Performance of Sword (Finished)

[Ryuzaki]

Ryuzaki stood by the crackling blaze, his eyes narrowed as he watched the dancing flames and the flickering lights. Shades danced in the center of the glow, shades of his past and that of the ruined, abandoned village that surrounded him.

He had come home.

Home at last, home sweet home... The village of his birth, now no more that crumbling ruins and creeping vines, weed-infested gardens and rodent-filled shacks. The noble longhouses were in shambles, and not a soul stirred. There was no laughter; there was no joy. The sound of chattering Sacaean women and bragging men was gone from the air, replaced with the mournful rustle of the long grasses and the clicking of insects.

The thief held Gemini aloft with both of his hands, the blade sparkling in the soft light of the bonfire. The jagged 'crack' running down the center of the blade glinted, and, with a flick of his wrists, the thief split the blade into two, marveling, as he did every time, at the balance and weight of the blades. He began to practice, moving slowly and gracefully around the fire as his swords flashed and flickered, dancing to the silent beat of a symphony only he could hear. The tempo increased until, in a flurry of movement and flashing steel, both of the thief's blades clicked back together and the sword slashed down in a final stroke.

Sheathing his blade, Ryuzaki sat down on a rickety stool near the blazing flames. It was lonely, here in the ruins of his home. But he was comfortable on his own, as he had been for many years. Taking out a package from his cloak, Ryu unwrapped the twine and leaves to reveal a slab of meat, which he impaled on a rusted poker he'd found and lowered into the fire to cook.

[Duma]

Duma walked along a faded path through the grasslands. He enjoyed the plains. Something about the scent of grass and fresh air, made him feel quite pleasant. It had been some time since his last visit to the plains. His last visit ended up with him defending a small village from marauders, although the village itself was lost a majority of the villagers survived. He had killed the leader of the bandits himself.

He took a moment to figure out his surroundings. Although he enjoyed the plains, he was not familiar with navigating them. Tracking and navigating was something his sister was good at not him, he never picked up the knack for it. He had hoped this small path through the grass would lead him to a nomad village of some kind. Perhaps one of the little villages that dotted the trade routes.

Off in the distance he could see something that would have resembled a village. As he approached the village he frowned. Everything was either charred black, destroyed, or growing weeds. Another village lost. He casually began inspecting anything that may have survived. He carefully tugged at a leaf of an encroaching vine, from a nearby wall. Only thing here that's alive besides the mice.

He sighed.

"Looks like another night of roughing it out in plains." Darn. I was looking forward to an inn of some kind. It was starting to get late. He slowly rummaged through the remains looking for something to build a fire with. He then noticed a faint flicker of light tucked away towards the far side of the ruins. Friend or Foe? He cautiously gripped his sword, and quietly approached.

[Haschel]

Haschel scratches at his moustache as he walks briskly through the evening fields, enjoying the cool air and smell of grass. It had been much too long since he last visited Sacae, it was definitely the most beautiful of the countries of Elibe. "Oh dear... now I'm getting nostalgic... Best not think about it then." He chuckled to himself.

It hadn't been long since he journeyed out from his home in the mountains, taking only an old sword from his early days in the arena, back when he didn't know a sword from a spear. Sacae was the first place he wanted to travel to, the young man who stole his prized sword from him was definitely a Sacaen. Also, it was Sacaens who would really appreciate a fighter such as himself. It would not be difficult to find someone to spar with for sure.

He was hoping to find most of all, a student. Someone to train with and impart his wisdom to. Which wisdom? Clearly everything he learned while he was by himself, and not just that he was becoming a lonely old man in need of friends. On second thought, walking the night alone with his thoughts was probably not healthy. He saw some old ruins nearby and decided to go there and find shelter for the night.

As he got closer and closer, he saw a light coming from inside the place of all things, perhaps a fellow traveler also staying the night. He approached the campfire in a non-hostile manner, making sure that the one it belonged to saw him before he got too close. "Hail traveler! Just an old man on a small journey, mind if I entertain you for a spell? I don't know my way around too well, I believed that this was a village I visited once a long time ago."

[Ryuzaki]

"..."

The crunching grass alerted the thief to the approach of somebody; the thief continued to cook, but his free hand slid onto Gemini, which he half-drew from its scabbard as he kept turning his meat. Then the sound of footsteps from the other direction reached his ears, and the thief stood up, fluidly placing the now medium-rare meat onto the stool and assuming a ready stance, sword drawn and held up above his head, its point aimed at the... Old man?

"Hail, Elder. You are not wrong... This was indeed a village... My village. Now, it is a discarded shell. Its inhabitants have molted and moved on."

Lowering his sword, but keeping it ready, Ryuzaki bowed briefly to the man, introducing himself formally.

"I am Ryuzaki."

Turning and pointing his blade toward the source of the first noise, Ryu narrowed his blade and raised his voice.

"You are welcome to stay, Elder. However, before you make yourself comfortable, I would require your blade. Another approaches, and I know not their intentions."

"If you come in peace, fear not, and approach. If you are bandit or brigand, emerge from the shadows and face your death at the hand of Near."

Lifting his sparkling blade aloft, Ryu smiled and tightened his two-handed grip. He was hoping that whoever was in the shadows would be friendly. He was hungry, and didn't want a confrontation... But with some, you never knew. Either way, he felt no fear. With Gemini in his hands, he could not lose. After all, he was the best... No bandit could match his deadly skill with the dual blades.

[Duma]

Well so much for stealth. The sword-master thought as he gently lessened his grip on his sword.

"Oh good. Your friendly." Duma spoke up, in a semi-sarcastic tone. He slowly emerged out from the shadows into the light cast from the fire.

"Hail traveler.. er travelers." He took a quick glance at the two persons before him. A rouge of sorts and an elderly sir. Now that's quite the interesting blade the rouge has.

"Peace .. uh.. Near was it?" Peculiar name. Duma didn't fully catch the conversation the light haired rouge had with the older man. Held his hand up towards his chest, palm forward in a gesture of peace.

"I mean no harm." He waited a bit before slowly casting his arms back down to his sides.

"I am Duma. A traveling swordsman en route to Ilia. I followed a path of sorts to here expecting to find.. a more lively village to spend the night in." He casually poked at a charred beam of wood next to him.

He took a moment to examine his surroundings, just in case things went south and he needed to make a quick retreat. He knew nothing about these two strangers before him and for all he knew this could all be some sort of elaborate ruse before bandits attacked. He had not fully let his guard down.

He could already more or less gauge the strength of the rouge in front of him. But the old man was a bit of a mystery. The elderly sir is another sword-master. Of that I am certain. But there is something else to him I can't quite put my finger on.

[Haschel]

Haschel bowed to the young man, Ryuzaki, and threw his sword down beside the fire before sitting in front of it. "You may call me Haschel, young sir." He always enjoyed it when someone was polite to him, it made them so much easier to get along with.

He looked up and watched the other traveler drawn to the flame like a moth. "I suppose your little campfire has become a meeting of sirs, Ryuzaki. I am Haschel, do not mind my presence." He smiled at the two, warming his hands in front of the fire.

He looked at the two in a bit more detail. They were both being very careful about the other two as strangers, but anyone with half a brain could see that the element of surprise was lost, and if anyone was to attack they would have done it by now. "Come now gentlemen, sit, sit! Anyone with a tale to share is not a stranger, yes? You sir, Duma was it? You look like a fine swordsman, surely you have a tale, yes?" Duma looked to be very strong, just like Haschel was back in his prime.

Ryuzaki on the other hand, he looked to be more dextrous. Not quite as strong based on his frame, but probably quick considering how fast he had his blade ready. He didn't look to have quite the same experience as Duma did, since he looked to be twitchy about strangers, perhaps he was worried that he would lose a fight, or perhaps he felt like he was protecting his village in some way.

Regardless, Haschel was determined to have them both friendly. No blood would spill on his watch.

[Ryuzaki]

When the other traveler stepped forward, Ryuzaki slowly lowered his blade and deliberately sheathed it, making sure to make his trust very apparent. He would be ready, of course, in the event that something foul was at work, but for now, he would relax and study these two men.

Seeing the carelessness with which the old man, Haschel, threw down his weapon, Ryu concluded that he was not only skilled, but evidently was not attached to the weapon in any way. Perhaps his true blade of choice was concealed on his person. His garb was that of a man familiar to the blade, so he wouldn't put it past him. Only time and the sharing of information would tell what was true and what was simply conjecture.

Duma appeared to be similar in his choice of profession; however, he was younger, and seemed less open and altruistic. It was to be expected of one of his age. He seemed to be the grand variable in this equation. To determine Duma's intentions would be paramount in allowing the thief to truly relax.

For now, though, Ryu simply lay his cloak next to him, folding it neatly, and unstrapped the X-sheaths that held his sickles onto his back. Placing the blades on top of his outer garb, the thief picked up the meat and finished cooking it, making sure it was sizzling hot before taking some of the abandoned earthenware and placing the slab onto a large plate.

He must have seemed completely out of place, this young man of the alleys and shadows, with his crossed bandoliers, daggers, and pouches, serving food to two strangers. Yet Ryuzaki felt strongly the custom of the plains, and the necessity to serve the guests in his home, however dead and deserted it was.

"I am Ryuzaki by birth; in the shadows, I go by Near, to protect myself. I, too, am a swordsman. However, I pride myself on my agility rather than my brute strength."

Sliding Gemini slightly out of its sheath, to expose the glinting blade, with its ornate inlay and jagged 'crack,' the thief smiled.

"This is Gemini, my blade. Surely you gentlemen also have blades that have caught your heart? Perhaps we could share our stories as we share this meal. I have meat; please, partake."

The thief proffered the platter to Haschel; after all, elders first. Hopefully, someone else brought wine...

[Duma]

Duma carefully removed his blade and laid it gently down on the ground. Duma laid down a small piece of tarp he salvaged before sitting taking his place by the fire. He managed to convince himself to relax.

"Well met to the both of you." From his bag he pulled out some bread and a large pouch of water. He divided up the pieces so that each man got two relatively equal pieces of slightly stale bread.

"It is a bit stale, but still edible. I recommend warming it. I can also offer fresh water." He passed his water pouch around, to Haschel first. Duma stared at the fire for a moment. Once, Haschel was served Duma took his plate.

"It's been quite some time since I've shared a meal with fellow swords men." He began cutting his food with a small knife he kept on him.

"The guild men aren't nearly as generous. Then again it might have something to do with my appearance. My blade is a simple iron sword. There is nothing truly fancy about it, but it is sturdy, sharp, and reliable. As for blades that would tickle my fancy." He paused for a moment.

"Well I'd very much like to re-encounter the blade that gave me this scar. But that is a story I'd like to keep to myself." He gently jabbed at his meat and bread on his plate using his food knife, then carefully popped it into his mouth.

"How about you two gentlemen?" Duma spoke after swallowing what was in his mouth.

[Haschel]

Haschel took the food they offered him and thanked them for it. "Sorry that I don't have food of my own to give you two in return, I don't get by on much food personally."

Blades that caught your heart... As Ryuzaki put it. Haschel thought about that question for a while. Although he wasn't as fond of swordplay as he once was, that sword always held a place in his heart. "There was a sword..." He started, leaning closer to the fire. If these boys wanted a story, then he was going to give them a story.

"They say that the sword was charged with lighting by the gods themselves, and that it sounded like thunder every time steel clashed with it. Indeed, the wielder was called "Lightning Blade" by his peers. It was rumored, that one fight, Lightning Blade's sword flew backwards, repelled by a hit, and as his opponent ran to grab it, he was struck by a stray lightning bolt! Perhaps that's when the rumors started, or perhaps all of the rumors were true all along. Anyways, he was a mighty foe to face in the arena or on the battlefield. They say that when he died, a vicious storm took to the battle, and nobody could get near his body for the sword, anyone that tried was struck by lightning. When the storm died down, his body, and the sword, were gone. Evaporated like the clouds themselves."

He leaned back, smiling a bit. "At least, that's what they say. It makes for a nice story, doesn't it?"

[Ryuzaki]

As the others began speaking, Ryu sat silently and listened, eating his food quickly but in a manner befitting one who was acquainted with customs. His mannerisms were not uncouth, and he didn't rush - only dined at a pace suggesting the utmost efficiency.

"Scars tell stories. Scars mark your life... As well as your person."

Raising his left hand, the thief showed an unusual scar, the tissue starkly white. It formed a cross, with a circle overlaid. The symbol of his intended craft. But these men wouldn't recognize it. Surely not...

After the elder finished his story about the blade touched by lightning, Ryuzaki nodded.

"I have indeed heard of such blades, blades touched by power beyond that of ours. I dream of a blade like that, a worthy work of art. They captivate my imagination. Perhaps someday I will learn the truth of that legend..."

Trailing off, Ryuzaki smiled broadly and stood up, his face illuminated in waving fragments of flame.

"I will tell you a story as well... A story unknown to my people or my village, yet tied in inextricably to them. A story unusual and rare, of peculiar form.

There was once a swordsman, a young man of the plains, who was taught in the way of the blade from youth by the tribe elder. He had no family; his only companion was his blade. He grew so skilled and so deft that he seemed to float on the air and cut like the breeze, moving like the wind itself. One day, when he was out hunting, bandits came and razed his village, brutally massacring all of the inhabitants. Returning to the burnt carcass of his hometown, the swordsman vowed that he would defeat all who committed these atrocities with only his sword -- his roar carried across the plains.

So the bandits came, incensed by his challenge. They came in a mass, a giant blemish upon the grasses, which surrounded the young swordsman like a pack of wolves surround a deer. And the fight began.

For eighteen hours, the plains were wracked with the clash of arms, and the screams of the dead and dying. The sky cried, dark as night, and the grasses wilted and died. For eighteen hours, the boy fought, until their leader was the only one alive. The confrontation was legendary; during the battle, a stroke from the bandit lord's axe cracked the young hero's sword into two jagged pieces.

Still he fought on. For another eight hours, they dueled, over corpse and carcass. And at the end of those eight, the bandit lord was slain, his head sliced clean off by the X of the young man's blades.

Exhausted, the boy collapsed to the ground, burying his twin blades in the earth as he leaned on them. And the earth, in pity and sorrow, swallowed him up and left only two holes in the naked stone as a memorial. And to this day, the shrine waits for the one who will place his blades in the holes, taking up the power of the young boy with the sword of the sky. And the grass surrounding the sacred place still grows red, in testament to the battle he waged against the forces of evil."

[Duma]

As Duma continued to eat. He listened to each story intently. The tale about the lightning blade was intriguing enough, and then Ryuzaki's tale about the hero was also quite riveting. Duma was never very good at telling stories. He'd often screw something up or forget to embellish the truth a bit in order to make it sound dramatic. He was used to speaking plainly, but he did not want to be left out of the story telling. Hmm.. lets see a blade of renown and legend.

"Ah. Well I should warn you two. This is a bit of a long one." He cleared his throat a bit.

"Long ago in the time of myth. There once was an evil king. He was blessed by the powers of darkness and ruled the realm with fear and might. Many rebelled against him, only to be slain by the might of his army. Some say that he was the god of death made flesh. He wielded a mighty sword, a cursed sword of terrible might. A blade believed to contain the powers of a demon itself, and all those slain by it became a ghoul for the dark king. He sought to use this power and challenge the gods themselves so that he may rule both heaven and earth." He took a quick swig of water before continuing on.

"The gods were not amused. Spurred on by the prayers of the people to put a stop to the king, they made their own blade. A radiant sword, one that had the power to end the suffering of those afflicted by the king's curse. Rumored to contain a fragment a star within it's ethereal metal.

The gods crafted the sword and bestowed it upon a youth they deemed worthy. This youth branded with the mark of the gods embarked on a journey to slay the wicked king. In order to prove his resolve the gods ordered this youth to bathe in the flames of a sacred dragon, if he lived then the gods would grant the youth their strength. The youth was successful, and eventually led an army of misfits to slay the wicked king. The battle between the boy and king waged for several days. Until the youth managed to successfully stab the king in the heart and cast away the hold the demon had on it's mortal vessel. However the fight was not with out it's consequences. The youth predicted that eventually another would come across the cursed sword, and reawaken the demon with in. In order to spare future generations torment, he combined sword of the gods with the cursed one, and sacrificed himself. The blades merged into one. Rumored to be double edged, one edge black as night, and the other bright as day. Able to cut through anything. The gods sealed this sword within an enchanted sheath. Designed to bring about misfortune to whomever attempts to pull it out by force. This blade sleeps somewhere in the world, in case if the demon ever returns."

[Haschel]

Haschel chuckled. "Oh come now, Sir Duma, that sounds like a fairy tale, not a legend. If you want to make yourself look good, you have to just accentuate reality, not make everything up." Ryuzaki's tale was probably a cleverly disguised tale of his past, but Duma's seemed to just be a really edgy and cool story for little kids. Either the man was unclear of the kind of tale he was supposed to tell, or he just wasn't good at storytelling at all, which was totally possible.

"Well then, sirs, now that we have broken the ice with our stories, would anyone care to pass the time this fine night? If anyone cares to spar I suppose they could... Or we could tell of our travels, if you want to hear more. Or, Elimine forbid, listen to me talk. I could go on and on about times past." He chuckled to himself again. The two didn't seem the most talkative at first, but they both got very into their stories, so perhaps they just needed a push in order to get them to talk about something. He wouldn't mind a little brawl either, something to get him thinking about fighting once again. He would need more training if he was ever to win his sword back from the Sacaen.

He finished the meal that he was given and sat back in a relaxing position. These were quite the interesting gentlemen that he had stumbled upon, and this night seemed to just be beginning.

[Ryuzaki]

At the mention of sparring, Ryuzaki's face, hitherto guarded and expressionless, save a raised eyebrow of interest at the stories, broke into a wide grin and he rose to his feet, putting his outer cloak on but leaving his sickles near the fire. Slowly, like a cat awakening from a nap, he stretched, bending and flexing himself like a plant in a windstorm.

After this silent ritual, the thief nodded and drew his blade with a flourish, holding the shining weapon up in front of him with both hands as his feet assumed a ready stance.

"I would gladly cross blades with either of you two gentlemen... From the tales you tell, I assume you are both skilled swordsmen. I yearn to face a strong opponent. It has been too long since I have crossed blades with a man of the caliber I believe you have...

Come! Let us dance. May the orchestra play on as we conduct the symphony of swords! Together we shall exhibit such a performance of sword that it will become a legend of its own. Come, my fine gentlemen... Who wishes to put their metal and mettle to the test?"

Drawing back, Ryuzaki twirled his sword, calming his mind and becoming focused. He would fight these challengers in any way, in any manner... One on one, or two on one. It mattered not, for he had the might of Gemini! He had the element of surprise... And, if it could be said, the home-field advantage.

[Duma]

"Ah, Well now Haschel is a fairy tale still not a tale? Is a fairy tale not a tale with a grain of truth or a pearl of wisdom. Besides it did the job did it not? I managed to tell a story, now you know I have a fondness for the fantasy." Duma put his now empty plate gently aside. He smirked a bit at the prospect of a duel.

"Oh? A sparring match? Why i'd be happy to oblige. It's been a while since I had a good sparring match." He got up and stretched a bit. He cracked his neck gently, then his knuckles.

"I'd be honored to pit my blade against either one of you or sit back and observe a sparring match." He gave a slight bow as a sign of respect. He was ecstatic at the prospect of squaring off against Haschel. It was rare for him to encounter an elder swordsman that still looked like he could hold his own. The few that he did meet were retired due to injury or so far advanced in their age that they physically could not hold up a sword. Duma wondered what sorts of technique he could learn from one so experienced.

And then their was Ryuzaki. From what he could tell the man was more of a rouge then a traditional sword master. But he had his own style. A style from what he assume focused more on speed and stealth. And his sword! He truly wanted to see that magnificent blade in action and how it fared.

"Now then who wants to fight whom?"

[Haschel]

Haschel chuckled, "You have me there I suppose, Sir Duma. A fairy tale is still a tale indeed." He had nothing against the man's tale, he had just hoped that he gave something about himself beyond just a belief in fantasy. Haschel himself did start to read when he became a hermit, though he didn't have but a few books, and those were all fighting manuals the arena had given him. They were probably even outdated by now, who knew what kinds of unique fighting styles could have been thought up in the last 20 years.

He watched the two men rise eagerly with their blades at the ready. This would definitely help him get back into the spirit of fighting, watching two fighters work their way with each other in a friendly spar. "Well, it seems like the two of you have so much hot blood you're practically steaming! Go on, have some fun. I only really use this sword in self defense anyways." Ryuzaki's little poem caught him a bit off guard. "Well Ryuzaki, that was very poetically put. I wonder if you will fight as well as you put it... a symphony of swords." Perhaps he could yet find someone to be his protege, but it was still too early to tell if this young lad would be. He needed to find a young man sharing in his sentiments about fighting, and it would take watching them fight to be able to understand if that were really true.