Within the great and vast Desert Expanse of Wind Country there were miles of uncharted land or formerly forgotten land. The Diamond Maelstrom had hidden not only the shinobi village of Sunagakure no Sato but also large chunks of the country. Following the dispersing of that great and violent storm, new landmarks had been formed, old locations had been returned back to the light of day, and people who roamed the lands were free to do so once more. One of these people would be the small tribe of the Pōn. The Pōn Tribe had been nomadic prior to the start of the Diamond Maelstrom and had actually been roaming the sands for centuries. Though it was never confirmed, it was always whispered that this close-knit tribe was one of the few tribes left in Wind Country that could directly draw their lineage back to one of the First-Men, almost a pureblood family of sorts.
The Pōn, however, would not be the ones spreading this rumor. They did not care for large interactions with those outside of their ranks. Being a clan that had lasted for as long as they had, the stories of the conflicts between tribes, between factions, and between species caused them to become fiercely isolationist. It was safer, they thought. Yet, Wind Country had always carried of sense of cruelty with it. Since its recorded history started, pages upon pages were filled with the bloodshed for and within this country. Those outside of this land may not have been able to see the point; how could sand and a barren wasteland be that important? Those thoughts were not echoed by those within Wind Country, nor those that had been expelled from Wind Country. This was more than a desert. This was more than sand. This was more than just this village or that village.
It is a mixture of these stories, stories of those who loved and would fight, and die, for this country, the small tribe of the Pōn, and connections born by blood to the past, to the First Men. While the tensions of the cold war happening between Sunagakure no Sato and the Daimyo continued to grow, there was something else growing within Wind Country. A new threat. A different threat... and yet, an old threat.
A dying fire was the only source of light left in the encampment. Strewn about the sands were a mixture of carnage. Blood, debris, large spikes, bodies, it was like a scene straight out of a nightmare. The most unnerving part of the entire moment was not visual, however, it was auditory. The area, aside from the crackle of the fire, was completely silent. The Pōn was not a large clan, but they were a tribe of at least 50 people. In no instance had there ever been a night or day that they were this silent.
"...please.... please.... please... send help... send help..."
Would be the words that would escape the mouth of a younger man, face covered in sand and blood, as he spoke towards a large foreboding figure before him. The figure before him wore a mask but also formal attire, as if he was attending a party or going to work for the merchant lords within their executive realm. Within one hand of the masked man was a rather large hammer, bursting forth from his pockets were spike, incredibly large metal nails, and his one free hand would reach up to his own temple.
"I appreciate the message and I appreciate your cooperation."
"... why... why are you doing this..."
The large man would them pull a glowing marble-sized orb from his own temple as the sand before him would begin to swirl around as a creation would appear. The masked man would then hand the creation the orb followed by a rather bulky looking headset communication device.
"Give me a moment, beasty."
The creation would nod to its master as the masked man would turn his attention, finally, back to the young man.
"Why? That's boring. Listen, buddy, you should rejoice! Your clan, the Pōn, are the first official sacrifice to a new era. A time when those Forgotten by Wind Country get to finally return home. A time when those who were "blessed" get to finally fall. Wind Country, it has taken a lot longer than I think our master suspected but is finally ripe. The mounting tensions, return to infighting, a putrid sense of distrust... it's perfect. So very perfect. And soon..."
The large man would pull out one of the metallic spikes from his pocket as his other hand began to toss around and twirl the hammer within its grasp. The man upon the ground would immediately begin to squirm and claw at the ground. He had seen what this meant, he had seen what this masked man could do. And even if he hadn't, the image around him, of bodies nailed to the ground, to shelters, to one another, would be a quick reminder of what his fate looked like if he did not escape. Yet, he would not be able to escape. A spike had already been impaled through both of his ankles, and he was not a shinobi. There was nothing he could do but struggle. Even though he knew it would be in vain.
"...soon the first of The Forgotten will be returning. He is a weird one, but he has been preparing for this day, so I would hate to disappoint him. I was actually on my way to go knock on his "door" when I happened upon your tribe. Once I realized who you were... it was like a damned vision from some higher power! It was perfect! You are perfect! So..."
The masked man would blur out of site as he would immediately appear over the body of the down man. Before the man could even react to this sudden movement, a spike would appear already buried deep into his gut. His eyes would be torn between reacting to the appearance of the man or the surging pain coming from his body. It was perplexing, it was unfair, it was the cruelty that nestled within Wind Country.
"Rejoice... soon, not only will I get to call this land home once more, but our master will finally get to return. We all have sinned... Ancients, humans, hybrids, those of a more mysterious origin, those marked, those directly descended, those indirectly descended... it's just that time that you all start to pay your penance."
With that, the masked brute would let out a burst of roaring laughter (hear for yourself). The night would continue on, the camp would return to dead silence, and time would simply pass until morning. As soon as the sun rose up in the distance, the creation left behind by the masked man would finally begin to move once more, pressing on the communication device while placing the small orb, Snapshot, into its throat. From its mouth began a recorded message from the memory of the masked man.
"Hello... hello... if you can hear this... shinobi... this is the Pōn Tribe... we are under attack... a monster...our camp's coordinates are..."
The message would continue until reaching a familiar end.
Once shinobi arrive, or whoever heard the transmission or happened upon the scene, they would not only take in the ghastly slaughter before them, they would not only find the body of the young man who had been separated from the group to have his message recorded, they would find a piece of paper upon the body of the man. Something that looked like it had been pulled from some bound book that predated most of the shinobi currently living within this country. The entire Pōn Tribe had been extinguished. A message was being sent, not necessarily a clear one, but one that was clearly a message.
The Pōn, however, would not be the ones spreading this rumor. They did not care for large interactions with those outside of their ranks. Being a clan that had lasted for as long as they had, the stories of the conflicts between tribes, between factions, and between species caused them to become fiercely isolationist. It was safer, they thought. Yet, Wind Country had always carried of sense of cruelty with it. Since its recorded history started, pages upon pages were filled with the bloodshed for and within this country. Those outside of this land may not have been able to see the point; how could sand and a barren wasteland be that important? Those thoughts were not echoed by those within Wind Country, nor those that had been expelled from Wind Country. This was more than a desert. This was more than sand. This was more than just this village or that village.
It is a mixture of these stories, stories of those who loved and would fight, and die, for this country, the small tribe of the Pōn, and connections born by blood to the past, to the First Men. While the tensions of the cold war happening between Sunagakure no Sato and the Daimyo continued to grow, there was something else growing within Wind Country. A new threat. A different threat... and yet, an old threat.
A dying fire was the only source of light left in the encampment. Strewn about the sands were a mixture of carnage. Blood, debris, large spikes, bodies, it was like a scene straight out of a nightmare. The most unnerving part of the entire moment was not visual, however, it was auditory. The area, aside from the crackle of the fire, was completely silent. The Pōn was not a large clan, but they were a tribe of at least 50 people. In no instance had there ever been a night or day that they were this silent.
Background music for the scene, enjoy!
This night, unfortunately, had not been this silent either. No, hours prior to this moment the camp was full of laughter and life. Half an hour later the camp was full of the sounds of anguish and horror. "...please.... please.... please... send help... send help..."
Would be the words that would escape the mouth of a younger man, face covered in sand and blood, as he spoke towards a large foreboding figure before him. The figure before him wore a mask but also formal attire, as if he was attending a party or going to work for the merchant lords within their executive realm. Within one hand of the masked man was a rather large hammer, bursting forth from his pockets were spike, incredibly large metal nails, and his one free hand would reach up to his own temple.
"I appreciate the message and I appreciate your cooperation."
"... why... why are you doing this..."
The large man would them pull a glowing marble-sized orb from his own temple as the sand before him would begin to swirl around as a creation would appear. The masked man would then hand the creation the orb followed by a rather bulky looking headset communication device.
"Give me a moment, beasty."
The creation would nod to its master as the masked man would turn his attention, finally, back to the young man.
"Why? That's boring. Listen, buddy, you should rejoice! Your clan, the Pōn, are the first official sacrifice to a new era. A time when those Forgotten by Wind Country get to finally return home. A time when those who were "blessed" get to finally fall. Wind Country, it has taken a lot longer than I think our master suspected but is finally ripe. The mounting tensions, return to infighting, a putrid sense of distrust... it's perfect. So very perfect. And soon..."
The large man would pull out one of the metallic spikes from his pocket as his other hand began to toss around and twirl the hammer within its grasp. The man upon the ground would immediately begin to squirm and claw at the ground. He had seen what this meant, he had seen what this masked man could do. And even if he hadn't, the image around him, of bodies nailed to the ground, to shelters, to one another, would be a quick reminder of what his fate looked like if he did not escape. Yet, he would not be able to escape. A spike had already been impaled through both of his ankles, and he was not a shinobi. There was nothing he could do but struggle. Even though he knew it would be in vain.
"...soon the first of The Forgotten will be returning. He is a weird one, but he has been preparing for this day, so I would hate to disappoint him. I was actually on my way to go knock on his "door" when I happened upon your tribe. Once I realized who you were... it was like a damned vision from some higher power! It was perfect! You are perfect! So..."
The masked man would blur out of site as he would immediately appear over the body of the down man. Before the man could even react to this sudden movement, a spike would appear already buried deep into his gut. His eyes would be torn between reacting to the appearance of the man or the surging pain coming from his body. It was perplexing, it was unfair, it was the cruelty that nestled within Wind Country.
"Rejoice... soon, not only will I get to call this land home once more, but our master will finally get to return. We all have sinned... Ancients, humans, hybrids, those of a more mysterious origin, those marked, those directly descended, those indirectly descended... it's just that time that you all start to pay your penance."
With that, the masked brute would let out a burst of roaring laughter (hear for yourself). The night would continue on, the camp would return to dead silence, and time would simply pass until morning. As soon as the sun rose up in the distance, the creation left behind by the masked man would finally begin to move once more, pressing on the communication device while placing the small orb, Snapshot, into its throat. From its mouth began a recorded message from the memory of the masked man.
"Hello... hello... if you can hear this... shinobi... this is the Pōn Tribe... we are under attack... a monster...our camp's coordinates are..."
The message would continue until reaching a familiar end.
Once shinobi arrive, or whoever heard the transmission or happened upon the scene, they would not only take in the ghastly slaughter before them, they would not only find the body of the young man who had been separated from the group to have his message recorded, they would find a piece of paper upon the body of the man. Something that looked like it had been pulled from some bound book that predated most of the shinobi currently living within this country. The entire Pōn Tribe had been extinguished. A message was being sent, not necessarily a clear one, but one that was clearly a message.
The next chapter of Suna's story, of all of Wind Country's story, is coming soon.