Knocking or Whatever

Finally he had arrived.

Well finally would imply a particular destination in mind and thus would not properly apply. So at some point he had arrived here, within the land of lightning, wandering aimlessly through the mountainous terrain. He had nowhere in particular he needed to be, had just visited and quickly thought better of doing so the land of Iwagakure, and had decided against returning immediately home. After the death of the shogun there was just nothing much happening there. No, his home had grown more boring and isolated than previous and while he probably had the authority and capacity to change this he did not feel in any way inclined to do so.

He wore a brown leather jacket, white T-shirt, pair of black pants, and a pair of olive green boots. He looked plain in a sort of outlandish way aside from the black trident with bright blue blades he had slung across his back. However much his causal gait and hands thrust into the pockets of his jacket might convince some that he was not here to fight, but his navy, porous eye patch was a dead giveaway to most people that he was a warmonger.

The field around him, untended and craggy, had been overgrown by a collection of yellow daffodils, vibrant trumpets emerging from thin grasses and tiny clusters of white flowers.
Aside from the occasional outcropping of stone, indicating poor farming land, the flowers dominated everything, their bells looking every which way and taking in every sight the nearly barren landscape had to offer. Oh, such a fated place of meeting to go to waste.  

After waiting a long time, the man outside the village decided to move on.

As suspected, the beautiful surroundings were utterly wasted, the lovely daffodils trumpeting their songs of triumph to no one who could engage with them. The man rolled his eyes, one tucked away behind the unadorned eye patch, and trod on, onward to the looming gates of the allegedly great village. He had never been and thus could not say anything by way of judgement but he assumed that this village was much like any other: full of people and replete with its own mostly-the-same-as-neighboring-villages customs. But who knew? Perhaps this would not be the case at all.

Exit