[Episode] Crucible of Ambitions

Quest Request:

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Shimotsuki Village, 10am
Unarmed Tavern

In most villages, the common room of the local inn is a rowdy place, filled to the brim with sailors and townsfolk all intent on song and laughter. Perhaps, alongside the fun, there are a few gangs of cloaked and "harmless" individuals nursing some drinks in the corner, the corners of their garb not quite hiding the cold shine of blades at their belts. Given that Shimotsuki Village's main claim to fame was blade craft, one might expect the dangers of a tavern to be heightened, for steel to lurker under and within every corner.

Not here, not in this village.

Nobody remembered the exact start of the tradition, but for as long as anyone could remember, one of the primary rules of Shimotsuki Village was that no weapons were to be carried inside the tavern, not even the simplest butter knife. You either left your armaments in the rusted and weathered barrel outside, or you left them at home. Even the cooks prepared the scant few dishes the tavern offered in a separate building, to not break this unspoken rule. And so, for lack of a better name, the swords-masters and smiths of Shimotsuki Village simply referred to this building as the "Unarmed Tavern": a place where all could go to be guaranteed safety.

These unspoken rules were a majority of the reason why it was a very grumpy Dras who fell into a chair opposite his prospective teacher, a tattered cloth parcel in his hand rather than one of his blades. The smith was insistent on the Unarmed Tavern as their choice of locale, and it was only at the door that Dras realized that he was forbidden from bringing in a few example weapons. While he did prepare other samples of his craft in case his blade craft alone wouldn't be enough to gain him an apprenticeship, they were not nearly as skillful or varied, knick-knacks, not showpieces.

" 'Ere it is Master Smith Bryant. Like y'all asked fer." Dras said bluntly, his thick fingers delicately unwrapping the treated cloth from the object contained within. As the layers of fabric fell away, they revealed a delicate flower, a bare few inches long and finely wrought in iron and copper so that each petal stood out sharply from the rest. Despite this beauty, Dras gave it a scathing glance, as if willing its disintegration with nothing but his thoughts alone. "Eet's not much, got interrupted in the tempering process and warped the stem of it here and here see?" Dras rumbled, indicating two slight imperfections in the metal, so small as to be barely perceptible.

"Got a few other pieces to show you too if yo-" Dras started, before Bryant shook his head slightly cutting him off.  "I don't think that will be necessary Mr. Feron. A smith's eye must be all-discerning after all, and this is good enough example of your 'work'." Bryant said, his voice almost gentle but for the barely-hidden disdain.

The man stood, and circled around the table, clapping a hand on Dras's shoulder. The two men were almost a study in opposites, where Dras was heavily-built and weathered, Bryant was almost untouched by the ravages of time, lean muscle barely making its self known through billowing silk garb. It was this ethereal presence that made Bryant's next words all the more infuriating. "While your technical skill is certainty impressive, don't get me wrong, it seems you lack the experience to truly reach the standard of quality I set for my smiths. I'm afraid I'll have to decline, though I will pass your name along to my fellows." Bryan said, giving Dras a consoling pat on the shoulder and raising an eyebrow
Good day!"

As the man sauntered out the door, it was all the smith could do not to bean his tankard at his head. Instead, Dras just took a deep draft, removing a notepad from his pocket covered with a long list of names. "Fuckin' prissy asshole." Dras muttered, scratching the third-to-last name out with a bit of pencil. He was running out of options, and fast.

---

715/5000

Meanwhile, in the town square…

“Yoi-yoi-yoi! Jyeez, what’d I even do?!” It was rare for the brutish rōnin to meet an opposing force with his hands raised high, but the reputation of Shimotsuki village preceded itself: a settlement of swordsmen and smithies from which legends could be forged. This wasn’t going to be another backwater island of puny humans he could just push around.

“I don’t know boy, what were you planning to do? You’ve come here to our village at a dire crossroads, you’re rather lucky I ordered our bowmen to allow your approach,” from amongst the stirring populace, one voice of rational authority rang clear as a bell .

“I’m looking for my master! A man by the name of Nobunaga Mishima!” As was characteristic the oni answered honestly, the red-haired demon rarely concealed his intentions; there was little need for such deception for those strong enough to get what they want the good ol’ fashioned way.

Still, Doji couldn’t have anticipated the crowd’s response; he’d never met anybody other than his mother that even knew of Mishima, much less a crowd of those who went silent at his name. Many sensei amongst the crowd looked deferently towards their leader standing upon the crying platform.

“Heavens’ Fool?...” the white haired old-timer stroked his beard as the old epithet slipped his lips, “... I didn’t know he had taken another student, in fact I must say I can hardly believe such an obvious falsehood. What is your true purpose oni?” The man spoke as he glanced over towards a pair of archers, signaling they ready their bows.

“I’m not lying! My name is Asakura Doji! I’m not his student, but he is my master! His eldest disciple is the one who bestowed the title of student upon me!” The effette-faced monster cried out with earnest desperation in his voice.

The man upon the pedestal was one of Shimotsuki village’s elders, Shimada Shimura, a teacher of the sword style known as Mugai-ryū or “The School of Outer Nothingness.” A leader from one of the village’s harsher schools may have had the boy shot down on the spot, the oni was rather fortunate to be graced by the wise old man’s leadership, “So you must be Hanako’s boy eh? I suppose I can see some resemblance in the face but wow, your mother sure had interesting taste in men.”

A bit of murmuring and laughter permeated the crowd as Doji wore a confused and slightly discontented expression upon his face, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

A moment of awkward silence sat upon the crowd for a moment before Shimura spoke up again, “for the time being let us not concern ourselves with such trivial matters. Wait here with me while elders Kikuchiyo and Kyuzo fetch the remainder of our village’s men. I believe I may have an interesting proposition for you, Asakura-san.”

After the hotheaded elder and his stoic peer round up men from around town…

As the village’s elders returned to the pedestal the small-talk of young swordsmen died down to a reverent and dutiful silence. Along with a crisp and whistling breeze, once again Shimura broke the silence, “Welcome, all of you. With great shame, I must announce that the conditions of our struggle against the mountain bandits have not improved; and that in combination with this year’s meek harvest, our village’s stores of grain and berri alike have been all-but exhausted. We’ve heard that in a week’s time Akō Ryōma and his one-hundred rōnin  will ride upon our village, we shall have to ration until the day of the attack, and our village’s armory wears thin. It is for these reasons that we’ve gathered all men of fighting age as well as all smithies and apprentices, in the coming week we will train, garrison our settlement, use our remaining steel for the construction of armaments, and if possible enlist the help of those smaller communities surrounding us who too have been plagued by these brigands. We will be conducting trainings as a group, however I insist that each of you find a buddy to continue training between sessions, once we have concluded you can feel free to choose partners from amongst yourselves. Have I made myself clear, any questions?”

Post Word Count: 704
Total Word Count: 704

A few minutes earlier....

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"Are both of y'all ready?"

The referee, a squirrely little man, gave Dras and the man sitting across from each a glance, his beady eyes squinting, evaluating.

"Ready," Dras said simply, cracking his knuckles in preparation for the coming contest. While he wasn't exactly nervous about the duel, the surrounding crowd of tavern-goers made him a little antsy, he had never been that great with crowds.

"Ready."

"Annnnnnnnd begin!"

The referee's hands swung downwards, signaling the start of the contest. Dras's opponent's grip tightened to an almost painful degree, shoulders and biceps bulging with power. But no matter how hard he pushed back, Dras's arm did not falter, slowly and steadily pushing his own towards the sticky oak table, even as Dras watched another pair of contestants wrestle. "Winner, Dras B. Feron! He advances to the quarter-finals!"

Dras shrugged in reply to the cheers, taking a deep draft of his beer and stepping out into the brisk January morning for some fresh air. While the profit from the tournament would keep him in food and bedding for a few more days, the essential situation was unchanged. If he couldn't find work soon, then he would be forced to leave Shimotsuki Village, and return to making a living off forging plowshares and horseshoes. Dras's upper lip curled in contempt at the thought, he had been given the chance of a lifetime, a chance to break free from the fetters of his mundane life and become the person he always knew he could become.

Dras shoved those thoughts aside, thoughts of failure were unacceptable if he wished to succeed. He WOULD find a teacher, and that teacher WOULD help him gain the strength and skill to survive on the seas. He WOULD forge a legacy for himself, no matter the cost, it was the only way to drag both himself and his family from their poverty-stricken home. Dras would eat his sword before that dream, that TRUTH died.

"Well now, aren't you a strapping lad? Don't suppose you're looking for work in these...troubled times?"

A voice rang out across the dusty street, dragging Dras back to reality. Its owner, a hunched old man balanced against a tall wooden staff, hobbled towards him. Dras's eyes narrowed, something about this elder radiated danger in a way that disregarded differences in age and physicality. Dras bowed his head, "Greetings sor. I am looking fer work if yer offerin'. Bit down on my luck if I'm bein' honest."

The elder smiled, but said nothing, simply gesturing for Dras to follow in his wake. Dras retrieved his weapon from the barrel and ducked inside the tavern only long enough to withdrawl from the competition. Then, he would simply follow in the old man's wake..

---

In the town square.

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"Wait here for a moment son. Elder Shimura speak in a moment once he is done with some unpleasantness.." Dras's companion wheezed, pointing his walking stick at the growing through of the young swordsman. Dras simply nodded, deftly moving through the crowd toward the front. The smith's desire to hear better, coincidentally placed him quite close to Doji once he emerged from the throng. Dras did a double-take upon seeing the huge man, since when did people get that big? He had heard legends of oni and giants, but he thought they were only that! The smith was fascinated, but Shimura's voice ringing out across the square forestalled his thoughts for the moment.

“Welcome, all of you. With great shame, I must announce that the conditions of our struggle against the mountain bandits have not improved; and that in combination with this year’s meek harvest, our village’s stores of grain and berri alike have been all-but exhausted. We’ve heard that in a week’s time Akō Ryōma and his one-hundred rōnin  will ride upon our village, we shall have to ration until the day of the attack, and our village’s armory wears thin. It is for these reasons that we’ve gathered all men of fighting age as well as all smithies and apprentices, in the coming week we will train, garrison our settlement, use our remaining steel for the construction of armaments, and if possible enlist the help of those smaller communities surrounding us who too have been plagued by these brigands. We will be conducting trainings as a group, however I insist that each of you find a buddy to continue training between sessions, once we have concluded you can feel free to choose partners from amongst yourselves. Have I made myself clear, any questions?”

Dras pondered the swordmaster's words for a moment, watching as the men around him quickly paired off. While this wasn't the work he had hoped for, such a siege was an excellent chance for him to get in good with the townsfolk, get a little networking going. It did of course involve the risk of severe bodily injury, but what was a little adventure without the mortal peril to go along with it? Better to see danger as opportunity, or at least that was his opinion

Dras then strolled over to Doji and tapped him on the....shin. The smith coughed, "Excuse me sor, would you be interested in 'buddying up'. Rest of these fellows seem to 'ave a stick shoved up their hindquarters." Dras rumbled, immediately attracting a host of sneers from those surrounding them. The smith didn't care however, if he was to go to battle, it was to be with the most dangerous looking fellow here.

---

1400/5000

Though normally the oni has a bad habit of assuming people are talking to him, were it not for the tap at his leg Doji wouldn’t have believed that somebody was asking him to partner up with him so quickly; even when he was still a normal-sized kid he’d always been picked last in the games of his village’s children, he had always an ill-tempered and weird-looking boy who few had the stones to approach. For a moment he stood in stunned silence, his face fixed into a bewildered expression.

“Eh? Wait what? Really?...” a wide grin sprawled across Doji’s face as he realized that the man standing beside his leg was being serious, “... Yahoo! Of Course! But man! You must be a little weird, eh? Normally y’all little folks don’t want anything to do with me!” With this happy proclamation the giant lad took a seat on the dirt below to speak at his newfound compatriot’s level.

Introducing himself simply the oni spoke to the black-haired smithy with an excited and curious tone, “my name's Asakura Doji, I’m a practitioner of Nitōryū and an aspiring disciple of Niten Ichi-ryū; I’ve traveled the seas for some time now, and I soon plan to depart for the Grand Line. Who are you, oh man who approaches monsters?” His light-hearted little joke accented his question alongside the passing of a pleasant breeze.

Mountainous Marauders

In this world is there any difference between the man who steals what he wants and the man who earns his keep? Is it not extracted from the same source? Some pillage the land, some pillage the labor of others; perhaps it is more honest, noble even, to face the man you wish to exploit and demand what is rightfully yours.

But what is rightfully yours?

That which you can take, that which you can subjugate and slaughter, all in this world that can be bent to your submission is your possession; this is the cold, hard fact that underpins all so-called “honorable” ways of combat. Without this motivation there would be no reason for men to wage war; even if there were enough resources in this world to satisfy the needs of all, there will always be a man who desires more for himself.

Akō Ryōma was one such man, a descendant of mountain bandits; he had always been treated as a monster by the common-folk, and so a monster he became. The wrathful warlord would not accept the place on the world that had been foisted upon him, he knew he was destined for greatness, that he was among the Conquerors who would compete for this world; his home island of Shimotsuki would be but one step along his path of domination.

“Ishikawa, did any escape?” The armored man turned curiously to his loyal lieutenant, had any citizens escaped from the tiny hamlet’s slaughter then the true nature of the bandits’ plans could be unraveled.

“Only one sir. A child fled into the woods and dove down a hill. If the brat didn’t die from the fall then I’m sure that the wolves shall attend to him,” the tall and pallid man, Saigo Ishikawa, had proved a valuable tool to his liege. But in the end, that’s all that the bladesmith was to his master: a tool.

“Very well. You know your responsibility should the runt prove troublesome to us,” Ryōma referred to his suggestion of seppuku with a ruthless and dutiful calm. A tool that no longer served its purpose was to be discarded, companionship was a frivolous exercise only engaged in by wide-eyed fools.

Friendship was a feeling that could only burgeon in the hearts of those blind to the world’s cruelty.

Post Word Count: 618
Total Word Count: 1,322

"Of course, why wouldn't I want to be your pardner?" Dras asked honestly, furrowing his brow in confusion. While the blacksmith was quite confident in his strength, the stories he had heard growing up warned him against the folly of growing complacent in his strength. The coming battle was sure to be a brutal one, and the best way of ensuring his survival was to make sure that the man at his back was the strongest possible. If that meant he had to work with a monster, well, Dras could shelve his opinions for the greater good.

Temporarily.

Waving the question away, Dras similarly took a seat before his massive companion, appreciating the gesture but feeling uncomfortable standing while Doji sat, even with their almost comical difference in height. "Pleasure to meetcha Mr. Doji. Name's Dras Feron, practitioner of..... scrapping I suppose." Dras replied, scratching at the back of his head, "Ain't got any fancy name fer it, but I'm capable in a fight dont'cha worry. I'm mostly just here to learn from the village smiths before movin' on to something better." Dras stated simply. In all honesty, he had no real idea of his plans after Shimotsuki Village. The broad strokes of his ambitions were there, but precisely which path he would take of those that lay before him was still unknown.

And so, surrounded by hostile glares and the hissing of suspicious whispers, Dras extended a hand towards the giant (his ally?)."Lookin' forward to working with you, Doji."

---

A few days later.

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"And that's it for today! Those who have been instructed to stay afterward for remedial training, report to the front! Otherwise, you may return to your duty posts!"

Letting out a sigh of relief, Dras fell backward against a wooden bench at the edge of the training dojo, muscles screaming in protest at the motion. Despite his exhaustion, the smith still retrieved a clean cloth from an inner pocket, carefully wiping down Canghua and checking it for warping or scratches. The katana had been put through quite the wringer the last couple of days of training, maybe even more than Dras himself. He frowned, picking at a slight notch in the edge with a fingernail. Despite all of his painstaking work and the quality of the steel, Canghua was, in the end, nothing but a normal katana: impermanent and meant to be broken. Were Meito-smiths just more skilled than anyone else? Was that why their secrets eluded anyone in the Blues?

Feeling the characteristic shaking that signaled his training buddy's approach, Dras lifted his head. "Doji. Feel like getting in a few more rounds before I head to the smithy? Got a few more sequences I need to touch up on."

---

Desperate hunger. A fear so pressing that it rose up in her throat like bile. But most of all, a sorrow so deep that it brought tears to her eyes just feeling its existence. The child stumbled for a moment, tripping over a tree root and was sent sprawling into the undergrowth. She almost didn't get up, feeling the weight of the world settle on shoulders far too young to deserve it. The darkness knawing at the edges of her vision whispered sweetly to her, promising a sweet oblivion where she no longer had to hurt, no longer had to feel. The child wavered, then gritted her teeth, Mom and Dad gave her life to save me! Must..keep...running. Must....RUN!

With a herculean effort, the nine-year-old girl levered herself to her knees, then her feet, Blood flowed freely from her knees where she had scraped them on hard stone, and yet she took step after painful step. It was a testament to her will that, when the Shimotsuki Village patrol finally found her, the unconscious girl was not defeated, but standing, her weight braced against a tree.

2061/4000

“Wha-? Sure Dras!” Doji called out his answer from the midst of his bout, a slithering lick of flame threatening to singe the oni’s face; this fire was the attack of one of the pair’s newfound sparring partners: “Four-tail” Sensei Kuroki Tomoko, a young woman wise beyond her years and possessed of great mastery in the school of swordsmanship known as Kitsunebi-ryū, or Foxfire Style.

“Pay attention brat!” The white-haired woman let forth a geyser of pale blue flame as she caught her idiotic new student turning his back to her. 火柳一閃:青い (Karyū Issen: Aoi- Firework Slash: Blue), a weakened version of the school’s signature flaming slashes, but potent coming from the master’s blade nonetheless.

Maki Shiryō, or “Dead Souls' Kindling,” this black-hamon’d* blade’s bright crimson edge causes it to glimmer like the embers of a dying fire. This is one of the blades that, in dutiful service to its swordmaster, would defeat the red-haired giant known as Asakura Doji. It was a normal blade, no better than any other katana; but it was not the quality of the blade alone that made the warrior.

“焔裂き (Homura Saki- Flame Spirit)!” The oni’s puny rebuttal was no match for his opponent’s overwhelming attack, in that moment he was swept up in the wave of flame; once the azure embers dissipated the monster collapsed to his knees, his hair singed and his skin on the brink of burning, “Damn it…” the crude exclamation escaped his lips like a plume of smoke.

“Idiot! Never turn your attention away from an opponent! I could have killed you!” The fiery woman shouted to the kneeling monster, scowling over to him as though he were the most loathsome moron in the world.

“Yeah, but we’re just t-training right now Kuroki Sensei,” the oni spoke slowly and clumsily stumbled over his words, as though his brain had been fried.

“Tch, and we’re not going to get a goddamn thing out of you students if you keep looking at things like that…” the swordswoman snarled as she sheathed her blade, “... you’re dismissed. Do what you want Doji, come find me when you’re ready to take things seriously,” the teacher angrily stomped her way out of the dojo and slammed its sliding panel door behind her.

“Yeugh, what’s her deal?...” The oni grumbled over to Dras as he began to regain his bearings, “... how about you buddy? I’ve still got plenty of time to brush up with ya now. How’s your training going?” He asked, seeming almost jealous of the human smithy.

“I thought training with the fire-chick was gonna go great…” the oni spoke with an irritated tone to his voice, “...but even though she’s a fuckin’ psycho, I guess you gotta be a real calm person to make this shit work at all!” With this, the oni made another attempt at using the new sword school’s signature move: the firework slash, normally the user’s blade would be coated in flame; but for Doji, a bright flash of flame simply exploded from the end of his blade, causing his arm to fly backwards from the recoil. No sustained flame could be produced, the monster was impatient, and time was fast approaching.

Meanwhile, the patrol rushes to the young girl’s aid…

[npc=misc] “Find a doctor! Start a fire and boil some water! See if there’s any food we can give her! Damn…”[/npc] Haruto, a kindly warrior of the patrol, scooped the girl up in his arms as he gave his order, [npc=misc]“...we have to get her back to the village! She’s cold!”[/npc]

Hurriedly the men made their way back to the village, carrying the ailing child as quickly as they could; though the elders were reluctant to open the villages grain stores, but in the end the tie was broken by Master Shimura in favor of feeding her, much to the chagrin of those more practically minded, “... she has come from outside the village though she is dressed as a denizen of our island. To let a young girl perish such as this would be shameful in itself, not to mention her probable utility. Sit her next to the fire until she comes to, we shall have warm food and tea for her when she rouses.”

So the elders sat around the bonfire, as much to their chagrin, grunting and the faint sounds of explosions echoed out of the nearby dojo.

Post Word Count: 722
Total Word Count: 2,044

Katana Anatomy: