Stealy purple eyes survayed the scene unfolding before them, countless tribal members gathered in the same squair meter of ground, all josstaling for front possition and the right to be noticed by the 10 official preists of the shaman tournement.
The event of 500 years had arrived, sparking exsitment throught the village people, tilting their small worlds into joyfull chaos, for them it was a time of celebration, a time to hail the arival of the new shaman king and beging a new calinder to mark the passing of time...for me...it was unknown evil. a chaos that threatened to envelop my world and destroy it for a second time.
The holy spirit was the light and hope of the universe, the one savious we could all count upon in our time of need, something to govern both life and death, but also the controller of chaos and distruction. my eyes flitted over the 10 ulgy masks that the official tornement preists we're forced to adorn, for once i had never been more glad to be unofficial.
I watched in both facination and anger as goldva, the patch leader, my last remaning relative threw his arms in the air and cleared his throwt causing the 10 preists of the tournement to part on the stage and make space for the small man who struck so much fear into the tribe.
"the time has come...the start of the tournement is now upon us" the crowed below watched in something akin to awe. something i would never and have never felt for the old man stood infront of me. with little more then a flick of his wrist the preists took to the sky, leaving me with my old man "let us prepare!" the final words were met with a hearty cheer from the croud, some waving and others talking amongst themselves. i however wantted nothing more then to be out of this village...the place i was percived as a freak, the place that had taught me nothing more than hatered towads the differences people may have...the differances i had.
The clatter of feet and shuffaling of ceramonial robes di nothing to ease my nerves as i watched eatch of the 10 presits make their way off the stage, only one of them paying me any attention via a small incline of the creepy mask that was fastened to his face...Silva...he was more of a relative to me then Goldva could ever hope to be. taking my place behind the older preist i stepped from the stage, not that anyone had noticed me, stuffed in the back corner, tucked away from the tribe like a dirty little secreat. With a bitter scowl still twisted upon my face i turned to attention with the rest of the holy shaman tournement keepers
"as of now the offical shaman tornement has begun...go"
the old cheiftans voice echoed around the empty room at the back of the stage
each preist had left on the word go with nothing more the the flurry of clokes.
the dark exspretion the old man had held softened considerably as his eyes focused on a specific patch of now empty floor, the spot where the only female of the preist 10 stood
"now is the time ichigo...make me proud my grandchild..."