As the moon climbed higher into the sky and cast a pale glow across the wastes of the Maelstrom, it would bring to light a unique event. The Maelstrom seemed to be forever, an unending storm of glass and sand that flew through the air guided by winds so fast they screamed as they went. If someone or something entered this area without being properly prepared for just how deadly it was, they could be stripped to the bone faster than a group of starving piranhas could do the same job. The polished and bleached bones of innumerable people and animals scattered through this area attested to that.
This made the large circle of emptiness in the middle of the storm quite unique by any standards. The airborne masses of sand came screaming in like the missiles of some vengeful god, and then careened to the side as the winds themselves began spirally in a clockwise fashion around this calm area. The circle stretched for only a hundred yards in diameter, but that space was free of even the heavy winds that wrapped around it. And in the middle of it, standing quite still, was a man.
Hoshikata was wearing his trademark black robes, the golden trim reflecting the moonlight and giving him an otherworldly aura about himself. Helping that along was his actual otherworldly aura, and his was half in this world and half in the world of spirits. His lips were moving as he muttered an incantation, his voice so soft not even his own ears could pick up the words he was saying. The archaic words of an ancient tongue he'd spent his whole life mastering. He'd taught his family tongue to several people, but only he knew the ancient form of it, that language in which the laws of his clan had been scribed.
He had left the others behind for the night, forging ahead into the natural calamity of this storm without heed for himself. Blood did indeed flow from several small cuts he had taken before his shield had become fully powered around him, and he had gone through one canteen already. His purpose for coming to this space was worth all of the discomfort, however, and so he would ignore them. That which did not kill, only made one stronger after all.
”Nghai g'harne ygg tegoths vug'r tepnhhngr!”
In one hand he held the Staff of Verin, his trusted weapon for these long years since he had unlocked his true potential in that cavern under the city of Kirigakure. In the other he held a book, which detailed one of the rituals of long ago that his clan had undertaken to bring powerful beings to them. Hoshikata chose this area well, for it was here he sought the power of a certain being, and only here that it would show itself.
”Glaaki tekel'd gnh'gua. Mhhg'gthaa, ugthaa, hucunechh e'tegoth!”
Ancient words for an ancient spell. One he hoped would work. And if it did not, then no one would be any wiser. He would close the shield, let the world in, and wipe clean any trace of his ever being here. And he would go back to his camp and scour through the rest of his family writings for other ways to attain more power. Power that he needed for the coming days.
This made the large circle of emptiness in the middle of the storm quite unique by any standards. The airborne masses of sand came screaming in like the missiles of some vengeful god, and then careened to the side as the winds themselves began spirally in a clockwise fashion around this calm area. The circle stretched for only a hundred yards in diameter, but that space was free of even the heavy winds that wrapped around it. And in the middle of it, standing quite still, was a man.
Hoshikata was wearing his trademark black robes, the golden trim reflecting the moonlight and giving him an otherworldly aura about himself. Helping that along was his actual otherworldly aura, and his was half in this world and half in the world of spirits. His lips were moving as he muttered an incantation, his voice so soft not even his own ears could pick up the words he was saying. The archaic words of an ancient tongue he'd spent his whole life mastering. He'd taught his family tongue to several people, but only he knew the ancient form of it, that language in which the laws of his clan had been scribed.
He had left the others behind for the night, forging ahead into the natural calamity of this storm without heed for himself. Blood did indeed flow from several small cuts he had taken before his shield had become fully powered around him, and he had gone through one canteen already. His purpose for coming to this space was worth all of the discomfort, however, and so he would ignore them. That which did not kill, only made one stronger after all.
”Nghai g'harne ygg tegoths vug'r tepnhhngr!”
In one hand he held the Staff of Verin, his trusted weapon for these long years since he had unlocked his true potential in that cavern under the city of Kirigakure. In the other he held a book, which detailed one of the rituals of long ago that his clan had undertaken to bring powerful beings to them. Hoshikata chose this area well, for it was here he sought the power of a certain being, and only here that it would show itself.
”Glaaki tekel'd gnh'gua. Mhhg'gthaa, ugthaa, hucunechh e'tegoth!”
Ancient words for an ancient spell. One he hoped would work. And if it did not, then no one would be any wiser. He would close the shield, let the world in, and wipe clean any trace of his ever being here. And he would go back to his camp and scour through the rest of his family writings for other ways to attain more power. Power that he needed for the coming days.
