Secrets and Sonder [T/O]

[Molokai]

-080/110-

The man who made his living preying on people who reminded Turin of himself burned eternally in the world of dreams. Since his true body was sitting in a dark room completely unscathed, the flames dancing across his flesh could dance forever. The screams could only barely be heard over the roar. Turin was smiling. Torture had never been his preference. Death had been his trade for many years of his life, but the fate he now visited on the fat wannabe-daimyo was so much worse. Turin wasn't sure how long he should make the flames last, but he eventually decided that it was time to move forward.

The next aspect he needed to train was actually getting somewhere with the torture. To actually get something out of the burning man. In order to do this, Turin needed to appear before the daimyo in the dream. This was a whole new monster he had to overcome. He had to create a phantasmal image of himself, as he was seen by the fat man, and have it speak with his voice and offer his merciful hand. He knew how he looked in the mirror, knew how he dressed and what color his eyes were. What he didn't know was how to create something as complex as a person. Chairs and sludge were one thing, but a living, speaking, moving person would be vastly more complex. What he needed was something in the daimyo's head that he could use to his advantage. To this end, he whispered in the fat man's ear "Do you know who I am?"

Immediately, Turin could feel the memories about him buzzing through the chakra lattice in the daimyo's brain. It was extremely difficult to catch up and isolate them, but somehow he managed to pull it from the density of other memories associated with it. There it was, the chakra code for how Turin appeared in the perceptive memory of a crime lordling who hated him. He had never expected his own control over his chakra could be so precise and so abstract, and was surprising himself as he pushed the image into the white world of burning pretend. Lo and behold! There he was, standing before the burning chair. The first thing Turin thought was how short he really looked in that long jacket. To his horror, it looked less like a badass cape and more like his clothes were simply too big. He told himself that was just how the fat man saw him and moved on. The image was flickering, covered in static, almost as if it was coming through on a weak radio signal or something. It needed cleaning up, then it needed animating.

The whole time, the man continued to burn and scream. In the chakra lattice, Turin could feel the pain centers lighting up and blazing as brightly as the flame itself. He could keep burning until Turin had figured out the next step. All it really took was some concentration on the chakra image of himself. Enhance the colors, make it appear solid, add details the same way he added the details to the chair. Partly the subconscious, partly directed chakra flow. Statuesque, the phantasmal image of Turin stood stoically before the flaming throne, awaiting life. This was going to be the hardest part by far. First, Turin took his own voice and tried to find a way to change the direction it appeared to be coming from. Before, it had been nebulous, coming from every direction at once. To pull this off, he needed it to come from his mouth. Since he had essentially created a three-dimensional imaginary world through the perception of space, he fished around inside the chakra that held the world together until he found what he was looking for.

There it was, the part of the dream that his image was embedded in. Turin spoke again, only not with his real mouth. Instead, he created the audible sensation with his chakra and pushed it through the phantasm. Much to his pleasure, the message came forth loud and clear. "Repent for what you have done, sinner, and be saved from the fire." Religion wasn't anything Turin believed in, but he did find its motifs useful on occasion. Much to his chagrin, nothing about the image moved at all. It was like he had put a speaker in a statue and was trying to talk with it. In order for Turin to come alive inside the imaginary world, it would have to move around at least a little bit. Rather than try to animate this chakra creation, Turin instead decided to do something slightly more dramatic. The phantasm chakra that infected and controlled the burning daimyo would be allowed into his own head, only very, very little of it. He was looking for something much more surface level this time around. Once he found it, he pushed is own visual signals through the image and found himself blinking before the bright flames. He looked down and found that he could move. He was now fully within the world of the daimyo's nightmare, flesh and blood.

He preached again, "Repent, I said! Confess your sins, or you will burn forever!"

[Father 'Suke]

Blessed is he that receives the +10 for thy sins.

[Molokai]

-090/110-

To his credit, the daimyo didn't repent right away. Instead, he screamed ever louder from the agony of the flames. Between the orange tongues Turin could see the despair on his face, the slow realization that the fire wouldn't kill him. This was most literally a fate worse than death, and the god known as Turin al-Sahar was pleased with his work. Exercising his new-found ability to personally interact with the nightmare, he swooped forward and laid his hand on the daimyo's forehead. As he did this, he ceased the flood of pain signals to his victim's brain and spoke again. His altered his voice so it would sound ethereal, to further enhance the illusion of divinity. He said, "You see what pain I can bring, but there is salvation. Confess to me, and bliss shall be yours for all eternity."

With the pain stopped, the non-daimyo seemed to find his words again. "Fuck you," he spat at Turin's feet, "This is just a trick, an illusion. You won't get a damn thing out of me."

"Wrong answer," was all Turin said before the flames reignited and the agony began again. This time, the daimyo tried his best to resist screaming, possibly because he was trying to convince himself that it was indeed a trick. However, Turin's malignant chakra was directly stimulating the pain centers of his brain. Illusion or not, the pain was very, very real. His resistance lasted for mere seconds before his wailing began anew, this time with renewed desperation and panic. The flames licked at his entire body, sprouting from any patch of open skin that Turin happened to notice. They grew so intense and so believable that Turin himself began to feel the heat and had to take a step back from it. Already, he found his grasp of the technique improving, and little details like that started to come more naturally to him.

Turin knew that there was only a certain amount of pain a body could take before the brain automatically shuts itself down, but in his moment of playing god he simply forgot. Everything went dark and he suddenly found himself blinking and disoriented back in the real world. Beneath his tense and cramping hands, the wannabe daimyo smelled of fear, sweat, and urine. His head was slumped forward, and his breathing was so shallow that Turin briefly feared he had accidentally killed him. With the first bodyguard reduced to an empty husk and the wannabe-daimyo sitting in a pool of his own fluids, the genjutsu master who had been so patiently waiting his turn was finally beginning to look nervous. Still dripping sweat from the heat of the imaginary flames, Turin began to stalk toward his final victim, accentuating every step to enhance the fear.

The Genjutsu master was babbling incoherently, jumping between bargaining, pleading and threatening with each sentence. Turin still had one last aspect of the technique to fully master, and one last test subject to learn from. Without saying a single word, Turin scrambled through a long series of handseals to build up enough chakra, then slammed his hand into the genjutsu master's face. Phantasm chakra poured into his brain, and Turin felt actual resistance to it for the first time. Fueled by malice and rage, Turin's darkness ripped through the final man's defenses and transported them both to a pitch black expanse of nothingness. Standing freely in the dream, the genjutsu master attempted a Kai technique. As soon as his hands formed the seal, all of his fingers bent backwards, one knuckle at a time, until his hands seemed to form backwards fists. He fell to his knees screaming; he hadn't expected the pain to be so real, or so intense. Whatever hell he had planned for Turin back when their positions were reversed, it would be nothing compared to what was about to happen to him.

[Molokai]

-/110-

Knowing that he was in a dream didn't save the Genjutsu master. Instead, it made it much, much worse. Inevitability is a wonderful generator of fear, Turin realized as he simply stood and stared at the bent and broken man before him. Both now stood in utterly pitch darkness, each one visible to the other only through the strange clarity of dreams. The man who had once held power over Turin's fate now cried over his broken hands, wishing he could block out the pain and save himself. Turin held no pity for him, only smoldering anger. Through his anger, though, there was control. Always, there was control. He had a goal to accomplish, and that goal was to perfect this technique for the future. "If you want the pain to stop," he said slowly, to demonstrate his self-control, "you need only to swear yourself to me."

"I. . . I can't. . ." the Genjutsu master blubbered, "Please, they'll kill me." As soon as his sentence was finished, the apparition of Turin vanished as if he had been swallowed by ink. Refusal wasn't an option, and Turin could care less if he was killed by his own people. If that is your answer, so be it, came a voice from the darkness. Immediately, the broken fingers rolled back and straightened themselves and for a brief moment the pain stopped. Hope flashed in the Genjutsu master's eyes as he allowed himself to believe beyond reason that Turin would simply give up. This hope was crushed almost instantly as he felt something brush against his leg. Startled, he jumped at the sensation and looked down, straining his eyes against the darkness. As he looked, something else brushed against his shoulder. He wheeled, flailing his arms wildly against the phantoms. An icy hand gripped tightly on his wrist as he spun to swat another shadow, and the pale white face that met his gaze stole his breath with frozen terror.

Suddenly, his arms were spread wide, each of his wrists burned by the cold hands that dug into his soft skin. The ghostly face inched forward, breath smelling of rotten death and eyes shining like black gems from the pits of Hell itself. Wordlessly, the phantom glided through the murk. Once its face was mere inches from the Genjutsu master's, its mouth opened wider than possible, its jaw unhinging with a sickening crack to make room for the rows of needle-like teeth. The Genjutsu master opened his mouth to protest, but all that came out was a gargled choking sound as his throat was ripped open with a savage slurping noise. The sensation of thousands of needles, each individually piercing his skin and ripping away the sinews beneath, was all too real. Pain accompanied this feeling, but the true gut-wrenching terror came from the fact that he knew he wouldn't die from this. Sickeningly, the white-faced monster slurped and gargled as it greedily drank the warm blood that spouted from his ravaged throat. He could feel his blood draining from his body, his skin turning cold, as cold as the hands that held him in place.

Once the beast was done with its feeding, all pain stopped. All sensation stopped. He was now floating in a black void, a complete and total lack of anything. For but a short second, he was relieved to feel nothing, but it lasted for nowhere near long enough. Immediately, he felt something hard pressing against his back, and suddenly he was aware of the feeling of gravity once again. He was lying on something hard and unforgiving. His hands were free, and tentatively they crept up his body to examine his shredded throat. The wound was as dry as a bone, every scrap of flesh and empty tube exposed to the cold air around him. He tried to sit up, but found his way blocked. His forehead smacked against something just as hard as what was under him, and finally his worst fear was realized. A sound that might have been a scream escaped the hole that was once his trachea, and he began to thrash and flail in absolute panic. Buried alive, claustrophobia set in and all coherent thought abandoned him. His fingers clawed at the unbreakable lid above him, peeling back his fingernails and exposing the bones of his fingertips.

A voice filtered through the darkness once the thrashing had begun to die down. Swear to me, it said, appearing as a beacon of light shining through the translucent coffin lid, and all shall be forgiven. All shall be well again.

"I swear!" He tried to shout, but it only came as a frustrated gargle. He gargled again, and suddenly he could feel his muscles, tubes, skin all knitting back together. Once it was fully repaired, he said again, "I swear!"

He awoke in the darkness, the sky beyond the windows graying with the first light of dawn. The man that stood before him was his savior, the only one to whom he would ever be loyal again. Mercifully, his hands were unbound and he was freed. Falling to the ground, he retched on hands and knees until a soothing hand touched his shoulder. "Rise," the benevolent master said, "go back to your life, act as if nothing happened. When asked, lie. You will be free until the day I need you again."

"Yes, yes thank you," he blubbered, scrambling toward the door before Turin had a chance to change his mind. As for the other two, he left them sitting in puddles of their own urine as he exited the abandoned building. One day, he would call on the Genjutsu master again. For today, he went home to get some much needed sleep.

[zarak729]

You have learned the gift of Torment

[Molokai]

SPOILER: Click to show

Tracking
Rank: "D"
Skill: Skill
Effect: Characters use this skill to follow the trail of animals and other persons.
Special: ---
Drawback: ---
Description: Can be learned by an Animal. Tracking means the user found a trail if they gain the check, while failure means they did not. If user fails this initial skill check, they simply cannot find that particular trail. After finding a trail, further checks may be necessary depending on the situation. Darkness, falling rain/snow, a dust storm, moving from one terrain to another (such as from sand to rock), one trail splitting into 2 or crossing water are examples why a user might need another Tracking check. Look in Task Skills thread found in the Skills and Traits Index for more information. Each time learned user gets 5 die roll to increase the skill.
Limit: ---

-00/10-
-062/125-

The things that Turin did to the trio of gangsters would have made a normal person balk, but he doubted very much that any shinobi he knew would have thought twice about it. By all accounts, he had benefited from that engagement. A relatively powerful underworld boss was now terrified of him, and his primary lackey was absolutely convinced that Turin was an ally. Since the events of that night, Turin had retreated to his minimalist living space to let it cool down out in the big, bad world. As he now sat in his home with his crossbow totally disassembled on the table before him, he meticulously cleaned each and every part as he let his mind wander.

Flashback:

It was pitch dark in the countryside of Rain. The usual downpour had been reduced to an icy haze that made his clothes stick to his body and sapped the heat from his skin. His breath fogged in the night air as he steadied his breathing and fought the urge to shiver. Years ago, he had been in a similar situation with Master Kenzen. He had been hunting deer back then, but tonight his quarry was much more dangerous. A man, a serial kidnapper, had been holding a small town hostage for weeks. Turin was sent in to deal with him as one of his very first missions with the Rain Village.

His team was off pursuing other leads, but Turin had a hunch about this particular spot on this particular night. It was a new moon, and the cloud cover was thicker than ever. Perfect time for somebody to move around without being seen. There was a hut that used to be a small hunting lodge just a few miles beyond the village borders. Hunters usually used these places once or twice a year at most, when their ranging just so happened to bring them close to one when it was too late to walk back. That made them the perfect spot for people to hide the rest of the year. This being the dead of winter, nobody had bothered hunting in these parts for the better part of a month. Which begged the question of why it was surrounded with fresh prints and drag marks.

At that moment, he was high up in an oak tree looking down on the hut, waiting to make sure that nobody was around. Whoever made those marks must have come from somewhere, and Turin intended to follow the trail backwards to the source. He just wanted to be sure he wouldn't be walked up on while doing so. After the ideal time for sneaking came and went, Turin descended the tree and began snooping around the shack, using a flashlight despite how much he would have preferred not to. There were a significant amount of prints both incoming and outgoing around the front door, a typical high-traffic area. He followed a few of the incoming sets until he found one that led back out into the woods, which also happened to be the freshest one. The footfalls were heavy-looking, much deeper than someone of that shoe size should make. An indication of somebody carrying something heavy, or just soft mud?

The prints came from the direction of town, which was a promising result, but quickly disappeared in the thicker underbrush beyond the cabin's clearing. Once in the real thickets of the woods, any sense of a trail seemed to have utterly vanished. Sticking to what he knew, he returned to where he lost the trail and tried to imagine which direction the walker would have come from. Someone hauling a body around, if that was indeed what the tracks were, wouldn't go head-first through thick branches and bushes. They would go around, try to use game trails, take the path of least resistance. From where he stood, he spotted a relatively branch-less patch and decided to go check it out.

Sure enough, there was a rotten widow-maker with its innards freshly exposed, clear signs that it had been stepped on and gave in. Just beyond this branch, he shined the flashlight around and looked for further evidence of a trail. Right under his nose, he spotted a thin game trail, probably one used by the very hunters that built the shack. It went off in a different direction than Turin expected, though. Whoever had broken the branch must have veered off the path, a clear indication that they knew where they were going. But which direction had they come from? The trail itself was pocked with divots and small puddles quivering in the faint drizzle, but nothing that looked at all like a recent footprint. In fact, all of the prints actually on the trail looked as old as he would expect, with nothing out of place at all.

Perhaps the kidnapper had foregone the trail altogether, in hopes of throwing off pursuit. If that was the case, it appeared to be working. Returning again to the branch, he looked straight ahead, imagining someone who knew their way through the woods and ignoring the trail. A small patch of tall grass was directly on the other side of the trail from the broken branch, and it seemed like the most easily traversed obstacle in the area. A closer examination revealed little out of the ordinary, save for a few small flattened patches. However, these patches looked more like the doings of a herd of napping deer. Making a face, he examined the patch more closely and found a small gap between it and the treeline right next to it and, sure enough, human footprints within.

Whoever had gone this way had purposely avoided the grass, knowing that stamping it down would make him easy to find, but the ground was still muddy and the forest betrayed him. Beyond the grass and through another thicket interspersed with broken green branches, Turin was able to pick up the trail much more easily. The weight of this person made their footprints much deeper, and the leaves were lighter colored where a footfall had caused a bunch of them to flip over. Most of the forest was much less dense from then on, and he made good time working through it. After almost an hour of walking with his nose to the ground, the trail vanished again. However, when he noticed something glinting off of a nearby birch tree, that was when he saw what he had been truly looking for.

There, hanging from the frayed sinews of a savaged branch, was a tiny silver necklace. The chain was thin, delicate and untarnished. The amethyst stone inlaid in the brooch was in the shape of a heart, and the icy rainwater dripped from it like silent tears for the girl it once belonged to. Turin took it in his cold hands and cradled it gently, afraid it would turn to dust if he held it too strong. He pocketed it while focused fury swelled in his chest, and knew that he was on the right trail.

End Flashback

[Father 'Suke]

+10 TP
+19 SP
81|125

[Molokai]

SPOILER: Click to show

Chakra Lore
Rank: "D"
Skill: Skill
Effect: A skill for basic Chakra Jutsu understanding allowing the user to identify and read all Chakra matters.
Special: ---
Drawback: ---
Description: A person versed in Chakra Lore knows the basic principles behind Chakra. They are tuned in to secrets about the world around them that most others do not and know how to read Chakra Scrolls or Writings. They may not be able to perform Jutsus, but they can read Chakra Writings and generally tell what it is all about. Some practical applications of Chakra Lore follow: Identifying Jutsus, Identifying Chakra Items, and Deciphering Scrolls. Look in Jutsu Lore Skills thread found in the Skills and Traits Index for more information. Each time learned user gets 5 die roll to increase the skill.
Limit: ---

-00/10TP-
-000/125SP-

As he reassembled his now immaculately clean crossbow, Turin shuddered. The things he saw on that mission, the place he found, the thing he had released, they all continued to haunt him. Even thinking of it now, years later, tightened his chest and shortened his breath. He had almost forgotten about it, but now the memory was back in full force.

He gathered his things and headed off into the night. Throughout his life his response to fear had been to learn about the things that scared him, and he embraced that now.

Mounted again on the rooftop of his bare apartment building in the heart of the high-rise district, Turin sat cross-legged with his hands in his lap. He formed the Ram seal and did something he hadn't done in years: he meditated. The seal, by an almost automatic response, started forming what he knew to be chakra simply by the way it felt. It was formless, unedited chakra that hadn't yet had his will applied to it. It was pure, in a way, just energy coursing through whatever vessels in his body contained it. He considered this, the strange feeling of purity that came from unformed chakra, and wondered why it felt that way.

A basic understanding of chakra was granted to him many years ago. It was a combination of spiritual, mental, and physical energies. That was why, it was said, that a truly great shinobi must train his mind, his body, and his soul in order for his chakra to be at maximum power. Turin examined his own chakra and found it was nearly overwhelmingly mental, with physical energy making up almost all of the rest. Upon reflection, he realized that this was hardly surprising. While he did specialize in both Taijutsu and Genjutsu, he always felt that his mind was his most reliable tool. He had to be smart and stubborn at once to survive being smaller than most people, and his natural skill with the crossbow implied a powerful intuition. His body was small, but by no means weak. His endurance was one of his strongest physical traits, and often trained by seeing just how long he could last doing different things. Spirituality had always seemed to him like so much nonsense, he had ignored it for most of his life. In fact, he had never even considered it until he needed it to form chakra at the academy.

In a way, he now realized that his chakra make-up was a reflection of who he was as a person. He was smart and action-oriented, but failed to see the value of spirituality. As such, his chakra felt to him willful and strong, but somehow thin. It was like a powerful, focused jet of water that could cut through steel when moving but hardly even get his feet wet when still. For Turin, the power of his chakra came from sheer willpower and intense physical training.

Following this line of thought, he wondered if other people's chakra nature revealed aspects of their human nature. Yoshi, for instance. Her willpower was on par with Turin's own, but seeing her in action it was clear that her power wasn't in her body. So, perhaps it was her spirit that made up for this? He knew next to nothing about her, or any of the other shinobi in Rain for that matter, so meditating on that was deemed useless for now.

Returning to the purpose of mediation, Turin's concentration went inwards again to his own chakra. As the formless energy swelled and receded within him, he was struck by how similar to water it seemed. This was strange, because he had never trained in any sort of elemental style before. Elemental ninjutsu to him had always seemed impractical, flashy, easily exploited. And yet there was something inherently elemental about chakra itself. While it flowed like water within him, he felt it had other qualities that could be accentuated to become elemental chakra. There was a strength and impenetrability that reminded him of earth or stone, a fury that felt very much like fire, a softness that was like air, a quickness that reminded him of the lightning that flashed on particularly stormy nights, but stronger than all of those, there was darkness.

This darkness, Turin realized, was himself. Subconsciously, he had started forming the pure chakra into the kind he trained with. Within, there was an aspect of constant change that reminded him both of crashing waves and of his glamour perception. Here and there, like thick oil that wouldn't quite bind but couldn't entirely separate, was his phantasm chakra. However, there were twinges of light mingled with the dark that he felt were the remnants of his Venator techniques. All of these sensations and consistencies had been slowly seeping in to the pure chakra he had formed when he started, reflections of himself that affected the very nature of the chakra itself.

He was brought back again to how the chakra he formed was so very much like him, and became convinced that everybody's chakra must behave in the same way. It was almost spiritual, this realization that the chakra one forms takes the form of the one who made it.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to dig deeper into his personal chakra well to see what was at the bottom, but a sharp crash shattered the night and stole Turin's attention.

[Solus]

I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the chakra that does like things!

+10 TP and you go to 31 SP!

[Molokai]

Tl;dr gaining this:

SPOILER: Click to show

Darkvision
Rank: "B"
Type: Augmentation
Effect: User gains Darkvision
Special: To perform: 3 hours; Duration: Permanent
Drawback: ---
Description: Takes up 3 Augmentation Points. User can see in total darkness out to a range of 20 meters. Darkvision is black and white only but is otherwise like normal sight.
Limit: Must be a Ritualist for Augmentation Rituals.
Cost: Market Price: 23,000 Ryo Performing Price: 17,000 Ryo

-17,000 from my account, please.

Turin's eyes snapped open at the sound.

A crash, loud and sudden, raced up the narrow alley and assaulted Turin's finely tuned ears. Now that his attention was on the alley he could faintly make out even more noises. Splashes, loud and rapid, were racing up and down the alleyway between Turin's building and the one adjacent. Patterns of two, splash-splash, splash-splash, limping. Up the alley, down the alley, like they couldn't decide which way was safe. The pace indicated hurry, and the arrhythmic pattern suggested panic. Injured person, likely running from the source of injury. Late at night as it was, probably a victim of some random, violent crime. No second set of footsteps, though. Another crash, metallic, followed by a clatter and a louder splash.

Mediation thoroughly interrupted, Turin vaulted over the edge of the building and used his chakra to slow his descent down the slick side of the tower. He splashed down dramatically, crouching low and rising slowly, scowling menacingly from beneath his hood. It was dark. Unusually dark. The street lamps in the immediate area had gone out, and he could only faintly make out the dark shape on the ground as a person.

Rolling and moaning, the man on the ground was clearly in pain. It seemed that the crash had exacerbated whatever injury had caused the limp. For a moment, he seemed succumbed to his fate, as if being forced to stop had given him time to breathe. Whoever it was, he found a burst of energy when he spotted Turin. He squeaked and began dragging himself down the alley, away from the hooded shade that the shinobi had become. His leg dragged behind him as though broken, but his arms pulled him along with strength borne from pure survival instinct. He managed to make it about halfway down the alley before Turin decided to pursue.

But then, there was a shriek.

The sound made Turin's entire body tense, and the hair on the back of his neck raised so stiffly it almost lifted his hood. There appeared at the opposite end of the alley another man, silhouetted and visible only because he was darker than what was around him. Turin himself almost could have missed him, were it not for the eyes. Glowing cherry red, like steel about to be forged, the eyes revealed what Turin hadn't wanted to see. The creature that resembled a man glared at them, twitching grotesquely as it seemed to ponder the interloper. Turin's hand smoothly drew a knife from his sleeve as he stood frozen, waiting for it to pounce. An eternity passed.

The red-eyed beast dropped to all fours and charged, its terrible shriek echoing off of the hard walls. It sounded like the cries of a thousand tortured souls, howling in agony and frustration, and it was loud. Turin winced and brought a hand up to one of his ears, and by the time he reached up that high it had almost cleared the distance between them. The man on the ground temporarily forgotten, it leaped over him and rushed Turin, who deftly flicked his wrist and sent the knife spinning through the hard night air. Cold steel punched straight through the hard bone of the creature's forehead with an audible pop, and its face splashed down unceremoniously in a puddle. The dark light behind its eyes slowly faded as it gargled in the ankle-deep, filthy water, all of its motor functions robbed by the metal blade lodged in its brain.

As the thrashing and awful noise slowly ground to a halt, the sound of Turin's heart in his ears was all that could be heard over the din of the rain. Shortly after, a whimpering sound filtered up from the ground, and suddenly Turin remembered why he had jumped down there to begin with. Pulling the knife from the monster's forehead and stepping over it to keep his feet out of the water, he went to help the injured man up off the ground.

The man couldn't believe what was happening, and tried to fight Turin as he was being hauled to his feet. Turin reassured him that he wasn't going to be hurt, and it wasn't until he looked into the shinobi's eyes that he realized the truth of it.

"Oh," he gasped, "oh you're alive. Thank god. No, thank you, sir. You saved me from that. . . that. . ." he seemed at a loss for words to describe it. Turin tucked himself under the man's arm and hefted him up, holding his arm with one hand and his belt with the other. Together, they limped back onto the street, where the lamps had somehow come back on again.

"You're hurt," Turin declared as if it wasn't obvious, "let me carry you to a hospital."

"There's no need for that, my boy," Turin could see that the man was an older gentleman, balding on top with grey around the sides and back, and well-mustachioed, "there's a clinic nearby. Help me get there, and I'll see that you're rewarded." Agreeing, Turin followed the man's guidance through the streets shining in the wet light of the lamps. As they walked, Turin tried to converse with the man to put his mind at ease.

"What's your name, anyway?" He asked as they started moving through town.

"Dr. Yanto Sugewara, at your service," It seemed a practiced line that he delivered to anyone who asked, "And whom do I have the immense pleasure of being rescued by?" Turin smiled, deciding that he liked this geezer's style.

"Turin al-Sahar, at your service. This clinic we're going to, you own it?"

The old man guffawed. "Hardly," he chortled, "I'm just a surgeon there, specializing in both essential and non-essential surgeries."

"What's the difference?" Turin had an idea of what it meant, but he imagined his definition of essential might be different than a noncombatant's.

"Well, an essential surgery is one that is needed to save a life, such as removing a burst appendix or treating critical wounds. Non-essential surgeries are another term for optional surgeries, or surgeries that can be lived without. Everything ranging from skin grafts to removals of particularly nasty warts."

"How's your leg doing?" He was still limping, and still resting a lot of his weight on Turin's shoulder, but with each passing step he seemed more and more able to bear putting weight on it.

"Quite alright, sir, quite alright indeed. As soon as we make it back, I'll get patched up and be right as rain. Erm, so to speak."

At some point, the rain let up and became a light haze, and both Turin and the old man spied the brightly glowing, red neon cross a few blocks away. Inspired by the light at the end of the tunnel, the old man found a spring in his step and they crossed the distance in a very short time. By the time they reached the front door, he was all but ready to walk in on his own. Although, when he tried he immediately winced and grasped right back on to Turin's shoulder.

As they went in through the door, a tired-looking nurse spotted them and squealed with surprise. "Doctor Sugewara!" she shouted in a shrill voice not unlike the creature Turin had slain earlier, "what happened to you?"

"Nothing, nothing my dear," the old man lied, "Just took a bit of a spill. I fear I may have broken my hip. Goodness gracious, I truly am getting old, aren't I? Luckily, this young buck here found me making a pitiful fool of myself and graciously carried my old bones all the way back here." The nurse had retrieved a wheelchair while the good doctor was prattling on, and sat him down in it. By the ease with which he sat, he clearly had not broken his hip. At this point, the nurse seemed to notice Turin for the first time, and eyed him scandalously.

"Hell-ooo," she said with a raised eyebrow, "what's your name?"

"Turin," he replied with a sideways smirk, taking down his hood and shaking out his dampened hair, "and who, may I ask, are you?"

"Oh, well I'm. . ."

"Ahem," Doctor Sugewara cleared his throat impatiently from his wheelchair, "Nurse, if you're going to flirt with the dark, brooding one, do kindly wait until after you've seen to my injuries."

Flustered and embarrassed, she turned to wheel the good doctor down the hall to do just that. As she did so, Sugewara told Turin, "I forgot to mention before, I also do a number of surgeries that could enhance your ninja-skills. If you're interested, come back in a few days."

Three days later, Turin returned. This time, it was a little after noon and the clinic was far more packed than he expected. The nurse who had greeted him before was nowhere to be found, and the heavyset orderly working the desk was rather less excited to see him. "What do you want? You don't look sick," the man's voice was much angrier than Turin expected.

"I'm looking for Doctor Sugewara," he said.

"Lots of people are. He's busy. Come back when you're sick."

"Tell him Turin is here to see him."

"I don't know who that is, and frankly I don't care."

"But I do," came a much more pleasant voice from Turin's left, "Turin, my friend, what brings you in today?"

"Doctor Sugewara," Turin offered his hand in greeting, "I came to. . ."

"Please, Turin, we're friends are we not? My friends call me Yanto." The good doctor was in a foot brace, but was otherwise cheery and walking around as if nothing had happened. It was strange, given how traumatized he should have been after the monster that was chasing him. Turin briefly wondered how he had bounced back so well.

"Yanto," Turin repeated, "you mentioned you could do some sort of enhancements?"

"Ah, yes," Yanto bellowed, "come inside, let's discuss." Following the doctor into the hallway beyond the waiting room, he was led to a sort of consulting room where he was offered a seat. "now, what sort of enhancement were you hoping for?"

"Well," Turin began, feigning that he hadn't given it much thought, "I spend a lot of time in dark places, and it would be useful to me to be able to see better in the dark. Is that the kind of thing you mean by 'enhancement'?"

"Yes, indeed. Augmentations to ninja's abilities are a special service we offer, as thanks for the protection you offer us. As far as night vision, I have just the thing. How would you like to be able to see in pitch darkness?"

As good as that sounded, Turin was incredulous, "It would be useful to me, but exactly how would you accomplish this?"

"It's really very simple. Well, actually, it's exceedingly complex, but I can explain it simply for your sake," Turin wasn't quite sure how to take that remark, "You are aware that your eyes essentially function with 'rods' and 'cones' yes? Your 'rod' cells are the more sensitive ones responsible for low-light vision while the 'cones' allow you to perceive color in high-light environments. Essentially. It's actually vastly more complicated than that. But anyway, in any situation your eyes need some sort of light to be able to see anything at all. However, in absolute darkness where there is no light, no amount of light sensitivity will allow you to see what simply isn't there, right?

"So, we've discovered a way to implant bio-luminescent cells in the iris that produce extremely low-wavelength infrared light that is usually completely imperceptible to most organisms. Also, we have found a way to activate the rods of the eye to be able to pick up on infrared light of the specific wavelength outputted by the bio-luminescent cells. We can also further manipulate these cells so that they are activated as the rod cells become more 'charged'. In essence, the darker it gets, the more bio-luminescent IR light the iris gives out, and the more low-light vision is attained. We have perfected this so that now, even in a complete absence of any other source of light, the modified eye can still see twenty meters, or even upwards of thirty five meters.

"Of course, this sight is completely in black-and-white, because color physically doesn't exist without light to create it, but that's not something we can really help without installing flashlights in the eyeballs. All in all, this surgery takes about three hours to perform. Afterward, you might find that you're more sensitive to bright lights for a few days as your brain learns to manage the new cells, but after that your normal vision should return and the modifications won't become apparent until someone turns out the lights. What do you say?"

Turin was sold. Nothing got him going like thoroughness in explanation, and that ability would serve him tremendously in the future. "I'm in," he said, "how much will it cost me?" After a brief haggling on price and setting a surgery date, Turin paid the good doctor and left.

The next day, he returned ready to go. He entered the clinic, was greeted by the less-friendly orderly, slightly missed the nurse from before, and headed in to the prep room. There, he stripped and donned a hospital gown, catching a few of the nurses looking as they walked passed, and waited. Shortly after, Doctor Sugewara and his team wheeled in a bed, which Turin happily crawled into. As they wheeled him down the hall, the fixed him with a mask that made him immediately very sleepy. The last of his consciousness faded just as he was pushed through the double-doors of the surgery room.

Instantly, or what felt to him to be instantly, he was aware of a persistent beeping noise next to his head. It was dark, and when he tried to open his eyes he found something pressing down on them. Alarmed, the beeping increased in tempo as he tried to reach for whatever was on his face. Finding the fresh gauze over his eyes, he pulled it down and immediately regretted his decision. His world exploded in a flash of whiteness that was agonizing to both his brain and eyeballs. It was like the worst brain-freeze he had ever encountered, and he could only endure a few seconds before slamming his eyes shut. Even though his eyelids, the fluorescent lights overhead beamed into his sensitive pupils until he had to put his hand over them to stop the pain.

He heard a chuckle, "I told you about the sensitivity, did I not? Here, let me turn the lights down." There was a click and when Turin opened his eyes again he found it vastly more manageable. Turning his gaze toward the doctor, he had to squint at the brightness of the white coat he wore, but at least he could keep them open. "You can stay here for a few more hours, and once you're ready to leave I'll prescribe you some extra-dark sunglasses that you can wear until your sensitivity returns to normal. The operation was a success. You'll be able to see in total darkness now. Now, is there anything I can get you to help keep you comfortable?"

There was.

After a few hours, the nice nurse hastily smoothed her hair as she left his room. Turin himself left going the opposite way, fully clothed with some cool-looking sunglasses on. Even through the glasses, everything was brighter than usual. He squinted almost constantly as he slowly traveled home, still slightly loopy from the sedative.

Three days later, Turin awoke at his customary time during the wee hours of the night and found that he was no longer in pain, and the world was much, much brighter.

[zarak729]

Ryo Deducted
Augment obtained

[Molokai]

SPOILER: Click to show

Deepsight
Rank: "D"
Skill: Supplementary
Effect: User's senses are especially keen in the utter darkness.
Special: ---
Drawback: ---
Description: User's Darkvision has a range of 35 meters.
Limit: Must learn from Universal Miscellaneous. Must have Darkvision 20 meters.

-00/10-

The days after his optic surgery had been tough. Turin had never experienced pain in his eyeballs before, but every little bit of light refreshed that sensation. He had gone to sleep immediately after getting home, but found he could only stay asleep for a meager few hours. For the rest of the day, and the better part of the night, he existed in the dark, avoiding the pain. After three long days, he finally awoke in the early hours of the morning and found that everything was the correct level of brightness and the migraines had finally ceased. Stepping outside, he found he could finally keep his eyes open in the daytime without the sunglasses.

That night, he decided he was finally healed enough to test out his new vision. Customarily, he scaled the side of the building he lived in and looked out over the rain-soaked city. Orange lights dotted the cold steel skyline, diffusing off of the wet surfaces and looking like an sea of still flame. On this night, the rain had let up. Clouds still obscured the stars, and the new moon above made it so that the dim streetlights were the only source of illumination. In the slums, there was even less.

On nights like this, the slums were the darkest part of the city. Where normally it would be pitch dark save for the faint moonlight diffusing through the clouds, it was now utterly without light. Turin, however, hardly noticed. He walked through the dilapidated and narrow canyons and found he could see clearly. A vagabond came stumbling out of some hole in the wall, and Turin saw his blank stare and fumbling hands indicate that he couldn't see anything at all. Turin stopped and watched as this man walked right past him without the faintest idea of his presence, and smiled.

The issue with it, though, was that its distance was limited. Peering down the endless corridors, he could only make out about twenty meters before him. While that was a much greater distance than anybody else could see, he still felt it wasn't enough. So, he nimbly scaled the side of a nearby building where he wouldn't be disturbed, and set about rectifying this. He suspected that however this vision worked, he simply had to keep on practicing with it to make it stronger. On this night, he glared hard at the very edge of the darkvision's reach and tried to make out what was just beyond. It wasn't like the border was a solid wall of ink, it was more of a very gradual tapering similar to being in a thin fog. If he squinted and concentrated, he found he could pierce a bit more of the darkness, similar to how he could do normally with his marksmanship abilities. Eventually, the strain brought another headache, and he retreated back to his minimalist hovel.

On the very next night, Turin left as soon as it was dark enough in the slums. He believed that he simply needed to keep on utilizing his darkvision so that his brain and eyes could utilize it more effectively. Already, his highly adaptive mind had adjusted to the new cells in his eyes. The things around him seemed much clearer than they had the first night, as if his brain was more adept at processing this new sort of information. Everything also seemed a little bit brighter, which indicated that the bio-luminescent cells in his eyes were more effective as well. It occurred to him that he might have the distinctive red glow that the creature from the other night had possessed, but when he looked into a darkened window as a mirror all he could see was his eyes glowing brightly like a cat's. Making the note that he would have to ask somebody about the glow later, he moved on.

The third night came, and Turin once again stalked the streets. The extra darkness the last two nights had rendered the slums relatively inactive, but on this night there was something stirring. As he wandered around the rooftops, something swept across the gap between buildings. He could only just make it out at the edge of his vision, but he immediately gave chase. Whatever it was, it reminded him of the monster that had been chasing Doctor Sugewara over a week prior. With a leap, he cleared the gap himself and scrambled up the side of the adjacent building with chakra on his hands and feet. Vaulting over the top, he again caught side of a humanoid figure galloping on all fours ahead of him. He sprinted hard, and nearly caught up with it before it reached the edge of the building. It turned its head at his approach, and Turin saw the shine in its eyes just the same as his own. By the time he got to the side of the building, it was somehow gone. Standing on the edge of the roof and looking down, he could only just make out the street at the edge of his darkvision, thirty meters away.

When the fourth night came along, darkness looked to Turin the same as broad daylight, but all he could think about was the creatures. The one in the alley next to his own building was gone, not even the smell of it was left. Back in the slums again, he could move freely and see just about everything close by. He was pleased to note that it felt like the vision had been fully integrated into his senses in just about a week, but as he was patting himself on the back he saw it again. This time, he had his crossbow ready and fired after it, catching it in the leg with a well-placed bolt. Like the first one, it shrieked, so loudly and so powerfully that Turin had to cover his ears with his hands to make it bearable. Fighting through it, he ran over to where the monster was, lying in the wet street threatening to shatter windows with the force of its voice. Turin silenced it with a bolt to the brain, and watched the shine from its eyes fade. Once it was down, he could examine the body.

SKREEEE!!!

[Celaena Kamyuja]

Ten

[Molokai]

SPOILER: Click to show

Necromantic Lore
Rank: "D"
Skill: Skill
Effect: A basic skill to identify everything of Necromantic understanding.
Special: ---
Drawback: ---
Description: A person versed in Necromantic Lore knows the basic principles behind Necromancy. They are tuned in to secrets about the Dead and Undead around them that most others do not and know how to read Chakra Scrolls or Writings pertaining to Necromancy. They may not be able to perform Necromancy, but they can read Necromantic Writings and generally tell what it is all about. Some practical applications of Necromantic Lore follow: Identify Components, Identifying Necromantic Icons, Identifying Jutsus, Identifying Chakra Items, and Deciphering Scrolls. Look in Jutsu Lore Skills thread found in the Skills and Traits Index for more information. Each time learned user gets 5 die roll to increase the skill.
Limit: ---

-00/10TP-
-000/125SP-

The noise was enough that Turin's heart might have literally stopped for a brief second. There was something so inhuman about the sound, he would never have believed it came from something that looked so much like a person. Spinning on his heels, he led with the point of his crossbow and found himself staring down yet another of the creatures. Its eyes shone brightly, like a cat's but brighter.

It lunged, and Turin fired with a twitch of his finger. His bolt found its mark dead-center of the beast's chest; an agonizing kill shot on anything that needed air to live. He wasn't even sure it noticed. Unimpeded by the solid chunk of wood and metal lodged in its bronchial tubes, it slammed into him with unexpected strength. Flattened on his back, he held his crossbow between his two hands and pushed against its chest to keep its snarling, snapping jaws away from his neck. All the while it pawed at his face with its fingers bent, as if it thought it had claws. In a desperate surge of strength, he tucked his feet and kicked up at its stomach, pushing it up and over him. Rolling backward over his shoulder, he managed to mount it and began smashing its head in with the butt of his crossbow. The hard, wooden crack sounds slowly gave way to wet, meaty crunches, and the savage flailing faded to nauseating twitches with each drop of the hammer.

By the time his adrenaline-fueled terror-rage subsided, its head looked like so much moist, chunky meat splattered all over the sidewalk. In the black-and-white of his darkvision, he couldn't tell if it was red or not, but it hardly mattered. He sprang to his feet in revulsion, and tried to steady his shaking hands. With a calming breath, he realized that he now had two of the creatures dead, and an opportunity to study them.

Walking over to the more intact one, he pushed past the bile welling up in his throat and forced himself to examine it objectively. It was humanoid, human enough that it might have once been a living person. It was clothed like a civilian: masculine features, short-cropped, dark-colored hair, collared shirt, filthy jeans, and barefoot. The skin was pale and freezing cold to the touch, even colder than it would have been if it was merely a dead person. On the tips of its fingers, the nails were completely absent. In their place was a bloody mess with small bits of bone faintly visible. This explains why it wasn't able to claw me, Turin observed. The feet were a similar story, the bottoms were completely red and raw as if it had been running around barefoot for days without stopping. The wounds didn't look fresh, though. They were crusted and foul, as if the only thing stopping them from bleeding was the layer of dirt, but didn't seem to have healed at all.

With a churn in his stomach, he looked at its throat. Mangled, with dry, empty tubes sticking out like plumbing that had burst. Looking at the remains of its trachea, Turin realized with horror that the noise it made hadn't come from its mouth. Against his greatest desires, he put his hand in the mess of sinew and tubes below its chin, and found that it was bone dry. The remains of the meat were similar to the pale, bloodless cuts of steak one might find at a butcher shop. Pulling his bolt from its skull, and then the one from its leg, he found that they were also dry. No blood, he thought as he replaced his bolts in his quiver, its body is completely dry. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite recall exactly what it was. All he knew was that it chilled his heart colder than the creature's skin.

Moving up to its mouth, he watched it for any signs of animation as he slowly reached to part its lips. When it didn't immediately spring up and bite his fingers off, he chanced a look inside. The teeth were jagged and destroyed, sharp only because of the angles of the many shards. They were completely unlike a person who files their teeth to points on purpose. They weren't even, weren't all pointed, and many of them were even missing. It was like the teeth had been haphazardly sharpened by gnawing on things at slightly sideways angle. Turin shuddered to think of what they had been gnawing on to get that effect. Inside the mouth, its tongue looked like a shredded mass of hamburger, barely clinging on by a sinew. It looked to him like it had been persistently biting its tongue without even realizing, or possibly chewing on it when it didn't have anything else to chew on. Inside the mouth was totally void of saliva, just as dry as the rest of its body.

Finally, he pushed himself to check out its eyes. He went to peel its eyelids back, but found that its eyes were already open. A quick check proved what he already suspected: the eyelids were completely gone. Looking down into its bulging eyeballs, he found that its irises were totally black. He could still see the whites of its eyes, but where the irises should be was coal black. That was, until he looked straight down into them. There, he saw a shine and realized that its eyes were reflecting the light from his own darkvision. Guess that's why their eyes seem to shine now instead of just glow, he thought, my darkvision makes their eyes look like flashlights to me.

These creatures clearly used to be people, then something was done to them to turn them into undead monsters of the night. Turin needed to know more about them so he could try to solve where they came from. Unfortunately, he had neither the tools nor the skills to conduct a full autopsy, and he doubted there would be any books on them at the local library. What he needed was a doctor. A doctor with skill and experience, but most importantly a reason to want to help him.

And he knew just the man.

[Molokai]

-Necromantic Lore-
-Second Post-

The trick would be getting the good doctor to perform a surprise autopsy on an undead monster in a clinic full of people.

Against Turin's extreme desire to not have to touch the thing, he got down and hefted its carcass over his shoulder like a huge, disgusting sack of potatoes. It was lighter than he had anticipated, which he figured was probably a result of the total lack of fluids. Decided to leave the melon-smashed one where it was, he swallowed his disgust and plodded off through the wet muck toward the clinic. Once he arrived outside, he noticed a problem. How am I going to get this thing through the front door? he quietly asked himself as he tried not to think about how his jacket was going to smell.

With a short but awkward set of handseals, made difficult because he had to form them while holding on to a limp body, he turned the corpse invisible. Making a big show of limping in, he pretended like the weight on his shoulder was from an injury and demanded to see Doctor Sugewara right away. When the various nurses kept trying to examine his "wound", he had to push them away and started to get mildly irate that it was taking so long for them to listen.

"Alright, alright, what's all this, then?" Came a familiar and welcome voice, "Ah, Turin! I had hoped I wouldn't have to see you so soon. That is to say, ah, not that it's bad to see you, it's just that we don't often have regulars in a doctor's office." He chuckled at his own joke before actually noticing that Turin was hunched over with a pained look on his face. "Oh! My apologies! Come, come, in with you!"

Relieved at no longer having to explain himself to the nurses, he hauled the hidden corpse carefully through the crowded waiting room, making very sure not to accidentally hit someone with its putrid feet. Once the pair arrived in the examination room, the good doctor said, "Alright, now, let's take a look at you."

"Take a look at this instead," Turin interjected before dropping the mangled corpse on the paper-lined examination table and lifting the genjutsu on it. Doctor Sugewara yelped audibly and stumbled into a canister full of tongue depressors, making a huge racket.

A gentle knock on the door and a tiny voice, "is everything okay in there, doctor?"

"Yes, yes, everything's fine. Just slipped is all, nothing I can't handle, carry on." Once the clicking footsteps disappeared down the hallway, the gentle voice of the good doctor was replaced by a violent, red-faced hiss, "What in the blazes is this?"

"This," Turin declared, "is one of the creatures that was chasing you the night we met. I thought that you would appreciate the chance to examine one up close."

"This is outrageous. . ." Sugewara managed to stammer through his apparent shock.

"Doctor, this is important. I need to know more about these creatures so that I can find their source and stop them. The one following you wasn't the only one, and unless I do something there can only be more. I need someone with medical expertise to help me find out what makes them tick, so that I can make them stop ticking, understand?" The good doctor's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air as he wrestled with the quandary. After a moment, he sighed.

"Very well, help me transport it to the autopsy table."

Once there, Sugewara made Turin change into more appropriate surgical wear so as not to contaminate the subject, or contaminate his clothes with whatever came from the subject. Laid out on a stainless steel table and covered from chest to toe with a blue surgical blanket, the monster almost looked like an innocent victim of a horrible crime. Swallowing hard, the good doctor began his work.

"First, the throat," he began, reaching for the mangled bits of neck tissue and tubes. He didn't say anything Turin hadn't gathered himself, but hearing a professional agree with him was useful. "Next," he went on, "the mouth. Oh, lord. The teeth appear to have been most crudely sharpened. This was not a precise operation, as you can see. Many tribes and clans practice teeth sharpening, as it makes them look fierce and oft turns their mouths into weapons. The Hoshigake clan, for instance, is fond of the look. But this, though. It looks like it was done with a chisel. The teeth are not filed to points, but rather chipped as if by a very clumsy hand. I wouldn't be at all surprised to find out that this. . . person did this to himself." Difficult though it was for him, he went on, "The tongue is also destroyed. It seems that it has been chewed upon." More information that Turin had gathered on his own, although the part about the chipping of the teeth was new to him.

"The eyes. . . the eyelids are missing. Judging by the straightness of the laceration, I'd say that they were removed by a very sharp blade, possibly even a scalpel. That is most curious." Turin agreed. Why would the teeth have been haphazardly chipped away, but the eyelids carefully removed with surgery? "The pupils are extremely dilated, the iris has been compressed to a smaller size than usual to accommodate. You see, the thin ring between the black and the white? That's what's left of the iris." Turin had thought the irises simply black, it hadn't occurred to him that it was simply a super-dilated pupil. "Furthermore," Sugewara said as he shined a light into the creature's eyes, "the eyes are hyper-reflective. Sort of like a cat's but much stronger. I would say this. . . whoever he was, had exceptional night vision."

"When I looked at them while they were alive," Turin added, "they looked like they were shining. When I looked at my reflection in the dark, there was a similar shine, but not as bright. I remember they just sort of glowed before I got the darkvision, but tonight they looked like flashlights."

"Hmm, they must have dark vision as well, then. There is something else most curious about the eyes, though: no surgical scars. You see, I pride myself in my needlework, so to speak, but if a medical professional were to examine your eyes they would be able to see the minuscule scar tissue left over from the surgery. No amount of skill can prevent that, I'm afraid, but this person appears to have no such scarring. Not only that, but the size of the pupils and the shine you mention imply that his dark vision is significantly more potent than yours. You have the best dark vision that modern medicine is capable of bestowing on a person, if I do say so myself. So, whoever did this must have found some way to induce the mutation naturally. Well, not naturally, but you know what I mean. That's the only way that it could have such potency without surgery.

"Turin, I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, but whoever is doing. . . this. . . to people is a monster. A monster, but a genius. This thing is an abomination. You must be careful. If he, she, it, whoever gets a hold of you, the creature you turn into could the end of us all."

Turin had thought of that, but he had to do it all the same. What he had learned so far was that the eyelids had been removed far more professionally than the teeth had been sharpened, and that the eyes were somehow mutated without surgery to specialize in low-light environments. He would learn far more about this creature before the night was done, that much was clear. With a deep breath from the both of them, the good doctor starting pulling down the blanket.

[Molokai]

-Necromantic Lore-
-Third Post-

The body looked as though the skin had been vacuum-sealed onto it. What little muscle mass remained was deeply striated, and the skin was stretched so tautly that the joints seemed ready to split open. Turin was reminded of the bodies he used to see in the desert slums when he was a child; people who had died without anybody noticing and slowly mummified in the dry air. Although, the cadaver lying before him didn't seem as scrawny as those people who wasted away from starvation. Before he became this creature, this was definitely a healthy human being, by civilian standards at least. As the blanket descended to the creature's genitals, Turin steeled his stomach for a horror show, and was met with pure confusion.

There, where the genitalia should have been, was simply a complete and utter lack of anything. He thought perhaps he had simply misidentified the gender, which wouldn't have been surprising given the level of mutilation. However, further inspection proved that there simply were not any genitals. Doctor Sugewara seemed similarly perplexed, and began poking and prodding to discover where they might have gone. When a deep frown darkened the good doctor's face, Turin moved closer to inspect what he had found. "See this scar here," Sugewara said, trying to maintain his professionalism, "This man had been castrated prior to becoming. . . this. Likely weeks before, because it is almost entirely healed. The subtlety of the scar also indicates extreme surgical precision. This was a careful amputation, probably done while the subject was under sedation, clearly aimed at making sure that he didn't die of blood loss or shock."

"So, we're looking at some sort of mad scientist, then?" Turin asked with all seriousness.
"No," Sugewara replied, "no amount of surgery can turn a man into whatever this is. This abomination is beyond simple medicine." He was right. Despite the eyelids and the genitals being carefully surgically removed, there was no surgery that could sustain life with that sort of throat damage, or the lack of bodily fluids. It was very strange, the combination of careful surgery and savage barbarity. Had these people been turned into monsters on purpose, or were they an accident created by a madman? The answer wouldn't come from this table, he knew, but there was still more information to be gained from this man's misfortune.

Satisfied with his examination of the outside, Doctor Sugewara retrieved a scalpel and performed the Y-cut on the front of the body. He grunted and struggled to get the razor-sharp blade through the tough, rubbery skin. As it separated, it almost seemed to leap apart as if it were stretched latex kept under tension. The muscle beneath was gray and lifeless. Further difficult cutting eventually got them through the muscle layer and into the vital organs. The circular saw made a wicked, high-pitched whine as it cut through the ribs and breastplate to expose the heart and lungs beneath. Turin's stomach turned, and even Doctor Sugewara had to turn his head for a moment at what they saw within.

All of the internal organs were black and shriveled, as if they had mummified within the body. It was the utter lack of moisture, Turin thought, that prevented them from decaying like normal. All of the organs within this body were utterly destroyed and useless, save for the lungs. While the lungs were gray and dry, they hadn't shriveled up as the others had done. Thinking back to the blood-curdling sound it had made, it was clear that the lungs existed solely to make that noise. No genitals, no internal organs, no moisture, no throat, no eyelids, but functioning lungs for making noise. It was clear now that this creature was no accident. It had been designed for some disgusting, monstrous purpose. It was certainly not biology or reason that animated it, either. Living in that state was utterly impossible, which meant that only chakra or magic could possibly sustain such a creature. Immediately, Turin thought of medical ninjas as one of the few kinds of people with the medical ability to perform the surgery and the chakra skill to animate the body.

The question was, who?

[Yoshi [Lynx!]]

+30tp
+67sp
You go to 67/125

[Molokai]

SPOILER: Click to show

Sense Motive
Rank: "E"
Skill: Skill
Effect: User is skilled at detecting falsehoods and true intentions.
Special: ---
Drawback: ---
Description: A successful check lets you avoid being bluffed (see the Acting skill). The user can also use this skill to determine when "something is up" (that is, something odd is going on) or to assess someone's trustworthiness. Sense Motive does not, however, allow a character to determine whether a given statement is a lie. In addition, a character can use this skill to make an assessment of a social situation. With a successful check (Very Difficult Difficulty), the character can get the feeling from another's behavior that something is wrong. Also, the character can get the feeling that someone is trustworthy and honorable. A Sense Motive check may be made as a reaction to another character's Acting check. Try Again: No, though user may make a Sense Motive Check for each Acting check made against the user. Look in Task Skills thread found in the Skills and Traits Index for more information. If user has 25 or more Ranks in Evidence Analysis user gains a Synergy Bonus +10 to Sense Motive. If user has 25 or more Ranks in Cultures user gains a Synergy Bonus +10 to Sense Motive when interacting with someone of said Culture. If user has 25 or more Ranks in Cultures user gains a Synergy Bonus +10 to Sense Motive when interacting with someone of said Culture. Each time learned user gets 1 die roll to increase the skill.
Limit: ---

-0/5TP-
-000/125SP-

Something occurred to him then that he had not expected; a question that he had never bothered to ask, but now seemed very important. "Doctor," Turin said, still fixated on the mummified organs and vacant, staring eyes of the corpse, "why were you being chased that night?"

"Ah, hmm? Which night do you mean?" Sugewara didn't look directly at him, just started busying himself with rearranging his surgical tools.

What does he mean, 'which night'? How often does he get chased by these things? "The night we met," Turin said while slowly turning to face him, his voice rising in suspicion, "I saved you from one of these things. Why was it chasing you in the first place?"

"W. . . Well I'm sure I have no idea," he said breathlessly, still refusing to look directly at him. The question had started off harmless enough, but the good Doctor's sudden nervousness struck an alarm bell. Turin stared hard at the fidgeting Doctor, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms. As he looked, he picked up on a shaking in the doctor's hands, the bead of sweat running down his temple, the red flush creeping up his neck. "I, I, I told you that I was j. . . just minding my own business then this, this thing just comes out of nowhere and attacks me! I have no idea why!" Turin had never been skilled at telling when people were lying. Historically, he had just assumed that everybody just mixed lies and truth constantly to suit their needs. But right then, it was clear to even him that the good Doctor was lying, even though telling the truth would have benefited him. Unless. . . he thought as Sugewara continued to stammer and sweat, "An. . . An. . . And furthermore, I don't think it's appropriate for you to be interrogating me, when I am the one. . ."

"Doctor," Turin's stare could have melted steel. His sharp, red-tinged eyes burned Sugewara's skin and made him squirm. "Is there any particular reason you're lying to me?" The good Doctor puffed up like a bullfrog, red-faced and sweating, trying to feign offense at the suggestion. However, the marksman's face was a mask of iron, and his facade crumbled before it like a sandcastle before the sea. He sighed as his chin sunk down to his chest.

"Turin," he said, resigned, "Please understand, I never meant to hurt anybody."

[Molokai]

-Second Post-

That was significantly worse than Turin had expected. "You never meant to hurt anybody? Are you saying you're responsible for this? Doctor, what did you do?" He wasn't sure which was worse, the fact that the "Good Doctor" was implicit in making monsters, or that he had made the mistake of trusting him.

"NO nono, Turin, wait, please, allow me to explain." Sugewara was backing away, waving his hands in front of him to ward off Turin's wrath, terror plastered on his face. "I didn't do. . . this. Ok? This is not my fault."

"Not your fault? What exactly did you do?" Turin was furious, although whether it was at the doctor or himself he couldn't be sure.

"I. . . It's less of what I did, and rather more of what I didn't do. Or, failed to do. Should have done. Please, listen. . ."

"I am listening." But my patience won't last much longer. Doctor Sugewara's rambling was starting to sound like he was buying time to think of what to say. In Turin's mind, he had all but decided on Sugewara's guilt. What he said next would greatly affect whether or not he would be walking out of that office again.

"There was a doctor that used to work here. Brilliant man, truly an artist of medicine. I've never seen anybody with a steadier hand for surgery. Through his work, he solved almost all of our financial troubles single-handed. I should have known it was too good to be true, but I was too happy to even consider anything was the matter. But one day one of our secretaries brought to my attention a large source of income that was unaccounted for. In my haste, I wrote it off as a clerical error, but it still gnawed at me. It wasn't until years after he came to me that I caught him performing augmentation surgeries that I had specifically forbidden, and I promptly kicked him out."

As the story went on, Turin saw that the doctor was becoming more and more relaxed. All of the nervous ticks started to dissipate, as the truth seemed to be making him feel better. "What was his name?"

"His name is Doctor Ras. Salom Ras."

[Molokai]

-Third Post-

"Am I supposed to know who that is?"

Doctor Sugewara looked a little disappointed. From the ominous way he said the name, he clearly expected Turin to know offhand who that was. Maybe he was a big name in the medical world, but to Turin al-Sahar, it meant absolutely nothing. Besides, the shinobi thought to himself, there's no way that's his real name. Sugewara, on the other hand, seemed to be totally convinced of its legitimacy.

"You've never heard of Salom Ras?" The doctor said, aghast. Whatever else Doctor Sugewara was, he at least appeared to be an honest man. Once his clumsy attempt at lying had been broken, it seemed unlikely that he would try to lie again. Or so Turin had thought, right up until he had said the name "Salom Ras". Whether the good Doctor had been lied to about this man's identity, or whether he was now trying to lie about it, Turin couldn't be sure. What he was sure of, though, is that he didn't believe a word of it.

"Uh, huh," he said with exaggerated incredulity, "and this Doctor Ras, he specializes in making vampires, does he?"

"Turin, listen to me." A darkness crept into Sugewara's voice that Turin had not been expecting, "I don't know why you asked for my help only to question me like I'm somehow responsible for these monstrosities, but I will not have it. If you do not want my help, you can find someone else willing to do clandestine autopsies for you. Anybody else would have called you a madman and sent you packing, or worse. I am helping you because I believe you mean well, but I will not stand here and be accused of necromancy by a murderer! Do you understand me?" It was now Doctor Sugewara's turn to bear down on Turin, a shadow covering his face where once there was only light. "I saw you. I saw the way you dispatched of the other one as easy as one takes out the trash. I see the wound left on this one, the precision of the shot that killed it. I can tell that you are extremely well-trained in dealing death, but I am equally well-trained in giving life. I would never, do you hear me? Never participate in the making of these abominations. So you will kindly learn to believe the truth when it is told to you, and not insinuate accusations at people who are helping you. Do I make myself clear?"

Turin was left gaping, his mouth opening and closing like a stupid fish, floundering for words. The good Doctor seemed to take this matter personally, that much was clear. He hadn't expected to be scolded by Doctor Sugewara any more than he expected to meet him in a dark alley. He's right, though, Turin realized, not everyone is out to hurt people. This man was a rare breed: someone Turin could trust.