Limitless
10-16-2004, 01:12 PM
This isn't so much a short story as a combination of two sparring posts I made out of boredom a few months ago, but they make a small short story I believe. If you read, be cool and tell me what you thaught.
The arrows sailed through the air, arching high before plummeting to the ground, a high pitched whine sounding as they fell gracefully at their target. Fortunately for said target, a thick tree line of wide trees stood guard at his flank as Shosuke listened to the sound of the piercing arrows wedging themselves into the wood he now leaned against.
Long since had the frantic young warrior cast off his restrictive armor, now only garbed in a large, loose fitted white shirt tucked into billowing black pants decorated with intricately sewn, golden threaded stars. But his clothes were no longer as grand as they had been a mere day before. Now, his finely made pants were frayed and covered with dust kicked up from furious travel across the land, the pure dove whiteness of his shirt now stained a deep, foreboding shade of red. The color of blood. Very little of which belonging to him.
Panting laboriously, the blood soaked young man lay back against the tree, his head dangling forward as the life fluid of others and his own perspiration mixed and mingled before falling into an ever increasing stain of red upon his black leggings. Dreary, dull blue eyes peered out from beneath heavily drooping eyelids as the warrior fought to stave off unconsciousness. His legs were thrown haphazardly out before him, the weary samurai’s left thigh sported an arrow gained on his latest foray to break the enemy line and get to his master’s aid. Stabbing from the ground before him was his blood covered, trusty blade, still sharp as the day it was created, showing no signs of wear despite having sliced through hundreds of enemy blades and armor in the past day.
All around him the forest was deadly silent, it’s quiet only broken from time to time to announce the fall of yet another volley of threatening arrows. Despite the fact that night had fallen, the sky was alight with foreboding colors of red and orange. Had Shosuke been brave enough, and had the strength to lean outwards to look once more towards his master’s estate, he would have immediately noticed that it was ablaze, dancing with the fires of hell.
Shosuke’s mind still rebelled against him, refusing to believe what had come to pass. Reports of marauding bandits in large numbers had been flowing steadily to Shosuke’s master. They had sacked village after village, killing all the men and children and taking the females as slaves for some time now on his lord’s land, and, no longer trusting in the group he had formerly dispatched to take care of the situation, Lord Takatori had sent his personal force of elite soldiers, led by his own prodigy, Tetsuoshi Shosuke. Despite his lack of age and expirence, Takatori trusted in the young samurai’s skills as much as he trusted his own blade, and therefore entrusted him with this mission to bring the devils to justice. And so, as ordered, the young man and his force of 50 Samurai set off on the tip of an informant, heading for a village far to the south of his Lord’s holdings.
It was a set up from the beginning. Halfway to the village, Shosuke’s troop was attacked by a large, hostile force. But these were not nomadic thieves or bandits, they were Samurai. In the ensuing battle, Shosuke killed many men he had once known as his allies, and upon ending the combat, realized what had happened.
Takatori’s son had been missing for a month now, and starting about the same time, many groups of Shosuke’s master’s troops had began to go missing, small groups lost in skirmishes, nothing to drastic, but now, looking back on it, Shosuke easily saw the pattern of the missing men. They were of Takatori Reji’s most loyal warriors as well as his personal body guards and many others known to be friends with the young lord.
On a whole, in the last month since the disappearances had started, over 500 had gone missing including those sent to kill the ‘bandits’ a week earlier. After the battle, only Shosuke and three others of his troop remained alive. None of their opposition still drew breath. There had been 159 of them. That left almost three fourths of the enemies expected strength unaccounted for.
Confiscating four of the healthiest living mounts, Shosuke and his three remaining survivors set off as fast as possible to try and get back to their lord before anything happened to him.
Now, as Shosuke reflected, his breathing beginning to even out as he leaned heavily upon his blade as he stood, favoring his left leg, he was all that was left. Quickly, the samurai snapped the shaft of the arrow in his thigh, audibly gasping at the searing pain as he broke off most of the arrow, leaving only it’s head and an inch of wood still embedded in his fleshy leg.
Regaining his strength, the great, blood strewn warrior pulled his sword from its place in the ground, holding it limply in his languid hand. The sound of approaching armored foes was easily heard above the shouting.
The young man mentally solidified himself, preparing for what would inevitably be his last stand. Stepping from behind his tree, the warrior’s mouth fell agape with a ferocious war cry as the formerly lifeless arm flexed powerfully, his hand grasping the sword’s hilt almost painfully as he rounded the tree and exploded forward with unmatched speed.
If he would die this day, they would be coming with him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ominous thunder rolled across the landscape, accompanied instantly by a blinding streak of lightning stabbing downwards from the heavens, as if cast by the gods themselves. The illumination it cast was unneeded, the night sky already ablaze with a rich tapestry of reds and oranges, flecks of sparkling, burning materials soaring skyward on the wind through the angry red sky and into the dark abyss beyond. Below, what resembled nothing more than a huge expanse of burning foliage was in reality the great Lord Takatori’s previously splendid, sprawling estate. Silhouettes of dancing, jeering figures could be seen even as far away as atop the hill that overlooked the site of the now burning town and estate of Lord Takatori.
Pain, rage, hatred, betrayal; these were the emotions that kept Shosuke on his feet, his eyes permanently locked on the fiery grave of his Liege Lord. He watched on, refusing to close his eyes to the annoying sting of smoke as it reached his eyes. For anyone but Shosuke it would have been impossible to know whether his eyes were watering from the pain of keeping his eyes exposed to the smoke or if he were crying.
The distinct clank of samurai armor announced the presence of an observer, and instantly Shosuke’s gaze moved towards the sound’s origin. The moment the black haired samurai’s eyes fell upon the person before him severe detestation became openly evident upon his visage; eyes alight with barely checked ire, his lip arched in revulsion, teeth clenched so tight the samurai’s gums began to bleed as the tattered form of Tetsuoshi Shosuke stood.
Shosuke’s garb was ragged and seemingly threadbare in comparison to how they had appeared before. The previously finely made shirt of the purest white now no longer was no longer color of a dove, but shown with a sheen of slick blackish-red blood, and by the very few tears in the fabric it was evident that very little of it was his own. Patches of white peered through the blood-soaked threads, or what should have been white were it not so dirtied by the kicked up dust and dirt from battle that it appeared almost tan or brown now. His leggings were still mostly in tact, it’s raven colored fiber hiding the coat of blood that layered it quite efficiently to any but the most close observer, and completely undetectable in the heat of night. The only evidence of blood from the waste down was the absence of the occasional golden star stitched upon his pants and the crimson spatter upon his now tanned socks. All in all he appeared lowly, beaten, and ragged.
“I had heard you fought your way through my lines towards this location” spoke the new arrival, a deep voice emanating from his place in the shadows, “I knew you would be here. This used to be where you were trained, neh? It’s only proper that you die here as well, looking like nothing more than a detestable ronin!”
Stepping from the shadows was a being straight from a nightmare. Obsidian armor shown brightly across his entire body, the plates of armor lined with splendid gold about its edges. Beneath was obviously a silken kimono of the finest Chinese craftsmanship, black as night with no markings upon it. At his waist hung his two blades, the short, dagger-like sword for indoor fighting, and the long, powerful, two-handed killing blade wielded by all samurai not only as weapon, but as badge of status to let all know they were samurai. His swords were sheathed in deep black scabbards, his left hand gripping the top half of the sheath, his right hand hovering over it prepared to draw and kill at the slightest movement or sound. But it was his head that made this menacing costume as threatening as it was. Resting upon his head, in the now obvious favored color of pitch black, shinning in the moonlight, resided a cursed and extravagant horned helm, horrible horns extending from it to give him the appearance of an evil kami come to plague the Takatori Family. Or at least, part of the Takatori family…
Shosuke’s bloodied mouth shot open as barked out, “RONIN?! Rather a ronin than a bastard who betrayed his Lord, his Clan, his Land…And his father! Ronin I may be now, but your coming to me has saved me the trouble of hunting you down you worthless, lice ridden barbarian!”
At the insults, Takatori Reji, the youngest son of the now deceased Lord Takatori, simply grinned in amusement as he continued to step closer to his one time rival for his father’s attention.
“You did this to your own land! You bastard! You burned your father’s home, YOUR home, to the ground as well as the most prosperous city in the fiefdom, and for what? It’s smoldering remains?! You disgust me! You destroyed the very thing you wanted to take over you imbecile!” Shosuke’s tattered form was now slowly advancing towards the equally forthcoming form of Reji, his hand already grasping his unsheathed sword, having lost his sheath hours ago during battle. “And worst of all, your stupidity has brought you before me. All this is for naught, because right here, right now, I’ll end your worthless existence!”
The last was shouted in unison with another deafening clap of thunder accompanied by lightning, and as if the lightning resembled Shosuke’s speed, he was swiftly baring down on his foe.
Instantly the black-haired samurai was upon the obsidian fighter, Reji fluidly wiping out his blade and lashing out to decapitate the lighting quick Shosuke. The sword’s edge slashed through the air, a distinct whistle sounding as it bore down on it’s target.
The most minuscule fraction of a second was all that separated the blade’s length from Shosuke’s neck when he suddenly snapped out of existence, his form simply dematerializing right before the traitorous samurai’s eyes. Takatori Reji’s blade swiped through empty air for a moment before he stopped it, dumbfounded and confused.
But the confusion only lasted a moment, his mind racing as he remembered rumors told about his father’s estate about Tetsuoshi Shosuke’s abilities. He had heard that in a fight Tetsuoshi was likely to simply disappear and only reappear with his sword embedded in his foe.
Panic lanced through Reji as he looked around swiftly, his terror stricken eyes dancing rapidly around to find his enemy. And find him he did…
It happened much to fast for Reji to react. Tetsuoshi Shosuke fell downwards like a bird of prey, his flexed, right arm held across his body, his sword prone to dice armor and rend flesh and bone. As he dove downwards, Shosuke’s previously withheld anger, rage, disgust, all mingled and focused towards slashing with unheard of speed and power to destroy his enemy.
“Tetsuoshi Shuzoku Ryu Koukuu Ryuu!”
It was finished. Tetsuoshi Shosuke was on his feet cleansing his blade before his inept opponent’s blood was sent pouring from his body, a gaping crater of slick crimson liquid spewing from it’s length, drawn from his left shoulder nearly to his groin, his body saved from being split in twain by the barest fragment of muscle.
It was done…
The arrows sailed through the air, arching high before plummeting to the ground, a high pitched whine sounding as they fell gracefully at their target. Fortunately for said target, a thick tree line of wide trees stood guard at his flank as Shosuke listened to the sound of the piercing arrows wedging themselves into the wood he now leaned against.
Long since had the frantic young warrior cast off his restrictive armor, now only garbed in a large, loose fitted white shirt tucked into billowing black pants decorated with intricately sewn, golden threaded stars. But his clothes were no longer as grand as they had been a mere day before. Now, his finely made pants were frayed and covered with dust kicked up from furious travel across the land, the pure dove whiteness of his shirt now stained a deep, foreboding shade of red. The color of blood. Very little of which belonging to him.
Panting laboriously, the blood soaked young man lay back against the tree, his head dangling forward as the life fluid of others and his own perspiration mixed and mingled before falling into an ever increasing stain of red upon his black leggings. Dreary, dull blue eyes peered out from beneath heavily drooping eyelids as the warrior fought to stave off unconsciousness. His legs were thrown haphazardly out before him, the weary samurai’s left thigh sported an arrow gained on his latest foray to break the enemy line and get to his master’s aid. Stabbing from the ground before him was his blood covered, trusty blade, still sharp as the day it was created, showing no signs of wear despite having sliced through hundreds of enemy blades and armor in the past day.
All around him the forest was deadly silent, it’s quiet only broken from time to time to announce the fall of yet another volley of threatening arrows. Despite the fact that night had fallen, the sky was alight with foreboding colors of red and orange. Had Shosuke been brave enough, and had the strength to lean outwards to look once more towards his master’s estate, he would have immediately noticed that it was ablaze, dancing with the fires of hell.
Shosuke’s mind still rebelled against him, refusing to believe what had come to pass. Reports of marauding bandits in large numbers had been flowing steadily to Shosuke’s master. They had sacked village after village, killing all the men and children and taking the females as slaves for some time now on his lord’s land, and, no longer trusting in the group he had formerly dispatched to take care of the situation, Lord Takatori had sent his personal force of elite soldiers, led by his own prodigy, Tetsuoshi Shosuke. Despite his lack of age and expirence, Takatori trusted in the young samurai’s skills as much as he trusted his own blade, and therefore entrusted him with this mission to bring the devils to justice. And so, as ordered, the young man and his force of 50 Samurai set off on the tip of an informant, heading for a village far to the south of his Lord’s holdings.
It was a set up from the beginning. Halfway to the village, Shosuke’s troop was attacked by a large, hostile force. But these were not nomadic thieves or bandits, they were Samurai. In the ensuing battle, Shosuke killed many men he had once known as his allies, and upon ending the combat, realized what had happened.
Takatori’s son had been missing for a month now, and starting about the same time, many groups of Shosuke’s master’s troops had began to go missing, small groups lost in skirmishes, nothing to drastic, but now, looking back on it, Shosuke easily saw the pattern of the missing men. They were of Takatori Reji’s most loyal warriors as well as his personal body guards and many others known to be friends with the young lord.
On a whole, in the last month since the disappearances had started, over 500 had gone missing including those sent to kill the ‘bandits’ a week earlier. After the battle, only Shosuke and three others of his troop remained alive. None of their opposition still drew breath. There had been 159 of them. That left almost three fourths of the enemies expected strength unaccounted for.
Confiscating four of the healthiest living mounts, Shosuke and his three remaining survivors set off as fast as possible to try and get back to their lord before anything happened to him.
Now, as Shosuke reflected, his breathing beginning to even out as he leaned heavily upon his blade as he stood, favoring his left leg, he was all that was left. Quickly, the samurai snapped the shaft of the arrow in his thigh, audibly gasping at the searing pain as he broke off most of the arrow, leaving only it’s head and an inch of wood still embedded in his fleshy leg.
Regaining his strength, the great, blood strewn warrior pulled his sword from its place in the ground, holding it limply in his languid hand. The sound of approaching armored foes was easily heard above the shouting.
The young man mentally solidified himself, preparing for what would inevitably be his last stand. Stepping from behind his tree, the warrior’s mouth fell agape with a ferocious war cry as the formerly lifeless arm flexed powerfully, his hand grasping the sword’s hilt almost painfully as he rounded the tree and exploded forward with unmatched speed.
If he would die this day, they would be coming with him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ominous thunder rolled across the landscape, accompanied instantly by a blinding streak of lightning stabbing downwards from the heavens, as if cast by the gods themselves. The illumination it cast was unneeded, the night sky already ablaze with a rich tapestry of reds and oranges, flecks of sparkling, burning materials soaring skyward on the wind through the angry red sky and into the dark abyss beyond. Below, what resembled nothing more than a huge expanse of burning foliage was in reality the great Lord Takatori’s previously splendid, sprawling estate. Silhouettes of dancing, jeering figures could be seen even as far away as atop the hill that overlooked the site of the now burning town and estate of Lord Takatori.
Pain, rage, hatred, betrayal; these were the emotions that kept Shosuke on his feet, his eyes permanently locked on the fiery grave of his Liege Lord. He watched on, refusing to close his eyes to the annoying sting of smoke as it reached his eyes. For anyone but Shosuke it would have been impossible to know whether his eyes were watering from the pain of keeping his eyes exposed to the smoke or if he were crying.
The distinct clank of samurai armor announced the presence of an observer, and instantly Shosuke’s gaze moved towards the sound’s origin. The moment the black haired samurai’s eyes fell upon the person before him severe detestation became openly evident upon his visage; eyes alight with barely checked ire, his lip arched in revulsion, teeth clenched so tight the samurai’s gums began to bleed as the tattered form of Tetsuoshi Shosuke stood.
Shosuke’s garb was ragged and seemingly threadbare in comparison to how they had appeared before. The previously finely made shirt of the purest white now no longer was no longer color of a dove, but shown with a sheen of slick blackish-red blood, and by the very few tears in the fabric it was evident that very little of it was his own. Patches of white peered through the blood-soaked threads, or what should have been white were it not so dirtied by the kicked up dust and dirt from battle that it appeared almost tan or brown now. His leggings were still mostly in tact, it’s raven colored fiber hiding the coat of blood that layered it quite efficiently to any but the most close observer, and completely undetectable in the heat of night. The only evidence of blood from the waste down was the absence of the occasional golden star stitched upon his pants and the crimson spatter upon his now tanned socks. All in all he appeared lowly, beaten, and ragged.
“I had heard you fought your way through my lines towards this location” spoke the new arrival, a deep voice emanating from his place in the shadows, “I knew you would be here. This used to be where you were trained, neh? It’s only proper that you die here as well, looking like nothing more than a detestable ronin!”
Stepping from the shadows was a being straight from a nightmare. Obsidian armor shown brightly across his entire body, the plates of armor lined with splendid gold about its edges. Beneath was obviously a silken kimono of the finest Chinese craftsmanship, black as night with no markings upon it. At his waist hung his two blades, the short, dagger-like sword for indoor fighting, and the long, powerful, two-handed killing blade wielded by all samurai not only as weapon, but as badge of status to let all know they were samurai. His swords were sheathed in deep black scabbards, his left hand gripping the top half of the sheath, his right hand hovering over it prepared to draw and kill at the slightest movement or sound. But it was his head that made this menacing costume as threatening as it was. Resting upon his head, in the now obvious favored color of pitch black, shinning in the moonlight, resided a cursed and extravagant horned helm, horrible horns extending from it to give him the appearance of an evil kami come to plague the Takatori Family. Or at least, part of the Takatori family…
Shosuke’s bloodied mouth shot open as barked out, “RONIN?! Rather a ronin than a bastard who betrayed his Lord, his Clan, his Land…And his father! Ronin I may be now, but your coming to me has saved me the trouble of hunting you down you worthless, lice ridden barbarian!”
At the insults, Takatori Reji, the youngest son of the now deceased Lord Takatori, simply grinned in amusement as he continued to step closer to his one time rival for his father’s attention.
“You did this to your own land! You bastard! You burned your father’s home, YOUR home, to the ground as well as the most prosperous city in the fiefdom, and for what? It’s smoldering remains?! You disgust me! You destroyed the very thing you wanted to take over you imbecile!” Shosuke’s tattered form was now slowly advancing towards the equally forthcoming form of Reji, his hand already grasping his unsheathed sword, having lost his sheath hours ago during battle. “And worst of all, your stupidity has brought you before me. All this is for naught, because right here, right now, I’ll end your worthless existence!”
The last was shouted in unison with another deafening clap of thunder accompanied by lightning, and as if the lightning resembled Shosuke’s speed, he was swiftly baring down on his foe.
Instantly the black-haired samurai was upon the obsidian fighter, Reji fluidly wiping out his blade and lashing out to decapitate the lighting quick Shosuke. The sword’s edge slashed through the air, a distinct whistle sounding as it bore down on it’s target.
The most minuscule fraction of a second was all that separated the blade’s length from Shosuke’s neck when he suddenly snapped out of existence, his form simply dematerializing right before the traitorous samurai’s eyes. Takatori Reji’s blade swiped through empty air for a moment before he stopped it, dumbfounded and confused.
But the confusion only lasted a moment, his mind racing as he remembered rumors told about his father’s estate about Tetsuoshi Shosuke’s abilities. He had heard that in a fight Tetsuoshi was likely to simply disappear and only reappear with his sword embedded in his foe.
Panic lanced through Reji as he looked around swiftly, his terror stricken eyes dancing rapidly around to find his enemy. And find him he did…
It happened much to fast for Reji to react. Tetsuoshi Shosuke fell downwards like a bird of prey, his flexed, right arm held across his body, his sword prone to dice armor and rend flesh and bone. As he dove downwards, Shosuke’s previously withheld anger, rage, disgust, all mingled and focused towards slashing with unheard of speed and power to destroy his enemy.
“Tetsuoshi Shuzoku Ryu Koukuu Ryuu!”
It was finished. Tetsuoshi Shosuke was on his feet cleansing his blade before his inept opponent’s blood was sent pouring from his body, a gaping crater of slick crimson liquid spewing from it’s length, drawn from his left shoulder nearly to his groin, his body saved from being split in twain by the barest fragment of muscle.
It was done…