From Whence He Came [Private]

[Anmida]

SPOILER: Click to show

{Spoiler}Art Of My Forefathers
Rank: B
Description: A routine cleaning of the family home has led Aneun to discover a hidden compartment in his late mothers room. Hidden within was a lone painting of his mother with what seemed to be a love letter on the back. Believing the artist to be his father, he has set out on a quest to discover his heritage and the reason for his innate talent for the Arts. And also to beat his father senseless, should he find him.
Restrictions: Song, Aneun only. One time. Admin Sanctioned.
Rewards: Access to S rank and higher Sumi Jutsu

A cold sweat ran down his neck as the pitch black blade inched closer and closer toward his neck. Despite the danger he was in, Aneun felt more anger than he did fear. It was due to the man who stood several feet away partially shrouded by darkness. As the moonlight moved and reflected off the strangers silhouette, his visage became clear and brought forth a swell of emotions from within. While he did not know for a fact this was the man he was searching for, his blood and instincts knew. He wanted nothing more than to tear the man limb from limb, but he could do naught but utter a single word. "Father. . ."

20 hours earlier. . .

All was normal in the family home of Aneun, left to him by his late mother. And yet it was a day he hated with a passion. Once a month was the time he would clean the entire house; an involuntary act hammered into him by his mother. While he could not prevent his natural laziness from delaying the chore, he could not rid himself of the desire to clean once in a while either. And like usual, he would start with his mothers room. Sliding open the door to his mothers room, he took a moment to look at the unchanged room. In memory of the deceased, he had left the room exactly how his mother left it and did nothing to change the feel she'd imbued into it.

Once done reminiscing, he grabbed his duster and entered the room. His first task was to open the doors leading toward the central garden, to allow a gentle breeze to blow through the room before beginning to dust the place. As it had been a month since the last time he cleaned, one could imagine the dust storm that culminated when the duster and the light breeze mixed. Said dust would then find itself wafting around Aneun's nose and cause an uncontrollable sneeze in the lad. A sneeze that led to him momentarily losing his balance and losing grip of the duster. And by trying to regain control of his body, he would accidentally step onto the duster causing him to fall backwards; his head slamming right into his mothers treasured makeup desk. Wham!

Crying out in pain as he grasped his head to soothe himself, a singular tear formed before rolling down his face. "Son of a bitch!" He said as he lay there in a fetal position for several minutes. As the pain began to fade, he wearily rose to his feet. "Come here you goddamn stupid dust-- Hmm?" His cursing of an inanimate object as he tried to pick it up, was suddenly interrupted as Aneun noted something about his mothers desk. A protrusion had appeared on the right side of the desk. Seeing such a thing for the first time, he tugged on the protruding piece of wood to reveal a hidden compartment with a single dusty scroll sitting inside.

From the accumulation of dust, he concluded that the scroll had been sitting in there ever since his mothers death. Picking the scroll up, he blew on it to remove the dust before unrolling the parchment. And to his surprise, he found that the scroll contained a stunningly beautiful portrait of his mother. Her position and demeanor in the painting told him it had been painted from a distance; her form tranquil and yet almost sad. "A secret admirer?" Aneun thought to himself but quickly threw the idea away. He had not noted any men showing any attention toward his mother aside from the disdainful looks they gave both him and his mother. Curious to find any more clues about the artist, he checked the back of the parchment, and found that a poem had been written on it.

The beauty puts up the curtain,
And sits moody with furrowed brows.
We only see the stains of her tears.
No one knows who she is hating.

The beauty puts up the curtain,
And sits moody with furrowed brows.
We only see traces of her tears.
Who does her heart belong to?

While the poem wanted to make him barf at its cringe worthy sappiness, what really caught his attention were the initials signed into the bottom right of the scroll. Subconsciously his body tensed as he read the initials "S. W. B" and before he knew it, he'd shoved the scroll back into its hiding place and storming out of the room. The reason for his anger was the 'S' part of the initials; the same initial as his last name. This meant the person who painted that picture was likely none other than his father. A bastard who abandoned his family before Aneun was even born.

[Anmida]

"Father?" I could not help but let out a boisterous laugh at the accusation thrown my way. I knew I had no children in this world and yet for this lad to make such an assumption brought me much amusement. For years there were people who wanted my secret, but none had tried to persuade me that I was their father. And for good reason. It was such a foolish notion that just hearing it will result in immediate death to whoever made the accusation. And I intended to do the same now but something held me back. A strange feeling prevented me from ending the retarded lads life. "You're a funny kid. Why don't you go home to your mommy before I send you back in pieces." Who does this kid think he is?

---

"Laughter? LAUGHTER?!" He thought to himself in a fit of rage. That the man before him would laugh at such a fact made the emotions within Aneun surge violently. In order to contain himself from lashing out in mindless rage, he averted his eyes from the man by shutting them tightly. He thought he could control himself. He thought all would be fine as long as he ignored his fathers words, that is until the man said something unforgivable. "Mommy?" He mumbled. "W-what did you? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY?!" And it was in that moment that he allowed his emotions to get the better of him.

In more ways than one did his rage manifest. His feet were placed equidistant from one another while arms, and hands spread open to make his form seem more imposing. At the same time his blood awoke in an all familiar ocular form; the crimson hue and single tomoe unmistakable as the Sharingan. Ink would also surge forth in great volume, knocking the dark blade aimed at his neck aside before it began to inch its way up Aneun's body. As if attempting to consume the young lad, the ink attached to several parts of his body: left leg, waist, torso, right arm, and the right side of his face. His body leaned forward as his form became somewhat more feral in nature; bloodshot crimson locked onto its prey.

"No right. . . say. . . word. . ." He said with a deeper, inhuman, and deranged voice.

It was in that moment he regretted not leaving that scroll where it was hidden.

19 Hours earlier. . .

An hour had passed since Aneun discovered the painting supposedly drawn by his father. Wanting to forget the memory, he had gone on to clean his home as he had planned, but could not rid himself of the curiosity, nor the anger. For so many years he wondered who his father was, and why the man had chosen to abandon them so many years ago. And also for what reason did the man never attempt to make contact.

Sitting in his living room trying to enjoy a cup of tea, he could not help but be restless. Every minute or so, he would rise from his seat and walk toward his mothers room only to stop himself, and head back to his cup of tea. This occurred many times over the course of 30 minutes before he began to be annoyed at himself. He could not understand why he felt so nervous about pursuing the only clue left to him of his father. Any orphan child would jump at the chance to discover their real parents and yet here Aneun was, acting like a chicken without a head.

And so he found himself in front of his mothers room once again, but this time he was determined to see this through. Taking a deep breath, he entered his mothers room and retrieved the painting. Removing as much dust as he could, he examined the scroll from top to bottom for any other clues that might lead him to his father, but no such luck came to him. With no such obvious clues left to him, he'd be forced to seek some outside help regarding the portrait. While his pool of knowledge on artists was large, he did not know all of them, and thus would resort to perhaps the only man he trusted in Konoha, his art supplier.

Grabbing all of his things, he prepped himself for what might be a long journey. Once fully equipped for any situation he might face, he headed off toward the shady parts of the Uchiha district where his acquaintance resided.

[Anmida]

I expected the boy to answer with fear or panic when I threatened to slice him to pieces, as any normal person would, but instead I was met with the most bizarre of reactions. His anger manifested so abruptly at my words and in such a way that even I felt intimidated by the lad. And that is not a common occurrence for me, especially to a kid who rocked a bowl-cut. Soon however, shock replaced the intimidation I felt as our eyes met; his crimson eyes revealing to me the truth. His Uchiha bloodline ability and the manifestation of ink across his body made one thing very clear, he was indeed my son; a son whom I believed dead.

"A-Aneun? Is your name Aneun? Where is Yuriko?" I asked with a frantic tone.

Some 18 years ago, I had met a woman of the Uchiha clan and we fell in love almost instantly. A month had passed before she told me she was pregnant and I could not have been a happier man. But only a month after that day did she begin to pull away. In the end, she told me she had lost the baby and pushed me out of her life for good. I never knew why she had changed so much until now. She did not want me to abandon my artistic dreams and chose to lie. She must have figured that if she lied about a miscarriage and pushed me away, I would be able to follow my dreams instead of abandon them for a family life.

And it is due to that lie that I find myself in this situation. Faced with a child who believed his father had abandoned him and a level of shock I never knew. I could feel bur an overwhelming sadness take over as I watched my sons crazed state; something I believed to be my fault.

---

Pain, sadness, anger, and many other emotions had overwhelmed the Chuunin like never before. But what took precedent was that he felt strange, like if something were damaged beyond repair -- broken. Through his eyes everything looked tilted.

Upon hearing mention of his mothers name, Aneun retorted with haste and unyielding passion. "Shut up! Do not utter her name! Do not mourn her! You have no right." And without hesitation, he leaped forward to close the short distance between father and son. With his right arm already cocked back, he attempted to land a punch square on the mans face. Should he connect, the strength behind the strike would have been more than enough to decapitate and probably eviscerate the upper half of his body. The ink had done more than just cover Aneun's body, it enhanced his physical capabilities well beyond the norm.

He would teach this man a lesson. He would prove that his father was not one to be trusted.

18 Hours earlier. . .

Aneun stared at the loosely hung sign above a dark stairwell; a safety hazard if he ever saw one. This was not the first time he'd come to visit this shady part of town, and specifically the ominous looking staircase that seemed to descend toward hell. In reality, it led to a hallway below which then led to more descending stairs before opening up to a suspect art business. But he trusted this suspicious looking establishment more than he did those located in the 'high class' district of Konoha. Those merchants attempting to sell art were too prim and proper to be true artist; nothing more than lying snakes trying to make a quick buck.

Upon entering the establishment, he would be met with a hearty greeting from the stores owner almost immediately upon entering. "Oh! Aneun! Long time no see boy! What brings you down here?" The shopkeeper was a large man standing at a height of nearly seven feet with a rotund figure wearing a white shirt with a pair of overalls with straps; all stained by a multitude of paint colors. He had a large beard and a mane of curled, black hair that did not look maintained. His appearance similar to what people usually imagine Santa to look like, if he were drunken, rowdy, and a pirate.

"Just wanted to see if you were still alive old man. Looks like this place is still a dump as usual." Aneun replied jokingly. He'd always talked to the owner in such a manner and the old man always answered in kind. "Hahaha! You better shut up or you might find yourself needing to remove a brush from yer ass! So what can I do for ya lad?" Removing the scroll he'd found earlier from his pouch, he unraveled the parchment and presented it to the shop owner. "Ohohoho! What a beaut! What I wouldn't do to her."

"That's my mother you dick. Want me to tell your wife you ogled another woman? Anyways, anything you can tell me about the artist? Or the poem on the back?" He would say to interrupt the old man from saying anything further. "Oh. Sorry boy. Please don't tell my wife." The shop owner spoke frantically and then cleared his throat as he examined the portrait and the poem on the back. "Hmm. . . Whoever drew this is a pro among pros. See these strokes?" The old man said while showing the details to Aneun. "Those are done superbly to almost bring the picture to life. Can't tell you much about the poem but from these strokes, I'd say the artist is a member of the Sumi clan. Only those guys use such distinct strokes. And this guy looks to be a master. Not many of them around for a long time now."

"Sumi?" Aneun questioned. "Aye, Sumi. A clan of artist known for their love of all things art whether music, painting, dance, or literature. They're a pretty spread out bunch so its hard to track them down. But lemme help you with that." The old man would then enter his back room for a short moment before returning with a piece of paper in hand. "I happen to know a broad who's husband was a member of the Sumi clan. I can get ya a meetin with her. Take this letter and head toward the address written on it. The letter will stop her from kicking you out but getting her to help you is up to ya, lad."

Aneun would take the letter and portrait before verify the address with the shop owner. Thanking him, he headed off quickly toward the address given. With a new lead, he headed off toward the other side of Konoha where the Sumi members wife lived.

[Anmida]

"M-mourn?"

Nothing else need be said for I knew everything once Aneun said that one word. I began to understand why my son had fallen to such a manic state. And I could not help but grieve for him. I, however, would not have the opportunity to do so for my child lashed out at me in a mad rage. This meeting quickly grew evermore bittersweet and I knew not what to do.

Overcome by my emotions, my reaction to the attack would come bare in time. Previously concealed orbs of ink moved before even my own body did, a singular orb transforming into a shield in the path of the incoming fist. As ink met ink, a resounding shock wave shook the foundation we stood on; debris and dust blasted away in all directions. The force of the strike shocked even me as my shield, and I were blown backwards several meters. Landing some distance away, I skidded backwards before coming to a halt. Looking toward my son as the shield and blade I wielded earlier returned to my side, I instinctively knew I had to stop this. But how was the question.

"Wait Aneun! I don't want to fight!" Though I knew my words would fall on deaths ears, I had to try. He is, after all, my son.

---

As the one airborne when the shock wave erupted, Aneun would also be thrown backwards a similar distance as his father. Once grounded, he too skidded across the ground before coming to a halt.

An ear piercing roar soon emanated from him shortly after coming to a halt as more ink surged forth from seemingly nowhere. The ink converged on the uncovered parts of his body and quickly expanded before completely consuming him; his form now a black entity with glowing crimson eyes. And as expected, any form of communication toward Aneun would be unable to pierce his deepening madness. He had already gone beyond the breaking point making him little more than a mindless beast.

With the roar coming to an end, three orbs of ink separated from his body and formed into three tomoe shaped chakrams, each two meters in diameter. The hardened ink constructs would begin to spin, turning them into floating saws ready to tear a target asunder. With a point of a finger, the three weapons were aimed and fired at his father. Two flew horizontally and circled in from each side to cut off routes of escape while the third flew straight in attempt to cleave him in two, vertically.

There would be no mercy. It mattered not if the target was his father or an elderly.

17 Hours earlier. . .

Some time had passed since Aneun left the art store and headed toward the opposite end of town where the shopkeepers friend resided. He knew full well that the woman had no reason to help him other than on the word of a friend. And he doubted how great a friend the shopkeeper could be. Thus, he stopped by a local bakery and tea store to purchase tea and treats as peace offerings to help persuade the lady to help.

One finished shopping, he would quickly arrive at the address given to him. Knocking on the heavy wooden door, he was met with an immediate answer as it opened. A frail looking woman in her late 50's with long brown hair, and streaks of gray had answered and now stood in the doorway with a confused look. "Yes? May I help you?" She asked while carefully examining the person at her doorstep.

"Ah, Hello. My name is Aneun. I was told your husband was a member of the Sumi clan. I was hoping I could speak with him if it isn't a problem." While normally not a well-mannered individual, he knew how to present himself when needing information or help from others. He could not allow a valuable source of information escape his grasp.

"It is a problem, actually." The old lady said dejectedly. "My husband passed away nearly ten years ago. So he can't help anyone. Might I ask who sent you?"

Upon hearing that the woman was a widow, he couldn't help but feel troubled by the situation. Dealing with widows was not always the easiest thing, but nevertheless he would try. "Oh. I'm sorry for your loss. I was sent by the old man who owns the art shop in the Uchiha district. He told me to give this to you." Aneun would retrieve the letter from his pocket and hand it to the old lady. "I'm trying to find clues about a painting that might lead me to my father. I would appreciate it if you could help me." Mention of his father was not necessary to the situation, but using the pity card was just one strategy of many he had to persuade the woman to help.

"Oh you poor thing. Please come in. And thank you for the kind words." Said the old lady after taking the letter from Aneun. The widow would read the contents of the letter as she headed toward the living room where she took a seat by a tea table. "Please have a seat." She said as she gestured toward a chair opposite her.

And Aneun would gladly received her offer, entering shortly after she departed for the living room; closing the door behind him as he entered. Once in the living room, he would oblige by her generosity and took a seat before placing the treats he'd bought earlier onto the tea table. "This is tea and some cookies. I bought them for you to enjoy." Quickly taking two nearby tea cups, he filled them with the hot liquid before laying out some of the treats onto a plate. "So do you think it would be possible to tell me what you know about the Sumi clan?" Eager to find out more clues about this Sumi clan, he did not hesitate to push for information.

Placing the letter onto the table, the old women would take her cup and sip some of the tea; a smile forming on her face as she enjoyed the flavor. Proceeding this, she would take a cookie and bite into the morsel with the same smile from before showing again."And why should I help you?" She said suddenly before taking a sip of the tea.

"H-huh?"