Birthright [P][M]

[Fuck Yeah!]

name; exploring kaminari no kuni
rank; b
description; Kumogakure no Sato is tasked with keeping Kaminari no Kuni safe for the travelers. Whether it is bandits or shinobi from another village. Additionally the Raikage hates not knowing things. Knowledge is power and without knowledge, you lack power. Without power you lack the ability to grow, and expand. So you’re tasked with exploring our lands. If you spot a shinobi from another village don’t hesitate to quickly return and inform the Raikage. Do not hastily rush into battle if the numbers are against you. However if everything is peaceful then enjoy your away time. Note this mission will give you two days of leave from Kumogakure no Sato. If you do not return to Kumogakure no Sato you will be sought after.
reward; 100 experience, 2,500 ryo
minimum shinobi; one
mission status; interminable

Someday, Someday I Will Rule

Journeying around typically wasn't the Noble Ninjas favorite pastime. He certainly wasn't much one for strolling about and the idea of patrolling anything left chills in his spine. To him it just wasn't worth it. His place was at the command, on the front lines of a battle leading the charge against blood thirsty invaders. His lot in life was in the war rooms, positioning his troops, flanking, maneuvering and outwitting his enemy. The caste for him was that of the warrior and the leader, not the damned footman looking for rogue bugs to squash.

Sadly this was the only B rank mission he could draw from the lot. The more action packed ones were taken and the remaining were ones which required a trade, trades he himself lacked. All was not lost, however, he was blessed with being able to prance about the countryside. Looking on at the beautiful majesty that is Kumogakure. Oh, if only it was a bit more exciting.

Grabbing up his missions sheet, the oh so eager chuunin would return to his temporary home and lash on his effects. A spear most notably, seven feet long and forged from gold. Etched with dragon and snake alike. Fire of Dragos written down the side, one of the many un-official motto's of the Dragos name. Little did most people know that "Born To Breathe, Born To Battle, Born To Rule" was the real words of their clan. Representing the only three things a Dragos need do, breath, battle and rule.

Strapping on his boots he'd close the cobra marked door behind him and set off for his adventure. Just another walk around the thunder country was what he expected. Little did the Prince of Dragos know that he would be taking a walk down memory lane. A walk down the future of the rest of his life.

[Fuck Yeah!]

Heading out the gates, he'd flash his badge at the guarding ANBU and just keep walking. While they may technically rule him in this village, he knew that by birthright they were nothing more then his foot servants. His disdain for the village, those that served it and everything it represented was truly deep. So much so that as he walked on towards his mission, a mission he may not return from, he didn't even look back. Looking back meant it mattered and to him, Kumogakure mattered not.

What did matter to him was the dirt beneath his leather boots. The very dust that permeated his royal clothing and clung to his regal flesh. It was on this very dusty path out of the village that his ancestors marched down from the mountains. In the way back time, thousands of years earlier, they were just crag people. Hunting like barbarians just as every other tribe before them did. This was until the great and wise Tywin Dragos united his own clan and lead them toward conquest.

Revolutionized by his genius, the Dragos clan would master things centuries before the other clans would even theorize such conceptions. It was this level of thinking, planning and organizing that allowed him to unite all of the crag people under his banner, the banner of the snake. Once united they were able to travel the unbeaten road down to the earth below them. There heavy hide boots flattening the surface into a path, the same path he now walked.

In his Family they tell tales of how if one presses their ear to this path, they can steal here the quaking boom of a thousand mountain warriors marching down the road. Dragos knew better than this though, such things were stories told to children. Tales and fables riddled with impossibilities. Created simply to build faith and love for their name. He wouldn't need to stop and press his ear to any road, he was no child.

[Fuck Yeah!]

While he didn't rub his head against the ground to feel the ancient stops of long dead man, he did feel their echoing steps in his heart. To him these stories were told not to breed legend or fertilize the makebelieve, they were to herald their tale. The tale of a clan with nothing, just like everyone else, becoming the rulers of all the land. This was the purpose of the story, to show that his clan made it possible.

Looking at the road was more difficult than he perceived it too be though. It caused him to think deeply about his life so far, his accomplishments. To him, this road represented the very beginnings of his clan, the flint and stone that begot a revolution of mankind. It was here their story started. When was his going to begin? True he had trained long and hard his whole life. He had lead units into battle and returned victorious. He was the rightful heir to the throne of not just the Dragos Clan but the entire ninja world. All of that was true, but he couldn't shake asking himself, when would his story begin?

To himself he was nothing more than an overly glorified child. Still living at his family keep on the Glendara Isles. Still living off the vast fortunes his clan had amassed. Still hoping and praying and working and striving for that one opportunity when everything would fall into place and he could shine. Shine like his ancestors did, shine like his father did, shine like his family does. He wished to shine brighter than any star in the universe, yet when would his story begin.

Looking up from his shoes down the long road ahead of him, it would become clear as day. He had very much of the path left to travel. While his ancestors may have carved him a path of the might of their step, they could not walk this path for him and just as they walked it so would he. He would march down it with such conviction, such passion and such justification that no one would be able to question his rightful claim to these lands. To his blood claimeto this path. To his right as Lord. He would no longer need to ask when his story began, for he knew, it began the second he took a step down this path.

[Fuck Yeah!]

It wouldn't be very long down the path before he would reach a most familiar place. Sun shining in the sky, rocky bluffs to the west, beautiful lake looking out over the shore. There was more to this scene than what met the eye however. If one looked closely at the horizon, squinted a bit and peered through the glare of the sun, they would be able to make out a miniscule black dot. If one went closer and closer though, this microscopic dot would continually grow. Grow until it towered over all else. This was his home. This was his Land. This was his Keep.

The Isle of Glendaras as it was known. Upon this gargantuan floating mass of land was the colossal Vanguard De Dragos. a massive hand carved castle, capable of housing entire armies upon it. The family home of his clan for more then three thousand years. Every true title holder of the Dragos clan had at one point walked through the halls, stared upon the carvings and sat upon the natural stone steps. As though it was sculpted directly out of a mountain. Honor, Glory, Power, carved into the front for all to see.

Directly below the words was the sigil of Clan Dragos, the striking Cobra and below that was the family name. Anyone who came upon the Isle of Glandaras would know who lived here, the sign of their banner and what they stood for. This was the purpose of the Vanguard, to show all the world that the Dragos Clan was more than just a mountain tribe, they were a force to be reckoned with, a true noble force.

Conquered around three hundred years after the clan originally united. The island was offered by a local war lord for a treaty of peace. This was refused by Viserys ancestor, however, as Dragos need not the the charity of others. They needed it just as much as they needed peace. Instead of taking the island by gift, they crushed the warlord and took it by force, claiming it as their keep for now and time eternal. This is where the legend turned into something great, where the power began.

[Fuck Yeah!]

Like the path though, he could only look into the distance for so long, only take in the sights for so long. The smell of the saltwater burnt his nostrils, the glare of the sun singed his eyes but most of all, the towering glory of the miniscule speck crushed him beneath it's gravity. It might seem silly to others, to allow such a dot control you so, but this was just not some bit of dust to be pushed away, this was his castle. More than that, this was his future.

Nary had there been a Dragos whose accomplishments didn't far exceed the average man. It was foretold by their prophets long ago that any true born Dragos would be the fire that lit up the world. The power of such a statement was not lost on him. Nor was the fact that over the last three thousand plus years the prophet's story was upheld and the fore-bearers of his name would be as well known as they would be royal. As accomplished as they would be talented.

Yet here he was, still without a noteworthy accomplishment. Better than your typical person of his age but not near the potential a Dragos should be at. He had lead troops to battle, he had even won his campaign, it was not a campaign worth remembering however, it was not a skirmish worth legends. His greatest fear was not being like his ancestors, not carrying on the title of Dragos with pride. To have songs sung in your honor by traveling stewards and men drunkenly cheering your house as they toss around their ail. This was his dream.

Not stopping was the most difficult part, all he truly wanted to do was stand on the lakeside and stare into the tiny speck that was his home. To stare until he knew. To burn a hole in it to peer with his very soul. To realize his potential and discover that he was far more than the Prince of Dragos, but that he was Viserys Dragos, son of Tyrion Dragos and Descendant of Tywin Dragos, Unitor of the Realm. He simply wanted to be like his heroes. Wanted to be like his superman.[

[Fuck Yeah!]

While he enjoyed looking on at his family home, there wasn't any time left to linger, he needed to finish scouting out the country, lest he fail his mission and dishonor his family. Bidding the shore one last farewell, he would look out at the black dot and make a promise. A promise to this ancestors, his fore-bearers, that he would not stop till he completed the prophecy. Till he become greater then any Dragos before him. Till he, like Tywin, ruled all the known world and every man, woman and child knew the name Dragos.

Heading back to the bath set ahead for him, it wouldn't be long before he reached another landmark of the fabled Dragos clan. The Scarlett fields, land of ninety thousand souls. A field with waist high grass, yet, oddly enough the tips of all the grass were sanguine red. A solid inch off the northern most of each blade of grass held the hue. It was this hue that held propagate the legend, if you can call something so unarguably true a legend that is.

As the tale has it, a rival clan had began growing in power after the Dragos began to really rule. By this point in time they had amassed over five hundred separate tribes and were beginning to unite the very known world itself. At this most critical moment, that is when the other clan decided to strike. They moved across the land attempting to wrest the powers from Dragos hands, this was a sacrificial and ultimately wasted attempt. While they had strong numbers, they simply couldn't match the raw might, resources or size of Clan Dragos. Even more so they had no way of invading the impenetrable Vanguard De Dragos.

They met on this plain for the final stand. Each side numbering well over the average army. The Dragos, however, simply had far too many. The, now nameless, clan stood no chance and was massacred. They fought valiently and brought down many of his clan, their really was just no way for them to win and it showed. In their leaders last dying breath, he asked simply to be remembered. For this, Viserys's ancestors had his name and the name of the entire tribe stricken from history. Every baby killed and every document burned.

[Fuck Yeah!]

Like all stories of the Dragos clan, this one was drilled into every child's head as he or she came of age. It taught about duty, honor, glory and most importantly of all, that there was nothing and no one that could stop a Dragos, much less an Army of them. It cemented the idea that he and his kin were simply greater by birth than any other being could hope to be and even those that bring countless troops to your doorstep can do nothing more than beg for mercy at the end of the day.

Just thinking about the battle got him jacked up, got him wanting the glory and the feel of steel clashing. It caused him to hunger for the rage of slaughter. Made him yearn once more for the chance to prove that there was no one like him in his family and no one like his family in the world. Internally pounding his chest once more for every red stricken blade of grass he passed, thousands even, it mattered not. For he was not just a warrior, he was a warrior of the most powerful lineage in the world.

There was nothing like a good glory high to get him going. To add a little extra kick to his step and snap to his hands. When he walked past the thoughts of blood and fire and carnage filled his mind. Yet it was none of this that truly excited him, it was the chance to have ones name remembered forever and to do something you truly want to do while you do it. This is what he wished to do more than anything else in the world, something he knew he eventually would.

Even more than battle and glory , however, it made him think of loyalty and dedication. It was these traits that helped define his clan. To never willingly short another member or to attack him without true and unhindered cause. These tenants separated them from animals. As did forming up under one banner to face the greatest threat to the organized world and winning with honor, pride and glory. That was what it was to be a Dragos. That's what it was to rule.

[Fuck Yeah!]

Honor, Loyalty, Dedication. The words would spiral around his head as he continued his walk around the gorgeous country side. What such words meant then and now. How to reconcile feelings, wants and dreams with those tenants. How to best fulfill them and make the family as well as himself proud of what he wishes to do. The plot of land he would arrive to next was simply perfect for what he needed. Perfect for those that are confused and more suited for teaching responsibility and dedication than any other creation in the universe.

The funeral markers of the Dragos Clan. Not the actually grave sites as the Dragos entombed all those that died in their clan, even if none of their body remained. The grave markers, however, were white sticks on the side of the road to remind all who pass by of what his family did. The sacrifices they make and the sacrifices they still make for not just the clan, but the whole world itself. Even though they do not still rule, they will never give up on the realm.

With the last great war coming and going, the markers seem so much more abundant than the last time he walked by them. It's customary to always pay respects to the dead in his family. To let them know that you have not forgotten their plight or the plight of all your people, all over the world. This was something even one as logically thinking as he, could not pass up to do.

Getting down upon one knee, he would pledge allegiance to the fallen. Stating that he would do everything in his power to continue to bring honor to their shared names. He would further on vow to one day fall either leading or fighting for a bed was simply no place for a true soldier of the Vanguard and knight of the Dragos. He concluded this vow by burning a single flower ans placing it upon the highest rock he could currently reach.

[Fuck Yeah!]

Finishing up his vows and placing the burning flower upon the tree, he would look back one final time and think to the sacrifices they all made for his clan and the world. With this one last look, he made another vow, a vow to never let himself or his clan down, to never fall until his dreams were complete. To never rest until the Dragos clan once more rules the world. This was the vow he took, re-affirmed in his convictions before he once again took to the road in front of him.

When he began this path he was originally quite unsure of where he was at. Certainly not confident in his ability to one day take the reigns of The Isle of Glendara and even more so at The Vanguard. It was all an immense responsibility and childhood grooming aside he had quite the shoes to fill. His father did amazing things and he was determined to do things of an even better quality.

Though now after taking this journey, after looking all throughout the signs of the country and how intertwined they are with his ancestors, now he was solid once again. The reminders of his ancestors would show him that he truly was of ancient and noble blood and that no matter how he feels, he cannot and will not fall until his dreams have finally come true. For not just him but for his entire family.

Stepping back onto the road in which he originally left, he thought to the legend. The legend that one could press their ear to the earth and hear the gallop and stomp of over a thousand soldiers. A story for children he always said. Then it hit him, perhaps not, perhaps you truly can. Freezing where he stood directly in front of the gates. He would wait to show the guard his I.D. Instead he would kneel for a moment on one knee and with his body he would reach it towards the ground. He would reach his ear towards the ground.

//.Exit

[DAVID BOWE]

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