Ni Iten Ryu

[Tainted Bushido]

(Solo Effort. Please do not post here.)

Snow swept across the roads as the gales of the mountains sought to chill one to their very bones. This was no place for a human, let alone one used to the more temperate climates of Corone, for in these mountains was death itself. Unlike other places, where death was a creature, or perhaps a particular location, that was not be the case, for death was surely the embrace of the mountains, as they froze the blood, and stopped the beating of a heart. As the winds blew the snow forward a lone figure continued its solitary sojourn, moving with a determination that refused to yield to the death that surrounded it.

The straw hat, his jingasa, was held in a solitary hand that even now showed small strands of blackened skin across it. The straw cloak held close to him as the wet snow sought to soak the kimono underneath, chill its target and cause yet another casualty as one sought to maintain their path. The winds whipped about furiously as the figure stumbled in the cold, feeling his vision tunnel from the slow shutting down of his body. The figure however remained resolute as the wind swept across his white hair, pulling and whipping it about. He had long since lost the tie to his warriors braid, and now his hair was stuck whipping about furiously.

The man fell to a knee as he closed his eyes and steeled his will. The cold was relentless, and in even that small defeat, he was finding it hard to continue on. He muttered softly a prayer to the Kami so they might watch over and give him their blessing, and once more to his ancestors to guide his foot steps. He could not afford to fail, not when he had come so close. Rising from his kneeling position he ignored the chill in his bones, pushing onward as he continued his journey. He had left everything behind, his life, his desires, his hopes, even now as the taint of the Oni he had killed continued to consume him, attempting to turn him into another one of Jigoku’s denizens, he pushed onward ignoring the cold.

The mountain path rose ever onwards, ever upwards as he found himself overlooking the lands below. Even though Lord Tsukuyomi stood upon his heavenly perch, looking down upon the wayward Ronin, the mortal pressed onward, unwavering in his assault to the very top of the mountain. He could not hope to be accepted by the society of Akashima in this state, and so he fought to become stronger, to prove he could be trusted, and even embraced back into society.

Reaching the end of the road, he saw the monastery. He had known there were monks who lived in seclusion seeking the greater mysteries of the universe and enlightenment. These monks were his target, for in their desire to understand the world they had honed many techniques, both mental and physical, and that was what the ronin was in desperate need of now. Even now the Oni blood mixed with his own, to produce a far more volatile warrior. Drawing upon the tainted blood of the Oni would surely damn him worse than he had been damned previously, and yet it was a siren’s call, ever singing in his mind now that he knew of its existence.

A samurai had been raised to be as strong a warrior as possible. To protect his lord at all costs, to show compassion for those too weak to defend themselves. They were to let honor guide them, and carry them through the day. They had to have the courage to face injustice and not falter in the heat of battle. These Samurai were the paragons of virtue, sincere in words, and honest in acts. It was this way of life, way of the warrior, that had kept Taka aloft against the rising tide, and now he knew he could hold out for no longer. For it was so tempting to take on this power, but in doing so, become no better than an animal.

These monks were his last hope, or else he would be forced to kill himself, commiting honorable seppuku, to cleanse his shame, and give his soul rest. As he approached the monastery he staggered into the courtyard, where the gnarled trees pointed accusingly at him. He continued forward to the front of the temple even as he could see the vision fading. He was almost out of energy, and sleep sounded so inviting. Though the cold winds of the mountains whipped about him, he no longer felt them, no longer heard them. He had stopped shivering, and in doing so was dying.

It was in this state he collapsed in front of the doors of the temple, and in this state that the monks had found him, before bringing him inside and placing him near the fire.

[Tainted Bushido]

“He bears the mark of Jigoku,” The voice belonged to an older man. His head shaved bald in a visual sign of his retirement. A cloth vest covered his tattooed chest as he looked down upon the warrior, dressed in the armors of a samurai, yet still too young to truly retire. His tired brown eyes focused instead on the arms of the warrior, which had been bandaged. The monks, fearing that they might have to cut his arms off to maintain him had unwrapped them, and found the damning evidence. Black tendrils crossed his forearms, offering him a strength that surpassed that of many men.

“We certainly cannot allow him to perish here, not when he obviously was seeking this place out,” One of the other men spoke. He wore the robes of one summoned from the living quarters. His head too was shaved, yet his eyes retained a bit of youth in them. Perhaps the youngest of the monks at the monastery he took looked upon the tendrils before he continued, “Of course we would have to remain cautious, but I see no harm in at least hearing the boy’s tale. One only receives the mark when Jigoku is foiled by them, a final blow to get in its final desperate laugh, before it drags them within its infernal pits.”

The skin which had started out a pale blue was already taking on a healthier shade even as the young ronin began mumbling on the table. The monk’s remained silent as he seemed to be in a deep sleep. Words escaping his lips, and damning him further, “Run! I will give you as much time as you need…”

“He dreams. I wonder what our dreamer is reliving, a nightmare of the past, or a hint of things to come?” The first monk said as he crossed his arms.

“He doesn’t bear the mark of anyone important. I would guess he’s an exile. So I’m betting it’s either the failure that made him a ronin, or the fight that saw him tainted,” The second monk replied as he looked at the first, “It has been awhile since I’ve seen one of my old caste. If you don’t want to deal with him, I will.”

“Nostalgia only seeks to remind you how much you do not recall old events my friend. See that this act of nostalgia does not take you from your path Hoturi,” The first replied before he turned and left. Hoturi only laughed as he turned back to the ronin and observed him.

“Probably still thinks that a katana on its own is the best use of his blades, we’ll see to that…” He stopped as he saw the katana, strapped dutifully to the samurai’s side before he crouched and looked upon it, “…though if I had one so well crafted, I too would believe that myth.”

[Tainted Bushido]

Pain.

It defined his world, as he slowly came to in a much warmer environment. Even as the warmth slowly bled out the pain he could not help, but feel the overwhelming fatigue of it. It threatened to make him pass out, but he persisted, attempting to overcome the waves even as they slowly diminished in size. He finally sat up and managed a groan before the lightheaded rush of blood to his head overcame him.

“Our dreamer awakens, where they dreams of glory, or nightmares from Jigoku?”

Immediately a hand was on the hilt of his sword as he looked right at the source of the voice. A man dressed only in loose cotton pants. Down near the ankle they were tied tightly so as to entrap heat, even as his feet were covered in a cloth slipper unfit for use outdoors. Tattoos crossed over the man’s left shoulder and his head was shaved bald in marking of his retirement, to better understand the mysteries of enlightenment.

“Who are you?” Taka replied even as he carefully rose to his feet, the pain and stiffness of his joints ignored in favor of the adrenaline rush at having been unaware of this man before him.

“It was an honest question,” The man answered back before he carefully held up empty hands. He then gave the ronin a smile as he spoke, “Still I forget, warrior bred and warrior trained. Your sensei would be proud, though I’m sure even he would wonder why one of his students have come to a monastery years before their retirement.”

Words caught in Taka’s throat, as he wished to bark at the man for an answer. The man’s nature was so calm and relaxed, as if he was not at all threatened at the fact that there was a warrior ready to cut him down before him. His eyes focused on the man’s hands before he relaxed slightly his hand moving from over the hilt of his Katana. He then spoke softly, “My sensei knows not of my existence, and I would prefer to keep it that way.”

“Ah, a ronin then?” The man asked.

“Outcast, if you must ask,” Taka replied bluntly.

“And the taint?” The monk continued.

Taka immediately looked down at his arms before he swore. The bandages that covered the blackened skin that showed the second stages of his curse were missing. Tendrils of black moved from his hands and up his arm unobstructed. While he had come here to learn to control it, this was perhaps too early to be speaking of it. As he looked at the man he waited for the next words he knew were coming.

“I see you did know what it was. That answers the question, and I know the next of course. The answer is, there is no way,” The monk replied as he shrugged.

“Then I must go,” Taka replied as he looked about for his gear.

“You know there is no cure, yet you continue to search for one. Do you realize the ridiculousness of the situation?”

“I didn’t come for a cure,” Taka replied firmly as he looked the man in the eyes.

The monk froze as he met the Ronin’s gaze. For the silence that rang between them, many words were spoken before a smile crept across his face. It was the smile of a challenge before he spoke, “So, you seek to only control it, not cure it?”

“I know it can’t be cured, my soul is Jigoku’s, I only seek to be able to contain it, and perhaps in doing so, be accepted back into Akashima,” Taka replied.

“You will never be what you once were; only a fool would think so. They know of your condition, otherwise you would not be seeking their trust. No, if you wish to control it, it must be for yourself, and no one else.”

“I certainly do not wish to die as a creature of Jigoku. I wish to die, and let Jigoku rail in knowing it failed to use me to strike a blow.”

“I can’t help you control it, but I can hone your mind so you may find that which you seek. Your path is one of Bushido, and not of the code of conduct. You must walk as a warrior, and use your focus on the art of war, in order to find your own balance. Only in this can you find peace in your soul.”

“So you’re telling me, that in becoming a stronger warrior, I can hope to overcome this and control it?”

Laughter rang out in the room as the monk stepped forward and clasped the shoulder of the samurai, “No my friend, you race a tireless foe, you will succumb one day, but with each step you can take beyond its reach, you push that day farther and farther back. For now, we must feed you; you’re nothing but skin and bones.”

[Tainted Bushido]

For three days Taka sat in the monastery each day asking when the enigmatic Monk called Hoturi would finally train him. Every time he was told he needed to eat, and was not yet ready. On the third day Taka’s resolve and anger at the situation had finally reached a peak and he spoke out, “The last time I checked, eating had nothing to do with fighting a blight upon your soul.”

“Oh, and you’re an expert on such things?” Hoturi had replied a mischievous smirk upon his face.

Taka felt the wind die in his sails at those words as he only managed, “No, but it hardly seems like it’s helped me at all. I sit here and eat what’s offered to me, and yet I do not feel any more prepared to face this beast within me. How can I fight something if I’m not told how?”

“How to fight an unknown foe indeed, were this merely an opponent, you surely would have overcome it by now and not needed help. Yet even now you can feel anger and indignation at being treated as a child, told to eat up for tomorrow is another day. Is that not how you feel?”

“I certainly do not like being led astray on my very goals for coming here,” Taka admitted.

“Then you are ready,” Hoturi replied. Taka frowned as he looked upon the monk even as Hoturi walked outside into the courtyard of the small monastery. Taka followed him in only his kimono and felt the rush of vigor the cold lent to him. While he had not starved as was his custom he had filled out his lithe frame a little. The snow that clung to the mountain seemed fresh and untouched as Taka stepped forward. Each step sent a crunch through the air, telling all about of his footsteps.

“So now that I’m angry about my situation I’m ready to learn how to fight this?” Taka called out as he spread his arms wide and looked about.

“No, in admitting that you do not know how to fight, you are ready to face this. You have only been taught the basic precepts of fighting. Set forth by your Sensei he has endeavored to teach you the true way of fighting, and while I see the ground work in the Katas you practice every morning, you have learned nothing of value child, only how to swing your sword in a deadly manner.”

“So I’m merely a thug with a blade?” Taka challenged feeling heat rise in his face despite the chill that surrounded him. His hand hovered over his katana’s hilt as the Monk laughed and slowly shook his head.

“If you were merely that, you would be dead by now. Your Sensei has not failed, nor have you. You both merely do not understand how the blade works. You mimic the actions of those who truly understand. The Katas that are the basis of any fighting style, while important are not the fighting style. They are merely the tools to give your muscles a memory of what they should be doing. Now, it is time to train your mind in what should be done,” Hoturi said,

Taka’s hand lowered slowly to his side as he let go the anger and spoke, “In what ways have I not learned, is not Kenjutsu a fighting style?”

Hoturi laughed, “Kenjutsu is training, plain and simple, it merely shows you how to draw your blade, sheath it after you are done, and the manner in which you can actually hurt someone if you slice. They are basic techniques at best. At worst, I would liken it to breathing, a necessary feat of living, but not in itself the act of living. You must learn fighting styles, you must learn techniques and learn how much you do not know. Do you know what picking up your blade even means?”

“It means I carry my soul into battle. Guided by my ancestors and blessed by the Kami or the Guardians.”

“While technically correct Taka, you are still wrong. When you pick up your blade, you make a pact with Death. You have made the promise that Death may claim you at any time. A samurai stands but six steps from death at any given point in time. For him to ignore this fact is to give into the sin of desire, for you hope to get out of this promise. Now, show me your stance.”

With a flick of his wrist Taka drew Rengoku from its sheath, the metal rining out into the cold air. Bringing the blade about he stood with it level with his eyes, looking down the blade as he awaited the imaginary foe to approach, and the many ways he would capitalize on this. As he stood there still his breath clung to the air in a fog, before it dissipated and left the Samurai with less heat.

“Alright, you’ve adopted the half moon stance, a basic technique, allowing for several openings in an opponent dependant upon their actions. It is a good stance, one that allows you to react swiftly, but allows you several limitations. You must be able to see him to act being one of the first; an attack from out of your line of sight causes you to slow down considerably.”

Taka remained focused as he felt his grip tighten on Rengoku’s hilt. It seemed to burden him as it longed to cut into something, a soft whisper of the soul inside prompting him to action. He held the stance firmly as he spoke, “Is that not true of everything?”

“You need not see a target to know of its existence, why therefore, need you see it to strike?”

“You don’t,” Taka replied firmly. He finally relaxed his stance as he looked at Hoturi before the man smiled.

He then walked into the monastery telling Taka to remain there before he walked out with a wooden replica of a katana. Taka recognized it as a bokken, meant to train students so they would not cut themselves with true steel. As Taka waited he saw Hoturi gently heft the bokken before he let it rest tip almost down to the ground before the monk challenged, “Attempt to cut me, I know you can control your strikes, now show me how well.”

“If you wish Hoturi-san,” Taka replied. He brought the sword up into the half moon stance, as Hoturi did not even attempt to raise his blade. Attempting to focus only on Hoturi’s blade he moved swiftly twisting his Katana so that he could strike downwards with the Katana in a shallow slash that would surely cut Hoturi across his uncovered chest. The cut would of course sting, but the monk would not be able to stop him, not with his own weapon so out of the way.

Hoturi moved swiftly as he brought his bokken up in a cleave that caught Taka off guard, winding the samurai as the Katana fell to the ground. The blow to his stomach was almost enough to make him lose his breakfast as he fell to a knee clutching his gut. Coughing was heard as he fought to regain the breath he had lost from the treasonous blow.

“It is presumptuous that your opponent would not have the speed to cut off an overhead blow. You never strike downwards at an opponent unless they are unarmed. A strike can come from anywhere Samurai. Do well to remember that. Now, again,” Hoturi barked. Taka recognized the tone from that of his Sensei displeased at the failure.

“Yes Hoturi-san,” Taka replied as he carefully picked up Rengoku. Rising to his feet he closed his eyes as he tried to focus on pushing away the pain before he stood again in the half moon stance. Taka watched for a sign from his opponent, Hoturi could come from below, and above was definitely out of the question given his rule. Taka moved swiftly brining the blade about in a quick slice in an attempt to test Hoturi’s defenses. When the bokken slapped him on the wrist Taka immediately clutched the wound and grimaced.

“Again,” Hoturi’s voice spoke.

[Tainted Bushido]

Several hours later, Taka had still not managed to land a solid blow on Hoturi. His arms were a mass of bruises and the pain was so overwhelming, that they had broken only for dinner, and fear that further study may break Taka's arms. That night Taka sat in the courtyard while a winter wind chilled his bones. His arms ached form wielding a sword for so long, it had been perhaps the biggest indication of how much he did not know how to wield a blade. Still he ignored his pain before he once again went through his Kata.

"Devout as you are, you still are doing it wrong," Came the familiar voice behind him.

A growl of irritation left Taka's lips as he sheathed his blade. He turned to face the monk as he spat, "So you are saying my sensei was a fool in teaching me this kata?"

"Perhaps," Hoturi said with a shrug. The wind died down as Taka felt the heat of anger rise up in him. The insult so blatantly spoken could not be unpunished, and before he knew it Rengoku was drawn and in a slash at Hoturi's throat. The violent action would have ended the monk's life, had a bokken not cut out and hit Taka in the wrist, causing him to cry out in pain and let go of the Katana, sending it clattering to the ground as he hunched, gripping the pained wrist.

Let out a pained howl he rushed at Hoturi before he threw a desperate punch at the man's face in an attempt to take the smug grin off his face. His efforts were cut short when a hand parried the blow effectively, before grabbing Taka by the throat, the cry ending in a gurgling cough. As the ronin and the monk locked eyes the monk held a sadistic glee in them.

"You may have been kensai trained, but you yourself are not a kensai," Hoturi replied coldly.

Taka's eyes widened at the mention of the sword saints before he was roughly thrown to the ground. Gripping his throat coughing Taka could only rasp in breath before he groaned and spoke hoarsely, "No wonder I couldn't hit you, you're too fast for even I."

"Excuses, you merely waste your speed, you are by far my superior in raw talent. Perhaps now you are willing to learn?" Hoturi spoke his voice cold.

Taka looked at his bruised arms, and thought about how the way he had been taught was nothing more than basics. It made sense, in that should he grow in skill, he could develop a fighting style his own, but it seemed fate was unkind to the Ronin. He would likely never have survived to revisit his sensei, and attain the training needed. Still he held a bit of pride as he spoke, "I will not betray my sensei."

"As you should never, however it is possible for you to learn from me. I don't claim to be a sensei, but I can give you the Kata you need to learn how to fight with your blade. In time your training will supplement these Kata and you will be able to master the technique. Solitary training will be needed however and I cannot keep you here long enough for that," Hoturi spoke.

Taka looked at the monk before him and frowned before he spoke, "What was your name monk?"

The man laughed at the question before he returned, "What was your family name ronin?"

"That is not important," Taka quipped.

"And there you have the answer to your question. Perhaps when you are done learning, you will learn it, until then you have a tough road ahead of you," Hoturi spoke his voice unwavering as he gestured to the ronin's katana, "Now go tend to your blade, I shall begin in the morning."

[Tainted Bushido]

It had been a week since he had stood beside Hoturi. They had done the same each day, standing side by side, Rengoku in his hand, bokken in the monk's as they went through the motions. Slowly at first so that Taka could understand the complexity of the actions. Each slice was a deliberate movement, requiring a focus far more than he had ever before attained. It had taken him three days before Hoturi was even allowing him to progress beyond the first slash. He had thought he was following in the monk's action, but apparently there had been an underlying mastery that had inhibited him.

With each swing the blade swiftly carried the strength of his soul along the blade edge as Samurai and Katana were one. Each slash at the imaginary opponent was calm and without the clutter of thought. He had achieved a zen state in which all that mattered was the next cut, nothing else. Each slash was perfect, devoid of the world about him. It wasn't until Hoturi physically touched him that he realized just how much he had emptied the world about him.

"You might just be ready, let us eat, and then you will be tested," Hoturi spoke a hint of pride in his voice.

Taka frowned as he spoke, "Only yesterday you spoke of how I was still not bringing my katana about in the correct arc, what has changed?"

"Your attitude, you seek not to master the blade today, but to instead become one with it. Your blade is your ally, and it will be the last thing you will be holding when you die. You know this Samurai, now that you have accepted your ally, rather than merely carry it with you into battle, you are ready to see what you have learned," Hoturi said as he adopted the first position of the Kata Taka had come to learn. The tip of the blade held only an inch from the ground as it was hefted in one hand. Taka recognized the tension that he had earlier missed in his sensei and knew he was waiting on Taka's action.

Taka cleared the world from his mind as he attempted to apply the same focus he had in the Kata to his opponent. The world grew distant as he even felt the chill of the winter missing. His eyes watched before he two hefted the blade of the Katana. His grip had choked up on the weapon until his gauntlet-clad hand rested against the tsuba of the Katana, only separated from the blade by a mere tenth of an inch of metal. Hoturi held a smile on his face as he tilted his head and moved in a swift motion, the bokken lashing out to hit Taka on his wrist.

Only Taka had learned and his wrist had twisted, the blade of his katana turned upward as he cleaved upwards. His other hand grabbed the Katana's hilt edge before in a fluid motion he had switched grips and the Katana had cleaved cleanly through the wood of the bokken, leaving it to clatter to the snowy stones beneath their feet. Taka quickly brought the katana down into the second position as he heard the whistle of something approach from behind him. Immediately his mind forced his body into action as he pivoted and brought katana out in a cleave that saw the clay pot that had been thrown at his head shatter in a brilliant display of porcelain. Even as that pot had been dealt with he had heard another whistle, telling of more such attacks.

Time seemed to slow as Taka began to follow through the differing cuts of the Kata orienting himself to each attack almost flawlessly. Each time he acted the pot shattered, however as he tried to focus he thought he heard a snort of amusement before the sounds of sandals upon stone could be heard. Taka could not hope to defend against both attacks at the same time, and was forced to act the only way he knew how, he drew his wakizashi.

Never before had he even thought of drawing his honor blade, such a thing was often deemed unnecessary. One blade was all that was necessary, why a second? He wasn't sure, but even as he shattered the pot he pointed the tip of his wakizashi at the throat of Hoturi, his eyes filled with a calm fire. The two locked eyes before Hoturi laughed and stepped back, allowing Taka to lower his arms which had been spread wide, in order to allow him to react much like a hurricane, with him as the eternal eye of the storm.

"I thought you'd come to that conclusion," Hoturi said as he waited his arms crossed.

Taka carefully sheathed his Katana and Wakizashi as he spoke with disdain, "You meant for that to happen, for me to compromise my basic teaching."

"Perhaps, but now that you've taken that step, can you go back to what you thought was right? Who is right and who is wrong? There are no such concepts in a fight. If your opponent's will not abide by them, why should we? The world does not abide by Bushido, and while we fight to make it see things our ways, in the end we must accept that sometimes we must commit dishonorable acts in the course of that fight. You fought an Oni and came out on top, why else would Jigoku see fit to curse you with its unholy taint? In that same way, let us taint their culture and better them," Hoturi replied as Taka moved past him.

"I will not compromise who I am to be a paragon of your virtue, I will seek my own path of atonement, and in doing so perhaps earn the favor of Enma-o on judgment day," Taka replied, his voice holding an even clarity that belied the seething anger in his frame.

"Still, you have much to consider Taka-sama, if you hope to learn focus, you've done so, but now you are on the cusp of something else entirely. Will you embrace this, or will you shun it and stick with the traditions of a people afraid of change and who even now seek to kill you?" Hoturi questioned.

"I will have your answer in the morning," Taka said as he entered the monastery, leaving Hoturi out in the courtyard where the winter's chill sought to rob him of his body’s natural warmth.

A sigh crossed the old monk's lips as he spoke, "He is conflicted old friend, as you said he would be. Perhaps he will know one day what is expected of him, but to bear that title? Perhaps too much..."

[Tainted Bushido]

The sun crept across the land slowly adding its meager warmth to the frosty terrain. It embraced the world as Lady Amaterasu continued her eastern sojourn in the efforts of gracing the entire world with her dazzling beauty. As she lit up the area of the courtyard, a lone man stood there, moving with a slow grace that belied years of training. His face was covered in grey stubble that marked the forming of a beard, another means of keeping warm as the blade in his hands glinted in the morning sunlight. Each sweep of the blade vanquished an imaginary foe, as he step forward and continued the Kata.

Finally he came to a halt, blade held in his hand, his hand choked upon the hilt as he did so his face impassive and calm. He looked out upon the land he called home as he sighed deeply. It was a home that had no need of him, not anymore at least. He was a damaged warrior, unable to be trusted, for the one day he fell, would certainly kill his brother in arms. Sheathing his sword the samurai spied a trunk of a tree that overlooked the flowing lands of Akashima and sought to rest upon it as he crossed his arms, accustomed to the biting cold of the mountains now that he had some means of shelter.

He remained there for a long time before he heard a soft grunt, clearing the throat of a man behind him. Taka only ignored it politely as he saw the monk Hoturi step into view his demeanor the same casual demeanor he had come to know as the monk's normal stance. He was ready to battle regardless of the fact he appeared to be only recently awoken, however he had a curious smile on his face this morning, mischievous and cunning.

"I thought about what you said last night," Taka replied bluntly.

"I see, and what have you come to Wave Man?" Hoturi asked politely.

"There is no dishonor in wielding a pole arm, or even a mere tanto, two tantos while frowned upon is yet another acceptable practice. The requirement of wielding a Katana as your soul in battle is in itself not actually enforced, merely a desired result," Taka began.

"As we both know," Hoturi said nodding.

"If I must fight for honor and glory, my soul and honor must be one. I must fight with both, and become a storm upon my foes, in the hopes of surviving to regain what my family has lost," Taka said firmly.

"How fitting you should say that, for the Kata that teaches you to fight with both Wakizashi and Katana is named the Storm's Eye. It is a difficult technique, but one I think you could benefit from," Hoturi said.

"Earlier, you said the monks will not let me stay forever, how much longer do I have?" Taka asked firmly.

"One week, at most, they have already begun to say I act too much like a samurai, and for me to continue my path of enlightenment, they will ask you to leave, and distract me no further," Hoturi said a bit of remorse filling his voice.

"Have I truly blocked your path to enlightenment monk?" Taka questioned.

"You merely reinforce what I know," Hoturi replied.

"What is that?"

"A samurai that dies of old age is not a true warrior, merely a lucky one. Perhaps I shall go down the mountain with you, and join a lord, I know my blades would not be found lacking of a lord to fight for," Hoturi said.

Taka looked down at the valley before he spoke firmly, "Then let us not waste our time here with words. Let us take advantage of what we have, and leave together; I would be honored to fight at your side."

"Draw both your blades I shall get my daisho from the storage room," The monk replied behind a smile that reached his eyes. Taka nodded as he drew both Katana and Wakizashi. He stood in the courtyard as he waited for his sensei, knowing that together they were beginning a new journey.

[Tainted Bushido]

"Again," The word came harshly as Taka lifted himself from the ground. His muscles were sore with the repetition of action. Muscles in his arms he was not used to flexing were groaning in agony as he pushed forward. Ignoring the muscles ache he brought his blades before him as his chest heaved with the exertion of getting to his feet. He looked across the field at his master, and his tutor and mentor. Hoturi still held that arrogant air about him as he held his blades in a similar stance.

"I see your efforts, but they're in vain Taka, do not try to grasp the lesson, merely feel the flow of your blades, much like the ocean waves. They cannot be forced, and they cannot be predicted, this Kata is about being fluid, like a wave, and crashing upon your opponent. Do not expect to merely learn a preexisting pattern, much like you did with the Unbroken Blade Kata," The words were harsh as they cut through Taka.

The ronin gritted his teeth as a hand gradually shifted hair from before his eyes. Looking forward He grunted as he took up the proper stance. It had taken him most of the week to merely get the positioning right, and when he was instructed the Kata could only be taught through battle, he had been caught off guard by the viciousness of the training. Each blow was harsh, forcing him to deflect at first, before he actually gained the strength to block. His upper body was still unaccustomed to wielding two swords at once.

As soon as he had properly set his stance, Hoturi was upon him again. Both blades slashed forward in an attempt to slice through the Ronin's ragged Kimono. Taka, to his credit, stood resolute as he brought his blades about and batted away the testing blow. As Hoturi came at him again, the blades functioned as one, working in a downward blow that would surely overpower the ronin's attempts to block. As Taka side stepped he brought his own blades about in a cleave meant to cut through the former-monk's right side, only to stumble when he felt a kick to his side drop him to the ground. His blades clattered across the floor as the Ronin felt all energy leave his fragile frame.

"Again!" The order was barked without any of the casualness that had hallmarked Taka's first week of training.

The ronin's hands slid underneath him as he attempted to push himself up. His muscles screaming in silent torment as he failed to gain leverage enough to push up. Grunting in discomfort he attempted a second rising, only to fail as he lay on the frozen ground, feeling the snow and ice melt beneath his skin, sending a cool relief into his muscles. He felt the grip of fatigue upon his mind as he began to lose consciousness in determined rebellion to his mind's railing.

~*~

When Taka finally came to, he was indoors, and his blades had been placed in their saya's, and upon the daisho stand that he had brought with him. Bandages that covered the few cuts Taka had received during training looked freshly applied. He groaned slightly as the briefest of movement sent his muscles aflame. He sat up, ignoring his body's protest as he clutched his forehead, feeling a rush of lightheadedness enter its cavity.

"You failed Taka, I'm not surprised though," Hoturi's voice rang out. Taka didn't even bother to look upon his mentor as he nodded thoughtfully.

"Perhaps the secrets of steel are not yet mine to understand?" His voice was soft and hoarse, as if he had spent the past hour screaming at the indignity of his situation.

"That’s a rather defeatist way to look at it. Perhaps the fault was mine in thinking I could teach you so complex a Kata in a week's span. Especially when the last one had been relatively simple in comparison, and took most of a week in itself," Hoturi offered.

"It's alright my friend, when we take the road, we will have time to practice, and you’ll hammer it into me yet. For now, we should probably prepare to leave, I'm sure the monk's have figured out what has happened," The ronin replied giving a wan smile to his friend.

"Yes, its time to go, but not where you expected..."

"Oh? Where is that friend?"

"It's time for you to finally stop moping and realize your destiny, time to visit the Saint of Swords," The monk replied crossing his arms.

"Another Kensai? What, are you to hand me off to him and him to another?"

"No, you are to see the Saint of Swords. Not just any Sword Saint, but Kai Atari himself..."

"He's just a Legend, if such a man existed, Akashima would not be in such a state," Taka replied feeling a bit of harshness creep into his voice.

"Then you won't mind if we go to Sospita Isle?"

"Whatever, if you wish to chase a legend such as the Saint of Swords, who am I to challenge that?" Taka replied as he leaned back on the mat. Looking up at the ceiling he began to count the boards in the ceiling before he said finally, "We leave tonight?"

"Tomorrow, after one last breakfast with the monks, I'm sure they will be interested in your progress..."

[Tainted Bushido]

In the next room, Hoturi looked upon the man before him, a mischievous grin slashing his face. A rich blue coat marked a Kensai to one another, even as Hoturi shrugged his onto his broad shoulders. The twin swords had been placed on his left hip in their customary position, and the slit in the coat gracefully parted on either side of their saya's. It had been awhile since he had born the duelist’s coat, but he found the weight of it comforting, even as he dressed in his traditional brown hakama pants. His tattoos were still readily visible even as his hair had begun to grow again, soft fuzz crowning his head. As he looked upon the man before him, dressed in his own gear the grizzled veteran spoke, "As expected, he's rather volatile. I would be too if my family was destroyed and I had become a ronin."

"Indeed it is bothersome what has befallen him. I was almost certain he would have been the best choice for the Kensai Project. It is too bad, perhaps he will still bear fruit, I still have the Raven family if he fails," The other man replied as he looked out at the winter. His long black hair was neatly pulled into a ponytail that kept it from splaying out over the man’s shoulders. His attire was that of a mere peasant, belying the hidden strength. His dark brown eyes seemed to hold a hidden mirth within them. His own dark blue coat marked as a member of the Kensai’s prestigious order. As he leaned casually against the wall his sword shifted in order to stay dutifully at his side, even if it seemed rather lazily attached.

"He has the ability to shoulder the burden, but I don't think it should be his to bear Atari. He simply has too much with the Taint growing within him."

"I'll see to this, perhaps by coming to the tournament he can find peace. If not, he can always try elsewhere, its not like he's the first to undergo the training," The sword master said as he looked upon his friend.

"As always, the cocky arrogant bastard Atari, at least wipe the smirk off your face before you declare victory. I wonder what changed, that you suddenly have to destroy countless lives," Hoturi replied gruffly as he crossed his arms.

"Nothing has changed my old friend; I merely have a vengeance to achieve. I cannot do so on my own," Kai Atari replied.

Hoturi looked back upon the hallway leading to the ronin's room before he said softly, "For our sake old friend, I should hope he isn't the instrument of your vengeance."

[Taskmienster]

I read this before, and didn’t realize it until I started reading it again as to when it was. I had originally judged this, then given it back to Advent, and now am back to it, lol. Some of it wasn’t all commented on, but if you want to chat about it just hit me up later.

Continuity - 5.5
I know where you're going at the end, but your reasons for going to the monastery at the beginning are not clear, and the more distant past is very distorted. What is Jigoku, anyway? It's so important to your character and you don't explain it in layman's terms.

Pacing – 4
This quest was slow. It was so much Master Cricket/Young Grasshopper dialogue and so little action that it mired down the thread. Then when you hit transition points it's so abrupt that it doesn't add anything to the story.

Setting – 4
You did a beautiful job of setting in the first post, and then only touched on it vaguely a couple of other times for the entire rest of the thread.

Persona – 4.5
Hoturi was the stereotypical wise old master, Taka was the typical brash young warrior who's lost his way and is trying to reclaim his honor...it was all very 2D.

Action - 5

Dialogue - 6
The dialogue was what drove the thread...but it was rather cliché.

Mechanics - 6

Technique - 5
You tried to make the thread feel authentic, but you over-did it a little bit and made it kinda cliché.

Clarity – 5.5
You had a lot of things specific to Akashima, but not everyone is going to be familiar with Akashima or with feudal Japan, so that knocked the score down, as did your mechanics. Try thinking of someone reading your thread who has absolutely no idea what's going on, who has no information about anything in the story, and make it clear for them so that no one has to grope around for things that seem obvious to you.

Wild Card - 4


Total: 45.5
Gains: 425 exp | 85 GP

[Taskmienster]

EXP and GP added!

TB is level 1!