Heavy, dark clouds fill the night sky, blocking even the faintest sliver of moonlight from shining down on the forest below. Although the forest is densely packed, there’s one large clearing, traveling across the edge of a cliff, roughly two kilometers long; within the clearing is a single stone path that leads through it, swerving around naturally built land formations, man-made platforms and watchtowers. At each end of the path sits two large archways, gate doors wide open to travel to and from; checkpoints are often areas used to travel quickly between territories.
The checkpoint is being patrolled by a mix of lightly armored guards, some walking fixed distances along the path and some overlooking from a watchtower. Hidden in the shadows waits a few ninja, making sure that nobody is able to set foot anywhere inside the checkpoint. In the middle of it all, there’s a rushing stream that passes underneath a wooden bridge and off of the cliff, forming a large waterfall. Walking along the bridge, two figures casually walk through the checkpoint, having a conversation.
A muscular and sturdily built man in a dark blue yukata has a heavy walk in his step, the bottom of his sandals making a loud clacking sound against the hard wood bridge. He walks tall with a large, razor point edge cleaver propped on his shoulder. The black eye patch on his left eye blocks his view of the person next to him.
“The checkpoint is ours now. Nobody’s able to get through unless they have a note from out of our officers.”
The person next to him begins to speak; a sharp, authoritative woman’s voice echos through.
“As it should be. Well done, General Otawa.”
“Thanks, My Lord.”
Highest ranked general, Shigeru Otawa turns his head in order to get a look at his warlord. Long, flowing black hair reaches half way down her back, a large single bang covers her right eye. She has on a long, black and red female ninja jacket, cutting off half way up her legs with matching leggings underneath, the sleeves for the arms are ripped off; she has a small black white belt tied around her waist to keep it from opening. Rusted color scale armor is tied against the front of her legs, shoulders, and forearms down to her fingers.
She puts her hand out in front of her, looking at her pin pointed metal nails, “I can’t remember the last time I had to put on my armor. It’s been a while since I stepped onto the field of battle.”
“My Lord, are you sure you want to lead the next assault? I am perfectly capable of doing it myself.”