The rumor came quietly, like all the others these sheepish people of Earth gave. Apparently the Iwagakurian shinobi, these warriors were renown for their prowess within the country. One, specifically, trained separately from the others and citizens who caught sight of him didn't know how to react. None came into any danger, but they were afraid nevertheless. Afraid of the practice of chakra; afraid of something so simple, yet so unattainable for them. Afraid of something they didn't understand.
So he went to see for himself.
This place was not far from where he found temporary residence, not far at all from that small town on the edge of the capital of Maruishi. It was like the forests the Isaki had known in his childhood, like the lush forests of the islands. Both had some obvious history of great life; both now were dead. The wood here crystallized over uncountable years, becoming massive rocks that might be worth something in a culture that didn't live under the rocks of their lands. It was an isolated area, quiet. These people cared not for their natural treasure; it was an excellent place, in that respect, for solace, or whatever activity needed privacy. Here, the spectres didn't plague him.
There were only two, that he knew, would be in this place: himself and one Iwagakurian "Warrior" as they were so called by so many in the town. Warriors, not shinobi, but apparently trained as any other shinobi might be, were they in a similar place. Why did this one practice alone when their militaristic village might offer so much more? Was it for respect of the country's gods? For the privacy the Isaki sought as well? For a short time, he watched the man practice on his own. He fought truly, not artfully like some of the aristocratic families who had training in shinobi arts might, but with form that showed experience and enough power to make but a single punch enough to complete any physical, violent job the Iwagakurian might require. He didn't waste time. His was a brilliant, effective combination of ninjutsu and taijutsu, opposite of what this Isaki had become.
From the deep of the forest -- namely behind two of the closer mineralized trunks -- Karurosu steps out. Hood covering face and a light cotton fabric covering much of his body. Slight discolouration is visible on his pale, revealed hands for no obvious reason, but naught else seemed atypical. "A fighter, indeed," he'd remark, nodding his head analytically, as though he were observing some specimen, "but one might hope a warrior to be more astute to their environment." A sly grin broke from his face. He wanted to see just how well their warriors were; assuming he was average, he could see just how good these Iwagakurians were. For science.
"It can't be that air and logs are all the mighty warriors can best," the Isaki turned his face up to reveal it for all it was worth, "or can it?"
The guy stopped immediately and returned a stoic expression, answering immediately. "How is one to be astute of their environment when another hides behind large trees to watch? Some warriors boast eyes that can see all, others hearing like that of a bat, and yet some still: omnipotence." His voice was a grumble, deep, deeper even than the Isaki's, not that that was far surprising given his stature.
"The only warrior I see cannot boast any of those traits," the Isaki returned without hesitation. Unmoved by the comment, the Warrior continued. Karu, now listened in silence for his part.
"What a warrior is to be aware of is the killing intent of others, for that is their true enemy, not the flesh that surrounds it when in the heat of battle; this is what warriors take note of." He shook his before turning back to Karu.
"One must assume too, that cloaked figures watching and judging warriors they do not know are around for more than just inane chatter. Perhaps they wish to learn something, phishing for secrets. Or do they merely attempt to goad a sense of ego and pride in the lesser so they move to defend some scrap of honor?"
"Oh but it never is," Karurosu pushed, "haven't you heard? Earth is going conquest after conquest, never ceasing; surely you've considered plundering on such things. Plundering, killing, doing more than hiding that urge -- oh yes, it is plain to see." It was a carnal desire, one instilled to any warrior, shinobi, whatever the hell a country desired to call their fighters. They were trained to fight, most desired to act upon it; violence and murder were romanticized. "Power, even here, is built on it. To rule, you have to be the strongest combatant in the field; is that not your way?"
"Rather than this nature, wouldn't you much rather destroy--" he removed his hood. He would have suggested the man to battle him, it might've been interesting even, but the man got his word in first. This man didn't recognize him, he wouldn't know about him at all. Cloak or cloak-less didn't matter too much, truthfully; there were more ways to hide beyond just physically. Pride and ego -- Karurosu might've laughed. What pride did he have left? Himself? A husk of a former leader. His clan? In his lifetime, committed crimes unspeakable and left their lands. His village? What village? And of ego, that with the pride. Whom only it mattered to were the ghosts of the frozen islands now. "Now, I wouldn't call it inane; more observant curiosity. Naturally, one would be drawn to power, would they not? I just wanted to see a fragment of this country's unstoppable force."
"The dead must always be defended, cloaked or not, oughtn't they? Just as the living train bare to all wounds, physical and otherwise."
Other words were traded, all in a blur. Almost at once, the battle erupted. Karu could only remember the intense heat that came from the man. He thought he did something then, but he wasn't sure. It was all a blur. Everything. And after it was a blank; he fell unconscious for reasons unknown to him.
He woke up. He was in a building, some unkept room; a bright light shone directly on his face. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. This was what hell was. What had happened to him? It seemed that only his eyes possessed any semblance of mobility; he couldn't see himself, couldn't feel himself. Hell, he couldn't even hear himself, breathing or otherwise. It was total silence in this alien place. He wanted to call for help, or discover what he could on his own, but he couldn't. He was imprisoned here for whatever reason. In his confusion and fear, he was trapped.
Help.
So he went to see for himself.
This place was not far from where he found temporary residence, not far at all from that small town on the edge of the capital of Maruishi. It was like the forests the Isaki had known in his childhood, like the lush forests of the islands. Both had some obvious history of great life; both now were dead. The wood here crystallized over uncountable years, becoming massive rocks that might be worth something in a culture that didn't live under the rocks of their lands. It was an isolated area, quiet. These people cared not for their natural treasure; it was an excellent place, in that respect, for solace, or whatever activity needed privacy. Here, the spectres didn't plague him.
There were only two, that he knew, would be in this place: himself and one Iwagakurian "Warrior" as they were so called by so many in the town. Warriors, not shinobi, but apparently trained as any other shinobi might be, were they in a similar place. Why did this one practice alone when their militaristic village might offer so much more? Was it for respect of the country's gods? For the privacy the Isaki sought as well? For a short time, he watched the man practice on his own. He fought truly, not artfully like some of the aristocratic families who had training in shinobi arts might, but with form that showed experience and enough power to make but a single punch enough to complete any physical, violent job the Iwagakurian might require. He didn't waste time. His was a brilliant, effective combination of ninjutsu and taijutsu, opposite of what this Isaki had become.
From the deep of the forest -- namely behind two of the closer mineralized trunks -- Karurosu steps out. Hood covering face and a light cotton fabric covering much of his body. Slight discolouration is visible on his pale, revealed hands for no obvious reason, but naught else seemed atypical. "A fighter, indeed," he'd remark, nodding his head analytically, as though he were observing some specimen, "but one might hope a warrior to be more astute to their environment." A sly grin broke from his face. He wanted to see just how well their warriors were; assuming he was average, he could see just how good these Iwagakurians were. For science.
"It can't be that air and logs are all the mighty warriors can best," the Isaki turned his face up to reveal it for all it was worth, "or can it?"
The guy stopped immediately and returned a stoic expression, answering immediately. "How is one to be astute of their environment when another hides behind large trees to watch? Some warriors boast eyes that can see all, others hearing like that of a bat, and yet some still: omnipotence." His voice was a grumble, deep, deeper even than the Isaki's, not that that was far surprising given his stature.
"The only warrior I see cannot boast any of those traits," the Isaki returned without hesitation. Unmoved by the comment, the Warrior continued. Karu, now listened in silence for his part.
"What a warrior is to be aware of is the killing intent of others, for that is their true enemy, not the flesh that surrounds it when in the heat of battle; this is what warriors take note of." He shook his before turning back to Karu.
"One must assume too, that cloaked figures watching and judging warriors they do not know are around for more than just inane chatter. Perhaps they wish to learn something, phishing for secrets. Or do they merely attempt to goad a sense of ego and pride in the lesser so they move to defend some scrap of honor?"
"Oh but it never is," Karurosu pushed, "haven't you heard? Earth is going conquest after conquest, never ceasing; surely you've considered plundering on such things. Plundering, killing, doing more than hiding that urge -- oh yes, it is plain to see." It was a carnal desire, one instilled to any warrior, shinobi, whatever the hell a country desired to call their fighters. They were trained to fight, most desired to act upon it; violence and murder were romanticized. "Power, even here, is built on it. To rule, you have to be the strongest combatant in the field; is that not your way?"
"Rather than this nature, wouldn't you much rather destroy--" he removed his hood. He would have suggested the man to battle him, it might've been interesting even, but the man got his word in first. This man didn't recognize him, he wouldn't know about him at all. Cloak or cloak-less didn't matter too much, truthfully; there were more ways to hide beyond just physically. Pride and ego -- Karurosu might've laughed. What pride did he have left? Himself? A husk of a former leader. His clan? In his lifetime, committed crimes unspeakable and left their lands. His village? What village? And of ego, that with the pride. Whom only it mattered to were the ghosts of the frozen islands now. "Now, I wouldn't call it inane; more observant curiosity. Naturally, one would be drawn to power, would they not? I just wanted to see a fragment of this country's unstoppable force."
"The dead must always be defended, cloaked or not, oughtn't they? Just as the living train bare to all wounds, physical and otherwise."
Other words were traded, all in a blur. Almost at once, the battle erupted. Karu could only remember the intense heat that came from the man. He thought he did something then, but he wasn't sure. It was all a blur. Everything. And after it was a blank; he fell unconscious for reasons unknown to him.
He woke up. He was in a building, some unkept room; a bright light shone directly on his face. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. This was what hell was. What had happened to him? It seemed that only his eyes possessed any semblance of mobility; he couldn't see himself, couldn't feel himself. Hell, he couldn't even hear himself, breathing or otherwise. It was total silence in this alien place. He wanted to call for help, or discover what he could on his own, but he couldn't. He was imprisoned here for whatever reason. In his confusion and fear, he was trapped.
Help.
WC: 1142