As long as there had been sand within the desert of the country, so too had there been the tribes of wanderers. Over time, these nomads formed families, clans, and in some instances their own minor nation of gathered travelers. These tribes existed prior to the violent Diamond Maelstrom and their defiantly persevered through said storm. Since there was no single tether village or location to these people, some would disappear either through misfortune or a dissolving of the tribe, only to join a new tribe or attempt to assimilate into one of the villages or cities of the country. But there were always those that remained, those that had always been, and no matter the danger or obstacle put before them they had always found a way to remain. The would have never guessed that the end of the Maelstrom would bring about a new danger, one that would actually threaten all of their existence. War...
[Weeks after Sunahoshi Katsuo's announcement of war]
It was the start of another day out in the desert with the exception that something off, something odd was in the air as one of the very frequent light showers seemed to encompass this section of the country. On this darkened morning it was a day of movement for the tribes of the Wajin Nation. The Wajin were a collection of tribes that encompassed one of the largest nomadic movements in Wind Country, and the heart of the nation, the tribe that gave birth to this now moving city, were descendants of a time when humanity did not rule the lands of this country. Over the centuries, the tribe began to collect more members and engross whole tribes into their collection under the founding belief of a simple principle that their elders past to each generation; we are stronger together than apart. Other tribes felt more of a need to wall off their communities, the Wajin thought different and instead held a sense of pride that they were the moving support of Wind Country, for the people who had no one else to protect them. This idea blossomed during the decades of the Maelstrom as they not only provided safety to those with nowhere else to turn but aided other tribes in surviving the harsh terrain.
With the mounting tensions, these self-proclaimed protectors of wanderers found themselves in more of a state of movement as they wished to assure the safety of the people of the sands. There were also rumors floating that tribes had become the target of increasing attacks. The Wajin wished to offer their banner to those who needed it, and today they would come upon a scene that would validate their concern while also leaving them with the gut feeling of being too late.
Before them was an encampment, well what was left of an encampment. In actuality, it was a scene of pure carnage. What was once a small tribe of nomads, no bigger than 30 people, was now a smoldering picture of death...
[The night prior]
Screams rang out as an explosion ripped through the air. The tribe was not prepared for a fight, not in the sense that they did not have a couple of warriors, but because of the opposition they faced so clearly outmatched them. There were many, almost as many tribesmen there were enemies, but there was one enemy that stood out from the others. A man... or was he a man... that seemed to produce an awful, inhuman noise with every step.
Whhhiiiirrrrlll. clank
The shadow of the figure would be cast from the raging flames all around, as the man... the man... would bring a flask up to his mouth once more. Those still alive new that this was a sign of great misfortune about to befall them. It wouldn't be soon, as a raging roar of flames would once more wash over the area incinerating everything and everyone within its path. A wicked smirk would be etched upon his grey face.
"Ensure our calling card is left."
One of the foot soldiers behind the metallic skinned man would nod as he pulled a ripped up headband from his pouch and toss it upon the ground.
"Remember this, remember this as you are swept up in hellfire, that you were all cast into this despair at the hands of us... the hands of..."
[Back to the present]
A single scout of the Wajin within the aftermath of a battle let out a cry altering the elders of the traveling party to hurry to them. As they entered the wreckage that was once a thriving community, charred remains of anything and everything littered the ground, the scout could be seen pulling a child figure out of a pile of broken crates. By chance, by luck or by fate, there seemed to be a survivor.
"Boy, boy... tell us, what happened here?"
The expression upon the boy was a look that had once been the sheer terror that had faded into an all-consuming numbness. His body covered in soot marks and scratches, but aside from that looked to be fine. Clutched within his hands was the headband that had been dropped the night before.
"The... the... the... the hands of... the hands..."
His voice was weak as his eyes continued to stare out for miles. The scouting party looked on as one of them took the headband, and upon seeing it up close an expression would be etched upon his face. One that would spread to the others within the party as they took notice of the symbol held within the item.
"Remember... the hands of us... the shinobi of Suna, and I...
[The night prior]
...Roku, Number Six... tell them, tell all of them, that we are coming."
Whhhiiiirrrrlll. clank
The leader of the Wajin scout would raise up as his fellow scouts would begin the process of taking the child to the appropriate medicinal practitioners.
"Send words to the elders, have them send word to all those that support us and those that don't... a summit, we must hold a summit, for we can no longer hope to sit in the background of the looming war within the country. No, it's not that we can't, its that we've been brought into this... we will seek out vengeance for those who have sown this chaos and pull the price from their own ranks..."
His hand would clench. The sounds of war drums would continue to beat, louder and steadier, as yet another player would join the board. The Civil War within Sand would not just involve the Daimyo's forces and the shinobi of Sunagakure no Sato. This would not be a small skirmish, this would not be a series of isolated incidents, this would be something that would consume the entire country...
As darkness engulfs the land, a feeling of dread begins to grow...<i></i>
[Weeks after Sunahoshi Katsuo's announcement of war]
It was the start of another day out in the desert with the exception that something off, something odd was in the air as one of the very frequent light showers seemed to encompass this section of the country. On this darkened morning it was a day of movement for the tribes of the Wajin Nation. The Wajin were a collection of tribes that encompassed one of the largest nomadic movements in Wind Country, and the heart of the nation, the tribe that gave birth to this now moving city, were descendants of a time when humanity did not rule the lands of this country. Over the centuries, the tribe began to collect more members and engross whole tribes into their collection under the founding belief of a simple principle that their elders past to each generation; we are stronger together than apart. Other tribes felt more of a need to wall off their communities, the Wajin thought different and instead held a sense of pride that they were the moving support of Wind Country, for the people who had no one else to protect them. This idea blossomed during the decades of the Maelstrom as they not only provided safety to those with nowhere else to turn but aided other tribes in surviving the harsh terrain.
With the mounting tensions, these self-proclaimed protectors of wanderers found themselves in more of a state of movement as they wished to assure the safety of the people of the sands. There were also rumors floating that tribes had become the target of increasing attacks. The Wajin wished to offer their banner to those who needed it, and today they would come upon a scene that would validate their concern while also leaving them with the gut feeling of being too late.
Before them was an encampment, well what was left of an encampment. In actuality, it was a scene of pure carnage. What was once a small tribe of nomads, no bigger than 30 people, was now a smoldering picture of death...
[The night prior]
Screams rang out as an explosion ripped through the air. The tribe was not prepared for a fight, not in the sense that they did not have a couple of warriors, but because of the opposition they faced so clearly outmatched them. There were many, almost as many tribesmen there were enemies, but there was one enemy that stood out from the others. A man... or was he a man... that seemed to produce an awful, inhuman noise with every step.
Whhhiiiirrrrlll. clank
....Whhhiiiirrrrlll clank.
....Whhhiiiirrrrlll clank.
The shadow of the figure would be cast from the raging flames all around, as the man... the man... would bring a flask up to his mouth once more. Those still alive new that this was a sign of great misfortune about to befall them. It wouldn't be soon, as a raging roar of flames would once more wash over the area incinerating everything and everyone within its path. A wicked smirk would be etched upon his grey face.
"Ensure our calling card is left."
One of the foot soldiers behind the metallic skinned man would nod as he pulled a ripped up headband from his pouch and toss it upon the ground.
"Remember this, remember this as you are swept up in hellfire, that you were all cast into this despair at the hands of us... the hands of..."
[Back to the present]
A single scout of the Wajin within the aftermath of a battle let out a cry altering the elders of the traveling party to hurry to them. As they entered the wreckage that was once a thriving community, charred remains of anything and everything littered the ground, the scout could be seen pulling a child figure out of a pile of broken crates. By chance, by luck or by fate, there seemed to be a survivor.
"Boy, boy... tell us, what happened here?"
The expression upon the boy was a look that had once been the sheer terror that had faded into an all-consuming numbness. His body covered in soot marks and scratches, but aside from that looked to be fine. Clutched within his hands was the headband that had been dropped the night before.
"The... the... the... the hands of... the hands..."
His voice was weak as his eyes continued to stare out for miles. The scouting party looked on as one of them took the headband, and upon seeing it up close an expression would be etched upon his face. One that would spread to the others within the party as they took notice of the symbol held within the item.
"Remember... the hands of us... the shinobi of Suna, and I...
[The night prior]
...Roku, Number Six... tell them, tell all of them, that we are coming."
Whhhiiiirrrrlll. clank
....Whhhiiiirrrrlll clank.
....Whhhiiiirrrrlll clank.
[Back to the present]The leader of the Wajin scout would raise up as his fellow scouts would begin the process of taking the child to the appropriate medicinal practitioners.
"Send words to the elders, have them send word to all those that support us and those that don't... a summit, we must hold a summit, for we can no longer hope to sit in the background of the looming war within the country. No, it's not that we can't, its that we've been brought into this... we will seek out vengeance for those who have sown this chaos and pull the price from their own ranks..."
His hand would clench. The sounds of war drums would continue to beat, louder and steadier, as yet another player would join the board. The Civil War within Sand would not just involve the Daimyo's forces and the shinobi of Sunagakure no Sato. This would not be a small skirmish, this would not be a series of isolated incidents, this would be something that would consume the entire country...
As darkness engulfs the land, a feeling of dread begins to grow...<i></i>