The sound of skin hitting skin echoed out past the building, a sign hung overhead scrawled with barely legible text. Audible brawling was always a sign of a good time, though. I think it says 'Dojo', anyway.

A door slid open as I entered, a worn straw mat placed haphazardly on a pile of more worn mats beneath it my only welcome. The few inside were already busy, an array of training dummies at their disposal. At the center of the dojo was a large dohyo, although it wasn't being used by any sumo. Two men were sparring, bareknuckle fists slamming into each other over and over again.

"Hmm." crossed my lips, but I wouldn't say anything. Sliding the door shut behind myself, I began to pace the floor, thinking quietly. I wonder what kind of martial artists Otogakure has. This place doesn't smell like booze, so that's a good sign. Another sniff to reassure myself - Just sweat, and some blood.

Finding a bench, I sat down, and began to peel off extra layers of clothing, placing my sword atop the folded pile. Left with a plain white, sleeveless shirt and my pants - I'd make my way to one of the many using training dummies. "You looking for a spar?"

Travel had been long, and the wait for the 'mission' felt even longer. Bored out of my fucking mind waiting - might as well have some fun.