Unseen: A Threaded Tale — Act I

In the dimly lit tavern, Kaworu Kanata awaited his drink. His old fashioned ways had led him to this quaint town, a name he hadn't heard of before starting this journey. From the letters that had been penned to him, Kaworu had traced his missing uncle's tracks across the wild lands that separated Takigakure from the Great Nations. Kaworu had lost count of how many people he had shown the photograph of his uncle to; but their reactions had led him closer to discovering his relative's fate.

The bartender returned, shuffling across the crowded counter as he slid Kaworu's sake across the long wooden surface. "Here, mister."

Kaworu's slender hands stopped the glass. He raised his head, bright blue eyes peaking from under his traveller's cloak. "Thanks. By the way," he stated just as the bartender was turning to serve his other customers. The man stopped and headed closer to Kaworu. The noisy chatter and laughter was overpowering, so he had to. Kaworu pulled the photograph out of his long outfit, holding it towards the fat old man.

"Do you think you've seen this man around here?" Kaworu asked, as the bartender extended a rough, tanned hand, pinching the photograph in his thick fingers. He held it close to his face, swollen eyes taking in every detail. Kaworu observed calmly, waiting for the tiniest twitch of a muscle, or hint of repressed emotion. His attentiveness proved to be for naught, as the bartender coughed and nodded vigorously. He scratched his white beard as he spoke.

"This fellow, yes! He was a new regular about three weeks back." He wheezed. Scratched his beard again. Kaworu observed, waiting for further elaboration. The man detected his curiosity and continued.

"Said he was on a trip to discover his roots, this fellow. Journeyed all the way from Takigakure and came asking us questions which spanned a good decade or more ago. Some pretty dark questions at that, some of us didn't like his curiosity that much. What's he to you, young sir?"

Kaworu ignored the question at the end. He was interested in the so called "dark questions" that had apparently turned these people edgy. "May I enquire, what exactly he brought up?"

The bartender looked worried. "That's..."

Kaworu slid some ryō across the table. "Tip for the trouble he may have caused."

The bartender looked at the money, and looked back at Kaworu, who now wore a sly smile, the dim orange lights dancing in his mesmerising blue eyes. The bartender shrugged as he swept the money into his palm. Kaworu sipped his alcohol.

"That man came in asking about some things that our village would like to keep hidden." He leaned closer, sliding a stool under himself as he sat, eye to eye with Kaworu. "You see, about sixteen years ago this place wasn't as peaceful as it seemed. There were...notable individuals from the criminal underbelly that called this place home. Secluded, far from those pesky shinobi villages. Far from supervision. Everything you could imagine ran through the mountains surrounding this village. That man in the photograph must have known this, because the people he asked about were the people that ushered in this age of peace."

The bartender came even closer, invading Kaworu's space as his face transformed, old skin contorting into twisted seriousness. "And those people are the ones we'd rather not discuss," he hissed, in an almost terrified whisper. "They called themselves the Wrath and the Ripper, and they cleaned those crooks up the hard way. And it was never pretty. Some of the boys here drink their hearts out because of the terror those two names inspired. We've all seen things that will never leave our nightmares 'til we kick the bucket. The Wrath and Ripper did great things...but they're proof that sometimes justice can be the most horrifying thing you can ever witness."

Kaworu slid more money across the table, leaning equally close himself. "That man came for information on these two people, but did he ever give you an inkling of what for? But most importantly...is he the only one who's asked?"

The bartender hesitated. "No, he just casually brought it up on his journey story. But others...yes. Those two demons of justice made a horde of enemies, understandably. Their idea of justice was a vengeful and violent one; left many dead. Your mystery man did attract some unwanted attention with all his snooping. Especially from the Dune Snakes."

That was all Kaworu needed to hear, as he finished his drink. He looked the bartender in the eye. "And I'd be right in assuming that the Dune Snakes are affiliated with Gangetsu Maeda?"

The bartender's face drained of colour. Kaworu stood up, it had been productive as a session. He left the money he owed from his drinks, turning for the exit. The bartender spoke out.

"Young man, don't stick your head in the wrong places. Some people in this valley will cut if off for good if you step an inch too deep. These aren't the topics you poke with a stick, people find you when you start digging," his eyes narrowed, taking an enhanced air of gravity as of they darkened, "The kind of people you don't want on you."

Kaworu stopped and exhaled, "I'll keep that in mind, thank you." He turned and headed to the exit.

The bartender called out to the retreating man. "Who was this man to you?"

Kaworu turned around, "My uncle."

With that the stepped out of the tavern and out of sight. The bead curtains he had moved swiftly through continued to rattle. The bartender kept his eyes fixed on the exit, before reaching for the now empty glass. The bar continued as if nothing had happened, vulgar jokes and drunken laughs filling the air, the broken and lifeless crowd doing its daily usual.

The bartender of course had remained silent over some revelations. The Dune Snakes were related to Gangetsu Maeda, that much was true. But did this tough, rugged blue eyed young man know exactly how deep the bad blood ran here? The bartender doubted it as he pulled the glass and took it to the sink behind the counter. The Dune Snakes had been founded by Gangetsu Maeda's own son; and his murder at the hands of the Wrath of Takigakure had been exceptionally gruesome.

The bartender still had that foul image plastered in his brain to this day, Maeda's eldest son's body had been stretched across the dusty road of the village, in between the shops. His torso, lower body, head, arms, intestines and organs all spread in a gruesome long line. Eyes, tongue, ears and nose missing. A cruel mockery that had made the villagers realise they were trapped between two truly foul forces.

Gangetsu Maeda had shown no weakness that day. He stood over his son's desecrated corpse with nothing more than a tight scowl, but his eyes were filled with an unholy rage that the bartender remembered vividly, as his sons' beloved Dune Snakes swore a blood oath to murder the Wrath of Takigakure.

But the Wrath had famously been murdered just a year after the incident, as the Five Nations had announced. Gangetsu Maeda wasn't a man known to simply forget his grudges. The Dune Snakes were still actively hunting down those who were remotely affiliated with the Wrath. Something told the Bartender that another storm was brewing.

But that wasn't his business, all that mattered was his small town and his quiet life.