1 Going with the Flow [Shirou | Invite] Sun Jul 22, 2018 5:42 pm
Raiu Mizuki
Retired
Could one ever grow accustomed to war?
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.
Had Man had become a monster?
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.
Had the heart lost the empathy that made it feel humane?
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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