The branch felt warm and alive under his touch, giving him a measure of warmth against the frigid rain that pelted down against the side of the mountain. A vicious storm raged ahead, the strongest Migoya had seen in his 90 years of life, as if Raijin and Susanoo were in direct conflict. The sky lit up with brilliant flashes of lightning, casting wide shadows around the new Myakashi compound.
Little ‘Yamigakure’, Grandmother had dubbed it. The village hidden in the darkness.
It would never be a large village indeed, nor known to the outside world at large, but to those that needed to know this would be the place that they could come to obtain assistance. Help.
Assassinations.
Members of his clan, few in number, had arrived during the evening bringing with them - or so it seemed - this vicious storm as if the mountain was either greeting them, or raging in protest at their presence. 34 souls in total, including ‘Grandmother’ Myakashi, several children, four renegade shinobi that Migoya had broken out of jail previously, and various skilled craftsmen. The Myakashi were a clan of societal rejects, but together they were a serious force. A skilled force. A deadly force.
For who expected the cleaner to have such skill?
It had not taken long for them to settle in and to start fires in their new homes to push away the chill in the air. The smell of roasting goat filtered through the village along with a strange lamenting song sung accompanied by an old bita. That would be Karanuishi, Migoya mused to himself, a small smile playing on his lips. He longed for the moment that she, along with Yong, would raise a song together to celebrate the survival of the Myakashi clan.
But for now, they needed to continue to rebuild and solidify their presence here on the mountain. His brothers had yet to arrive, a wise diversionary tactic to stop pursuers from arriving here at Yamigakure, but soon they would arrive. Once they were here the next stages of Migoya’s plans could start to form - plans that did not need Migoya’s presence here. For the first time in almost two generations Myakashi Migoya would not need to be responsible for others. They had been trained and were highly skilled. It was time for the fisherman to give the proverbial fishing rod to another person.
Promises had been made to the political power of the Land of Moon - the Shrine. Promises that included running less than holy missions in their employ, but soon their services would be available country-wide. All that was needed was contacts, and for that to happen he would need to establish them.
But for now his seeds had grown fruit and his family would be fed.
Yamigakure was born.
Little ‘Yamigakure’, Grandmother had dubbed it. The village hidden in the darkness.
It would never be a large village indeed, nor known to the outside world at large, but to those that needed to know this would be the place that they could come to obtain assistance. Help.
Assassinations.
Members of his clan, few in number, had arrived during the evening bringing with them - or so it seemed - this vicious storm as if the mountain was either greeting them, or raging in protest at their presence. 34 souls in total, including ‘Grandmother’ Myakashi, several children, four renegade shinobi that Migoya had broken out of jail previously, and various skilled craftsmen. The Myakashi were a clan of societal rejects, but together they were a serious force. A skilled force. A deadly force.
For who expected the cleaner to have such skill?
It had not taken long for them to settle in and to start fires in their new homes to push away the chill in the air. The smell of roasting goat filtered through the village along with a strange lamenting song sung accompanied by an old bita. That would be Karanuishi, Migoya mused to himself, a small smile playing on his lips. He longed for the moment that she, along with Yong, would raise a song together to celebrate the survival of the Myakashi clan.
But for now, they needed to continue to rebuild and solidify their presence here on the mountain. His brothers had yet to arrive, a wise diversionary tactic to stop pursuers from arriving here at Yamigakure, but soon they would arrive. Once they were here the next stages of Migoya’s plans could start to form - plans that did not need Migoya’s presence here. For the first time in almost two generations Myakashi Migoya would not need to be responsible for others. They had been trained and were highly skilled. It was time for the fisherman to give the proverbial fishing rod to another person.
Promises had been made to the political power of the Land of Moon - the Shrine. Promises that included running less than holy missions in their employ, but soon their services would be available country-wide. All that was needed was contacts, and for that to happen he would need to establish them.
But for now his seeds had grown fruit and his family would be fed.
Yamigakure was born.