Since the dawn of time war had existed. And while there was an adage that it never changes, war had indeed evolved ever since man first learned how to brain his fellow man with a heavy rock. Weapons came to the fore, sticks and stone and stabbing and throwing. Metal rose to meet it, rock and wood falling to the wayside as bronze and then iron proved superior. Armor responded, attempting to protect man from man. It often did not do the job. No matter what method was invented to save a life, violence always found a way. War existed, and it evolved. And now, Maki was faced with one such evolution.
He could level a building with a mere whistle. He could summon his own ties to the ethereal realm and use them to attack his enemies with damage that left the mind a broken mess. But he lacked versatility, and he knew this. If his persona was removed, he would find himself in fire straights. If he had a sore throat, he might just be up the creek without a paddle. He needed something to give him more an edge, to allow him to protect his new home, to put him on top. Takeshi, of all people, had shown him the way. Sort of.
During their fight, Maki had batted aside every blow as if it wasn’t even there. He’d confused and disoriented not only Takeshi, but also Rin. But that one thing summoned, it had hit him. And while the blow lacked true power, Maki had little doubt that if Takeshi had somehow not fallen it would have proven to be an issue to let that thing remain. He knew what it was, he’d run across people before who held them. The companions who could be summoned in a fight. The friends who could aid you when you needed it.
Maki had few people he would call friend. Fewer still he trusted to protect him. He’d been raised as a social outcast, the mute child who saw people that weren’t there and ran away at the first sign of a fight. He believed in the other shinobi to keep him safe, and decided to go into healing as it seemed to suit his demeanor best. Looking back, Maki would likely spit on the face of the child he’d been. The night the Daimyo and his samurai attacked, the night they killed his mother before his very eyes, he lost that innocent; his trust in others to act right or defend their fellow man was killed even as his mother’s spirit was absorbed into his body.
But he was here now looking for just such a thing. And not just any animal would suit him. He wore the armor of the samurai he’d taken his vengeance upon. He used their weapon, the katana, against them. He wished to bring them despair and destroy their morale. A man in their armor, with their weapons, bringing them down like the dogs they were. Nothing less than their own symbol would do. He would find himself a steed, a mount worthy of carrying him into battle that he could strike that fear into their hearts once more.
It was early when he rose from his bed, his eyes moving along the sleeping form of his wife. That was a situation that would need resolving one day also, but not this day. Quiet as he could, Maki put on his clothes for the day. A black shirt, form fitting and tight to him as if a second skin. Matching pants, not as tight but not so loose as to be an issue in a fight. Over this was the red jacket that ended only just under his armpits, barely hitting the middle of his torso. It was adorned with several Konoha symbols. He had matching red han kote to protect his forearms and the back of his hands, and black gloves over said hands. Red haidate and suneate covered his thighs and shins, respectively, while his black combat boots kept his feet safe. At his side were two katanas, one had a parrying ring in the hilt.
He looked every inch the samurai he liked to slay. Thankfully none had made the mistake of accusing him of being such, recently. The last to had learned the hard way that Maki detested those people, those noble samurai, with every fiber of his soul.
He left the clan house before the sun rose, the air crisp and chill on his skin as the dew was beginning to form. He left Konoha, and as the sun broke over the horizon, he found himself in the fields of Fire Country. Horses preferred pastures, and he had found one. Maki begins walking along the grass field, letting his senses extend and focus, letting himself enjoy the day. It was a beautiful one, and hopefully would become more so.
(using my Discovery of Contract of You Choice card to get Ungulate, feel free to work with the anti-samurai angle, for the record.)
He could level a building with a mere whistle. He could summon his own ties to the ethereal realm and use them to attack his enemies with damage that left the mind a broken mess. But he lacked versatility, and he knew this. If his persona was removed, he would find himself in fire straights. If he had a sore throat, he might just be up the creek without a paddle. He needed something to give him more an edge, to allow him to protect his new home, to put him on top. Takeshi, of all people, had shown him the way. Sort of.
During their fight, Maki had batted aside every blow as if it wasn’t even there. He’d confused and disoriented not only Takeshi, but also Rin. But that one thing summoned, it had hit him. And while the blow lacked true power, Maki had little doubt that if Takeshi had somehow not fallen it would have proven to be an issue to let that thing remain. He knew what it was, he’d run across people before who held them. The companions who could be summoned in a fight. The friends who could aid you when you needed it.
Maki had few people he would call friend. Fewer still he trusted to protect him. He’d been raised as a social outcast, the mute child who saw people that weren’t there and ran away at the first sign of a fight. He believed in the other shinobi to keep him safe, and decided to go into healing as it seemed to suit his demeanor best. Looking back, Maki would likely spit on the face of the child he’d been. The night the Daimyo and his samurai attacked, the night they killed his mother before his very eyes, he lost that innocent; his trust in others to act right or defend their fellow man was killed even as his mother’s spirit was absorbed into his body.
But he was here now looking for just such a thing. And not just any animal would suit him. He wore the armor of the samurai he’d taken his vengeance upon. He used their weapon, the katana, against them. He wished to bring them despair and destroy their morale. A man in their armor, with their weapons, bringing them down like the dogs they were. Nothing less than their own symbol would do. He would find himself a steed, a mount worthy of carrying him into battle that he could strike that fear into their hearts once more.
It was early when he rose from his bed, his eyes moving along the sleeping form of his wife. That was a situation that would need resolving one day also, but not this day. Quiet as he could, Maki put on his clothes for the day. A black shirt, form fitting and tight to him as if a second skin. Matching pants, not as tight but not so loose as to be an issue in a fight. Over this was the red jacket that ended only just under his armpits, barely hitting the middle of his torso. It was adorned with several Konoha symbols. He had matching red han kote to protect his forearms and the back of his hands, and black gloves over said hands. Red haidate and suneate covered his thighs and shins, respectively, while his black combat boots kept his feet safe. At his side were two katanas, one had a parrying ring in the hilt.
He looked every inch the samurai he liked to slay. Thankfully none had made the mistake of accusing him of being such, recently. The last to had learned the hard way that Maki detested those people, those noble samurai, with every fiber of his soul.
He left the clan house before the sun rose, the air crisp and chill on his skin as the dew was beginning to form. He left Konoha, and as the sun broke over the horizon, he found himself in the fields of Fire Country. Horses preferred pastures, and he had found one. Maki begins walking along the grass field, letting his senses extend and focus, letting himself enjoy the day. It was a beautiful one, and hopefully would become more so.
(using my Discovery of Contract of You Choice card to get Ungulate, feel free to work with the anti-samurai angle, for the record.)
Usually, there was an unknown group of horses, they were a big family... Yet these weren't the typical kind of horses. They were in all kind of sizes, colors... But there was always one thing they had in common. Their manes and their tail would show as if there was a ghostly fire on them. They had been in many, many kinds of colors. But there had only been a single green one, a sign that, that one had been the leader of the group. All the others in the group had blue, red or yellow... 
If there are and questions please PM me on Ninpocho or discord (Incognito Hoots)
