An Evening Gentleman's Duel
Jul 9, 2011 16:12:01 GMT -8
Post by Dagron Hoshigake on Jul 9, 2011 16:12:01 GMT -8
It had existed since the domination of their Samurai precursors. A vibrant expanse of land with looming, elegantly bent cherry blossoms. Throughout the ages mother nature had nurtured the foreign beauty, even long after the shinobi wars came and went, unscathed by the repetition of war. It became not the center of attraction but a land marked with shrines of various religions. The land was soaked with prayers and shined radiantly, knowing the pilgrimage of many, but offering only its grace and majesty to the religiously hopeful people of the land. Only in the depths of night, when the sun fleeted behind the peaks of mountains did the preternatural dance among the fallen petals; Sprites of the fallen not yet keen to their passing mimicking the living ritualistically.
On one such night Ip Trang, a warrior more than ninja, entered the moon-bathed holy land. Even at night the soft pink and white petals fluttered and coated the land, despite the thin churning mists that crept to and fro tree trunks. It seemed even as the sprightly dead drifted through the air and disembodied voices nightmarishly groaned into the night, Ip's nerves were as steel. Like death itself he was a cold, immovable figure against the night, a quest soul-bound sought to be completed.
The deeper the Kumogakure shinobi encroached within the deep forest, the darker and more tortured the spirits became. Scenes of warriors hung and decapitated became more prominent, accompanied by the horrible screams of frightened children as brutal scenes replayed throughout the land. Even the trees seemed to wilt away and cower, limbs drawn in, toward the center of the land where the terrors were at their worst. It was there that the largest shrine stood, having endured nearly a century, housing only the cruelest of fates to be see.
Each step beckoned a prayer, devoured an ounce of courage. Fear gradually penetrated Ip's psyche and the voices met in passing became unnerving, terrifying, until the final step and been taken and the shrine opened up before him. The rays of the moon shone radiantly and shooed away the unnatural, revealing only the pinnacle of religious work. A large Buddha stood over a small bowl where incense were burned, though now only filled with ashes where it had been neglected. Prayers a many had been made here, but only one Ip thought that mattered.
On his knees Ip's hands clashed together and his thoughts poured out into the air.
On one such night Ip Trang, a warrior more than ninja, entered the moon-bathed holy land. Even at night the soft pink and white petals fluttered and coated the land, despite the thin churning mists that crept to and fro tree trunks. It seemed even as the sprightly dead drifted through the air and disembodied voices nightmarishly groaned into the night, Ip's nerves were as steel. Like death itself he was a cold, immovable figure against the night, a quest soul-bound sought to be completed.
The deeper the Kumogakure shinobi encroached within the deep forest, the darker and more tortured the spirits became. Scenes of warriors hung and decapitated became more prominent, accompanied by the horrible screams of frightened children as brutal scenes replayed throughout the land. Even the trees seemed to wilt away and cower, limbs drawn in, toward the center of the land where the terrors were at their worst. It was there that the largest shrine stood, having endured nearly a century, housing only the cruelest of fates to be see.
Each step beckoned a prayer, devoured an ounce of courage. Fear gradually penetrated Ip's psyche and the voices met in passing became unnerving, terrifying, until the final step and been taken and the shrine opened up before him. The rays of the moon shone radiantly and shooed away the unnatural, revealing only the pinnacle of religious work. A large Buddha stood over a small bowl where incense were burned, though now only filled with ashes where it had been neglected. Prayers a many had been made here, but only one Ip thought that mattered.
On his knees Ip's hands clashed together and his thoughts poured out into the air.
"I seek only a worthy challenge."