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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:11:58 GMT -5
The World:
When you are finished, the temple guard finally leads you to the destination he spoke of. Along the way, once you round a corner, the pinnacle of the temple's structures comes sharply into your view as you pass by it: a three storied tower rises above the great hall, inner sanctum, with fenced-off white stories rising above it's double-roofed first floor. You can see great beasts carved of wood hanging from its columns and pillars. A great dark sword-like shape points to heaven at the top, barely visible from this angle. An arrester of demons, a harness of the storm. You continue onwards, and finally you reach another block of storm shutters.
This time, the servant pulls back the second layer and gestures within - for you, Kuratomo, to enter first. He takes you past the paper walls, and into a side corridor, and within moments, he halts at last and gives a graceful bow from his waist.
"Here you may rest and wait for the night. Nourishment will be brought to you. The hearth will be embered. The bedding is in the closet."
The paper to your left is pulled back, and you can see the interior, with a sunken hearth in a square beneath the folded rice-mats tiling the floor around it.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:12:14 GMT -5
Oznerol:
A formidable structure indeed. It was high and well-build, imposing even. He wondered who the temple was dedicated to, that, he did not yet know. Kuratomo enters the room and takes a seat, legs crossed, while nodding to the manservant, both as a thankful demonstration of courtesy and as farewell. Once alone, Kuratomo removes the cloak and the outer garments, which are left to dry near the hearth, the warmth of which is truly welcomed in such a foul weather. The short sword is removed from his back, the weight of the blade at his kidneys was comforting, but he could not openly wield it in the enclosure, so it would remain concealed for the time being. He tries to warm his hands over the fireplace, while in silent meditation. The room was comfortable, probably better than anything he had seen in several months, and if employement came as he expected, he could very well spend winter there. Kuratomo scratched his chin, the stubble was starting to grow again, so he would have to shave again in the morning, for he had sworn to not grow a beard either, as much as he had gave up meat and fish, not eating anything coming from animal.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:12:44 GMT -5
The World:
As you begin to settle down for the evening, you feel your muscles relax and ache, ceasing their silence to finally tell you of their complaints. This, while your heart slows and calms to the sight of the low flames of the hearth beneath your hands, drawing long, soft shadows across a dusky room. The mountain thunders outside, howling and swirling yet still. You think the storm has gotten worse, and perhaps you have received shelter at the most welcome moment.
Eventually, you loosen your trousers, and pull the bedding out of the closet, piece by piece, until you can submerge yourself in several layers of clean comfort. How long has it been since you could do this, Kuratomo? Curl up in comfort, staring into the red flower of mankind's spark? Your great fur pelt, spotted and dark and regal like the ancient forests and primeval mountains your tread, is drying out above the flames, light illuminating the multiple layers of perhaps your most favored possession in winters like this.
You drift into sweet sleep, even in humble living such as this. On your mind, ever present, is your need to continue to forge forward, to something. You will need to make both ends of the rope meet for the season, lest you resort to..
Your eyes pull awake, opening wider and wider, and you find yourself in the usual mess of layers and limbs that sleep brings, staring at the ceiling. There is much more light now, even if dim, so you are quite confident it is morning. You hear a resounding din echo throughout the corridors and floor boards, the tolling of the temple's great iron bell.
Some more time passes, moments to yourself - and you chose to do with them as you see fit: finely shave the fuzz and fur from your face, meditate, groom and master your appearance, sleep more..
A clap comes from outside the room. Another. The paper wall is slid to the right to reveal a kneeling woman who prostrates before sliding in a tray carrying two small ceramic bowls - one with a foggy liquid, tea or soup perhaps, the other full of pale, bright substance like snow with steam rising like incense. She prostrates again. A servant woman, with no wrinkles you can see. No makeup, and her teeth were white. Her tightly folded dress was simple and restrained at the waist with a white sash.
"When you are ready, master Kuratomo, you are invited to the western wing. Exit this room, and keep right, and you will find it."
She waits to see if the warrior has anything to ask or request, though she keeps her eyes averted to the smooth wood beneath her.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:13:20 GMT -5
Oznerol:
Kuratomo remembered, vividly, the last time that he could pass the night on a bed like that: five months and twelve days. It was, coincidentially, his mother's birthday, and by mere chance, or fortune, he was granted shelter by a lord, for a single night, after he had slayed a couple bandits in the road; the two men had been trying to rob, or brutalize in a way or another, a washerwoman who happened to have a liason with the own lord. The fireplace offered some glimpse of a flickering and uncertain future, maybe he could stay with the monks for few months or even a whole year, but in the end the road and a goal who could not be fulfilled would seek him again, pulling him from comfort and inaction. But, in the meanwhile, he could very well enjoy what the manor had to offer and give his bones some respite: he was already far enough from the place he once-called home and thus it was unlikely that the past would catch up, that fast, with him. Sleep came with a gentle embrace, the most repairing rest he had in a very long time: so, when morning entered the room, light traversing the windows, he was reinvigorated.
First, he shaved, for that was an oath he could not break, not as of yet. He dressed, meticulously arranging the layers of clothing so as to appear respectable, imposing. He rubbed the dirt of his pants and shoes and even polished the short sword for a time, before concealing it in the wide and multilayered robe. He spent minutes in prayer, his fingers caressing a wooden rosary in silent meditation, easing his troubled mind for a time, at least. The door being openned didn't take him by surprise, he had noticed faint, quick steps towards his room few moments before the woman interrupted his moment of solitude. He replied politely:
"Good. I will go in haste, nothing detains me here any longer"
He crosses arms over chest, both arms inside the wide sleeves of his outer robe.
"May I ask to whom is the shrine dedicated to?"
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:13:45 GMT -5
The World:
She bows again. "Amaneteruyama, who dwells upon mountain." The bell tolls once again. It sounds dolorous.
Does this name mean anything to you, Kuratomo? "World-filling-Illumination?"
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:14:20 GMT -5
Oznerol:
The name said nothing to him, didn't bring any memories at all, or had any meaning for the sourthern man. But it didn't matter.
"Her name be praised"
He simply left, arms tuckered into the sleeves as he walked towards the indicated direction, with swift steps. He kept walking to the right.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:14:52 GMT -5
The World:
The central shrine, with its great tower, is to your left. It catches your eye, once again, this time illuminated in the grey morning of the new year. The soil beyond the open shutters, steps down and to your left, is damp and patched with snow yet still, but the only disturbance in the air is the chill gusts that blow back and forth across the courtyard, whistling in through the trees and from the sky.
Sure enough, to the right, you find a great section of this long building which juts inwards, a large square in the corner of the temple grounds. You know the edge is just beyond, and you pass by a small passage which breaks to your right, uncovered by roof, leading to a small gate.. Beyond, the stone lanterns of the dead dot another pathway. But you pass it by. You come to the entrance hall, and enter into the open portal.
Inside, your entrance prompts another servant to bow in the threshold. His prostration points you to yet another portal, and you come into a larger, inner hall. The floor erupts upwards some feet beyond the door, a dais of smooth polished wood covered with mats and little tables and armrests. Between this fixtures are living figures, yet so still and patient you might mistake them. At the center is a man with more color and design to his kariginu - a ceremonial style, once used a hunting garb in the days of gods past. His head is topped with a black hat which rises high above his scalp like a tower.
"I bid you a good morning and a warm welcome to Henjō-taisha," the priest speaks. Crow's feet betray the twilight of his years, but his voice is young.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:15:28 GMT -5
Oznerol:
Kuratomo does the ceremonial salute that was obligued in such a situation. He did what he had to do before a man of God and a man of power, who usually and, specially in this case, were one and the same. One must pay respect to the divinity that may splinter the sky in half and to the man that could do the same to your spine. Such is life, such is common sense, such is tradition. Kneeling as a symbol of submission and respect.
"I thank you"
He said. His voice was deep, but rash.
"The night of rest and the warmth of your hearth have been deeply appreciated. Heaven and Sun bestow blessings to you and your people, my Lord, thrice"
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:16:25 GMT -5
The World:
A slow dip of the man's tower hat - called an eboshi - acknowledges the visitor's courtesy.
"We must firstly ask of your intentions in seeking shelter."
Unexpectedly, perhaps, the woman beside him speaks up. She is dressed in a way nostalgic to you Kuratomo, buried in at least seven layers of thick silk if not more, making the man in the center seem rustic and restrained.
"You are a warrior, we have been told. Do you come from far away?"
She is much younger than the priest of the shrine, her voice soft like a girl's, but no one seems to deny her right to speak.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:17:07 GMT -5
Oznerol:
He replied, firstly, to the lord of the shrine, whose question was less thorny than the second one, which would be way harder to reply.
"I came looking for an employer, my sword could be of use for any lord willing to hire some muscle. I have spent a month on the road, looking for a suitable place to offer my services, gods be blessed I heard about your shrine"
Said Kuratomo, despite his looks and gaze suggested he was more than a regular hired muscle, no matter his skill with a blade or a bow. His atention now focused on the rich-robed woman, whose clothes announced a high-born lady. The age was misleading, she could either be a nubile secondary wife or even a mere concubine, but the later was less likely than the former. She could also be the lord's offspring or a close female relative of his. Whatever the relation, she being as daring as to speak openly in an audience was a significant detail Kuratomo could not and wished not to miss. He was sharp and atentive and thus tried to read her intentions below the layer of make up and the rigid costumbe that concealed her figure.
"I do come from the sourthern lands, beyond the mountain ridges, were the sun shines brighter"
He did not share anything else, neither his brithplace nor the location of his usurped keep. It was better to not spoil his own facade that early.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:18:14 GMT -5
The World: This family, this court - they appear like dolls. Unmoving, indifferent, like the painted faces of dancers. You are not bothered by this, but it has been a long time since you have witnessed such grace and self-control. {behind the scenes}Sounds like you want to read a person. When you read a person in a charged interaction, roll+sharp.
On a 10+, hold 3. On a 7–9, hold 1. While you’re interacting with them, spend your hold to ask their player questions, 1 for 1:
• Is your character telling the truth?
• What’s your character really feeling?
• What does your character intend to do?
• What does your character wish I’d do?
• How could I get your character to __?
On a miss, ask 1 anyway, but be prepared for the worst.
Advanced: on a 12+, hold 3, but spend them 1 for 1 to ask any question you like. |
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:18:55 GMT -5
Oznerol: {behind the scenes}http://orokos.com/roll/665135 |
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:19:20 GMT -5
The World {behind the scenes}Two 6's? Wow
Okay, so you can ask me any 3 questions you like about the woman, or I can simply give Kuratomo more insight in general. |
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:19:44 GMT -5
Oznerol: {behind the scenes}More insight in general |
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:20:14 GMT -5
The World:
Even her tongue is a subtle memoir of the more sophisticated places of the world; faint, but you hear it in the way she stresses different syllables. It's an assumption, an inclination, but a strong one. You remember the greatest of the women who wear numerous layers of silk and paint their teeth dark as a moonless sky. You suspect she is one not easily flattered, if she is no imitation. If she is not, perhaps some culture would impress her - or at least, soften her.
The elder men in the room - which made a majority of the handful of figures seated in a semi-arc before Kuratomo - all seemed to share glances of their eyes. They seemed to hold no surprise. Disdain was possible, but unclear. The lord - if that was who he was - nodded again and tilted his head slightly.
"Tsutsuji is a land at peace. With the blessings of the spirits, there is no place for such impure work." The priest says this all with an indifferent and dry tone, a reminder that those of gentle birth often have an aloof and contemptuous perspective on violence and the prospect of it.
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