
+1500 WC purely towards training AP at 4 AP for 100 WC 1500/100=15 > 15x4= +60 Bonus AP
Discarding the remainder

Approved