A Test of Bushido

Don't worry I don't expect you all to be experts on the Seven Virtues of Bushido. The path of the warrior is a very hard path, frought with misinterpretation and temptation. As this is a warriors tournament, I decided a little exercise related to a warriors code would be in order.

• • Gi (Honesty and Justice) - Set lies aside. A samurai does not make honesty or justice a matter for debate; he knows that there is only truth and falsehood, justice and injustice.
  • Rei (Polite Courtesy) - A samurai is neither a bully nor a brute killer. He must treat his enemies with courtesy.
  • Yu (Courage) - Only fear of death can destroy life; the samurai replaces it with an understanding of danger.
  • Meyo (Honor) - Praises and curses are not what defines honor; the samurai reserves his judgement for himself.
  • Jin (Compassion) - Just as the farmer does not grow crops merely to fill his own belly, the warrior does not fight for himself alone. A samurai must be constantly aware of the duty to protect others.
  • Makoto (Complete Sincerity) - A samurai's words and his actions are one and the same. To 'promise' would be redundant.
  • Chugo (Duty and Loyalty) - Actions and their consequences define those who take them. The samurai's loyalty to those that he guards for is unshakeable.

Your job is simple, pick one of the seven virtues of Bushido and write a short story that fits within one post about your character utilizing that particular virtue.

I'll not only be looking for the best, but also the most out of the box way that virtue applies. Anyone can be courageous when facing an enemy, having the courage to admit something that might be detrimental to a characters goals, also embodies the virtue and in doing so would score higher.

The rewards for this task is simple. Two fate points go to the best entry, if I get more than five, I will take the top two, and if I break twelve I'll take top three. Also, to show the spirit of this Invitational, I myself will post my own Story, of course not in the running. I will throw up my entry after the time limit, so that it can show you my way of showing Bushido. I will however count mine for determining how many people I take for victories. ;)

Also, please title your posts with the Virtue you are trying to embody. I'd hate to mistake one virtue for another. (Honesty and Sincerity being the two most often confused.)

You have Two weeks, go forth young warriors and show us a bit of Bushido!

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Meyo – A Return to Honor

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Many days passed from the time of Honuse Relaiyent’s arrival in the realm of Asgard; many hours were spent in training, learning from the wisdom of the Gods themselves. Upon the will of Thor, the man who had been called abomination, without honor or title, learned the role of Lawmaker that had been offered to him. Only now, a mere three months before the deadline imposed by mighty Odin, was he trusted enough to embark upon a journey with a god.

Being the one most paired with honor and loyalty, Thor asked his brother Tyr to guide Honuse Relaiyent upon this vital errand, to see his actions and judge his ability and worthiness. Upon the eve of their task, Tyr insisted that the man, more giant than human, strip himself of all but a pair of rough leather trousers, save the blades permanently affixed to the top of each arm.

“Your crime was that of murder, slaying he that owned your loyalty. To this end you suppose I might trust such a man to hold a blade at my back?” He asked, though Honuse Relaiyent had not questioned the god’s decision. It was with patience that he took all such commands in stride; such was the weight placed upon his broad shoulders, to do that which he was tasked, and more. The Lords of the Nine Worlds had honor beyond all imaginings to give, yet only to those who were elevated to their own perceptions of worthiness.

For it was with the blade that the giant won his freedom; a blade swept in anger at the man who had rightfully gained Honuse Relaiyent’s servitude. The gods saw this crime, and decreed that the betrayer was guilty of it; it was only through the abomination’s resilience and skill at arms that found him worthy of a second chance. Thus was he in the company of Tyr, walking through a vast city to which he knew not the name or location.

The man, who stood nearly half again as tall as those around him – and twice as broad – strolled uneasily through the streets, aware of his muscled body appearing counter to the battered leather trousers that covered him. Unending darkness filled his vision, the result of losing his eyes many decades ago, forcing the abomination to rely on his innate recognition of biological masses and his sensitive ears to navigate. Sol had long since begun his path across the sky before the unlikely pair of man and god arrived at what Honuse Relaiyent presumed to be their destination.

The building they stood before was short, yet far wider than the norm for this land. It covered several acres, lying as it did upon the outskirts, with nothing save fields of crops cast behind it. Without hesitation, Tyr entered through the large doors at its front, not caring to announce his presence before stalking through the darkened halls. Yet the giant was not so careless, as he caught an unusual and foul scent upon the opening of the dwelling; it was the smell of death, both recent and decayed.

Unable to bear the thought of punishment at his reluctance to enter, the abomination strode cautiously behind the god, who seemed to know his desired path through the labyrinth of corridors. They finally passed the threshold into the central chamber, a large repository of rotting carcasses; horses, cows, and above all else, men. The stench was overwhelming, though Tyr did not seem to notice it in his anger; beckoning the giant to his side, he spoke to the man caught unawares in the distant corner.

“Thavs Oeldr, I command your compliance on this day. Long have your predations upon the people of this land been noted, yet only the slaying of the Lawmaker granted your existence to this day. I come bearing the displeasure of Odin, of whom your wretched experimentations offend. It is not your place to seek the powers of the All Father; nor is it for you to slay your neighbors as fuel for this terrible endeavor. Stand before me this day, and face the wrath you have incurred.”

The man, already older than most who lived in the land, hung his head in shame; nevertheless, he rose to his feet and walked towards the god, never daring to raise his eyes. It was with an expression of utter hopelessness that he knelt at the feet of Tyr. Tears fell upon the floor, invisible amongst the standing pools of incarnadine fluids. Honuse Relaiyent, expecting to be given the charge to slay this man, did not realize his folly until he fell upon the floor.

For Tyr, knowing that his servant was preparing to face the task of what would be to him a justified murder, had taken the advantage to drive an armored fist into the back of the abomination. His strength, which was mighty even by the mark of the gods, rendered Honuse Relaiyent gasping for breath, unable to stand. Turning towards Thavs Oeldr, who stood in shocked silence, he beckoned with his left hand. “Take up one of the blades around you, murderer, and add this man to your list of foul deeds.”

Obeying without realizing it, the old man stood, turning to grab a rusted blade from a nearby table. He moved as if in a daze, his every action a stutter of motion; it was as if he were a puppet, given life through a child’s boredom rather than a skilled puppeteer. But such was not enough to prevent him from lowering the blade in a powerful movement; the weapon landed upon the raised blade attached to Honuse Relaiyent’s arm, before rebounding off as the giant stood. Yet his strength gained him nothing but a swift kick to the abdomen, delivered by Tyr in a flurry of motion faster than mortal eyes could follow. For a second time, the abomination fell, and the old man prepared to strike.

It was weakness that spared the giant’s life. His right arm, unable to hold such weight, collapsed under his body. The large frame rolled to the side unwillingly, avoiding the second attack of Thavs Oeldr, who still moved as if he were protesting every tiny action. Tyr lashed out again, driving a booted foot into the side of the prostrate man’s head, nearly forcing him into unconsciousness. “You justified the crimes of your hand through the belief that your lord betrayed you. Yet it was you who forfeited your honor by striking he who owned your loyalty. Now here you lie, once again betrayed by one who owns you. Do you dare to strike me? No greater torment may be had than that which you already face upon failing to slay this murderer. To what loss do you think to avenge your torment?”

Honuse Relaiyent did not answer; could not answer, for the ringing in his ears. All he knew was the hatred welling up within his soul, the return of that old desire to end his torment at any expense. He rose to his feet, trembling throughout his entire body, every sense focused upon the god before him. Tyr, his face a mask of contempt, unsheathed a long, curved blade from his side; he held the weapon aloft, ready to slay the abomination himself should Thavs Oeldr fail to do so.

The giant lunged forward, taking a counterstrike upon his left armblade; yet instead of attempting to thrust his second weapon in at the exposed midsection of the god, he grabbed the gauntleted fist and pulled with all of his might. Tyr stumbled, his sword impaling the old man who was still attempting to follow the order he had been given previously. With the barest hint of contempt, Honuse Relaiyent released his master, stepping back several paces to prove he was of no immediate threat.

“It was by your decree that this man was to die, and by my actions that your wishes were fulfilled. Though I have stained your own sword with his blood, and in doing so honored your commands while forcing you to share in my dealing of death. We are now equal in this task, Lord, as we both have his blood to bear.”

Tyr smiled, accepting the rebuke with good nature. “Such is the rule of honor, young one. The honor of the master is reflected upon the servant, for it is by the will of both that the desires of one be fulfilled.” He turned to leave, sure in the knowledge that Honuse Relaiyent would follow him, having no fear of the sword that now rested at his back.

Just a heads up guys, four more days till the deadline is over!

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~ Yuu - Though I Walk Through the Valley ~
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Grey clouds drift overhead. Silhouette of the trees framing the grey, cloudy sky.

Maybe it would rain soon... with clouds like that...

The winds blew through the trees, ruffling leaves echoing in response to my thoughts. It was as if they could understand me, which was such an absurd thought.

Sure... they would know if it would rain... I laughed, or at least tried to. Instead, globs of liquid spurt from my mouth, foaming around my lips.
The sticky substance clung disgustingly to my face, but I had neither the strength nor the want to wipe it away. It was a reminder of my circumstance, however much I did not want to think about.

What happened? Oh, yes... I would tell you, but right now I feel very tired...

Perhaps I will tell you after a short rest...

When I feel better...

Please wake me up by then...

When I wake up...

[hr]

Sunlight.

A ray of light shining through a window.

...Hmm? A window?

I slowly sat up, wincing at the pain in my stomach and touched the warm wooden frame and cold, transparent glass. Outside, the world was awashed with light green color of the pines and blooming white wildflowers.

Where am I? The last thing I remembered was the cold earth against my back and the sky seemed to begin shedding tears... rain, I guess. And then I remembered... I was talking to someone... someone was there... but who...

"Ah, I see you're finally awake. I wouldn't move around much right now should I be in your position, otherwise the wrapping may come undone."

-?!

My head snapped towards the speaker, seeing him enter the room with a plate in his hand. The man had long, grey hair which fell against both sides of his face. His eyes closed as if in a perpetual smile. Pointed, grey ears... a pair of silver tails... another Kitsuna...?

Wind swept petals drifted into the room, stirring his braided hair as he set out cups of tea with his left hand. And then I realized... he was not using his other hand at all. Or more likely...

I brushed a white flower petal off my shoulder, only to realize I wasn't wearing my yukata. My face turned hot, hurriedly pulling the warm cotton blanket up to cover my body.

"NA- OMAE WA-?!" I angrily demanded. "WHO ARE YOU?!"

I was met with a sigh, as if the other Kitsune was saying "I knew it" to himself.

"You have nothing to fear, traveller." He presented the tea with a smile. "My name is Yakumo and this is my home. Yukkurishitteite, ne*. If you still wish for your arms, it is at the front of my house."

I suddenly became aware of my position and calmed down, tentatively receiving the tea cup from his hand.

"I'm sorry to have startled you, but I could not simply leave you to fall asleep in the woods with a wound like that. I take it you have been ambushed by the cult-worshipers?"

My mind was still blurry, but some images managed to surface in my mind. Yes, I believe it was something to that extent. They had sprang from the shadows, possibly five or six. I was too surprised I had no time to unsheath my sword before they attacked...

"They attacked us with this... deadly stick that spat fire..." I could almost feel it all over again, the numbing shock of blood and pain. The thought of death immobolized me to the spot. "And I was hit... Ojousama was..."

Ojousama-?!

My hands went cold.

"Ojousama, you say?" Yakumo spoke quietly to himself after taking a sip of tea. "I believe she was taken by the cultists... My apologies, but I could not pursue them lest I leave you to die."

"Ojousama!!" I shouted, spilling the tea onto the bed as I clambered onto my feet. Pain shot through my side and I feel face-first, if only to be caught in the arms of the two-tailed fox. Hot tears stream down my face as I bit back the searing hot sensation spreading across my body.

"You're not well enough to neglect rest, young girl. But fear not..." Yakumo sighed again, setting me back into bed. "Kami-sama's blessing is with your master. The cult worshipers will do nothing to her... not for another forthnight."

I bit back the pain as I laid in the bed, my bandaged hands clawing at my arms.

Ojousama... Gomennasai...

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Yakumo-san later explained to me that, like himself, there were many other Kitsune who once lived in the area. The human village nearby used to worship them as spirits of the forest who were guardians of the harvest. Every year there would be a festival at the local shrine dedicated to them. But for strange reasons, the seasons became worse and the harvests were no longer fruitful. Resentment of the humans led to the creation of a cult, who casted the blame on to the Kitsune as origins of the supposed curse upon their village. Though only a handful of the villagers actually partook in the yearly hunt of the Kitsune residents, it was nothing but a violent display of ritual sacrifice.

I could not look at Yakumo-san as he told the history of this peaceful land... but it all made sense. However, I also noticed he was strangely calm when he told me this story. The tea before us listened quietly as well, the faint aroma rising in quiet white steam.

"If we hurry, I believe we can rescue your mistress before the cultists begin their ritual." The Kitsune spoke calmly, taking up his cup and quietly sipping it with his left hand.

"Is that..." I began. I wanted to ask him about his arm, but I could not bring myself to look into his eyes and merely kept my sight on the small ceramic cup. "Is that the reason why you have..."

I did not have to finish my sentence for Yakumo-san to understand. He merely gave me a short chuckle and set down his drink.

"Yes, that's the reason why I am here before you with only one arm. Truth is, I also used to have three tails." The pair of silver tails flicked about behind him. "But I decided to give one away to a little human girl I know. That was such a long time ago, though. Hahaha."

Th- That's not something to laugh about, Yakumo-san... I grimaced, dreading what it would feel like to have my tail cut off.

"At any rate." He spoke up once more. "If we head out tonight, we can use the cover of darkness to rescue your princess. Afterwards, I will point you towards the nearest Kitsune village. Most of my friends have moved there, so just tell them my name and they will welcome you to stay."

I nodded. Yakumo-san suggested I rest for the afternoon in preparation for the raid, but I could not sleep well knowing Konoka was in danger. No matter. I would be ready by the time nightfall came. I had to be ready.

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The two of us carefully made our way through the forest with the lone crescent moon at our back. Chirping crickets fell silent as we passed through the undergrowth, their silence covered by the chorus of cicadas overhead. The silver Kitsune led us up a small hill where a shrine stood overlooking the village.

"We can observe the village from this shrine." He stated, glancing up at the small temple set against the dark sky. His face appeared sad, as if yearning for something, but it could just be my imagination. However, as we neared the crest of the hill behind the shrine, the clamor of men on the other side rang in our ears. Wordlessly, however filled with dread, we rushed forward.

"Ojousama!!" I yelled.

Konoka was running up the cascading stone steps with a young girl in her arms, followed by men bearing torches, plows, forks and hand scythes. My master smiled in tears as she fought against the distance between us and we both rushed to their side.

"Sets-chan! You're alive!" She cried, leaping into my arms. I seized her, the previous dreadful feeling all but disappeared.

Ojousama...

"Your princess is more resourceful than I thought." The male Kitsune smiled, holding the little girl in his arms. "But perhaps we should turn our attention to the trouble before us now."

I wiped away my tears of joy and looked over my master's shoulders to see a large group of men pausing at the foot of the stairs. Their faces burning with hate or determination, I could not tell, for their faces were colored by the crimson tones of torches in their hands.

"Give us back our sacrifice, priestess of the Yakumo Shrine!" A large man stepped forward, holding a hatchet in his hand. "We must appease the gods with a just offering or this curse will become worse!"

...Yakumo Shrine?

"No, I will not!" The little girl in Yakumo-san's arms protested, turning to the crowd below. "I will not let this barbaric practice ruin our faith! The Kitsune have long been protectors of this village! How could you justify spilling their blood in service to a foreign diety?!"

I looked at the little girl and at the silver hair Kitsune standing guard over her. Ah, now it all made sense...

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"If your friends have already fled, then why have you remained here?"

I asked him as we made our way under the night time canopies. Yakumo-san pressed on forward, his face still bearing that ambiguous smile.

"I have... a duty here." He responded after a period of silence. A tense feeling hovering about him. "I cannot abandon the promise I have made to an old friend."

"But..." I grimaced. The image of my fate earlier flashed into my mind. Back then, when the cult worshipers attacked, I could not even move my fingers as I saw the fire-stick light in front of my eyes. "...you might... is a promise that more important than your life?"

His response was calm, as if already having made his mind long before I had arrived.

"Only the fear of death shall mean my defeat. And, yes. The promise is that much more than my life is worth. After all, the promise is..."

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I wonder... My eyes turned to Konoka, who watched as the men far below begun advancing up the stairs. When the time comes... will I be able to defend my master like him...?

But just then, a hatchet flew through the air towards us. Towards where my master and I now stood. All of a sudden, the world seemed to slow down. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of my face - a long, cold finger dragging itself against my cheek.

I could not move.

-KLANK-!

I snapped out from the trance. The hatchet flew over our heads, embedding itself a few feet away on a nearby tree. Yakumo-san's unsheathed sword in front of us. But the sword was different from most designs, as I thought back on it later, because the normal cutting edge was entirely reversed with the blunt edge out.

"It appears you may need a bit more time to become accustomed to the pressure, young one." He calmly remarked, withdrewing his arm. It was as if the weight of the world was suddenly slammed onto my back. A realization that I was not ready.

Fear had gripped me, forcing me into inaction.

"Take the path of the unmoving star." He plainly stated, stepping forward whilst pushing the little girl towards us. "Two days and you will come upon our Kitsune village. Please take Miyu there."

I gulped, nodding a silent response.

"Sets-chan?" My master asked, but I could not muster a word to answer her.

"Yakumo-sama?" The young miko**, Miyu, asked her guardian who stood between her and the blood-thirsty crowd below.

"Daijoubu desu yo゜, Miyu-chan." The two-tailed Kitsune smiled. "I will return to you when this is resolved. Please wait until I come, ne?"

I grabbed both Konoka and Miyu's hands before hurrying off towards the path Yakumo-san had instructed. Not long after we reached the foot of the hill did the sound of battle erupt in the distance.

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If only...

The steady drumming of the rain drowned out the usual summer calls of the wild cicadas. Master Konoka was happily conversing with the locals at the inn as usual, not the least depressed by the weather. The field of white flowers outside appeared as if drowning in the steady summer rain, but however still relenting.

I turned away from the window, catching sight of Miyu seated at the nearby table with a cup of warm tea in her hands. Her eyes still watching the inn's doorway.

It had been three months since we took refuge at the Kitsune village, but there was no sign of Yakumo-san since our last encounter. I wondered how Miyu-san would be thinking... but I believed I would feel the same.

Yakumo-san's words still echo in my ears as I sat listening to the rain.

"After all, the promise is to protect Miyu-chan from harm." He said. That was many months before.

I could only wonder... I glanced from Miyu as she waited for her guardian, to my master as she joyfully conversed with her acquaintences...

I could only wonder when the time comes, would I be able to do the same.

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-Footnotes-

* Yukkurishitteite ne: "I hope you stay as long as you like" and "take it easy" are both valid translation of this phrase. The former is for when one addresses a guest at their arrival while the other is for general conversations.
** miko: Roughly translated as "shrine maidens" they are generally found working at Shinto shrines. Historically, they serve as priestess and oracles though in contemporary times they care for most of the shrine functions.
゜Daijoubu: "Everything is alright" generally use to give assurance of safety or resolution.

"Patrick, Iffin there's jus' one thing I ken tell ye, it'd be, don't leave the Path. Ye'll see what ye want most in tha' world, ye'll see someone, something that needs ye, ye'll see whatever the Fey think'll get ye' off the Path. It's a lie, Patrick. A damned good lie, but a lie nonetheless.

You see, Patrick, the Feywyld ain't nearly so bad as some o' the other Planes, but is' just as deadly in is' own ways. See, tha' Planes like the Abyss'll jus' try ta bob ye', but the Feywyld's a honey pot, take a sip 'an ye'll never wan' ta' leave. Ye'll spend forever in a Daze, dancin' an' dreamin' fer the spirits what dwell there."

That was the advice he'd given everyone about to walk the Path, and all of them up until Patrick had the good sense to follow his instructions. Not Patrick, fool boy had wandered off at the first temptation, he'd been walking alongside 'Hopper one moment, and then he'd shouted, "Coleen! No!!" And he ran off

In the Feywyld, the Path was the only safe course, a gold-colored road that twisted through the wilderness, taking you exactly where you needed to go. To the left and right though, were fey creatures that existed, it seems, purely to tempt you off the Path. They couldn't drag you off, and 'Hopper never understood why that was, but they knew you better than you knew yourself, presented you with what you needed to see to leave it voluntarily, like when Patrick saw his Sister, being dragged away into the forest, screaming the whole time.

It wasn't real, nothing here was, they were two spirits, working together to drag him off for their own reasons, but he was off the Path before 'Hopper could grab him, and for the first time in his long career, 'Hopper ran off after him.

It had been short work, slicing through the Spirits with his blades, clearing the haze out of Patrick's eyes with a quick smack upside the head, but by the time he was done, the Path was gone, the forest was their world now, and it was laughing at them. "Ye Addle-coved Clueless! I told ye, I told ye one thing, DON'T LEAVE THE PATH! Sodding hells, Iffin' I weren't as barmy as ye are, ye'd be lost now, an' I'd 'ave left ye' to yer fate."

By now though, the young man was in tears, and 'Hopper didn't have it in him to keep shouting at him, no matter how much of a fool he'd been. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, so sorry, we're going to die here, aren't we? That's why you told me.. We're not going to make it now, are we?"

'Hopper shook his head, "Don't lose hope yet, ye've got tha' best guide in all Sigil workin' fer ye. I'd never 'ave come after ye' iffin' I thought I couldn't get back. C'mon, chin up, I'll see ye' through this, an' we'll make it out. Stay by me side, dinnae go after' anything, or listen ta' anything what isn't me. Alright?"

How long they spent there in the Feywyld, 'Hopper couldn't remember to this day. Hours turned to days, days turned to weeks, weeks to months, years or more might have passed while they stayed there. He stayed alive by hard-learned skills and a rapport with the forest that would have shamed a druid, he kept Patrick alive too, watching him grow from a boy to a young man, turning into a woodsman even more capable than 'Hopper himself.

All the while they looked for a way out, speaking in riddles with the fey creatures that teased and taunted them, seeing a Portal out countless times, only to have it close mere steps before freedom. When freedom finally came, it was in the deepest, darkest part of the Feywyld, a forest that reminded him almost exactly of the one he (in the present day tournament) was in, where darklings and spiders and other Unseelie fey deigned to dwell. This way out had its own guardian, one they'd been deathly afraid to confront since they'd entered the Feywyld, but one 'Hopper had known about from before he'd ever come, the one exit he was certain was real, but also the one so dangerous he'd only come after all his other ideas ended fruitlessly.

The shadows cloaked the woods like the strands of a spider's web, sliding back around the two palpably, making it harder to move to closer they came, and impossible to move away. The trees here were black and dead things, barren branches hung low, but still thick enough to blot out the sun.

When natural light failed, 'Hoppers Sun blade led the way, but even that was dampened by the ever-present darkness, it barely cast enough light to seen ten feet in front of them by the time the two arrived at the gateway out, the connection between the Feywyld, and the real world they'd come from, guarded by something called the 'Darkweaver' - a vicious creature that only revealed itself now that they were within sight of their goal.

You may leave. the voiced echoed inside his skull, and brought chills down his spine. Behind him, Patrick was struggling, caught in a web of shadows, held firm by the trees themselves, circling around to swallow him up.

"Let'im go!" 'Hopper turned to help, but found himself similarly taken by threads of solid shadow around his ankles, he slashed at them with Lucky, and the sun Blade dissolving the threads that bound him, but it only delayed his eventual capture, he was surrounded.

Leave him, Portalhopper. He caused you this pain, he trapped you here, it's his fault you have been lost all this time. Allow me to take your revenge, leave him here, like you should have on the Path. It rang inside his skull, planting ideas he felt compelled to obey, but the whispered commands of the fell creature couldn't take hold in his mind, not after he'd spent so long fighting against them every day of his life.

"Not on yer life, Darkling, nor on me own. Patrick's saved me life more times 'an I ken' count, and I swore I'd see 'im through the Feywyld. Ye've not the strength ta' stop me." 'Hopper's voice was cold iron, and the shadows seemed to shrink away from him for the barest moment..

But the voice came back, dark laughter this time, it rang painfully through his skull before the Darkweaver spoke again, You still don't know, Portalhopper? You came here alone.

Just ahead of him, Patrick’s features began to dissolve, his ears lengthened, his face changed from the human boy he'd known all this time to the all-too-familiar feyish smirk, the same face he'd seen on so many other tempters. The look on his face was unmistakable though, whether human or fey. It was a mask of absolute terror. You walked the Path alone, Portalhopper, and it showed you the boy you lost, the first time you came among us. You always wished you could have been brave back then, you always wished you could have saved him. But this man, who's kept you here all this time, he's nothing but a lie. He doesn't care about you, Portalhopper. You don't care about him, but to me, he is delicious. Leave, I will accept him as tribute, and allow you to return home.

'Hopper remained still for a moment, clearing his mind of all distractions, allowing himself to think for just a moment. He quieted his mind, thinking outwardly of how good it would be to be home, how much he hated that Fey for tricking him for so long. . . But his right hand was moving of it's own volition, and his legs were tensing to spring, he slipped his golden ring onto his hand, and shouted, "Take a short stick, and Pike it."

With that, Lucky extinguished. The darkness was complete, but strangely powerless to hold 'Hopper or the Fey 'Hopper called Patrick, and 'Hopper launched himself to slash apart the tree branches holding Patrick. Even effectively blind, he cut true, shattering the branches apart with two swings.

"'. . .Hopper, Why?" Patrick's voice was different now, musical, fey like, but definitely the same man he'd known all this time.

"I gave ye' me word, dinnae I? No matter even iffin' yer not that man I thought ye' were, nothing warrants bein' left ta' that thing." Hopper Explained as he hefted Patrick up over his left shoulder, "Now Brace yerself."

Turning again towards the gate, 'Hopper willed his golden ring to cease working, letting Magic back into the little grove, and letting Lucky spill out brighter than he'd ever seen it shine. He even caught a glimpse of the Darkweaver, a loathsome thing that reminded him of equal parts spider, and squid, it hissed in rage as anger as 'Hopper took them both away.

------------------------------

"Do ye know what happened to tha' real Patrick?" 'Hopper asked once they'd finally crossed the gate.

"Not a thing, 'Hopper. He might still be out there, he might be dead. We crossed barely a fraction of the Wyld while you were there. If you were willing to head back in to look. . ." The fey started to respond, before being interrupted by 'Hopper.

"Sod off, I helped ye' slip tha' noose this one last time, but iffin' I see ye again, in any face, fer' any reason, I'll scrag ye' meself. Understand?" 'Hopper wore his serious face for that one.

In response, the fey man grinned broader than the Cheshire cat, and nodded, "Thanks again, you're human I'll never forget."

----

ooc: This one's a little funny, I know. The prompt was burning away inside my mind for a solid week, it kept revolving around ideas similar to this, and at the same time I needed an old war story for 'Hopper to be reminiscing about in the actual battle we're going on. This worked for both.

So, just so you know I'm not trying to pull a fast one here; this post is nearly identical to
my current one in the actual Tournament.

Last day to turn it in!

Out of Character:

Xaul

Xaul Knofker was committing suicide, and he couldn’t stop himself. He lay on the ground, blood streaming from the dozens of cuts that lined his body, and tried to figure out where it all went wrong. For now, he was content to taunt himself while he died by inches. Enough time to get a plan, I hope. Why did I decide to do this?

* * *

It had been dusk as he stepped into the monastery of the Banir. Bleeding and broken once again, Xaul had collapsed just inside the main gates and been dragged to a tiny cell by the monks. He lay there for two awful days, moaning as the god inside him took advantage of his weakened state.

Xaul, let me in. Let me make it all better. Let me make the pain go away. I can help you, Xaul, but you have to want it. You have to ask for it. Let me help you, Xaul. All you have to do is open up, to let me in. It’s alright, you can give up now…

Xaul screamed, bolting upright only to be jerked to a stop by the chains wrapped around his limbs. Sinking back to the bed, he sighed. “That was a bad one. Thank you, Silea.” Xaul turned his head to see the man he knew would be sitting by his bedside, as he had every time Xaul had come to the Banir injured. “You were right to chain me, for the bloody god has been whispering much too loudly these days. Did I injure anyone this time?”

The middle-aged man shook his head, completely silent. Xaul nodded and sighed again, this time from relief. “I am glad, sir. I would rather not cause your order any more pain.”

No pain, signed the ancient man. You lessen the suffering in the world, and that is enough. Much earlier in his life, the monk had been an initiate when Xaul had first found the monastery, when Resheph had been in nearly full control. As he had fought the god in a mental battle, Xaul had fought the monks in a physical battle.

Seven had died. Seven men, the new initiates set to guard the gates of the monastery that existed deep within bandit territory. Seven holy, pure men who were guards or soldiers in previous lives before they had forsaken that life. Seven lives full of potential, shining so brilliantly with life…

Silea caught Xaul’s head and wrenched it around. Forget your past. Balance is the way forward. Balance the scales, and balance your life.

“But, when I remember what I did, how I crushed your throat… Do you ever blame me for it? For taking away your voice?”

No, Xaul. My pain balances my previous life in the army. You did me a favor, opened up the silence for me. Standing, the monk gathered his robes and began to unchain Xaul from the bed.

As the bonds slid off his limbs, Xaul spoke again. “Silea, I must ask you the same question I always ask. You understand. Have you found a way? Have you found a way to free me and destroy a god?”

The monk stared at him, considering. Finally, he nodded. Sliding a key onto the single rough table beside the bed, he turned and left.

I don’t know why you come here, Xaul. Friends are not something you are allowed. Anyone could attack this place, burn it down. Pull you here and kill you. You die, I die, Xaul.

Xaul stared at the key, remembering the room in the back of the monastery that was used for testing the monks. The Cloister of Balance, it was called. Resheph. I’d wondered when you’d speak up. Funny how quiet you are here.

It’s these damned holy men, they bug me. Easier to stay silent, wait for an opportunity.

Xaul blinked as he stood. Then what’s stopping me from waiting here forever?

Me. I will always be waiting, waiting for you to drop your guard. Go ahead, wait here. Killing these holy men will be so fun, so joyous.

Xaul scowled darkly as he strode out of the room. Control yourself, Resheph. Your sacrifices will come. He went quickly to the Cloister, eager to exorcise the terrible god that resided within him. Silea stood beside the door, a soft smile on his face.

Xaul, are you ready for your trial? The monk’s expression was soft, as always, but he glanced at the door of the Cloister with trepidation. His fingers flickered as he signed his words. This might not be what you want, but it will be what you need. The Cloister balances a life, weighting one with knowledge so that the scales might be tipped. Remember your duty. Silea smiled sadly as he turned and left.

It won’t work, grumbled Resheph as Xaul unlocked the door of the Cloister of Balance. These pansies couldn’t banish me if their lives depended on it.

Quiet. Xaul stepped into the tiny room, taking in the stark stone walls. The door swung shut behind him, locking with a final chunk and casting the Cloister into darkness. Well, now what?

Why are you asking me? I told you this was a mista- The god broke off suddenly, and Xaul could no longer feel his presence in his head.

Resheph? Xaul began to panic slightly. He had not realized that it would be this sudden, that the god would simply disappear. “Resheph?”

Suddenly, a chuckle echoed through the room. Torches flared to life, revealing the new shape of the Cloister. The high-ceilinged hall was large enough that the meager torches still did not reveal its edges. The chuckle continued, devolving into hysterical laughter.

“Xaul, poor Xaul. Wants so badly to be the good man, to be the nicey nice man. Wants to save the sheep from the slaughter…” Xaul twisted this way and that in the pool of light the torches cast. Deep in his mind, he recognized the voice, but he didn’t want to acknowledge the truth.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” The laughter halted suddenly, its echoes fading.

“Poor Xaul. Sheep were made to be slaughtered, Xaul. Can’t you remember the beauty of the kill, the glory of death? Poor Xaul, can’t see the truth…” The shadows in front of Xaul suddenly bunched up and thrust forward into the light, exposing the speaker. “Not even when it stares you in the face.” The man giggled with Xaul’s voice, the sound coming from Xaul’s lips.

Xaul stared at his doppelganger. This other Xaul was him, but not. The double wore only a loincloth and sandals, his bare skin stained with the blood of hundreds. On his back was strapped a large axe, and on each hip was a simple brutal cleaver. His eyes were bright with madness, and bloody ichor stained his face. The man had been eating raw meat, likely straight from the carcass. He never stopped giggling while Xaul studied him, clutching at his body tightly as if to hold in the tattered rags of his sanity. “Poor Xaul,” he laughed, bent double from his hysterics.

Xaul stepped closer, whispering to his twin. “What are you? Who are you?” He flinched back at the bloody Xaul surged upright. All over the other’s body Xaul could see black sigils the color of void flare into life. He recognized these marks: they were identical to the marks of Kounnar, the spell that held Resheph in check in his own body. Only, the marks of Kounnar were red…

“I think it’s time that I took over,” said the other Xaul, speaking with Resheph’s voice. “This vessel is perfect for my usual purposes, but he’s not too good at talking. Hello, Xaul. Thank you. Thank you for coming to this place, for freeing me. I’ll bet you’re wondering what’s going on.” Resheph smiled, his mouth a bloody wound across his face. Gesturing about himself, his speech took on the cadence of a professor lecturing a class. “This room… I don’t know why, or how, but it created this body, this vessel, this you. And he is you, truly. This is what you could be, what I wish you would be. This Xaul has welcomed me in, accepted me as his partner, and his prayers are so powerful…”

“You mean I’m free, then? That I’m rid of you and can live a normal life?” Xaul was elated. No longer would he have to kill to sate his god. He could be at peace at last.

“Free as a bird, Xaul. I shall leave with this vessel, go on my bloody way, and you can do as you wish.” Resheph stepped past Xaul, walking to the edge of the torch light. Suddenly, behind him, there was the soft slow hiss as Xaul drew his katars.

“Wait, Resheph,” growled Xaul. “If I let you leave, what then? Who will hold you back, keep you in check? Who will stop you from butchering everyone you meet? No, Resheph. You stay here. He,” murmured Xaul, his voice dangerously quiet as he gestured to his twin, “stays here.”

Resheph sighed, and grinned. “Well, if you’re gonna play it like that…” The cleavers on his belt leapt into his hands, eager for the kill. “Normally I would release control to my priest, to my vessel, but you deserve better.” He spun and surged towards Xaul, his movements impossibly quick.

Xaul stood in the middle of the pool of light, in the middle of a pool of his own blood, and despaired. Every attack he made was deflected, and every one of Resheph’s connected easily. Great bloody hunks of skin were flayed from his body as Resheph toyed with him, making his pain last. Here a cut, there a slice, and blood flowed out of Xaul in a torrent of crimson. He collapsed to the floor, his blades dropping to the ground.

Resheph bent over Xaul and took a deep breath, savoring his past avatar’s agony. And now I’m back where I started, Xaul thought. He stared up at Resheph, pleading with his god. “Resheph, don’t do this. We were one once, you must have acquired some sense of honor…”

“Sorry, Xaul,” laughed the god as he turned to leave, “but we were never one. You kept me caged, that was all. All I ever wanted from you was an extension of life, and now you’ve served your purpose. You could have been so much more, but you only cared for the sheep. Enjoy death, Xaul. You were fun while you lasted.”

The god wearing a human body strode away, stopping as a hand wrapped itself feebly around his ankle. Resheph glanced back at Xaul. “Give up, Xaul. You’re obsolete. I’ve traded you in. It’s over.”

“No,” gasped Xaul as he clawed his way up Resheph’s body. “No, we were once. I kept you caged, true, but that was my duty. It is still my duty.” He coughed blood and almost collapsed, but caught himself on Resheph’s shoulder. “I’m not dead, Resheph. You might notice that. Why? You have cut and sliced me, ripped me apart, but I’m not dead.” Xaul’s lips stretched into a smile with no humor in it at all. “This never happened, Resheph. I am not free of my duty.”

Xaul clutched at Resheph with strength born of desperation as the god thrashed in his panic. “This is all an illusion, Resheph. A fantasy brought on by the room. You are not free, nor am I.”

Both figures began to glow, the light quickly becoming blinding before fading to reveal the original form of the Cloister. Xaul lifted his head from where he lay on the floor, moaning. The small stark cell was lit with the sun’s blaze that poured in through the open door, silhouetting Silea. The mute monk’s hands moved rapidly. Have you found balance yet?

Xaul wrenched himself to his feet and stumbled to the door, his entire body shaking from the strain he had been through. “Not yet, Silea, but the scales are not as uneven as they once were.” The monk smiled a smile that Xaul returned unsteadily, and rushed to the other’s side. As he was helped to his room, though, Xaul saddened at Resheph’s words.

You may have me trapped now, Xaul, but your other self has yet to come. Where will your duty be then?

Competition Closed.

Judging will be done within the next two days.

Four Contestants, with me counting as a fifth.

To be nice, I'll bump it to the minimum for two winners.

”On my honor, you shall not perish today.”

~*~

The ronin moved down the road, the weight of his daisho a familiar comfort to him. Each step saw a soft jingle as the polished black breastplate and the hilt of katana clinked together in harmony. The road was dusty and wide, probably since it was one of the many roads to the capitol. Moving along it he carefully grabbed the edge of his straw hat, and pulled it down to shade his eyes from the sun, even as he continued ever onwards.

It had been a couple of months since Taka had said goodbye to his sensei Hoturi. The two had split paths after he had returned from Sospita Isand, and had taken part in a tournament of Kensai. He had long since left that encounter more fulfilled in duty and purpose. He was traveling alone now for the first time in a month, and while he relished the freedom; he also knew the burden it bore. No one could speak up for him anymore, he was truly alone, and unable to receive the support of anyone should he be in need.

However, today he was not alone. Perhaps this was the reason he was on such a public road. Behind him, dressed in the robes of a priest was a man who seemed to look about in almost wide eyed wonder. His voice was often heard mumbling what Taka took as mere gibberish. The truth was that he was talking to the spirits of the land, and they to him. While Taka couldn’t understand a word of it, he had decided to help this priest reach his destination without worry. He had taken his oath very solemnly and so he moved dutifully forward.

The tall fields of rice flanked the road today, as they moved ever onward towards the capital of Akashima. The sun bearing down upon him, and the wind only passing briefly, almost to tease him with the cool refreshment it could offer him. Still as he looked up briefly at the cloudless sky he didn’t say a word, it wasn’t his place as the yojimbo, or bodyguard, of this priest to complain about bad weather. It also would have looked down upon his training, and worse, his sensei.

It didn’t help that he had taken to dressing in a rather odd sort of way. Bandages covered his arms, hiding the veins of inky blackness that marked his curse. Taka had taken to doing so more often nowadays, and had absorbed it as part of his daily morning ritual. It wasn’t that he was sick, and the legions of darkness were merely an annoyance, the truth was far worse.

He was cursed.

Taka had learned that on that day, that fateful day, on a mission much like this one, that his open wounds had become tainted. Taka had been traveling much like today, on the main roads towards the capitol. Ambushed by an Oni and its master, Taka had fought valiantly, only to find that the victory was a Pyrrhic one. The Oni had, in a rather diabolical way of ensuring its survival in the world of mortals, drenched him in its blood. Taka, so consumed by the rage in having watched the Oni’s master sacrifice his charge, had not realized that the open wounds had caused his own blood to mix with the Oni’s.

The result was, he was tainted, and doomed to one day turn against all he stood for, if only to destroy the world about him. This of course, was the crux of the problem. As a literal powder keg and with such a variable fuse, no one could trust a tainted mortal. So, he hid his malady, he covered it with bandages, and prayed to the gods above, that they would give him the strength to endure, and the ability to one day overcome this curse.

His charge however, was another difficulty entirely. He was one who hunted those who had become tainted. While he worked hard to hide the malady, it was probably only a matter of time. Still, he had accepted the duty of escorting the man, despite his own misgivings. As they traveled he heard the man whisper some more, and taka was only happy to have his charge so distracted. It made watching him easier as he didn’t have to answer bothersome questions or stop dangerous behavior.

As it was getting dark Taka sighed before he said firmly, “We stop at the next village. I do not wish to tempt fate with us traveling through the night.”

The priest looked up at the ronin before he nodded, “Of course, whatever you feel is safest.”

The sun continued its western sojourn as it hit the tops of the tree line, off in the distance that marked the Concordia forest, the western boundaries of the small nation. Shaking his head softly Taka continued down the road even as the fields began to taper off on either side. The hat continued to be pushed down so as to keep the waning rays of sunlight out of his face, even as he longed to remove it and allow his hair to flow freely.

It wasn’t until they reached the village that the sun had set with finality. The village had few buildings and as there was no one about, Taka was unsure of where a samurai and a priest could even be housed. Moving through the town he finally found the one house that seemed to function as a community center. A bandaged hand rose up and knocked firmly against the sun dried wood before arms crossed before him. Whispers and calls for silence reigned before the door opened a crack, revealing a sun tanned face.

“Can I help you samurai-sama?” The man replied timidly. The man was dressed in the rags of peasants, clothing fashioned from whatever cloth that was not taken by taxes or passing samurai. His hair was wildly splayed across his forehead and face, even as a headband tried to keep it out of his eyes.

“Yes, I need a place to stay along with my charge. Is there such a place?” The ronin’s words were firm, but held no trace of malice, only an implied fact; this was not a request, merely a softly worded order.

The peasant looked back into the building before he opened the door, revealing a table with a few other peasants about it, dressed very similarly to their would-be host. Gesturing for them to enter he said firmly, “Hopefully our modest shelter will suffice for the night.”

The priest smiled as he entered and nodded his head to each of the men, “So good to have a place to stay. We shall not stay long, only till the morning before moving on.”

~*~

Later that night Taka woke from his sleep, unable to remember what exactly his dreams were. Sitting on the dirt floor next to him was a small stand that carried his katana and wakizashi. However, he knew this wasn’t what had awaked him. More whispers could be heard, and while Taka focused and shifted carefully, he heard the voices clearer than he had only moments ago;

“The Samurai only complicates the matter. What if he finds out?”

“There is no need to worry; he’s only a ronin, who would believe him?”

“If we kill him, we need not worry at all.”

“If we did that, the priest would have to go too, could you live with killing a holy man?”

“Do we really have a choice?”

Taka took the moment to reach silently into his bag, and pull the small knife, his tanto from the pack. Holding it carefully under his head he waited as he heard them shifting.

“I suppose not, may the Kami protect us from these men.”

It was at that point that Taka heard them shuffle closer to him. Even though he was only in his Kimono, he still had the knife hidden, and was ready to attack. As the peasants stopped at the foot of his mat he remained still breathing evenly, despite his heart racing, ready to spring into action. The man who had reached for his shoulder was the first to die, tanto shoved firmly into the man’s throat.

An arm reached for the Katana in the stand as he let out a cry for battle. Even as he saw six more men each holding various farming implements, from crude machete’s to hand sickles he was on his knee and had hoped his cry to battle had warned his charge. The men rushed forward and slashed down, causing a deep cut into Taka’s arm even before he could grab the katana. Ignoring his pain he drew the blade, his arc cutting into one of the peasants, even as the others flooded towards him.

It was then he heard the mutter, distant, yet present in the mass chaos.

Stone hands reached up from the ground, grabbing two of the peasants, in a stony vice. The sickening crunch of bones could be heard as they closed firmly shut. Taka had raised his Katana in defense of a hand of his own, only to find that it was unnecessary. The other three ran out of the hut in the commotion. Taka turned to his charge only to hear more muttering of prayers and the hand of the priest, firmly holding his prayer beads stretched forth to Taka. Green light surged forth as the man struck him with some kind of attack.

Pain surged through his form causing him to let out a cry of agony, even as the attack lifted him from his feet and thrust him hard against the side of the small hut. Taka felt his head rock backwards and rap sharply against the wall of the hut before it snapped downward and he was forced to grab it, even as his katana clattered to the ground from the spasms of pain.

“Thought you could hide your nature from me, lost?” The priest said as he looked at Taka, with the first furious gaze he had seen from the man.

“We, had a deal, I thought,” The ronin replied dumbly.

With a whispered prayer the priest had lit every candle in the small house, illuminating it enough to show the cause of the priests rage. The man had cut deeply into Taka’s arm, and stygian black blood poured down his bandages. The priest spoke firmly, yet the rage hid behind his words, “You are tainted, and you think I would not recognize the signs? Do you take me for a fool? I hunted your kind to near extinction; I couldn’t ignore such symptoms if I wanted to!”

“I promised never to-“

“The words of a Lost Samurai mean nothing to me filth! I’ll send you to Jigoku with the rest of your kind, so you can reap what you sowed!”

More muttering as the Priest raised a hand. Taka shook his head before he pushed off the wall, causing the priest to be caught off guard at the sudden action. A hand punched at the priest’s throat, causing the man to drop his prayer beads and croak, even as Taka moved away from the priest. He grabbed his katana and forced it into the saya that had fallen to the ground with his first attack.

The priest looked at him with eyes that were filled with the flames of hatred. They spoke volumes of the man’s contempt for Taka, even as Taka sighed and quickly gathered his things. The man finally managed to croak, “What…are….you…do..ing?”

“I’m leaving you,” Taka said firmly. With that done he looked at the priest in the eyes. The priest seemed to be trying to speak, but the damage had been considerable. He flailed and swung wildly at the samurai as he approached the man. Finally Taka moved and caught the offending limb. He then spoke firmly, “I know what I am, priest. I know that you would hunt me to the ends of this realm to send me to Jigoku. I will not leave, not yet, and certainly not like this. I did however promise you would not die today, and I will be damned if I broke that promise. You will not follow me, and you will not know where I go, but you will know, I had the chance to kill you, and you survived because I remained true to my word.”

With those fateful words, he hit the priest hard and sent him sprawling, knocked out by the forced of the blow.

Out of Character:

With that, the contest is over. In the end it was tough, as I had a few factors to take into account. The first was who followed the actual prompt, taking a virtue of Bushido, and applying it in a radical way. The second was the story and the development therein. Characters were given, and many were talked of. Hell I even know I didn't develop some characters properly, but it all adds up. Length doesn't equate an auto win, but it helps reaching a happy medium, as it gives you time to grow the characters selected while keeping the readers attention. So with that here is the winner and runner up. After a bit of discussion with Christoph I have the following points to a lot, 4 points for first place, and 2 for second place. In first place, and receiving 4 Fate Points, is Twin Death. It took me awhile to wrap my head around which one his embodied, which made me truly confused. Duty seemed to be the prevalent theme, but I feel that if you look deeper you find the true Virtue embodied. I don't even think the author realized it, but in this case it was Yu, or courage. It was rather outside the box, it is one thing to have your duty thrust upon you, quite another to choose it. Now for second place, we had quite a few entries into this, even a few from non ToL contestants. In the end I gave this one to Mikeavelli. He will receive my final two fate points. Mikeavelli's piece is rather odd at the start. A lot happens and you're left to make a few assumptions. This is part of the beauty of the thread. He was given much to think about and in the end, we come to grips with the fact that these guys are truly and totally hosed. In the end, you come to appreciate what was done, as you realize that even Hopper wasn't omniscient. In the end compassion for your enemy, was the punchline. It was totally on story merit for this one. Ramiekin, while you did completely embody the virtue of Courage, I can't help but feel it was put forth in a very straightforward light. The sacrifice of a god to his duty while intriguing, wasn't truly what the thread called for. Had I have ended with just Bushido and picking on, it would have quite possibly earned one of the top two spots. Its okay though, as I feel it was a very good story. Shadowed, yours was a very interesting read. The Norse also embody the concepts of Honor and Loyalty, and in doing so make both very easy targets. What you did however, was take it with a very interesting bend. You remind us as people that when we ask someone to do something, we too are inherently sullied or praised in its completion. What I felt was lacking was the end, it felt raw, like a sudden drop off which left me with a very alien feeling. I wasn't allowed time to fully grasp what had happened. This is what kept you out of the top two. So, in the end, Twin Death nets 4 fate points. Mikeavalli nets his team 2 fate points! I thank everyone for participating.