LucianRedgrave
Mythical
In the heart of the vast lake that encircles Amegakure, a small island harbors an ancient, forgotten Shinto shrine. Veiled in a perpetual mist, the island appears as a ghostly silhouette amidst the rain that never ceases to fall, casting a melancholic atmosphere over the entire scene. The shrine is unreachable except by an old stone bridge, partially submerged in the lake’s dark waters. This bridge, though still standing, is fractured and treacherous, its stones slick with algae and time-worn cracks threatening to swallow any traveler who dares to cross. The shrine itself, once a sacred site, has been overtaken by nature and neglect. Its wooden beams are weathered and darkened from countless years of rain, rot, and abandonment. Sections of the roof have caved in, leaving jagged gaps where rainwater now freely pours inside, pooling on the floorboards that have begun to warp and splinter. The torii gate, a once-proud symbol of spiritual protection, stands broken and crooked at the entrance. Its red paint has long since faded, now a dull, splintered remnant of its former self. The gate leans at an unnatural angle, as if it could collapse into the lake at any moment, adding to the sense of fragility that surrounds the island.
A narrow stone path, worn smooth by years of rain and erosion, leads up to the shrine's entrance. Moss and lichen have taken hold along the edges of the path, creeping up the cracked stones as if seeking to reclaim them entirely. The steps leading to the shrine are slick and uneven, their once-sharp edges softened by time. Wild grasses have sprung up in the cracks between the stones, and the entire area feels as if it is slowly being swallowed by the natural world, forgotten by the people who once tended to it. Encircling the shrine are rows of gravestones, ancient markers of lives long passed. These stones are weathered and crumbling, with inscriptions worn down to near illegibility by centuries of rain. Some gravestones stand tall, though crooked, while others have fallen over, half-buried in the earth or leaning heavily against one another as if seeking support. The ground here is soft and muddy, waterlogged from the ever-present rain, causing some of the gravestones to sink deeper into the earth, as though they, too, are being pulled back into the depths from which they rose.
Ivy and creeping vines wind their way around the gravestones, binding them in a tangled web of green that speaks to years of abandonment. The once-sacred grounds have become overgrown and wild, with nature slowly reclaiming what was once cultivated by human hands. Yet, despite the shrine’s state of disrepair, there is a haunting beauty in its decay. The ivy, the moss, and the wildflowers that have taken root here seem to embrace the forgotten shrine, giving it a sense of quiet dignity even in its ruination. Inside the shrine, the interior is sparse and desolate. The altar, once adorned with offerings and tokens of faith, is now bare, save for a few rotting fruits and rusted coins left by the rare visitor who still remembers this place. Wooden prayer plaques hang loosely from rusted hooks, their once-vibrant messages now faded and smeared, rendered illegible by time and weather. The air within the shrine is damp and heavy, carrying the scent of wet wood and decay. Puddles of water dot the floor, reflecting the dim light that filters through the cracked roof, casting an eerie glow within the shrine’s interior.
The island feels like a place trapped in time, cut off from the rest of the world. The constant rain, the mist that hangs heavily in the air, and the quiet lapping of the lake’s waters create an atmosphere of isolation and sorrow. Yet, amid this stillness, there is an undeniable sense of history and memory that lingers in the air. The shrine, though abandoned and forgotten, carries with it the echoes of those who once visited, prayed, and lived their lives around this sacred place. The gravestones, too, seem to whisper stories of the past, tales of those who were once laid to rest here, their names and deeds now lost to time. The island is a testament to the impermanence of all things—a place where nature and memory intertwine, where the passage of time has worn away the surface, but the essence of what once was still lingers, haunting and beautiful.
Mirai would find upon her arrival the essence of the depths awaiting her. The air’s haunting tension is palpable and the stench of rot is ever present no matter how hard she may attempt to avoid its aggressive smell. The lake she’d crossed despite the rain still had a mirrored finish reflecting the very depths of her soul back onto her with every footsteps perhaps a looking glass into the depths of one's being. Alas this was only truly the beginning of her end as far as the chase was concerned. It was only a matter of time before the layers began to unfold before her but until then things were only just beginning.
Location: Tavern on the Outskirts of the Rain District
Post Order: Order: Mirai Uchiha
Time Limit: 3 Days
Skip Points: 3
