The dunestrider’s clawed feet dug into the sand to propel itself forward with a momentum not known to many other desert creatures. The specie of bird was a contender for ‘strongest’, when it came to sheer survivability in the landscape of dunes and terror. Of the many, many omnivores, that lived in the desert the dunestrider was the only one that subsumed only sparse vegetation and bugs - no other type of food save imported grains were permitted past their beaks. Their other strength? The ability to haul ass, and carry their entire flock of children on their back to outrun the Wind Country’s monstrosities. As such, the Nomadic people of the dunes had long ago domesticated them for transportation. They were easier to maintain than horses, and took to the desert just as naturally as they did.
Yet it wasn’t a Nomad that rode on the back of the yellow bird, camouflaged with the surrounding dunes, but a Sunan Shinobi scout; placed far away from her regiment. She was minuscule compared to most of her breed - 5’3’’ and a scant 110 lbs - but perfect for scouting. Her size and weight made long distance with dunestriders a routine inspection instead of a chore for the bird, and for the distance she traveled the feathered beast seemed actually quite content. At least, until they begun to ride up a dune and the avian transportation suddenly balked. Trained as it was, it didn’t make a sound beyond just rearing its head back as if catching the faint hint of something awful.
The shinobi clung tight to the bird with her thighs, using core muscles to stay balanced as the dunestrider righted itself, and refused to take a step further. She had an understanding that the birds had a certain sense for danger which is what kept them from being on the lower rungs of the food chain. So, with equal caution, the woman dismounted and used only the faintest hints of chakra to coat both the rider and the bird with a sleek coat of reflective camo. Like something out of a sci-fi novel, the pair vanished. Dropping to her stomach, then, she crawled up to just barely look past the dunes to catch sight of the ongoing massacre below.
Shinobi these days, ones whom had grown accustomed to the relative peace they had experienced lately, would not have been able to handle such a grim sight without balking - but the rider kept a serial killer’s cold stare. She wasn’t just any soldier. The woman worked directly for the Assassin King, a man who’s ambitions to return Sunagakure into a safe position against the world had lead him to putting plants into the Suna military. Plants in his own branch, plants in the General and Medical, and even some in Wei’s military - though the latter were most likely brainwashed or dead. This was all to make sure he had an insider’s knowledge of everything working and moving through their army so he could make the correct counter moves. Yet, what the scout saw below would manage to make even her skin pale and heart grown cold with fear. For the man who was below, slaughtering innocent Nomads, was non-other than the 12th Kazekage themselves. He had taken to a new look, quite far gone from the peaceful attire he was known for, and had a look to their face that didn’t sit right with her.
Raising an invisible hand to her equally invisible ear, the shinobi gently turned the frequency knob to a private source, and began to flick her communicator on and off in rapid succession with small pauses - Morse Code. She dared not speak. The scout had a pit in her stomach even now that told her - this is where she dies. She would not, however, simply go quietly unto Shin’s blade. The message she pinged towards a private receiver was for the network Uzu had tapped into, and knew that it would go to the right hands. It stated only two things, repeatedly - The 12th walks with violence. She pinged it three times, swapping channels after each set of code to make sure all 3 channels were hit up before very slowly scooting back down and taking the bird’s reigns. She would lead the dunestrider back out a little ways before daring to mount and kicked her heels into the avian’s behind to get it to kick up as fast as it could.
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In a dilapidated church within the Underground sat an older man with a mechanical arm on a stone throne. In no way did it appear comfortable, but Toushin seemed relaxed within the carved onyx. A messenger appeared before him, his face covered by a tell-tale ANBU mask in the shape of a fox. He said nothing and lifted his hand to the captain with a sealed scroll. Toushin took it, and waved the spy away before breaking the seal with a jolt of chakra tuned especially for the seal only himself and a handful of his spies were cable of breaking. Pulling the paper out, he read the quickly jotted down Morse code and swore loudly at the reveal. This was the worst case scenario.
All of his carefully laid plans would quickly unravel with the chaos of Chikamatsu Shin returning from the dead, and working with Wei. The one big weakness the despot had was a singular power capable of giving their military pause - and that was the Flame Court Ancient. He had plans for the Toraono brat to take care of that, as his fire infamously could consume all, but for two, Kage level threats…he doubt even if the entire military banded together they could simply stop Shin. Even if Michino and the two Sennins banded together, someone would die. Standing up from his chair he decided to the only thing he could do right now was keep the information to himself, and plan a contingent.
If Shin appeared during the planned rebellion Uzu would have to quickly react. It was time to return to the drawing board for a new contingency…
[Topic Entered and Left Unless Stopped (with spy NPC, Toushin is in Suna)]
[MFT]
The cries that would erupt for the nearby caravan were slowly loosing voices as the man in cladded black armor was striding along the caravans looking for the remaining survivors. Each soul found would be met with a plunge of his corrupted blade into their heart. The whimpers of those trying to stay silent fell loudly on his heightened senses. Shin would smile behind the black mask covering his face. The identity of the lost Kazekage was concealed, though to a trained eye his form and frame would be familiar. Not many had mastered the way of the sword taught through the generations of the Byakko Clan, especially not those so clearly unrelated to the Demon King's kin.
