Gorobi Mishima found it all quite fitting. He sat cross legged in an unusual beach chair overlooking a desolate plain, hands folded over his lap, a long, ringed pipe clutched in his lips. A golden eyepatch covered his right eye, and a long, flowing gray beard ran down his chest, and over his chest.
Two younger chuunins stood behind him casting strange looks at each other, slightly perturbed by their leader's unusually cheerful disposition. Mishima was not usually a happy man, but at the moment he was grinning widely and chuckling to himself.
"You know boys, sometimes the best cure for a man's boredom, is to do what he does best. No matter what that may be" He said happily, taking a large puff on his pipe.
The two chuunins didn't answer. They knew Gorobi liked rhetorical statements. "And I have to say" he boomed in a deep, hearty voice "That today is a day that I can do what I do best"
A long howl suddenly echoed across the plain, followed by an earsplitting scream, and several deep rumbles. The two chuunins reared back in fear, hands thrown up over their faces. Gorobi let out a throaty laugh. "You hear that? Their calling for us. Their calling for me." He grinned widely, strange pointed teeth glimmering in the sun. "Are you ready?"
The old man was laid back against the wall, his domed forehead dripping with persperation. Am I doing the right thing?
"Sir, the shinobi are in position" A voice peirced his thoughts, snapping him back to reality. His head turned in the dark, eyes downcast in the shadows. The figure of a man stood in the doorway, his silhoutte clearly outlined by the rising sun.
The elderly man gulped, his throat heaving violently with the motion. He reached into his pocket, and withdrew a stark white handerchief, shakily unfolding it, then wiping the sickening amount of sweat from his brow.
"Tell them...good luck. To keep their spirirts strong, and to keep the thought of our village's safety in their heads. For the people..."
The young man in the doorway snapped into a salute. "For the People!" He shouted before hurrying out of the room leaving the old man alone with his thoughts once again.
His wrinkled eyes closed slowly and he raised his veiny hands to his forehead, fingers kneading his temples. The demons would not stop. In the back of his mind, he knew this. But he could try. Even if it meant sacrificing every man, woman, and child in the village...he would preserve his father's legacy. The drums of war sounded in the distance. Death bells. Death bells. Death bells. His eyes snapped open violently, his pupils wide. They were coming.
Higoto hurried down the street, his arms and legs pumping furiously. What a fool he had been! He came to a fork in the road and kept straight, ignoring both paths, instead leaping uncaringly into the underbrush. To release it so soon! What had he been thinking! Thorns and briars ripped at his bare arms and legs, causing painful, stinging wounds along his body. He didn't stop, not for a moment.
Why didn't he think this through? In his blind rage at the Council, and in his sadness over the loss of Dosuku, he had summoned It without giving the proper orders. It had only one purpose now.
Higoto caught his ankle on a raised root, and sprawled face first on the ground. He was no ninja. Painfully and wearily he stood, eyes afire with determination. He would stop it. He would have to stop it. The future of this land depended on it.
With heavy steps he continued, feet smashing the ground as if they were bricks. He emerged from the folaige gasping, his breathing becoming harsh. He was back on the street again. It had come this way. He was sure of it. But where did it go? He had to find it before the battle started, before...Suddenly, horns blared in the distance, and the ground began to shake.
The tremors caused Higoto to fall, his already unsteady ankle caused him to flip head over heels, and roll down the slanting road, landing in a heap at the base of a house.
"Oh no. Not now. Please, not now." he moaned. He felt it then. It had found them. A scream errupted from below. Higoto stood shakily and scrambled to a nearby set of steps. From his new vantage point, he could see the Gates of the Village, and the Demonic Plains that lay beyond it. His eyes widened. There, on the plains, armed to teeth in full battle gear, was every single shinobi from the village.
Big, little, old, young. They were all there. He even recognized a few. Ja, the genius genin was standing on top of the gate swinging a long blue chain around his head. Hokago, the fat jounin was on the outside of the main body of warriors along with his three man team. Gorobi, the psycotic ANBU leader was at the head of the group of ninja. Even from this distance, Higoto could tell that he was laughing feircely. Everyone around him seemed to be unafraid. They too were laughing. Genins, chuunins, jounins, ANBU, squad leaders- they were all there. Every single one of them.
Higoto gasped. So this was what Dosuku was so afraid of. It wasn't about the death of a few warriors. If all these shinboi were to be inevitably killed, the city would be left without any defense at all. Then everyone would be doomed.
Higoto dropped to his knees. It was over. Even if It manged to stop the demons, it would be too late. Too many would have died. The demons would regroup, and attack again. And again. And again. Until It was destroyed. Then, there would be nothing to guard the city. Everyone would die. The Village Hidden in the Smoke was going to fall. Nothing could prevent that. But maybe, just maybe. The loss of life could still be stemmed. Higoto, vigor renewed, pushed himself up. If he could save just one soul. Just one. That would be better than fleeing alone. He couldn't save the city. But he could still save it's people. Mind made up, he ran off into the distance.
His name was Gorobi Mishima. The man who laughed at death. That's what they called him. Before they came, he laughed at them. And when they arrived, he laughed at them. His name was Gorobi Mishima, shinobi of the Village Hidden in the Smoke. And he would soon discover, that death did not take kindly to being laughed at.
In later years, it would be documented, that a lone man known only as the Hero of the Smoke saved countless lives by escorting citizens out of the village before it was burned to the ground. Those same souls would soon go to found the village Hidden in the Rock.
The final prologue section will be inserted later today. Expect some fighting. Lots of fighting.