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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:20:42 GMT -5
Oznerol:
There was an image of times past forming in his head, vividly, as arising from the depths of memory. A woman, kneeling ceremoniously, serving tea under a canopy of pink-colored flowers, the petals of which littered the pathway. Smoke, the sound of running water, subtle. There was a time the own Kuratomo had glanced teeth like those any day, from his high-born and well-mannered sisters to his father's fourth and fifth concubines. But this woman was sharp, undoubtedly, she looked like having the full grasp of the situation, in control somehow, despite women were thought of feeble stock and not deemed by worthy of having any sort of power by men.
"A land of peace needs to be guarded against aggression, such is the way of prudence. An unprotected land only caughts the prying eyes of predators, as an exposed lair to a bird of prey. There is wisdom in having a sword, for the slightest promise of violence is a cautious measure to defend yourself and your people from wanton attacks"
He said.
"Gods be witnesses, there are all manners of threats I can deal with, even outside the walls of your blessed enclosure"
The lord did had a wall and watchers, it had to be more than mere precaution.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:21:22 GMT -5
The World:
One of the master's lesser men to his right - his eye twitches, ever so slightly. You catch it.
"We recognize your skill at arms, master Kuratomo, but there is no blood to spill on this mountain."
The lord pauses. He adjusts his sleeves, throwing them out and then inwards with the usual gesture of the arms.
"Nevertheless, you are welcome to our hospitality until the full moon returns."
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:21:54 GMT -5
Oznerol:
"And I am oh so thankful for your offer of hospitality"
He said with a nod, his arms akimbo.
"I will remain in your household until the moon is retored to her fullest"
The retainer had twitched an eye. Something was amiss in that place, something lurked beyond the formulaic mask of courtesy and piety.
"In case you need my sword's edge, be free to call for it any time, my Lord"
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Dec 16, 2021 21:22:23 GMT -5
The World:
The sable-peaked lord nods one final time, this one more full, curving the spine forward. The woman and the retainers follow suit. It is now time for Kuratomo to prostrate himself thrice and back away from the western wing. Leaving the way you came, you have multiple options before you, whether or not you notice or consider them.
A pathway to your right leads down a narrow shaded rock path, lit only by the stone lanterns of the dead. The left wall is part of the great western hall, connected only by a strange unusual bridge a floor above you. The right border of the path seems to be the perimeter wall of the compound. You can see the path leads out to an opening in the perimeter wall, leading apparently into thick forest, though you can perceive more spirit-fire casting ambient light beyond the wall's seeming end.
You could also keep going, back into the open air of the compound, as expected, but stop and explore the perhaps the main shrine, or explore the rest of the compound at your discretion, though you can feel the eggshells beneath the soles of your feet. Back at your quarters, you may simply pass the time in further rest and leisure, such as a bath or finer vittles which you haven't tasted for seasons.
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Post by oznerol on Jan 11, 2022 15:26:24 GMT -5
He was a man on a path. And thus, had not crossed a threshold in many a week, sleeping and laboring in the open. At the mercy of weather, men and beast. And none of those were known for their kindness or their empathy towards a weary traveller. Kuratomo glanced the path, the openning, he felt a pull. However, it was unwise to yet tread another road, not at that time of the day, least so under the fragile hospitality of his noble-born host. The wandering man chose to be prudent, and headed towards the quarters, where he could enjoy the repairing joys of a bath, scrubbing dirt and sorrow from his skin, darkened by the many days spent in the wild, like a lonesome wolf. He would do as much, looking forward to a warm meal and some rest. Finally.
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Post by fairies wear boots 👢 on Jan 14, 2022 1:02:52 GMT -5
The sun grows closer to cresting the snow-laden ridges of the east, shades of gold and amber shooting across the sky from the high horizon and cutting through the early morning fog. The reflection it brings upon the tower's speartip crest is near-blinding to look at. It is a scene that stops you in your tracks, diving into your memories.
What vision of the natural world does Kuratomo remember the most strongly? A sunrise from a particular angle in a particular place, or perhaps one of the ancient forests beneath the western barrier? What do these fleeting beauties represent to you?
When you return to your quarters, the same servant as before bows before you and slips open the paper door.
"Master Kuratomo, a break from the night's fast has been prepared for you. It can be served to you as soon as you wish."
Within you can see the hearth's ember is nearly dead, though plenty of dry fuel sits beside it in a low container. The woman prostrates again, pausing briefly.
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Post by oznerol on Feb 6, 2022 18:23:51 GMT -5
Beauty is ephemeral, like life itself. And as elusive. The fall from grace he himself had suffered was a sign of the futility of all struggle. One must yield the ego and surrender oneself to greater purposes, finding a fate grander and far more rewarding than one might find in the solace of a lover's embrace or the warmth of a succulent meal.
These thoughts, this chain of ideas, were soon lost, like made of smoke, carried away by the wind. Soon, only aching limbs, thirst and hunger remained. Thus, he hurried for the lodgings that the monks had prepared for him. He needed it. He crossed the threshold and did not even glance at the servant.
"Bring it, woman"
He said. There was a hint of custom and authority long lost in his voice. But then, he frowned.
"If you may"
Tried to correct himself the masterless wandering swordsman, like ashamed of his brusque demeanour a mere moment before.
"And heat stones on the fire, I will need them to warm feet and hands"
He could barely feel both, even if warmth was returning to his cheeks, turning them ruddy.
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