Standing on the top of a desert hill, the diplomat of Kumogakure's blue-green eyes stared at every piece of land between where she stood and the distant horizon. The golden colour of the sand mingled with the darker shade of the earthen pillars that rose out the ground like deformed guardians. In the far distance a variety of tents would mark the presence of forces belonging to several Nations, with in between them various dark markings denoting where skirmishes had broken out between the Village's camps and their opponents - bandits, refugees, spies, Ryujin, you name it.




At this point the display of carnage was nothing new for the diplomat. Killing had once been a loathsome thought which had shocked her upon the day she had executed a single bandit under the watchful eye of Lin Katonrai. It's necessity had been questioned upon the day the notorious Trio had rampaged through Sunagakure where she had attempted to preserve as many survivors as possible. But by now, despite her desire for peace and a solid development of Kumogakure in terms of a politically and economically stable Nation, taking a life had almost become common practise.




She was certain that was the case for many. Most shinobi saw killing as a dire necessity but here she had seen many succumb to the madness of war. Spilling blood had become a sport. Killing had become an addiction. These shinobi revelled in the idea of taking lives rather than preserving it, their hearts and minds no longer capable of dealing with the insanity of this whole situation. Even her own senses had dulled despite firm belief in life itself. And with it, doubt had crept in the corners of her mind, making her wonder if this party-conquering of Sunagakure would ever had taken place if she hadn't travelled to bring the black raiton rods.

It was too late now to turn back.

Despite the increasing darkness of war, Mizuki had not given up hope just yet. She had found students within rivalling shinobi, allies at the most unexpected places. One had to commend the way the Nations often worked together to achieve certain goals even if ultimately each Nation would seek to claim the ruins for their own. But then what...? No idea. Mizuki could not predict the future no matter how often she watched the horizon, no matter how many times she sought answers in the wisdom and practises of her now dead father. Time and time she would pointed at but one reply: loyalty, vigilance, perseverance. A time where all she did was practise the blade and her ninjutsu.

Honouring the past, Mizuki would sit down and cross her legs as she did so. Unsheathing Seiun, her katana, she'd close her eyes and rest it on her knees. Here, far away from all the shinobi business, she would take a moment to meditate and clear her mind as her chakra gently seeped into the katana like a gentle caress. Though one she was with her weapon, she still had to unlock its hidden potential. So far she had failed to do so.

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550

It was starting to seem like this war was going to continue on for a long time…

With his shroud drawn tightly around his body, the male would make his way across the sands of the desert. With the hood drawn up over his head, the male would appear to resemble a large white bird walking through the dunes. But this man was not one to be hunted. He was simply a messenger for the moment, tasked with bringing a letter of some importance from the leaders back home in the Land of Fire. Though the male was merely a special Jounin, it would appear that the village counsel felt that they could trust him with this task. While the male felt that his talents would be better suited for things other than simple message delivery, he would not complain. After all, the ryo he was being paid to perform the delivery could very well have gone to someone else.

He rather enjoyed money, thank you very much.
The young man cared little to none about the people of Sunagakure no Sato, and even less of the other villages involvement in the area. He simply wished to observe the situation and gauge for himself what he could do to profit from the situation. Surely, there was something remaining in the nation that could be of some use to him. He did not care what exactly it might be, just that it had some value of usage to him, even if it was in the future.

But what exactly would he find?

He hoped for more than simply sand. He hoped for something left to salvage from the Kazekage’s office, or that of the village’s armory. Perhaps, something sacred to the village? Time would tell..

As the day went on, and the heat radiating down form the giant ball of hatred in the sky become more and more unbearable, he would catch a glimpse of something in the distance, or rather, someone. A seated figure, one that seemed to overlook the landscape that stretched out before them. He could not quite determine whom they were, but they did not seem to notice him just yet. He was not quite sure if they would, either; his cloak seemed to do some strange things as he remained around people for extended periods of time. He did not intend to remain in this place for long, but rather to keep pressing on towards the village of Sunagakure no Sato to find what he could after delivering the message he held. But alas, that all seemed a long way off…

For now, the male continued his trek, pausing briefly as he drifted closer to the persona seated upon the ground. A small cough would leave his body, attempting to alert the persona to his presence, should they not be already aware of him being there. Should the persona not hear him, or even notice his presence, then he would move on, heading towards the village camps to deliver his message.

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511

Seiun would glow with a deep purple aura as Mizuki's chakra streamed through the katana in meditation, searching for its hidden potential. the yamabushi that had once poured his chakra into the blade after its creation had said that the unusual purple colouring was but the first phase of Seiun's awakening. Much like the nebula in space, its owner would have to traverse countless worlds before they'd discover and unlock the katana's true power. Such things were easily discarded as rants from the mountain hermit but whether it was out of a unaccepted believe or out of reverence for the man's work, Mizuki had ever since added a moment of meditation within the regular maintenance of her trusted weapon.

Her brief meditation would be interrupted by feet ploughing through the desert sand as an unknown person inched closer, his soft cough seeking her attention eventually making her open her eyes. Ceasing her chakra flow, Seiun would lose the soft purple glow, upon which the diplomat would rise to her feet and sheathe her blade. Blue-green eyes would take in the presence of the young man. White short hair, golden eyes, a black cassock and peculiar cloak. It was not an every day event one crossed a priest wandering through the desert sand but considering the war-state of Sunagakure she was not that surprised to see a man of spiritual nature move from one point to another. Perhaps more than other times, people hoped, prayed and believed their gods would shelter them from this burning hell.

"Well met, priest.", she'd greet him with a brief bow. "I'm Mizuki Raiu, diplomat of Kumogakure. You were seeking my attention?"

She'd pass him a gourd of fresh water against the blistering sun, a gesture of kindness in empathy for the merciless heat that plagued the lands here as much as the devilish winds did. Many might mock a priest or believe that in a harsh climate and situation as the one both of them came to experience empathy was for fools, but the Raiu maintained her aura of serenity and peace wherever she could. The eye of the storm where all was fine while the hurricane tore the world to pieces.

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