Shokuhen (Solo)

[Lillith]

Shokuhen (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnGaCAHhGfo)

'Radical'


2631



Set after Flower Drum Song (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?23988-Flower-Drum-Song-(Closed)&p=197648#post197648), Honouring the Wind (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24275-Honouring-The-Wind-(Closed)&highlight=Somewhere+I+Belong), and Somewhere I Belong (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24199-Somewhere-I-Belong).

Serves as a bridge between the war with the Greater Oni and the final confrontation in Capitol City.



I’m more a part of this fey kingdom,
Than ever they’ll admit,
I’m more entitled to vocation,
Than this ignorance can permit.

I’m separated in a group I forged,
Isolated because I’m foreign,
I’m bandaged from the wounds they hurl,
In this ancient racist warren.

I wish I wish that they would forgive,
That which we’ve forgotten years ago,
I wish the seams that we’ve been stitching,
Would fuse together, and truly go.

For here in my home and my country,
I am a man of dual estate,
But I feel so dreary and isolated,
For an ancient prince’s fate.


Cydney Oliver.

[Lillith]

In the soft sunshine of spring’s last days, Lillith Kazumi walked silently, sombrely, and wearily through the forest. Her simple oak geta expertly traversed the farrowed ground between the pine, eucalyptus, and bamboo trees. The sense of reverence in her heart was instilled in her on the virtue of the path she trod. She was walking in the footsteps of countless foolish heroes who ventured to their deaths. This was the well-trodden proving ground of the ancient spirit known to some as The Shogun, but too many, The Komodo.

In the meagre shade of the forest canopy Lillith felt a cold rising up her exposed spine. The unusual chill seeped through her skin to freeze her bones, muscle, and tendons. Every other step she was doused in a stream of sunlight which broke through the jade roof. She used its momentary warmth to spur herself forwards, onwards, and confidently. She wore nothing but a simple silk wrap around her waist. It was a deep red shade, laced with delicate silver threads that served only as a covering for her modest self.

This was out of tradition, and out of respect for the kami that observed silently, invisibly, and respectably from the shadows. Her long black hair would have flowed like a river of midnight if she had wandered these lands a free woman. Now the dark as coal, thick with coconut oil, and soft as satin weave was rolled up around a golden scroll case. The relic was tied in red and yellow ribbon, and accented with a small golden flower buckle that rested above her left temple.

The last day of spring would serve as the stepping stone to a peace in Akashima that had not been witnessed for centuries. In the depths of the kingdoms spiritual heart the spirit warder, Lady Spider, would offer herself to the Shogun. She would pledge her body, soul, and mind to the Greater Oni for peace, prosperity, and destiny. She would pledge herself solely to he who would usurp her home. The thought, even now, made her stomach turn and her head spin. After all her struggles, after all the wars, battles, and sacrifices, to think it had come to this was mortally wounded to the spirit warder. The very notion offended every one of her six senses.

Within the elaborate framework of the scroll case sat the hopes of the people of Akashima. Lillith had been given it by the Council of Elders, and vowed to not look upon its contents until she unfurled the scroll before its intended recipient. She would recite the message in a traditional fusion of dance and music, and the Shogun would be compelled to accept. In those parchment promises was the Treatise of Jasmine, a concordant cited and bound in the Oath of the Greater Kami. It was the solitary heirloom gifted to the Children of the Kami on the day the Gods left the mortal world forever; at least those who kept their promises to watch from the Heavens. It had rested beneath the Grand Temple for three centuries, its power parallel to the universe itself, its existence a well-kept secret from even the Emperor himself.

[Lillith]

Though she carried with her the most powerful weapon one could wield against one of the Greater Oni, Lillith still felt dishevelled, weak, and defeated. Even though she had been present at the battle of The Jurugumo, The Crab, and The Crane she was too weak to defeat their final adversary. The Komodo would receive their concordant, and to his will she would be bound. It was the only way to settle the enmity between god and man. The war for her home would be over, the war of the gods diminished, and a war in her own heart would begin anew. She had to question just how potent a weapon the Concordant was, if one had to give up everything to wield the power within its spidery script.

For the last few hundred yards Lillith had felt lines being traced over her muscular rear. With every advance towards the pagoda at the heart of the forest, The Komodo had begun to mark his new trinket with his insignia. Black curves had spiralled up from the small of her back to begin with, and then red lines were traced over them to give it fire and depth. As she crossed a drift of autumnal leaves wings formed, and then a curled tail that was barbed and cruel flickered into existence.

The pain began to intensify as the Shogun wove a single claw through the air in the beyond, his penmanship and artistry poignant but damning. Lillith swayed for a moment, but grit her teeth and pushed on through the ordeal.

“<This is the rightful path>,” she whispered, as if she were afraid of her own voice. Her chest heaved under the weight of the presence of the Shogun’s mind. “<This is the just and rightful path…>” Lillith concluded that it had to be the right thing to do because she had volunteered. Speaking in Akashiman with perfect diction only served to masque the niggling doubt in the back of her mind. It only served to plaster cracks in her Tenpuru instead of fixing the foundations of her weakening resolve.

When the Council of Elders had spoken of appeasing the Komodo’s war path with an offering of a concubine Lillith had been reluctant at first. Festering in a quagmire of bloodshed and zeal, she had incited a grand debate in the Great Temple about the potential for all-out war. She had expressed a wish to lead the spirit warders, the shogun, the Ronin, and the ninja against the Komodo’s army. Her cries of military logic had been rebuked with a tired and beleaguered people’s wish to live their lives in the peace they had toiled so hard for long ago.

As she had been so vocal about tendering her resources for the cause of peace, the Council of Elders had elected, without choice, Lillith Kazumi as the messenger. She would be a tie to bind mortal and immortal, and she had jumped at the idea. Her enthusiasm in the jade columned chamber, warmed by sake and firelight seemed like a childish flight of fancy to her now. She tried to remain positive about it, and drew on her desire to restore her pride as a geisha. In her long exile from Akashima, and through many resurrections, she had lost the respect of the Okiyas throughout the city. This was her opportunity to lose the title of Meiko and become geisha once again. She would have to pay a heavy due before that day came, however.

“<It is a road less travelled>”, a voice whispered to her right. She stopped instinctively in her tracks. Her right foot remained half raised into a step, her fingers splayed, and her head cocked slightly to her left. She listened closely to the ambient sound of the world around her, working to strip away the sound of the jays calling in the tree tops, the wind in the leaves, and the beat of her heart.

[Lillith]

“<A road less travelled alone>.” The voice was oddly familiar to Lillith.

She could not quite place the reason for the familiarity. She had been alone for so long names, places, and memories had been abandoned in favour of rediscovering the art of entertaining. Her mind was set on the dance, the song, and the shamisen, not the days of yore.

“<Who goes there?>” she enquired. Her lip quivered with anxiety. She would have responded violently once upon a time, but now, she was not quite sure how to react.

Part of the conditions of the treaty, and the act of offering a geisha to the Shogun was to walk through the heart of the forest quite unarmed. She had to appear at the foot of the pagoda naked, untethered by the pleasures of society, and undefended by its steel. Though she was far from feeble, in the depths of this wood her words were her only weapon. She could cut lesser men with her tongue, but gods and monsters would be impervious to her rhetoric. She doubted her theatrical providence would serve as a worthwhile defence against unseen enemies, nature’s dervish, and the stark reality of spiritual life. Her heart skipped a beat as something broke out of the tree line to her right. It was a jet of black against an olive, hazelnut, and yellow blossom tapestry.

It was a blackbird, a coincidence, a paranoid illusion.

As the bird hoped from branch to branch Lillith visibly relaxed. Her heart continued to rattle like a Tonga drum in the cavity of her ribcage. Each pulse was a deep bass note of tension that added to her musical discomfort. Lillith visibly shuddered at the thought of being followed.

“One monster to face is quite enough…”

If she did not appear alone in the Shogun’s Pagoda, then their diplomatic endeavour would be undone in a moment. Cautiously she advanced, the wooden slats of her traditional shoes flattening the buoyant dew laden blades of grass as she went. The soft wind soon replaced the awkward silence, the tension, and the rustling of leaves in the treetops overhead. The very essence of nature herself seemed to be working against the geisha’s advance towards an uncertain future. Lillith could only hang her head in the shame of her actions as the twisted and turned along the furrow of footfalls in the lengthening grass.

Every few miles, the spirit wood became more wild, feral, and unpredictable.

Every few miles Lillith Kazumi left more and more of her old life behind.

[Lillith]

Two Months Ago

Capitol City’s vibrant chorus sang to the silent swordsman, and with much joy, Arden responded in kind. He hummed along to the rattling carriages, the merchant cries, and the murder of the crows in the pomegranate and orange trees that lines every street.

"It is so good to be home!" he revelled in the glory of Akashima’s cultural splendour. In recent years, the city had begun to expand, beautify itself, and take pride in its appearance. The citizens of Capitol City had started to bring the drab history out of the darkness, and inject pride into its jade and ochre architecture.

"It would be much better if we had time to enjoy it!" Lillith retorted wistfully. “It is too tantalising to have to rush through it merely as a backdrop to some dire cause.” Her geta slapped against the refuse lines boulevard with out of breath strides. She was tired and lagging behind her brother as they streamed down the central line to their destination. He had, it seemed, forgotten she had just travelled for three days, matching his endless pace all the way.

They began to run along the roughhewn promenade with a gait in their step. They sped through the pagoda cloisters which rose high above the low shacks and paper walled walls without stopping. They ran for freedom, for glory, and for honour. They were both so lost in the moment neither really had time to take it all in. The overwhelming joy of reconnecting with their homeland after so long numbed their senses, and they forgot they were running towards an uncertain and turbulent future, even if it was taking them away from a deadly past.

The warm blood of the trade minister still no doubt ran down the steps of the tea house. The crowd would be tepid by the horror of the deed witnessed, distraught at the thought, and left questioning the nature of the recent months of peace on their streets. The delicate Lavender scent still stung Arden’s eyes from Lillith’s flowery form. The aroma of well stewed tea leaves dampened their momentary elation. The influx of visitors to Akashima as its xenophobic heart thawed to the world had done away with the refined brew and ritual of delicate herbal infusions. They both stopped with dead panned slaps of busy feet on the cobbles next to a small canal running through the heart of the city. Certain that they had cleared enough space between themselves and the scene of their crime; they leant on their knees to catch their respective breaths. She looked to him with sibling affection, and he returned the look with pride.

“Did we really just get away with that?” he said softly, so as not to attract unwarranted attention from the bustling stream of passers-by who criss crossed over the low bridges.

They made their way over the low arches to and from the residential districts. Tired and beleaguered business men left their worlds behind them to find momentary peace the okiyas of the city to the north. The awkward glances Arden and Lillith attracted were short lived. Many assumed that a meiko was flirting with a patron, or that a wayward geisha had lost her way in her own secluded paradise. What the duo did not realise was that here, in the heart of xenophobia’s stronghold, very few of the city’s inhabitants spoke common. They were not shy people, they were just awed. Fewer still had ever seen someone from Scara Brae.

“Yes we did. I believe that was because we executed it with flawless finesse as ever,” Lillith replied with her usual, cheeky, and smarmy gab. She pushed herself upright and adjusted the folds of her clothing so they sat more regally about her lithe form. She had played beautifully, and the melody of her voice and music still echoed in Arden’s ears. They continued to echo in her chest with the forceful rhythm of blood pumping through a burdened heart. “The first piece of the puzzle is set.”

[Lillith]

The plan they had begun to set in motion was an immensely complicated and well thought it tapestry of intrigue. For three full, tense, and patient weeks they had taken stock of a wealth of information. They had watched and waited for the right moment to arise that would allow them to eliminate the first component of the Komodo’s insurrection into Capitol City. Without a doubt, they had under estimated the Great Oni’s ability to seed his corruption so forcefully and so heavily. They had been beset by Ronin, well hidden in a city eternally wary of a katana or samurai greeting too many times for it to be mere coincidence.

“This is a beautiful city.” She muttered with admiration.

Blood had been spilled the very second they had set foot on Corone, and the trail had not stopped since they had wandered into the sleepy fishing village of Hallow almost a month ago. It was almost as if the Greater Oni had been expecting them.

“It would be nice,” he clicked his spine back into place and turned to look over his shoulder, “if we had allowed ourselves more time to take in the sights.” The rickety and maze like region of the city they had fled through was an amazing tapestry of old and new Akashima.

In between crumbling temples dedicated to the old gods, there were tall totems to the many Kami of legend, and slate rooftops stood side by side with wood, pottery, and marble spires.

"It has changed. It has certainly altered too much to rekindle old memories now Arden. We should come back to it with fresh eyes in another life." Capitol City, like many cities of Althanas, was a living, breathing, and burgeoning construct. It was a city eternally rebuilding itself and renewing its wounds with the fancies of the age. In some side streets the architecture was so perverse you might be forgiven for thinking you were somewhere else entirely. There were cultural exchanges into Radasanth, Irrakam, and Scara Brae tucked away in the forgotten quarters.

“You have my promise, my oath, and my pledge Arden, that one day we will." She replied with reverence. Her eyes sparkled with fabricated destiny. Lillith paused, not entirely convinced by what she was saying. She looked around at the cityscape and caught the breeze before she continued. She at least hoped she would get the chance to fulfil her promise. If they were not careful, quick, and calculated in their attempts at destroying the Komodo, there would be no city left to return to.

"We will walk through the city streets one day, and stride up the steps of the Great Temple as citizens and welcomed kin of Akashima.” She spoke with a distinct bitterness that boiled the air and cracked the cobbles. “Until we are free of the Komodo’s treachery and the curse of our forefathers, we shall remain hidden from view in plain sight.” She ran her finger along the ridge of her nose before finally feeling safe enough to sheath her tanto. “We have no time to dwell in the past now.”

Arden looked back at her and frowned. The delicate flow of water beneath sakura blossoms and tall, dimly lit houses dredged away the tension in her words, and the strain from his bones. With such beauty swaddling him he struggled to pluck up the energy to continue. Upon seeing her expectant glare he gave up on his hopes of rest. With a gruff and stoic gritting of his teeth and a nod, he started for the nearest bridge, half skipping and half trotting up the painted wooden slats. They had perhaps once been bright, blood red, but had faded into a rusty brown after many years of neglect. She was right, as she always was. He patted her on the shoulder with a friendly but rough and ready triple tap, and embraced her for a brief moment to show her he cared.

“No, you are quite right.”

[Lillith]

They walked side by side as they descended onto the far shore of the canal. With renewed vigour, hope, and courage, they walked into the tall maze of high walls and locked gates. Behind each of them was a world unspoken of. Lillith knew all too well what dwelt on those dens of mystery and hardship. One day, she hoped to return there. Many secluded paradises, or hells, depending on one’s birth right and fortunes awaited the young, feckless girls of Akashima’s underclass. Though unfortunate in their early life, a few hard years in the okiyas under the scrupulous eye of a matron would see them blossom into spectacles respected for many hundreds of leagues.

“I always am,” she smirked.

“Let us make for the rendezvous. There, your rickshaw waits, as does your assignment in the south. I trust you will be gently with the good duke and his harlot court?” Though the duo had travelled to Akashima with the full intent of seeing through the rise of a war together, their plan now called for a prolonged separation. He had decided that he was to remain in the city to collate support against the corrupt government. With that support, he hoped to turn the forces of the Capitol against those who had succumbed to the Oni’s wiles. Lillith was to travel south to seek an audience with the ninja, and hopefully, to unite Akashima’s two strongest groups against a common and deadly enemy. With those weapons on their side, they doubted even the Komodo could resist them.

“I do not see why I should have to suffer that man’s sexual advances, whilst you get to play the vagabond here amongst the true heroes of our home. Answer me that, would you?” she knocked his shoulder with a friendly punch.

Her eyes shifted nervously from her brother to the many gates they passed. One of them long ago had been the first memory of her arrival in the city. She had spent two decades training and scrubbing floors until her knuckles bled, and her soul had shattered. Only then did she finally receive patronage from one of the premier okiyas. After many years she was finally offered the debut performance that one traditionally received when you ascended to the giddy heights of a meiko - a trainee geisha, a hand maiden of the city’s nobility, it’s rich, and it’s famous.

“He will kill me on sight, which is why you must go and do a far better job than I ever could.” This had a simple, blunt, but effective sort of truth to it. Lillith assumed her brother inferred she would not simply kill him without question. He was not well known for tact, diplomacy, and compassion to strangers.

“You are good with people, too! Who is to say that I would just as likely end up putting a blade to his throat, and ruining any hope of getting an audience with the shinobi?” Her question ended beneath his sarcastic stare. His solitary good eye burnt away her protestation, leaving her feeling foolish.

They turned a corner on snappy heels, and came to a large square courtyard that was flanked with two large doors. They rose like imposing statues on the left and right sides. It continued on the far side into a long narrow road, which lead into the unknown underbelly of the city's slums like a winding, slithering, and treacherous snake. As expected the courtyard houses a rickshaw rested beneath a tall maple. Its driver was an old, practically deceased, and grumbling Akashiman man with a penchant for brown robes. He chewed on a reed in silence. Lillith wrinkled her nose at him, only daring to imagine how rank he smelt, and how odious he would be if she spoke to him beyond the casual callings of Akashima's strange etiquette.

“If I thought you were going to give me any choice in the matter I would continue to fight my point,” she pointed at the tattered canopy of her transportation. “I would appreciate something in aubergine next time; lime green does nothing for my complexion.” Arden rolled his eyes as they hugged one another with a tepid embrace, half reserved to keep the hope of them being reunited alive aflame.

“Whe-” Arden’s words were cut short.

[Lillith]

“You do not need to lecture me,” she pressed a single finger against his half open lips. “I have the plan memorised in my mind and without fail, I will deliver. You just see to it that when the Komodo hears of the ninja’s plans to strike at his empire, you are ready to put an end to his lofty dreams.” She paused for thought. “I trust you have set up the meeting with the merchant to acquire the scroll?” he nodded quickly, and she dropped the subject.

Though Lillith presumed she had been given the more difficult task out of the two, Arden was worried sick about how he would deal with the might of one of the Greater Oni. It had taken the combined efforts of his sister, Ruby, and his own blades before. They had needed the chants of a spirit sage to quell even a half powered Oni, so what hope had he alone against the strongest of the daemons? A flash of fire covered Lillith, reminding Arden of their struggles against the Jurugumo beneath the cliffs of Tokyun. He saw her aura, tainted and wry with poison, and hoped that their endeavours would rid them both of their mistakes.

“Go,” he muttered, pushing her away from their hug. “Make haste, and I will see you when the sun rises in four days. Assuming and praying that it all goes well.” Lillith mouthed surprise as the assassin’s doubt. She half wondered what he was not telling her. It would be foolish for her to even try to pry it out of him.

He watched her as she skipped to the rickshaw and mounted the carriage with a hop and a leap. The old man cracked the reigns without even acknowledging her presence and the carriage circled the tree before streaming down the adjacent alley with a thunderous clatter of hooves on ancient stone. He looked up into the branches of the courtyard’s centrepiece dozily. In between sighs he traced the spiky pattern of its bough and trunk to calm his nerves.

He found a strange sort of solitude in its symmetry and it’s auburn, gold, and ochre tapestry. Eventually he turned on a sharp heel and strode from the courtyard. With equal haste, he returned to the maze of okiyas, and sped through leafy grottos and cold streets back towards the tea district.

He was surrounded by life but felt horribly distant from it.

“I can still feel you hiding in my soul,” he whispered to himself, wary of the rising darkness he had fought for almost a year. With every step towards the inevitable confrontation with the Komodo, the fragment of the Oni’s soul in Arden’s heart fought his advance.

Torrents of dirty wash water fell down around him from open windows and the poor and destitute begged coins from him, but he paid them no heed. His mind remained focussed only on one thing. It dwelt on the imagery he had seen in The Aria when he had died at the hands of the Komodo’s Ronin. He had seen the Oni himself, haunting his mind. He had seen and felt the warmth and raw power of the dragon’s heart, and he feared the ryuu no shinzou now more than anything. One mistake here, one missed step, untied thread, or misspent opportunity would spell more than just failure.

It would spell the destruction of Akashima herself.

[Lillith]

One Week Ago

With Lillith out of the picture Arden was free to pursue his enemy without worrying over her every waking moment. He had, for the better part of the last five years, operated more or less entirely alone in the pursuit of death. There was little in the way of exception to this modus operandi. The only times he did not work by himself, was in those dark, dire, and terrible moments when he had to call on his peers Rouge and Leper. They had made it quite clear they did not like Corone, and had refused to come with him on this occasion.

Vengeance dealt with a solitary hand suited the swordsman just fine. He was made for it, born for it, and thrived on it.

“<Good evening, Lao,>” he said chirpily as he stopped in front of one of the many stands along the edge of the river. It ran through the heart of Capitol like its aorta, and to its banks the mercantile clung. “<It has been a while>”, he added, folding his arms over his chest.

The shrewd looking man, every bit the cliché of an Akashiman business king squinted through his spectacles. With much scrutiny he made out the outline of his new customer as if he were weighing him up for gullibility and coin. From the bristling excitement and rubbing together of hands, Arden might have forgiven himself for thinking he was the man’s first customer of the day. When Lao realised that it was not a customer, or at least, not a customer he could fleece, his malefic enthusiasm faded with an audible grunt.

“<Arden-sama,>” he nodded, but reverted instantly to Tradespeak. “It has been a long time indeed, no?”

“Yes, yes it has,” the swordsman, swaddled in red robes and mithril plate mail undid his arms, and reached over the counter. They shook like old friends not quiet friendly enough to hug, before they both returned to respectable and neutral positions. Trust was difficult to earn in Akashima, even after decades of friendship. Neither truly quite let their guards down in one another’s company.

They had met nearly a decade ago, long before Arden had joined the Scara Scourge, and long before the war with Lucian. Lao had been selling poultices and alchemical ingredients in Tokyun , as part of a roving caravan that he sent out each autumn to spread the profitability of his empire. On the off chance, Arden had brought some less than honest herbs from him, and their friendship had been forged off the back of several debauchee and well spent evenings in the caravan tent. For a small, wiry man, Lao Shang had the constitution of an ox.

“So,” the merchant paused, waving his hands over the many assorted bottles resting on the small stand. The red material of the canopy clashed with the swordsman’s robes, and the resplendent colours of the obi and sari that swarmed them both in the market gave the Capitol an almost blinding quality to it. “You come to buy, no?”

Arden said nothing.

“No, I not think so,” Lao shook his head with disappointment. He disappeared behind the stand with a stoop for several seconds whilst Arden pretended to browse the bottles. He picked several of the more curious looking specimens up with cautious fingers to read the elegantly inscribed labels. He gave great care to looking genuinely interested, so as not to attract attention to their actual and clandestine transaction.

[Lillith]

“<There is no need to sound so sad, Lao. I have business in the city, perhaps you can help me with it…>”

Lao bounced upright and produced a small wooden box. It was half a cubic foot in length and made of a dark mahogany. Its lacquered finish and white ivory edging suggested to Arden that it was of a Fallien origin, rather than from the long history and dynasties of Akashiman craftsmanship.

“You want more than these from me?” Lao puckered his lips in despair. He turned the box around in his hands, pushed it onto the back edge of the counter, and opened it slowly.

Arden clocked the contents, counted them in a split second and nodded. He put the vial of poison down onto the counter. Lao snapped the lid shut just as quickly as he had opened it. The contents were exactly what had been expected, and their involvement in Arden’s plan could continue.

“<I only ask for information from you>,” Arden rummaged under his cloak and produced a small leather purse. It tinkled with the sound most merchants on Althanas dreamt about. “<Here>,” he tossed it through the canopy and Lao caught it, whilst leaning forwards to push the box onto the counter properly in case it fell.

“Information that costs this much must be truly important,” the old man balanced the purse in his right hand, cupped his fingers about the cracked cowhide, and nodded. “What do you want to know? Maybe Lao knows, maybe he does not, but he will know somebody who does all the same.” The line almost seemed rehearsed to Arden, but he went with it.

“<Tell me what you know about the Spirit War,>” Arden said softly, slowly, and cautiously with baited breath.

Lao’s eyes widened.

“Arden, I cannot say.”

The Spirit War, as Arden knew only too well, was one of the only things outlawed in Capitol City that the common people knew about. Whilst the Samurai had been exiled, and the existence of their survivors suppressed, the council had decreed talk of the kami and the oni to be illegal. They did not wish for their religion to be tarnished with talk of corrupted gods and dishonest spirits. For them, and for most of the people of Akashima, the kami and the Greater Spirits was the most holy of the divine.

To think of them as fickle and jealous was to incite rebellion.

“<I only wish to know if you have materials on the matter,>” Arden doubted the man knew all that much himself. Whilst Lao was a keen merchant, well versed on flora and fauna, he did not seem the pious sort to flaunt his health and soul so eagerly on the altar of excess. “<Books, scholars, and artefacts, that sort of thing.>”

The merchant plucked up the box and handed it over the counter. Arden took it with a nod, but stepped back to continue his vigil of expectation. He stared at Lao until the old man relented.

“<They will have my head for this if they find out. Would that please you?” he shook his head to drive his point home. He left the sanctuary of the counter to walk out onto the thoroughfare, whipping several ignorant passers-by out of his way with a length of reed cane he used as a walking stick. Only it’s crack on bare skin and kimono pleat seemed to bring him as much pleasure in life as making gold.

[Lillith]

“<Pleasing me is such a difficult thing, Lao, but I rather thing that would do it,>” he cracked a menacing smile.

“Follow me,” Lao replied, ignoring his friend’s comment. He turned with surprising speed and darted down the riverbank, sandaled feet finding every puddle and none of the dry dirt. Lao did not walk per say, he more waddled, like a gentleman swan with arthritis.

Arden cocked his head with wry amusement before he skipped after him, box tucked under his left arm, and his right hand on the comforting hilt of Kerria.

“Care to tell me where we are going?” he shouted after him.

Lao shook his head as he wove through the passers-by.

“I did not think you would…” Arden grumbled, quickening his pace to keep up with the old man. He seemed to gain momentum the further they travelled, until he disappeared with a bolt of speed sideways, in between two large and crumbling buildings that appeared, at least from the outside, to have once been quite well to do tea houses.

Arden could only guess which alleyway he had faded into and dove into the gloom after him. He felt entirely uncertain about his decision to try a more conventional method of acquiring information. Somehow, this felt less like a business exchange, and more like some sort of initiation. He was hit with the rank scent of stagnant mud and urine no sooner than he stepped out into a courtyard a few feet through the tunnel.

Fate roared at him in the darkness.

***

The courtyard was roughly a hundred metres wide, quite square, and from Arden’s limited grasp of architecture, at least two centuries old. The columns that lined the space were half crumbled and shattered. The red paint was chipped and faded, and the jade tapestries that hung from the upper balcony were tattered and clinging to the last threads of their mounts.

“This is Shang House, or at the least, it once was,” the merchant stood on the cracked, overgrown flagstones at the centre of the courtyard. He spread his hands wide in a welcoming manner. Arden advanced slowly, uncertain if Lao’s tone was sarcastic or remorseful.

“You…live here?” Arden seemed puzzled. He admired the half faded beauty of the courtyard. It was, despite its dilapidated state, still quite aesthetically appealing. The spiralling lions that danced around those columns that still possessed their décor and the single double door that rested in the centre of each of the three exterior doors were of the Sung-Zhu style. A style Arden had thought long extinct.

“No more, family went to ruin three decades ago. They moved to Tokyun, where caravan now stands and I stay here in city.” Lao pointed to the eastern door.

“What is in there?” Arden followed his gesture. The door was in better condition than the others, which gave the impression it was still in use. Moss and lichen clung to the columns besides it, and two small candles burnt in tall wooden candlesticks either flanks of its opening. Even from here, Arden caught the jasmine aroma, mingled with cloves and sage. It was a spirit warder poultice forwarding, sealing, and binding. Whatever rested beyond was not meant to leave, or others were not meant to find it.

“Enter as my guest. Inside you will see. Tell nobody I showed you, I only do because I know what you are…” the way Lao spoke echoed in Arden’s mind. There was a strange radix in his words, like a spiritual harmony that was laced in every syllable. The statement sounded more clichéd hearing it in the flesh. It had seemed logical when they had sat, months ago, to rehearse their performance.

[Lillith]

Arden recognised the voice of a kami instantly. He nodded, turned on a stern heel, and approached the doorway. Lao watched him; his gaze burning into the swordsman’s back, willing the man, compulsion flaring through the air. Hopes weighed heavily on their shoulders, unable to voice themselves, or make a show of their indecision on their owner’s expressions. One slip up beyond the pale and chaos would reign.

Water dripped from the canopy, which was a balcony supporting whatever ancient secrets were hidden in the tea houses upper recesses. Arden imagined that this place, if it was a business of the Shang household, once used to be a boisterous, happy, and vibrant centre in the river district. He was sad to see war and a fickle economy had ruined such wonders. Then again, Capitol City changed so much and rose up high on old, shattered memories, it would not be long before it crumbled and another tea house rose in its place. Such was the price of progress, independence, and democracy.

He stepped up onto the verge, heavy boots dislodging the long dormant flagstone with a crack. He kicked it in two and then stepped over to the more stable footing beyond. He would have to tread carefully.

“Thank you, Lao,” Arden looked over his shoulder to wave goodbye, but the merchant was gone. The courtyard was deathly silent.

Arden bit his lip, his cold façade and cruel heart not strong enough to shed the doubt at the back of his mind. Whatever awaited him beyond the door would be something murderous, secret, and wrong. He took a deep breath and pressed against the right panel. It swung open with a low creak and released a wave of incense that reminded Arden of the temples to the kami in the spirit warder villages. Lao had prepared the proving grounds of his meeting with loving care, attention to detail, and a focus on authenticity. It seemed to grab his nostrils and pull him through the door.

He stepped inside and heard the door slam shut behind him as he was unceremoniously plunged into total darkness.

***

“Hello?” he croaked hoarsely, dust swarming his vocal chords in the long stagnant air.

No reply came amidst an audible silence.

The darkness seemed to swell, hum, and intensify with every breath. Something, Arden could sense, was waiting for him in the abyss. In the absence of light he was being watched. Slowly he knelt and set the box down on the invisible floor. It rang a hollow sound, indicating marble or veneer. He rose again slowly and pulled Kerria from its sheath just a few inches. It was a show of readiness, without the incitement to violence or swift reprisal.

“<Long ago>,” a horribly inhuman voice pierced Arden’s mind. He rammed the sword back into its hold against his will. “We ruled the heavens>,” it echoed painfully, “and we enslaved the earth>.” Every word was smothered in arrogance, loathing, and self-pity. The emotions were so strong Arden half expected them to form new kami all of their own, to dance and mock mankind for their amusement.

Inside Arden’s chest the fragment of the Komodo that had been embedded in his very soul stirred. The fiery oni writhed, flickered with flame, and seared the swordsman’s stamina. Its phantasmal claws and spine, lined with razor fins, raked, lacerated, and tore at his heart. It burnt with such a pain he staggered in the dark.

“<For centuries we were worshipped in Akashima as gods. For decades we grew tired. For years we warred. In mere days we were betrayed.>” The diminishing scale of time made Arden vomit.

[Lillith]

“Who-are-you?>” he asked, before he fell to one knee. His hand clutched feebly at his chest as the demon within held him on tender hooks between conscious and unconsciousness. The darkness faded with a revival of illumination.

Arden’s worst fears conjured up all sorts of horrors in the shadows. He had pictured hydras, dragons, and the ravenous dead. As the darkness disappeared, and the light of the candles lining the walls to the left and right illuminated the mysterious stranger, they all disappeared. There was no dragon curled up in the ruins, no monster awaiting its next meal. The old man sat at the far side of the room atop a pile of simple white cushions was the opposite of everything the swordsman expected. Did the Komodo suspect? Had they been outwitted already?

“<My name is Ryuu,>” the old man whispered. His voice returned to a normal, untormenting, and human volume. Arden stumbled upright.

“Your name is Dragon?” He wanted to smile at the irony.

“I am known,” it sounded uncomfortable speaking in Common so it paused between every other syllable to wrap a dry tongue around the pronunciation, “by many names. You can also hear me called <Komodo>.”

Atop his pile of cushions in a room decorated with nothing but candle light and plane white washed walls, the Komodo had waited for three weeks. He had eagerly bided his time for the arrival of the Jurugumo’s slayer. The Greater Oni had heard his peers scream in the spirit world, a reverberating cry of torment and bitterness that still echoed in his ears today. His attentions then had been on war, marshalling his Ronin to destroy those who had spurned him centuries ago. His attention was now turned to a hero that dared to defy him.

“I,” Arden clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to attempt to draw his weapon again. “I do not understand?” he questioned. He did understand, very much so, but he could sense the Komodo was hoodwinked by his own path for revenge against the very man who had defeated him centuries ago. The enmity in the creature’s aura was deafening, blinding, and utterly consuming. Arden regained a small amount of hope in the face of his painful burden that their plan would still work.

“I can assure you, <Saiketsu> that you will understand all in good time.” The use of the word Arden had spoken to the Greater Oni in the village of Hallow brought a smile to the old man’s haggard lips. It brought nothing but a painful flashback of Arden’s death, and subsequent resurrection to the swordsman’s mind.

The candles flickered violently as if the man’s soul were a hurricane through the shadows. Whatever purpose the room had been used for when it was a teahouse, its sole reason for existence now was to contain and mask the oni’s presence at the heart of the largest city south of the Comb Mountains. Arden had completely missed it, but then again, he had not been looking for a conduit – he had been looking for a four hundred foot like lizard.

“You will sit and I will tell you all you wish to know about the Spirit War.” Arden sat, with a heavy and sudden thud. He was compelled into compliance in the presence of the Dragon God without a hope of resistance, but with every ounce of eagerness to use whatever knowledge the Komodo had against his greatest enemy.

The Komodo began to recount the long tale of the Spirit War. It was a historical epic that spanned centuries in the heavens, and mere decades on the young planes of Akashima. It began with the jealousy of the Greater Kami over the other Thayne of Althanas. Arden had heard this all before, though it had been many lifetimes ago. He had learnt it as a young boy in Yanbo, and again as a Janelle Blood Mage, long before he had been reborn as the Silent Swordsman, and a member of the Tantalum in Fae Scara Brae.

[Lillith]

“After years of blasphemy, the Greater Kami began to argue, and split into two factions.” The old man did not once look up from his vigil as he talked. From beneath the brim of his wide straw hat and behind the curls of his long, overgrown moustache he wielded a power of compulsion and corruption that was benign in the vessel that contained it. Arden could only shudder at the thought of what the Komodo would do if it ever broke through the spirit barrier proper.

“The Greater Kami and the Greater Oni…” Arden mused. They were eight good spirits who remained loyal to the laws of the world, and four enraged proprietors of anarchy.

“We grew tired of the ignorance of the children of Akashima, and thus we travelled through the Great Veil. We descended from the heavens ablaze, instilling fear and terror, emotions we swell on into the hearts of the people.” Those days had been called the Lantern Festival. For decades afterwards, lanterns were lit at dusk for each and every one of the souls that had perished in the genocide. The festival had diminished in size over the years into one grand festival held in the zenith of spring. People from all across Akashima came to Capitol City to remember the dead from a war they could not acknowledge. It was the one time they could do so without reprisal.

“The Elder Kami spurned our actions in a heartbeat. They declared my brothers and sisters as usurpers, betrayers, and egotistical zealots,” the old man coughed. He was referring to himself, The Crane, The Jurugumo, and The Crab. They were the embodiments of War, Jealousy, Caprice, and Seduction.

“You broke the Divine Tenet!” In the vessel’s weakness, Arden broke through the containment to shout his loathing of the creature before him.

“NO!” The chamber shook, and several candles on either rank fluttered out of life. The wisps of smoke drifted up into the rafters. The black and white marble flagstones seemed to ripple, as if they were coming undone beneath the rage and the wrath.

“We reformed it. The Elder Kami was content to watch the world from the heavens, and to dance with the rightful dead when they ascended into the eternity ever after. We, however, grew weak, whilst Akashima grew complacent.” The Elder Kami became patrons of many things, but chief amongst their signs was one of the prime emotions. Those beings that became the Greater Oni were driven by war, desire, greed and death. In peacetime, Akashima had none of those things. To feed themselves life, they had to create chaos.

“For almost a decade we ruled the country, erecting temples and towers in our name from which we could behold the mortal slaves as they did our bidding, as it was intended.”

Arden could only shake his head in disgust.

“Then a lone mortal rose from the rubble.” The disgust in the Komodo’s voice was not obvious, but it rang true in Arden’s soul, and the oni in his own heart hissed and roared at the mention of the Hero’s name.

That Hero had many names.

“Lao Sheng,” Arden whispered.

[Lillith]

The chamber shook once more and several of the tiles cracked. They broke up as if something were trying to claw its way out of the dirt. Lao Sheng had gained the patronage of the Elder Kami through his passion, charity, and perseverance. With their blessing and their love he rose to challenge the Greater Oni. True to their own laws, the Greater Kami refused to come to Althanas to fight the Oni themselves – the mortals of Akashima had to free themselves from their own emotions; they had to conquer their own fear.

The first of the Greater Oni had died at the top of the temple in the centre of Capitol City. That creature had been the spider’s queen, the Jurugumo.

***

“When Lao Sheng defiled my sister’s corpse and entombed her beneath the Tokyun Gate , I vowed to never rest. I vowed to never be held captive long enough to let him go unpunished.”

There was a conviction in the creature’s words that Arden almost admired. Vengeance was something keenly instilled in the fabric of Arden’s being. It was what drove him to continue, to live, and to breathe. His vengeance, however, was reserved for those that deserved it. Lao Sheng had saved Akashima from the bitter jealousy and egotism of the Kami who dared to think themselves better than their kin. A hero like that deserved more than martyrdom. He deserved immortality.

“When he turned the art of the spirit warders in on itself, my opportunity for that revenge was gifted to me.” The man looked up at last, revealing an ancient and venerable face full of lines and folds of skin. Somewhere beneath the scowl there was a human being struggling. Arden could see now that the creature before him was simply a vessel for the Komodo. The Dragon God was simply channelling his voice through this poor servant, from the skeins of his pagoda in a distant nowhere.

There was still time.

“Do you know the story of the Janelle and the Kazumi, or is that life still lost to you?”

Arden did not question how the creature knew who he was; he had already been tricked into an audience, brought here on what he thought was guile, but instead was fate. The rivalry and bitter jealousy that consumed the oni had also defeated the spirit warders in the Spirit War.

“The Kazumi borrowed their power from the Kami; they used life to quell the hatred of the Oni, to send them back through The Veil.”

The old man nodded and spread his arms wide. The nails on his fingers were several inches long, curled into yellowing rolls of flaking bone. Whoever he had been before he was possessed, he had long ceased to be. Only the Oni kept the corpse in motion now.
“You however refused to watch your tribe be decimated, and refused to use such futile techniques against us. Spirit sigils are good for lesser oni, but did nothing against gods.”

The futility of the struggle had driven the Janelle tribe to turn the spirit warder art in on itself. Instead of life, they began to draw on death, on the blood of themselves and others to combat the Greater Oni. With his blood, his life force pulsating from cuts on his wrists, Lao Sheng had mounted the steps of the temple and corrupted the Jurugumo’s life force. The tendrils of blood had darted up the jade steps, piercing shadowy offspring, and sundering the hold the Greater Oni had on the people of the city.

[Lillith]

“You made blood magic…you broke the laws of life to defeat us. A sacrifice as pointless as it was stupid.” He spat.

Arden could only agree with the Komodo. Unlike Lao Sheng, however, the Janelle tribe had been unable to remain moral and devoted to their pledges as spirit warders. The Blood Arcana had consumed them, and turned them from the path they had set out on. Even after the Crane, the Komodo and the Crab had been bested in the three battles of the Yanbo Siege, the Greater Kami refused to give patronage to the Janelle. When the Greater Kami withdrew from the world for good, becoming isolationist and leaving the providence of men to their own design and to their children’s whims, they left the Blood mages without hope, gods, and guidance.

“I would lay down my own life to seal you away, Komodo. Though my people have lived in exile for centuries, it was a price we paid willingly.”

“Yet here I am, set to rise from the depths of the Great Temple once more. Pray tell me, Arden Janelle, if that price is not too high now?” Arden gritted his teeth. Though he was in no danger of true death, if he did not break free of the Komodo’s dominion, he would never stop him.

“We shall see…”

“That is what Lao Shang said. That is what you said.”


In the years after the war, Lao Sheng had built a vast temple complex in the Comb Mountains. Its vast sprawling gardens and central pyramid was an edifice to the Greater Kami. The Hero believed that in paying tribute to the Old Gods, they would welcome the Janelle back into the communion with the Spirit World.

Lao Sheng’s prayers were not answered.

In his despair, Lao Sheng took up the blade that had cleaved the thorax of the Jurugumo in two, decapitated the Komodo, clipped the wings of the Crane and severed the claws of the Crab. He ventured alone into the depths of the grand ziggurat that stood at the very centre of the complex. In the inner chamber, he stood over the sarcophagus of his beloved, who had died in the war, and wept.

His tears became puddles, which froze in stasis and formed great mirrors. When he drove his blade through his heart, and fell upon his wife, asleep and peaceful and together at last, the Greater Kami visited the plane of Althanas one last time. They imbued the mirrors with their power, and transfixed them to the inner dome of the central chamber. With a bolt of energy, they smote the ziggurat, forming a central well from its highest peak down to the dark chamber. Here, on the steps of the Blood Altar, when the time was right, the people of Akashima could call their Fathers and Mothers to their side one last time.

It was the one place on Althanas where the veil that divided the spirit world and the corporeal plane was still weak enough for mortals to penetrate. Though the Kami left on Althanas could still slip between the cracks in time, it was only in death that a soul could ascend to be with the kami. Once, before The Hero, the spirit warders had possessed the power and knowledge to walk freely and converse with the Elder Kami day and night. The betrayal of the Oni and the civil war had ended that.

There, in the Howling Ziggurat, the Greater Oni would be sundered once more.

On The Ziggurat and the Blood Mages, a Brief History of Akashima.

[Lillith]

Arden’s endurance swiftly failed him and he stopped resisting the corrupting aura of the Komodo on his soul. His muscles, primed and rippling relaxed, and his body went limp.

“I will do anything, anything to make that sacrifice worth it,” though weak, his voice maintained a malefic tone that brought a smile to the Komodo’s withered face. The yellow teeth and rotting gums reinforced the fact that the oni had no gumption in taking another’s life to further his ends.

Ju, in the village of Hallow had been the first. The warriors of the Ronin tribes the Komodo had subjugated had been next. How many more, Arden wondered, would have to die before the Komodo’s power play came to fruition?

“I brought you here, Arden.”

“I am sorry…what?”

“I have guided your every move since you set foot in Akashima. I have plied a grand strategy to bring you here to your knees. From the Hallow trail to the Capitol, your sister, your family, they have all succumbed to this plan. Do you remember what I said to you…when I touched your soul?”

Arden hoped he could one day forget the moment he had appeared in the Spirit World. When he had died in Lillith’s arms, he had expected to drift in the void between life and the afterlife. Instead, the Komodo had been waiting for him. The vast red dragon of the Oni’s spirit form had leered down over his shattered soul and wreathed Arden in flame. That flame still burnt his heart, weakened his resolve, and made him a puppet to the Dragon God. Arden reflected back to that moment and repeated the words the dragon had whispered into the very fabric of his being. At least, the Komodo thought had had Arden in his grasp.

“Soon…I will torment you for real.” Sweat formed on his brow, fear and the humidity of the windowless chamber adding to his distress. Beneath his red robes his armpits hummed and his back drowned. “Soon I shall, but I am a creature of habit. War, contest, martial prowess drive my being. I have raised you to a new height, Arden. You are not ready now, so you shall weep this night safe with the knowledge that when we next converge. It will be a battle worthy of history’s recollection.”

With a thud that extinguished several more candles, the corpse jolted upright. A second eruption of air lashed out at the stands, extinguishing long lines as if a whip had struck the racks. Candles flew through the air like wax rain. Arden watched the motion, his eyes transfixed on the twisted limbs and drab white tunic.

“When we meet again…you will meet the Dragon God, and cower before the Ryuu No Shinzou!”

Arden, finally aware of the Oni’s presence with a taste of iron in the air sighed with relief when he felt the body empty. The Komodo left the old man’s corpse and after a few brief moments of lingering power it fell in a heap to the pillows. Even though now quite lifeless and long dead, Arden muttered a silent prayer for the man’s mausoleum. He caught his breath, finally able to breathe, able to move, able to feel his own heartbeat.

[Revenant]

Full rubric, light commentary requested.

Plot: 23

Storytelling (6) – The three separate scenes here are interesting, but they all involve different aspects of the main story as a whole and none of them are explored in enough detail to tie them together into a cohesive story.

Setting (8) – The general setting here is very detailed, which is both the reason why you scored so well and didn’t score higher. The genre theme of the thread was interesting, but confusing in parts for someone not as familiar with all the terms that you use.

Pacing (9) – Superb use of time jumps to switch between scenes. All posts ended on what felt like a natural break point.

Character: 18

Communication (7) – While the communication really drove this thread, your character’s voices tended to blend together, as if they all had the same personalities.

Action (6) – Lillith’s into really drew me into the thread, and the end with Arden did as well, but the middle part lagged behind, putting a real break in the thread’s tempo.

Persona (5) – As noted in the communication part, the characters were well written but felt like they blended together. Often it felt like there was no real differentiation between them.

Prose: 23

Mechanics (9) – Your grasp of writing made this a pleasant read.

Clarity (7) – The genre theme of the thread was interesting, but confusing in parts for someone not as familiar with all the terms that you use.

Technique (7) – The way you wrote the switching between Akashiman and Tradespeak felt very natural. The complete shift of focus from Lillith to Arden halfway through the thread made it feel like two separate threads put together.

Wildcard: 5

TOTAL: 69

Lillith Kazumi gains 1297 exp and 190 gp.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added.