A kenjutsu style developed by the Haru lineage over several generations, Hibana-dō employs the zanbatō, or “horse-slaying sword,” to cleave through targets with a balance of ferocity and control. The name of the style, meaning “Path of Sparks,” refers to the flickering particles that fly when the blades of two practitioners meet. Given their common heritage as Ranton users, as they advance deeper in their skill the name takes on added meaning, owing to an advanced technique developed that generates a thin layer of Ranton chakra along the blade, further increasing its cutting power. As of now, Miyako is limited to two-handed, unidirectional slashes of moderate speed.
After: Hibana-dō [Apprentice] ★★☆☆☆☆
A kenjutsu style developed by the Haru lineage over several generations, Hibana-dō employs the zanbatō, or “horse-slaying sword,” to cleave through targets with a balance of ferocity and control. The name of the style, meaning “Path of Sparks,” refers to the flickering particles that fly when the blades of two practitioners meet. Given their common heritage as Ranton users, as they advance deeper in their skill the name takes on added meaning, owing to an advanced technique that generates a thin layer of Ranton chakra along the blade, further increasing its cutting power.
Miyako’s prowess centers around high-speed, two-handed, unidirectional slashes that accelerate further along their trajectory, rendering them troublesome to time against. She is surprisingly agile with her hefty blade, a step beyond the clumsiness of her rookie years under the demanding style.
Last Edit: Nov 17, 2021 8:27:46 GMT by Miyako Haru
My glare never left the wrinkly old curmudgeon, almost hoping for any further hostility. I had spent my life around hard-nosed men; their language was my own. For some, a gentle reproach had all the effect of a spring breeze passing by an immovable stone—that is, no effect at all. I knew this well.
No, some required the sting of a sprung hand. And as his scowl softened, I could see that he understood my point. And so my blade ambled away, ever so slowly, back to its resting place, while my still-suspicious gaze remained glued to his own, listening to his impassioned tirade with an expression of boredom. “A mouthful, isn’t he?” I groaned toward the green-haired girl. My right foot tapped against the dusty floor impatiently, though I did listen in hopes of finding some resolution.
As he spoke, my gaze drifted from his aged and iron-worn face to the piles of weaponry that still required work. A sigh escaped me, visibly dissatisfied as I spotted our sparring sword among the junk-heap, as cracked as ever.
“Look… whatever. If you’re behind, then that’s your fault for not hiring any help, you greed-monger. We’re as busy as you are—and because of your nonsense, I have to return to my family empty-handed,” I barked, pointing toward the hefty blade lodged amongst the messy mound of metal. And then my gaze fell upon the pile of tachi laying uselessly on his counter, for they were, in fact, tachi. It was as simple as telling green from blue, in my eyes. But I had sympathy for the kunoichi, who just wasn’t as well-versed in the finer points of sword culture.
“Ugh! Okay, fine!” I relented, deciding to help the girl see her mission through, if for no other reason than to speed his progress toward our disabled blade. But I could count plenty of reasons; the sight of the exotic girl had piqued my curiosity, and I felt an obligation to help a kunoichi in need—even if she didn’t see any need herself. Stepping forward, I wrapped my right arm around the pile of swords, hefting them all in a single swoop. I then addressed the old man one last time.
“If I catch you head-butting—no, if I catch you so much as touching another customer again, I’ll make you wish that you were in Masanori’s place,” I warned, continuing as I watched his mouth beginning to open in retort, “Blah, blah, blah—get your shit together, old man.”
And with that, I tapped the girl’s shoulder and turned to leave. “Let’s go, sweet thing—before he has a heart attack. I’ll lend you a hand.”
Last Edit: Oct 22, 2021 15:08:51 GMT by Miyako Haru
The cacophony of hollering voices, hammering metal, and shuffling bodies blanketed a long, circular streetway. You could feel the pulse of life through the soles of your feet as the rhythmic footfalls of the crowd reverberated through the pavement. It was an ecosystem propelled by constant motion, by never-sleeping business, by the desire for protection via the implements of war—the arms district.
I knew this place well. Many days had been spent with my family along this very walkway, watching my father barter with blacksmiths, or my mother show me the different types of weapons that a ninja might wield. As a child, it had all filled me with a sense of wonder—the intensity of the sights and sounds, the spectacle of iron and steel. I couldn’t escape the feeling even now, walking through the district, though I wasn’t here to view a demonstration or marvel at the sharpness of a nodachi, but instead to conduct business of my own.
Or of my family’s, rather. One of our sparring weapons required a special repair job, and I had been tasked with the errand of checking up on the status of said repair. Busy-work, obviously, but I didn’t care—I was eager to display my commitment, in hopes that my reliability would lead to greater tasks in the future.
And so I made my way through the crowds of passersby. Some would see the Kumogakure symbol on the hitai-ate that I wore as a belt and bow, thanking me for my service. I would nod and smile, though being a kunoichi had never felt like a noble undertaking on my part, but something that was as natural as breathing air. It was in my blood, and I took no special credit for that. Most would spare me the hassle, however, and simply avoid my path on account of the enormous, life-divesting weapon that I carried strung along my back. Better that way.
Working through the thrumming environment, I eventually reached my destination, a modest building that looked as if it could crumble at any moment, though never did. Masanori’s—a staple of the district, it had been here since before I was born. Unfortunately, its owner had recently passed away and, leaving no successors, new management had taken over the shop. Nearing the entrance, I could see a small throng gathered at the open doorway, peering inside anxiously.
Curiosity piqued, I cleared a path of my own. “Ahem.. Excuse me, pardon me,” I bade, brusquely squeezing inside the charming shamble of a shop.
I noticed the girl first. A squat, ardent youth with deep-green hair that flowed like the scales of a pinecone. I had seen her before—unmistakably—though I couldn’t put my finger on where. She seemed avid about something, slamming a set of swords onto the smithy’s counter. The older man behind the counter seemed just as spirited, though in the opposite charge. Katana or Tachi… I was oddly intrigued by their argument until I watched the old man headbutt the girl.
Something in me leaped at the sight. Before I knew it, I was standing beside her, right hand over my shoulder, instinctively itching at the hilt of my zanbatō. Seeing her face, recognition flashed before my eyes: a training ground, a pool of sweat, a pile of bandages—a kunoichi. And then Steel Wing was drawn, hovering over the counter, its u-shaped edge jutting forward to curve around the man’s neck.
“How’s this for a katana?” I snapped, my eyes locked onto the man’s, vehement and unwavering. “Who do you think you are, anyway? How dare you?” My gaze traced the man from head to toe, a look of disgust evident on my face.
“That’s no way to treat a girl, let alone a Kunoichi of the Cloud. You think you're a badass? Masanori is rolling over in his grave,” I spat, pushing my blade further, without a care for the scene being caused or the flock of onlookers that I knew were forming behind us. I had always had a place in my heart for fellow female ninja. Seeing her assaulted, my own task had all but slipped from my mind; if he fucked with her, he was fucking with me. And if she was too considerate to punish the pathetic man for his bad behavior, then I would gladly handle the job for her.
Last Edit: Oct 7, 2021 10:32:57 GMT by Miyako Haru
Waves of eager energy pulsed through me as I half-walked, half-skipped across one of the paved overpasses hovering through the Cloud. It had been over a week since the agreement had been made, and today marked the first day of the continuation of my training. The first day that I would be granted an opportunity to blossom beyond the close watch of my family, who had overseen my practice since I was a child. There was some nervousness at the prospect, I admit, but the further I moved from home, the more any tension was blotted out by an excitement, an intense eagerness.
Why was I so excited? For years I had been seeking a method to finally defeat my older brothers in the sword. But how could I defeat them if, no matter how hard I trained, my lessons were forever stuck years behind theirs? Each strategy of mine to shortcut that gap of time had resulted in the steadfast reproval of my parents, who would scold me for my impatience, for my desire to move beyond the basics 'before I was ready.' But if I was anything, I was persistent, and years of begging had finally paid off. While I would maintain my lessons at their established pace, I was given license to supplement my training elsewhere. That is, beyond the range of their control.
Of course, I would never have been released to 'waste my time' training with just anyone, but once I made it known who had agreed to train me, the renowned Taijutsu expert Seiichi Koji, who also lead my platoon, they eventually relented and gave the okay. I usually wasn't so assuming as to approach someone as busy as him with such a request, but word had spread that he was looking for pupils to work with, and so I took my shot. Now, today, I was the sun finally surmounting the clouds, no longer obscured by their enclosing opacity but free to be free.
☁️ ☁️ ☁️
I was there before I knew it, cresting the grand hill that upheld the dojo like an offering to the gods of war. It was perfect—overlooking the landscape for leagues and far enough away that we couldn’t be spied upon. With three more marching steps I traversed the incline and stood, hands on my hips, facing the auspicious building. Rays of light fell in furrowed patterns across its width, washing the exterior in a golden light. This was it. I shrugged my shoulders slightly, feeling the weight of my zanbatō shift along my back, the blade spanning my entire width and a couple feet short of my 5'6" height—Steel Wing, my treasure and bringer of swift oblivion. A durable leather cover encased its length, blunting the edges in case it was needed for sparring. I gave it a final glance before setting my sights forward and covering the remaining ground, entering the dojo that would become my shrine.
Two men stood before me as I crossed the threshold, either of whom couldn’t have appeared more different. It was obvious who Seiichi-sensei was, the goliath of a man who was lifting the two concrete weights as easily as if they were plush toys. My eyes lingered on his figure for some time as they talked. And then they met the form of the other man, who I assumed was another student. He was much smaller by comparison, though still taller than me, and regardless I knew that looks could be deceiving. He was here for a reason; I was curious to see what he was about. I then surveyed the rest of the room, mouth slightly agape, beholding at once every kind of weight and piece of training gear you could imagine. My stomach fluttered.
This was my new home.
“Miyako Haru,” I announced, “and I think the pleasure will be mine.”
When you're thrown into the deep end, your only choice is to adapt. Raised in a military family comprised of two Jōnin parents, three older brothers and one younger, Miyako felt the throes of tough love from an early age. Being trounced by her oldest brother or doused in cold water by her youngest was an ordinary affair. And while they were less shrewd in their horseplay and more focused on their own entertainment, her mother deliberately made it a point to test her mettle every day.
It wasn’t long before she became immune to it all, coming to accept her lot in life and what was expected of her. Hanyū Haru, her father, was her only source of reprieve, and over time he made it clear to her why they were as hard as they were—not only on her, but on eachother. It became glaringly obvious with the advent of the war against Kiri, where her parents rose to prominence following the clinching of several key victories toward the close of the conflict. They made further waves when it became known that they had forced their children to serve as support alongside them, with no casualties suffered by their unit.
The most eye-opening experience in her life until that point, the war streamlined her approach to her family’s profession. Having witnessed death for the first time, she began to embrace her life more fully, a change that quickly became apparent in the eyes of her siblings. No longer allowing herself to play the victim, she would fight back against her brothers and oftentimes play the role of first aggressor. With this shift came respect and some of her first experiences of a love that was not tough but affirming, which only served to encourage her more.
Buoyed by this newfound confidence, she was deemed worthy of taking on Hibana-dō, the family sword-style, and was bequeathed her first zanbatō—a hefty weapon, the blade of which matched her torso in width and twice her torso in length. Ecstatic, she would carry the sword everywhere, gradually becoming acclimated to its weight, and until this day still sleeps with it by her side, like an extension of herself. With the assumption of her family’s martial skill, an intense competitive streak emerged within the girl, and for a while eclipsing her older brothers in the sword became her strongest motivation, though as yet unachieved.
By the time Miyako graduated from the academy at 14, she had fully come into her own. As a child she had harbored a deep envy toward her brothers, attempting to mimic them in tomboyish ways not because she felt that inclination naturally, but because she felt insecure regarding her own leanings toward femininity—especially around them. Yet, by her teens she had outgrown this insecurity and, partially as a result of their increasing acceptance of her, had began to accept herself, growing her hair longer, wearing pink for the first time, painting her nails, etc., while still maintaining the grit that had been cultivated into her.
Today, she continues to develop as a shinobi, demonstrating her loyalty towards her village and family in every task undertaken. While Miyako has seen several brief traipses in the fields of romance these past couple years, her alpha nature has deterred anything from sticking for longer than a few months, and has even influenced her to temporarily shift her focus away from men and towards women. Still, she longs more than anything to bring glory to her family name, to rise within the village, and to prove that she is as tough as anyone else.
Proficiencies
Hibana-dō [Apprentice] ★★☆☆☆☆
A kenjutsu style developed by the Haru lineage over several generations, Hibana-dō employs the zanbatō, or “horse-slaying sword,” to cleave through targets with a balance of ferocity and control. The name of the style, meaning “Path of Sparks,” refers to the flickering particles that fly when the blades of two practitioners meet. Given their common heritage as Ranton users, as they advance deeper in their skill the name takes on added meaning, owing to an advanced technique that generates a thin layer of Ranton chakra along the blade, further increasing its cutting power.
Miyako’s prowess centers around high-speed, two-handed, unidirectional slashes that accelerate further along their trajectory, rendering them troublesome to time against. She is surprisingly agile with her hefty blade, a step beyond the clumsiness of her rookie years under the demanding style.
This blade was given to Miyako at the age of 13, following her initiation into her family's sword-style. A beginner's zanbatō, Steel Wing stands shorter than the sword of an advanced user, with a blade length of 40 inches, blade width of 12 inches, and handle of 12 inches. As such, her blade weighs around 25% of her weight, as opposed to the 33-50% common among more experienced wielders. A pink or sky-blue ribbon is often seen streaming from the handle.
Strength Enhancement [Unranked]☆☆☆☆☆☆
In addition to members of her family possessing superb genetics when it comes to athleticism, probably owing to their long history as zanbatō-wielding shinobi, Miyako has further cultivated her strength on a daily basis by carrying her heavy blade everywhere she goes. She also alternates daily between strength training her upper body, lower body, and core, resulting in a toned and powerful physique.
Strong Fist [Rookie] ★☆☆☆☆☆
Gōken, or “Strong Fist,” is a taijutsu style that involves hard-hitting punches and kicks designed to cause external damage, bruising and breaking bones. Miyako’s experience with wielding her zanbatō has gravitated her towards this style, which works best when used by shinobi of strong stature. She is currently honing her fundamentals and can throw clean punches and kicks with solid force.
Stealth [Rookie] ★☆☆☆☆☆
Given her wieldy blade, Miyako suffers somewhat when it comes to stealth. She did learn the basics of subterfuge in the academy—holding your breath, not dragging your feet, remaining calm, sticking to shadows, etc.—though these skills are best employed when she can set her blade down, otherwise she is more easily visible, her footsteps louder, her breathing slightly more strained, and so on.
Ranton Potential [Dormant]☆☆☆☆☆☆
Currently latent in her DNA, the Ranton release combines the elements of Raiton and Suiton to produce beams of electricity with the lush texture of river currents. Many of her family members past and present have possessed this trait—she hopes to discover someday that she does, as well, as mastery of Hibana-dō is reliant upon this skill.
