Mist District

[Davon]

Yumaro stands in the heart of the bloody mist forest, his breath steady, his gaze piercing through the dense red fog that cloaks the twisted trees and damp earth. His skin shimmers with a faint layer of sweat as he centers his focus, channeling his energy into the core of his shikotsumyaku, the dead bone pulse. The mist presses around him, thick and chilling, seeming to hold its breath as it awaits the destructive dance about to unfold.

With a sharp inhale, Yumaro’s arms begin to shift, bones sliding under his skin as they extend and reshape, forming barrels of pure, hardened bone along his back. These structures twist and curve, growing into channels as thick as his wrists and as long as his arms, their surfaces ridged and reinforced to withstand the coming onslaught. The mist hangs low, swirling around him like a living thing, almost drawn to his dark energy, crackling with the raw potential of nintaijutsu.

As he gathers his chakra, his Water Release merges into the bone barrels, filling them with a heavy, surging pressure. He feels the liquid weight building, the raw elemental energy coiling like a taut spring ready to snap. The bones pulse with a faint, eerie blue glow, matching the intensity in Yumaro's eyes. With a deep exhale, he thrusts his arms forward, and twin torrents of water explode from the bone barrels, crashing forth with deadly precision.

The high-pressure water jets slam into a cluster of massive, jagged boulders ahead. The impact is nothing short of catastrophic—the stone shudders as cracks spiderweb across its surface, splintering under the brutal force. Water fragments into droplets upon impact, creating a thin, deadly mist that sprays in all directions, slicing through foliage and leaving slashes on nearby trees. The forest itself seems to recoil, the bloody mist curling away from the violent display of power, as though it senses Yumaro’s wrath.

He adjusts his stance, shifting his weight and angling his arms, directing the water flow with calculated control. His intention is clear: precision, power, and adaptability. The jets twist and carve through the air like serpents, smashing through boulders, sending chunks of stone flying, reducing what once stood firm to crumbled ruins. The training is intense, an assault on both his stamina and his resolve, each blast honing his ability to balance destructive force with razor-sharp control.

Yumaro pauses, feeling the weight of his training as the mists swirl back in, cloaking the shattered remains around him. The bloody mist forest stands silent again, as though paying tribute to his power. But within that silence lies a lingering resonance—a reminder of the destruction he can unleash and the precise control he now wields over his Kekkei Genkai and elemental affinity.
Location: Kirigakure Training Ground
Posting Order: Yumaro→ ???
Post Time Limit (PTL): 3 Days
Skip Points: lll​

 

[Dante]

EARLIER THAT DAY
Kuro, standing tall near the window, could feel the tension in the room thickening. His blood sang at the thought of reclaiming the lost swords — tools not just of war, but of legacy. His Yuki blood demanded action, not patience. Clenching his fist lightly, he stepped forward, speaking first among the advisors.

"We should move before the trail grows colder," Kuro said, his voice sharp like cracking ice. "If the Leaf have the blade, then waiting will only give them time to hide it better... or to turn it against us."

Across the table, Mizuchi remained calm, his fingers laced together in thought. Unlike Kuro’s fiery nature, Mizuchi was a strategist, a master of the currents beneath the surface. His silver eyes half-lidded, he offered a more tempered opinion.

"Brute force might reveal our intentions too soon," Mizuchi said coolly. "The Rain's whispers could be bait, and the Leaf aren't fools. We need a confirmation first — a shadow investigation. Then, if the sword is truly there..." His lips curved into a small, cold smile. "We can strike hard enough that they don't even know what hit them."

Yuki — the young leader — listened carefully. Kuro's passion, Mizuchi's precision... both were necessary. To claim the Seven Swords was not just a mission; it was a statement to the world that the Mist would no longer be underestimated. And he, standing on the cusp of a new future, would not allow shadows or rumors to dictate their destiny. With resolve burning in his chest, Yuki finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of command.

"It's time for us to show the exact reason to why we are known as the Bloody Mist village, this is why all will be heard and spoke on here. We will need a team to find what is missing and what is lost."

Both men bowed, understanding the gravity of the task ahead. In the silent vow shared between them, the future began to move.


Current

The moonlight spilled through the battered windows of the council chamber, its silver glow barely illuminating the scars left from the Shadow Realm’s assault. Smoke still clung to the farthest corners of the room, and the blood of comrades and enemies alike had barely dried. Yet amidst the wreckage, two figures stood steady — Kuro and Mizuchi — their silhouettes sharp against the pale light awaiting for the arrival of others. Some advisers drifted to the many seats which situated within the chamber. It was time for the arrival of the others; those who stood at the pinnacle of the mist interns of swordsmanship

Kuro broke the silence first, his arms crossed, the weight of the recent battle still heavy on his broad shoulders. His voice was low but burned with determination.

"We can’t afford another attack like that," Kuro growled, his eyes burning like embers. "The Mist needs its teeth back. It’s time we bring the Seven Swordsmen together again — for real this time. Not legends. Living, breathing warriors."

Mizuchi, ever composed, leaned against a cracked pillar, his mind already racing through the possibilities. "The swords are scattered. Some in enemy hands, some hidden, and some... unworthy of their wielders," he said with a trace of disdain. "We can't just gather anyone. We need wielders who will embody the Mist’s will — not cowards, not pretenders."

Kuro smirked darkly. "Then we find them. If they exist, we drag them from the corners of the world. If they don't..." he flexed his fingers, imagining the feel of a hilt in his grip, "we forge them ourselves."

Mizuchi nodded thoughtfully, tapping two fingers against his chin. "First step is recovering the remaining swords. Without them, we're just assembling a pack of dogs. With them..." His voice sharpened. "We become a storm no one can withstand. Even the Shadow Realm will learn fear."

Kuro grinned, his usual bloodthirsty enthusiasm flaring. "We’ll make them remember why the Mist was feared."

Mizuchi turned toward the shattered map table, brushing aside debris to reveal the Mist's territorial markings. "We’ll need a plan. A quiet hand to retrieve the swords... and a loud one to make an example out of those who dare hold them against us."

Kuro stepped up beside him, his hand slamming onto the table, cracking it further. This seemed to be a chess game between two great minded individuals

"I’ll be the loud one, because sometimes we need to be bold and not fold."

Mizuchi allowed himself a rare, approving smirk. "Good. I’ll make sure there’s a path for you to storm through."

The two locked eyes, the unspoken agreement sealing between them; “Rebuild the Seven Swordsmen. Rebuild the Mist. Crush all who stand in the way.”

Outside, the battered village seemed to stir under the night wind, as if sensing the old power beginning to awaken once again.
There was a meeting to be held — and all the Seven Swordsmen who currently carried the weight of a blade carried more than just steel: they bore the hopes of a nation... or the seeds of its condemnation. Especially under the eyes of two figures whose judgment could not be escaped: Mizuchi, the former Mizukage, whose rule had been cold, efficient, and merciless; and Kuro Yuki, the current Kage — young, fierce, and determined to carve a new era with blood and iron.

The meeting was only missing some key figures who had to be late or just making it within the chambers just as the others had been. It was an almost a filled gathering of officials from various hierarchy of the village or even the country itself. The seven swordmen were the only thing missing now, but each received a message branded by the Mizukage himself, about the time and date and the complete urgency of this meet.
Each swordsman, whether loyal, ambitious, or hesitant, had been called to the old mist chamber/shrine— the heart of the village, where the legacy of the Mist’s brutality still lingered in the walls.

Refusing to appear was not an option. It was understood without being said: attendance was a test. One did not deny the will of the Mist without consequence. Inside the shrine, candles flickered against the damp stone, casting long shadows across the room where Kuro and Mizuchi stood at the head of a weathered, circular table. Before them lay seven empty stands, each carved with the ancient emblem of the Mist, awaiting the swords that would complete them. Kuro stood silently, arms crossed, his presence alone demanding respect.
Mizuchi, seated beside him, wore a more calculating expression — noting every creak of the door, every hesitation in the arriving footsteps. He hoped that;

"One by one, the bearers of the legendary swords entered:
Some proud, their blades gleaming with fresh kills.
Some wary, sensing the undercurrent of judgment thickening the air.
And others, broken by battles past, hiding their shame behind lowered gazes."

Location: Mist Mansion
Posting Order: Kuro Yuki → ??? →???
Post Time Limit (PTL): 3 Days.
Skip Points: lll​

 

[LordSnxw]

“Well, I suppose I should get my act together..”

The large building that bore the symbol of the Mizukage was no place he wasn’t familiar with. Oftentimes would be one of only three places that he would frequent; the other two being his home and his training area. Due to the frequent missions that either keep him away or busy he has formed an unspoken understanding with those who work within the building and they just allow him to come and go as he pleases. Along with being one of the go-to shinobi within the village, it was also understood that he was the cousin of the current Kage, Kuro Yuki. Being the trusted cousin of a village head had its perks but they were something he cared little for, as he always pledged to fulfill his duty one way or another. He still walked the village as if he were one of the common folk, uncaring of the looks he receives, the silent judgement behind his back he never so much as blocked at, his sole focus was his duty as a Shinobi and a swordsman. Clad in his black shinobi attire, complete with the traditional Hidden Mist Flak Jacket and his Mist headband tightly fastened to his dreaded skull. His light blue eyes pierced with intention as he sauntered through the hallways and staircases to reach the top floor of the office, he was to understand that a meeting was to take place, the first meeting in a long time for the Swordsmen of the Hidden Mist.

Aōi, being the youngest of the seven members and the most recent addition to the order, this would be his first time ingratiating himself among the rest and meeting the other men. He was close with only one from the order as the two of them came up as younger shinobi. He expected him to arrive shortly as well, it would be good to see him as it would have been some time since they last spoke. The others however, he was unsure of how they would all behave. As he stepped closer towards the meeting room, the weight of the two murderous weapons upon his back began to feel heavy. As if it were weighed down by the anticipation of seeing its sword sisters. The chakra that would soon accumulate within the room would be palpable. Would they be worthy of their ranks and titles? Are they pompous and arrogant as their legend may make it out to seem? Would they be cool-headed and collected? All he could do was close his eyes and grin slightly as he bowed his head down to stifle a chuckle, hard as it was he fully expected the worst out of these situations but was intrigued nonetheless. Finally reaching the door for the meeting, he stopped just short and just simply stared at the grains of wood in the entrance before him. Many thoughts rushed through his head, but fear wasn’t one of them. What was on the forefront of his mind was getting through the meeting and figuring out how to properly deal with the fallout later on. He calmly breathed in, then out before clasping the doorknob and turning it right.

Within the room he found but two people, and no other swordsmen. He sighed. It would appear that he was the youngest and would seem to have the best sense of time. Aōi nodded to his cousin and then to the other man, the former Mizukage, Mizuchi. The young shinobi then removed the twin lightning blades from his back and placed them before him as he eased himself into one of the seven seats, choosing to seat some distance from the Kage and his advisor, so as he can reserve a perfect vantage point of everyone and thing within the room. With the lightning swords placed before him, wrapped in bandages so as not to reveal their dangerous edge was all the proof he needed to be present within this room. Serving as a badge to be seated at a table full of some of the most deadly Shinobi the Mist has produced within a generation. “Lord Mizukage, Lord Mizuchi, it's a pleasure.” Aōi said. He knew he didn’t have to be so formal with his cousin but within the eyes of high ranking officials, the proper respect must be laid. The young swordsman calmly awaited the rest of the men with the politicians, he wasn’t much for small talk of this kind but would be prepared for it when necessary.

One way or another, he would be prepared of this meeting and whatever outcome it would have in store for he and his brethren.

---

Location: Mizukage Office
Posting Order: Kuro Yuki → Aōi Yuki → ???
Post Time Limit (PTL): 3 Days
Skip Points: lll

​

---

 

[Fox]

A fit of grumbling and low murmurs echoed from behind the door, followed by the sound of something heavy being dragged across the dimly lit hallway—eerily reminiscent of a scene from a horror film. The noise scraped and rattled along the cracked tile floor, sending a chill through the stale air. Faint mumbles trailed after it, drifting in and out of clarity, as if spoken through clenched teeth—laced with disdain and lingering frustration over what had unfolded in Amegakure. It wasn’t just the mission that had left a sour taste in his mouth—it was the people. The so-called allies he had been forced to work with. Yumaro, for one, had done nothing but complicate things, acting on his own and vanishing when it mattered most. Then there was that other man—more mystery than person—who had disappeared just as abruptly as he'd arrived, taking all explanations with him. Yet, he had left the Executioner's Blade behind. Over time, it became clear why that had left him so upset. Though his time with the leader of Amegakure and then in another country hadn’t been a complete waste, it certainly hadn’t been without its frustrations.

"That bastard could’ve helped me carry it... Damn you, Yumaro," he muttered, voice low and bitter, every word dragging with the same weight as the weapons trailing behind him. The door creaked open as he stepped into the corridor, facing the group—though he paid them no mind, seemingly lost in his own world. His back was hunched beneath the burden he carried, his appearance far from dignified. His cloak hung unevenly, dust-stained and torn near the hem. The Hōzuki bore one half of the mighty Hiramekarei strapped across his back, held in place by a makeshift bandage wrap stretched taut under the weapon’s heft. His posture tilted slightly to one side, compensating for the imbalance. In his hands, he gripped the hilts of two massive blades—Executioner's Blade and Shibuki—their edges dragging across the floor with a screech that left faint scars in the stone. Sparks danced from the steel as it scraped the ground, flickering dimly in the hallway shadows like fading echoes of the recent battle.

“Talking about—ack,” he muttered again, mimicking, “‘how you’re royalty,’ argh... Like you're too good to carry anything without—WITHOUT—your usual elegance... compromised..”

His breath came hard—not from fatigue, but sheer exasperation directed at Yumaro. Every step reminded him how alone he'd been left to clean up the mess.

If this was what passed for "teamwork," he’d rather go it alone next time.

His appearance was unkempt—more so than usual—as if the weight of the mission had begun to melt him from the inside out. His skin seemed to slowly dissolve like wax beneath a flame, liquefied by the exhaustion etched deep into his face. Every step looked labored, his movements sluggish—drained not just physically, but to the very core of his being. At last, he slumped into the chair that bore the symbol of the Hiramekarei, its sides flanked by the two massive swords.
​

"What did I miss?"​

The man spoke, completely unaware of what had transpired during the mission that led Yumaro and Higetsu to Amegakure, nor of the unexpected discoveries that awaited them, such as the Yuki he had met, who was now the Mizukage. The man had been redirected to this location by a guard at the border, who stated that they were to be summoned to the meeting—something that, as he figured, meant they had made it back in time. However, as for understanding the purpose or reason, it was something he was not aware of.

Location: Mizukage Office
Posting Order: Kuro Yuki → Aōi Yuki → Higetsu →
Post Time Limit (PTL): 3 Days
Skip Points: lll

 

[Baldhead]

There are names in Kirigakure that echo louder than others. Not because they are noble or because they are beloved. But because they survive. Umirama Momochi is one such name. Born of the low-caste Momochi clan, one of the old bloodlines that stained the era of the Bloody Mist. He rose from the gutters of Kirigakure’s cruelty with nothing but silence, steel, and spite. With no secret techniques or kekkei genkai to rely on to open doors. Only the relentless pressure of surviving in a village that sharpened its shinobi like blades… then tested them on each other.

Born as a prodigy in the art of silence and death. He was selected young to serve as Hunter-nin, tracking down defectors and traitors with the patience of a tide and the precision of a needle. He never returned with a body still breathing, a bad habit depending on the mission. But now his name is whispered again. This time, not in fear, but in recognition. *A candidate for the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist.* One step from inheriting the steel legacy of Kirigakure’s deadliest Shinobi. But many in the village already speak of him as something else.

"Chigiri no Yūrei" – The Ghost of the Bloody Mist."

Rumors say that he doesn’t walk, he appears. That his blade doesn’t clash, it whispers and you only know he was there when the silence is broken… by blood hitting the floor.

Inside an alleyway filled with mist and a scent of blood, two figures lie broken on the ground. Bones bent, mouths red and Umirama stands between them and the exit, one man still gasping for air while being pinned to the wall in the alleyway. The man chokes on his own breath, smeared blood dripping from his split lip as Umirama’s hand tightens around his collar. His face is unreadable, calm as the weather before a storm breaks out. Umirama leans in, his voice low and cold as mist curling around the ankles.

“Speak ill of the Bloody Mist again…and I’ll show you why ghosts still walk these streets.”

With a flick of his arm, he hurls the man down deeper into the alley. The body hits a stone with a groaning, more from fear than pain. But Umirama’s attention has already shifted. His eyes snap toward the exit of the alley. Drawn by the sound of metal scraping against stone as a silhouette emerges through the haze. Higetsu, one of the Seven Swordsmen. Even among killers, he’s a legend. Dragging behind him two monstrous blades, Kubikiribōchō and Shibuki (Executioner’s Blade and the Blastsword) Umirama’s golden eyes widen slightly. In the same instant, a thought pierces his mind like a blade through flesh

“The meeting, the one the Mizukage has summoned me for!”

He was supposed to be there, any minute now. The mist stirs around his ankles and without a word, Umirama falls into step. His boots echoed lightly against the damp stone as he walked behind Higetsu, trailing him at a distance of ten to fourteen feet. The massive blades scraped against the ground ahead like the tolling of a funeral bell. Umirama’s hands remained tucked into his pockets, his expression unreadable beneath the faint mist that always seemed to linger around him. Following in silence through the corridors of the Mizukage’s tower, up the steps where history had been written in blood. Until they reached the meeting room. Higetsu entered first, taking his place with the weight and certainty of a man who had already carved his name into legend. Next to him on the sides are the two blades he brought with him.

Umirama on the other hand, paused at the doorway. His golden eyes flicked across the room, silent and observing. He wasn’t sure why he had been called to this place… but he had his guesses. His time was near. The whispers in the mist had grown louder. It was time for the candidate to become one of the Seven.


Then he had spotted him, the only one of the swordsmen he knew from before, Aōi Yuki. An old friend, seated already with his pair of the blades. Their paths had not crossed in some time, but his presence brought a subtle warmth to the cold, tense air. Then, his gaze shifted towards the Mizukage, Kuro Yuki. Him being one of the swordsmen and the Kage over the Bloody Mist. Without hesitation, Umirama stepped forward into the room and bowed deeply. His eyes followed the movement, lowered out of respect.

"You called for me, Lord Mizukage... Lord Mizuchi."

He rose once more, now standing tall before them all in the room.

Location: Mizukage Office
Posting Order: Kuro Yuki → Aōi Yuki → Higetsu → Umirama → ???
Post Time Limit (PTL): 3 Days
Skip Points: lll


​

 

[Davon]

He walked through the village, carrying only the burden of his responsibility—the sentient blade among the Seven Swords. Once the wielder of Nuibari, he had mastered its use well enough to safeguard the Mist District. For a time, he had relinquished the legendary weapon to the previous, unofficial Mizukage—a fleeting figure who vanished as suddenly as she had appeared. The disappointment lingered. The Sewing Needle had been reduced to a tool passed between hands barely strong enough to grip its hilt. A sigh escaped him as he moved through the streets of Kirigakure. Rumors about his identity had begun to circulate. Most knew little of Yumaro, just as he preferred it. Yet a weapon of such renown drew attention, whether he wanted it or not. Another sigh left Yumaro’s lips.

His destination was the Mizukage's chambers, where he was to meet the newly seated leader. Yumaro's emerald-green eyes were fixed on the back of Umirama’s head, several feet ahead alongside Higetsu. As the others stepped into the corridor of the meeting hall and took their designated places, Yumaro followed in silence, his presence as quiet and heavy as the blade he bore.He stood against the wall, his eyes shifting across each individual who had arrived. He had no desire to speak, nor to meet with anyone. He saw none as his equal—and for that reason, he refused to sit among them. His respect for the previous Mizukage had long since withered—each one abandoning their post as if the title held no weight. So who could possibly convince Yumaro that this time would be any different? Higetsu, though not Yumaro’s equal, had earned his respect—for standing firm against a force the rest of the swordsmen had never even faced. Their exact whereabouts during the last assault remained unknown, and in the eyes of an apex predator like Yumaro, such absence could only be seen as cowardice.

He began to wonder if this meeting was even necessary. Hopefully, his time wouldn’t be squandered by yet another ineffective leader and a room full of wasteful swordsmen.

Location: Mizukage Office
Posting Order: Kuro Yuki → Aōi Yuki → Higetsu → Umirama → ???
Post Time Limit (PTL): 3 Days
Skip Points: lll​

 

[GraveBarghest]

Sudden summons for a night time meeting was enough to give an excited shiver, one specifically for the Seven Swordsmen though...that meant something big was happening.

How exciting.

Black under-suit, blue jacket with the sleeves rolled up and snapped into place, long enough sorts for the temperature, and of course the symbol of Kirigakure shinning in the moonlight of her metal hair piece. Momo Kubajachi always stood tall as she walked through the streets when the sun was down. Her ōdachi rested on her shoulder as Momo held it like a polearm. She hadn't dressed to impress, but maybe she should have. Momo had heard a lot of talk about the other Swordsmen. An intimidating lot, the kunoichi would have to be strong to deal with them all. To hold her own around them.

Momo had to give enough of an explanation for when she finally came to the building. The guards let her in and she walked through the dark hallways. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. Taking a deep breath, Momo puts that large smile on her face and squares her shoulders. Entering the room, she goes to the place that has to be her spot.

"Lord Mizukage," Momo bows to the man. Momo places the ōdachi next to her seat. She wanted to keep it within reach.

"How's it going, everyone?" she asks as she sits down. "I hope we've all been having a good night."

And Momo was right, every else in that room was a predator.

Location: Mizukage Office
Posting Order: Kuro Yuki → Aōi Yuki → Higetsu → Umirama → Momo
Post Time Limit (PTL): 3 Days
Skip Points: lll​

 

[Dante]

The door closed behind them with a heavy thud, sealing them inside a chamber steeped in secrets, pain, and death. The air was thick with a history so grim it made even the most fearsome legends seem trivial. Though the mist still clung to its bloodstained legacy, time had passed—days and years slipping by with an almost cruel indifference, aging everything but never cleansing the past. Guards stationed themselves at every exit, their presence forming an unbroken wall of vigilance—from the main entrance to the hidden door at the rear. Each stood poised and silent, their eyes scanning with purpose, ensuring that no one entered… or escaped unnoticed even their chakra signatures. These men represented the Mizukage served within his squadron of hunters within their own rights. Men with abilities which represented and presented the entire theme of the village. The folklores and mythologies of a once-glorious nation lingered just within the village’s sights—echoes of a historic era etched into the land like forgotten whispers. Though time had buried much beneath blood and mist, remnants of that ancient glory still pulsed faintly, waiting to be awakened by those bold enough to seek
Them,

Kuro stood amidst a gathering of men—dignitaries, officials, and seasoned shinobi—each a living testament to the bloody, unyielding history of the Hidden Mist. His icy Yuki eyes swept across the room with quiet intensity, measuring every face and every presence. He said nothing, letting the silence hang as heavy as the mist outside. He waited patiently, unmoving, until the last murmurs faded and each figure settled into their seat with cautious comfort. Though he hadn't spoken, he had acknowledged every person who walked through the doors—his gaze alone enough to let them know they were seen.

“You were all called here to understand the state of the Mist village. You all know by now that we were attacked by an unknown force which collectively took down our defenses and damaged the integrity of our country.”

Completely he paused, as he gave the whispers and lips of his name sayers a moment to comment. Mizuchi who sat with a slight grin upon his face, patted his hand upon the other young Yuki. “Do you wish to know why he was chosen?” The legend lamented to Aōi Yuki.

“I was chosen to be one to tell you we need to strike back, we lost part of an heirloom.”

Kuro’s gaze shifted toward Higestu and Yumaro—the only two who had faced the titanic force that had torn through the land with unmatched power and brutal intent. This monstrous figure had ravaged everything in his path, leaving destruction behind and claiming a fragment of the legendary blade Hiramekarei. His purpose remained shrouded in mystery, but his strength had been undeniable. In that chaos, only Higestu and Yumaro had stood their ground. They were the last two swordsmen within the village who had witnessed the devastation firsthand and lived to tell of it. Their presence now carried a silent weight—a testimony of survival and valor in the face of something nearly mythic.

Of course, he had not been within the village walls during the chaos. Instead, he resided deep within the territory of Mizuchi—the Sea Salt Country—a distant, ocean-bordered land far from the Hidden Mist. Yet even from that distance, the weight of defeat carried itself across the tides and winds, seeping into the very soil of Mizuchi’s realm. Whispers of ruin reached the ears of the village leader, Kuro, who now bore the burden of mending hearts and lifting the broken spirits left in the aftermath. The tide had turned against them, and though he had not fought in that battle, the responsibility of restoration fell squarely on his shoulders.


“Higetsu. Yumaro. What have you two brought back from your most recent conquest?”

Kuro’s voice cut through the silence—measured, cold, and commanding. His icy gaze remained steady, the sharp chill behind it masking any flicker of emotion. There was something compact and restrained in his expression, like a storm held tight behind frost-covered glass.

His eyes shifted slightly, taking note of the dragging sound echoing faintly through the hallways before the weapons even came into view. The heavy scrape of metal against stone—he hadn’t missed it. He rarely missed anything. Where sound might fail, Kuro’s eyes did not. They saw what others overlooked. They always had, now that they were seated he could ensure it was known that nothing had escaped his glance.

Among the gathered, others who bore the legacy of the Seven Swordsmen in their own right sat in silent observation; Umirama, Momo. Soma stood the only one who was not a part of the congregation who bore one of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist who gathered in the chambers. Though they did not speak, their presence was palpable—seasoned warriors and inheritors of blades forged in blood and legend. Kuro watched with measured interest, assessing not only Higetsu and Yumaro but also the state of what they returned with.

Location: Mist Mansion
Posting Order: Kuro Yuki → Aōi Yuki → Higetsu → Yumaro →Umirama → Momo
Post Time Limit (PTL): 3 Days.
Skip Points: lll​

 

[LordSnxw]

“Well, I suppose I should get my act together..”

Just as he settled into his seat to begin exchanging pleasantries with the village officials, his ear perked up as he heard faint scraping grow ever more present from down the hall. Aōi’s eyes squinted before he could say anything more, nearly grabbing the Kiba blades clean off the table out of defensive instinct, but there seemed to be no cause for concern as the scraping had some level of irregularity to it, as it would grow closer, grunts and under-breathe complaints could be heard as well. This allowed him to re-settle himself, as it just appeared to potentially be an assistant carrying an egregious amount of documents and other equipment or articles. He was half right, as the salmon-haired Hōzuki abruptly made his entrance, holding what seemed to be an arduous amount of baggage. The young swordsman could only watch with a blank face as he struggled to not only get through the door, but also place himself down into a seat all while struggling to hold onto what would appear to be the Executioner's blade, Kubikiribōchō and…”Is that…?” he asked himself, he wondered if his eyes were incorrect, but, as per usual they never seemed to be off. Higetsu Hōzuki returned with one half of the twinsword, Hiramekarei. “What did I miss?” was the first thing he said. A well-done feat indeed, but, it does beg the question as to why the other half still remains missing. He stares at the broken artifact, then at Higetsu directly, then towards Kuro Yuki to gauge his facial expression at the current discovery. Then, the young Yuki let out a light chuckle, stifled by his hand quickly covering his mouth.

His attention would then be diverted once again, seeming to be reunited with someone whom he once knew. Giving him a slight grin as he walked through the door, it was in fact great to see that Umirama has been inducted into the order of swordsmen as well. Given that he did not come with his presented blade, it would seem that he would become the new owner to either one that was currently brought here through the sheer force of will from Higetsu. He opted to stand, greeting the Mizukage and his advisor upon his arrival, he wondered if it was because he did not yet formally hold a blade, choosing to stand before properly being introduced into the ranks. They had much to catch up on should the time call for it afterwards. Then in came another, white in hair, green of eyes with familiar red facial markings. The shinobi of note was assuredly Yumaro of the Dead Sea. One of the final sons of the Kaguya legacy and the holder of the living blade, Samehada. He too chose not to take a seat at the table, holding an air of superiority and distaste of the occasion, one would think why he bothered to come if he felt as though those present were beneath him. For someone so seemingly impressive, giving the time of day to your chosen order would only be a courtesy, but he treats it as a given right. “Death is also a given right…wonder which will be met first.” he thought. He paid him no more mind.

Finally, last but not least, a woman walked in. Sultry in appearance and bodacious in figure, but a killer through and through, if she wasn't. She would have a harder time amongst these men than the ones she may find calling out to her within Kirigakure. She gave off a friendly disposition, greeting everyone in the room polite enough, but was met with only a small glance from the young Yuki himself before returning his attention back to his cousin. Although he just met some of them, he didn’t think too much of any of the teammates he had within this order outside of one. Despite his youth, he could see the cracks and mistrust between them. Not a single soul here likes one another. Like a gang of Thunderbolts all trying to strike the same area. Only a mess could follow.

It wouldn’t be long after everyone had arrived, the door shut itself it would seem as if on instinct knowing no one else was to arrive. Kuro, getting to his feet to address the room full of seasoned Shinobi, scanning the room as if looking into their deeper intentions, searching for what they may hide, digging for what they lack. He paused before speaking, and only spoke when he was sure he had their full attention.

“You were all called here to understand the state of the Mist village. You all know by now that we were attacked by an unknown force which collectively took down our defenses and damaged the integrity of our country.” he said before pausing again to allow the murmurs to settle. Mizuchi then stood, taking his hand to lightly place on Aōi’ as if he spoke to him directly. “Do you wish to know why I was chosen?” he asked. The room remained silent. “I was chosen to be one to tell you we need to strike back, we lost part of an heirloom.” he quickly followed. He then turned his attention and gaze towards Higetsu and Yumaro, the two most tenured members of the swordsman order and the only two men within the room who understood what the village had faced in everyone’s absence. Aōi, who had been on a scout mission for some months returned only just after the battle was waged and won. He would be interested to hear from one of the two; preferably both to properly get the gist of what they would be dealing with, and how they could effectively stop it or warn the other nations.

Kuro then turned to the two himself and simply asked one question. “Higetsu. Yumaro. What have you two brought back from your most recent conquest?” Almost immediately nearly all eyes within the room turned to them for a detailed report on what they encountered outside of the village. Aōi almost expected Higestsu to perform all of the talking as he felt Yumaro’s less than disinterest would sour the details of what needed to be discussed. Nonetheless, he listened to their response and was just as interested as any in finding more solutions, than walking out of this room with more problems.

​

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Location: Mist Mansion
Posting Order: Kuro Yuki → Aōi Yuki → Higetsu → Yumaro → Umirama → Momo
Post Time Limit (PTL): 3 Days.
Skip Points: lll

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[Fox]

A low chuckle escaped his lips—half amusement, half disbelief—as he glanced around, his sharp eyes flickering left and right, taking mental snapshots of each individual present. It dawned on him, perhaps more clearly than ever, that nearly all of the Swordsmen of the Mist—veterans and new blood alike—were etched into his memory. Whether future comrades or potential headaches, he knew them. That kind of awareness came from necessity, not curiosity. The murmurs began slowly but picked up like a wave—people addressing Kuro as "Mizukage." That word hit harder than expected. His expression shifted—barely perceptible to those who didn’t know him—but it was there: the stunned tightening of his brow, the faint widening of his eyes. The realization finally sunk in. Kuro... is Mizukage now. “The heck happened…” he muttered inwardly, his thoughts tumbling as he reached for his water bottle, the cool plastic grounding him. “Didn’t we have, like, three different Mizukage in the last two weeks? Man, are we unstable or what?” His inner voice was a mix of sarcasm and genuine concern, echoing louder in his mind as he took a long drink. The chill of the water did more than quench his thirst—it helped him recompose, visibly halting the slight sheen of heat-melted chakra that had been distorting his features. He had been pushing himself hard again, and it showed. He exhaled slowly, letting the coolness settle in his chest.


“We went to the Rain District, then hit the Leaf District chasing a lead on the Shibuki,” he said aloud, recalling the mission that had spiraled into something far more complex than anticipated. The details flickered in his mind like fragmented puzzle pieces he was still trying to fit together. “The previous wielder,” he continued, voice steadier now, “he wasn’t in his right mind. Kept mumbling about some ‘god’—a being with absolute power over darkness. Sounded less like a shinobi and more like a fanatic.” He shrugged, lifting his shoulders slightly, a nonchalant gesture that didn’t quite mask the unease behind his words. “If you ask me, I think the poor bastard was losing it. The kind of madness you don’t come back from.” His gaze grew distant for a second before returning to the present. “Oh—and I also got the Executioner’s Blade from its previous wielder as well. The guy just… handed it over. Like he had no reason left to fight. No reason to stay.” His voice dropped slightly, tinged with something unspoken. Not pity, exactly—but maybe recognition. Understanding what it meant to reach that kind of end.


Two legendary blades now in their possession.


And a new Mizukage at the helm.


The Mist was shifting again—and he wasn’t sure whether it was for better or worse.

Location: Mist Mansion
Posting Order: Kuro Yuki → Aōi Yuki → Higetsu → Yumaro →Umirama → Momo
Post Time Limit (PTL): 3 Days.
Skip Points: lll