AmongHeroes

Musha shugyō - A Feudal Japanese RP

With the air chilled on the wings of descending nightfall, the buckwheat soba noodles steamed with the vigor of a stoked forge as the yatai owner spooned them into a ceramic bowl, and passed it to a waiting patron. Fujii Masatoki payed the cart owner, and thanked him, before adjusting the two swords at his waist so he could bend closer to the bench-table on the cart’s side.

Masatoki’s large, tall, muscle bound frame setting against the yatai appeared like a bear before a cricket cage to those walking the street. Several children even stopped to marvel at the strange kuma eating noodles in the middle of their village. The samurai’s long, full head of jet-black hair was not kept in the traditional chonmage topknot, but rather pulled back into a wide tail at the back of his head. This affectation only added to his animalistic visage, and it played well against his deep set eyes, clean shaven face, and heavy brow. Masatoki looked far older than his 26 years.

The noodle cart owner appraised his unusual patron as politely and discreetly as he could manage. It was not everyday that the cart owner received a samurai, much less one that looked as if he could pull a slab of granite apart with his bare hands. Further, the mon depicting twin jumping fish on the samurai’s sleeves was one the man did not recognize.

Eventually, the cart owner’s curiosity got the better of him, and he nodded to the samurai. “Have your travels been peaceful, sir?”

Masatoki looked up from his meal, and affixed the cart owner with an appraising stare. Slurping down a length of noodles, the samurai’s features softened, and he nodded.

“It has been peaceful enough.” Masatoki’s mouth quirked into a bare smile. “Though I suspect you mean to ask, ‘Where are you from?’”

The cart owner fell silent, and bowed his head.

“Mmm,” Masatoki hummed. “Very well, then. I am a son of the Fujii clan, and hail from the Awa province of Shikoku.”

The cart owner’s eyes widened in awe. This samurai was indeed far from home. It was not unusual to see samurai from other clans and fiefs traveling through Iruhada Derogi’s lands, but the cart owner had never known of one that had ranged from so far south. Shuffling around his cart, the man leaned over slightly towards the southern samurai.

“Are you here answering the call of the Daimyo, sir? Or perhaps you’re seeking to sell your skill to that of the village leaders in their revolt against Lord Iruhada?”

Masatoki looked at the cart owner with an inquisitive lift to his brow. He had set out from Awa months earlier, intent on finding purpose and fortune in musha shugyō. As the youngest of three sons to the head of the Fujii clan, Masatoki was lacking in the life of duty his older brothers enjoyed. As hatamoto servants to the Tokugawa, the Fujii maintained a relatively prominent status in Shikoku. Yet, Masatoki’s place within his family gave him little real responsibility. He yearned for adventure, and for a means to bring tangible honor to his name. So, with his father’s blessing, Masatoki had set out into the greater world with lofty goals, and very little real strategy on how to achieve them.

He had traveled north on a lark, following no real leads, but rather an ethereal intuition that seemed to pulse at the fore of his imagination. Testing his skills, and proving his mettle amidst a revolt would go a long way to giving focus, notoriety, and purpose to Masatoki’s quest.

Turning upon the stool, Masatoki oriented himself fully towards the cart owner. Grasping towards one of the posts of the cart, Masatoki took the handle of the kanabō that had been leaning there. The head of the long weapon of hardwood and iron studs came to rest between Masatoki’s feet, and he hunched forward to rest a forearm on the iron ring that was affixed to the hilt. There was a twinkle in the large man’s dark, inky eyes.

The cart owner took a step back, stunned in disbelief when faced with the full effect of the hulking samurai.

“Now,” Masatoki said evenly, licking broth from his lips, “tell me all you know of this revolt.”

Musha shugyō - A Feudal Japanese RP

@Jbcool--Character sheet submitted. I love the story premise.

Musha shugyō - A Feudal Japanese RP (Interested?)

@Jbcool I'm still around and eagerly waiting as well.

Musha shugyō - A Feudal Japanese RP (Interested?)

I'd be interested in this. An excellent RP idea.

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

---

Like a wraith he emerged. Bathed in obsidian, and coated with the falling vestiges of the sea, Sammael stepped from the churning waves. His booted feet crunched soundlessly upon the wetted sands—though stealth, it would seem, had been discarded the moment Kain had erupted into his tormented conflagration. In spite of it, the SOLDIERS still maintained an element of surprise via their quarry’s unsuspecting disposition. These poor Archadian souls were mere pawns in a game they had already lost. Moving up the beach, Samm fell loosely in behind Carmen. Her orders were clear, and their targets lay before them like chaff before the wind.

The Archadian’s moved with only a thin repertoire of military tactical knowledge at their disposal. Faced with Carmen’s combined assault of surprise and overwhelming force of action, the infantry visibly faltered; disoriented and confused. Several of the men discharged their aged long-arms haphazardly, while yet others tried to distribute themselves to face the coming enemy force with more poise.

For his part, Samm’s black form moved rapidly in the troughs of the sand dunes. Winding his way forward, his heightened senses focused upon an Archadian who had taken cover behind a length of driftwood. The man’s rifle was aimed downrange, in the general direction of the approaching SOLDIERS. Even as his feet churned sand behind him, his body poised and leaning forward like a stalking lion, Samm could feel the man’s heartbeat roiling within his veins. This man feared for his life, and had the scent of prey wafting off of him--almost visibly--into the sea air.

”Quietly. Quickly. Show him enlightenment.”

The sword came forth from its sheath, arcing upward over Samm’s shoulder as he pulled it free. It hummed with the desire to strike, and to draw blood to purge the Archadian’s wickedness. Time seemed to slow before Samm as he lunged up the sand, directly in line with his target’s left flank. His vision became sharp to the point of near pain, his eyes itching with the heightened sensation given by Ither’s gift. Every pore on the Archadian’s face. Every bead of sweat. Every ripple of blood in his veins gathered into Samm’s mind, and was processed to bring a quick, and merciful end to this engagement.

Gripping the hilt with both of his obsidian hands, Samm propelled himself forward. He struck out with the blade of his sword, the weapon moving to the Archadian in a trajectory that would cleave his skull in two. Oblivious to this coming strike, the man continued to aim his weapon, his heart still bounding and uncertain.

At the last moment, just as the deadly blade was about to bite, Samm spun his hands. In the breadth of a moment, the sword turned, presenting the flat of the blade to its target. With resolute force, the steel struck the Archadian on the left of side of his head, between his temple and ear. The thud of the impact raced up the blood groove, and into Samm’s sensitive fingers. It had been a sure, and successful strike.

Completing his lunge, Samm came to rest upon his feet at the Archadian’s right side. The infantrymen was slumped loosely upon the sand, his discarded rifle resting against the driftwood. Samm didn’t need to touch the man to know he was alive, yet utterly lost to the world. Reaching out, he took the rifle off the driftwood, and dismantled it. The motion took only a scant moment, as springs and gas tubes separated in Samm’s skilled hands.

“Another down,” he announced to his comrades.

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

No struggling here. Just waiting for a good block of free time. I plan on having something up today.

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

---

//T H E S H Y P//

The low light of the Shyp’s interior bathed the matte jet of Sammael’s armor a dusky crimson. Enveloped completely in the suit, his face and head covered with the featureless helmet, the SOLDIER appeared like an arbiter of the angel of death. Before him, resting upon the tip of its sheath, Sammael’s sword stood suspended by gloved hands.

Within his grasp, the weapon seemed to quiver. It was not the shudder of the Shyp’s mechanisms that flowed through the blade. No. This was a predatory, anxious hum that welled up from within the ghostly metal. Sammael held a demon bent on drawing blood in the name of righteous cleansing.

“Agony to enlightenment.” Spoke the Aeon.

---

“Again!”

The harsh clack of hardwood striking against hardwood was immediate. Blood, diluted with beads of sweat was flung into the air, only to descend in harsh splatters upon the polished planks of the practice floor.

Sammael reeled backwards, his bare feet struggling to keep him upright. Dressed in dark robes, now drenched with perspiration, Samm brought his practice sword up in a high guard. Blood moved in small rivulets down the valleys of his wrists and forearms—the product of torn knuckles, and broken fingers. His face was little better. Puckered with bruises, and oozing splits across his cheek bones, the handsome man that had first enlisted in SOLDIER was barely a missive of his former self.

In his ears Samm’s heart thrummed with painful clarity. Every muscle and joint ached, and cried to be allowed to release the tension it held within like a cracked dam. To his very soul, every ounce of him cried for respite. Hours had passed in this manner, and the wounds only compounded upon themselves, stacking in painful malice towards the body the bore them. Solace was a foolhardy desire; Teacher allowed no such solace.

With a firm exhalation of breath, Teacher lunged forward. The stern man’s wooden sword swung in a precise arc, moving like the head of a scorpion’s tail towards a battered Sammael. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, Samm flinched to parry. His own sword came up, sliding forward to intercept Teacher’s weapon at the apex of his attack. A satisfying CLACK crashed forth as the weapons came together, their force crying outward into the heavy air. Samm began the first instances of his next motion, willing the synapses in his brain to move his body into a counterstrike to Teacher’s exposed stomach.

This instant was for not. In that bare, raw moment—that eternity spanning only the breadth of a lightning strike—Teacher took him. With a speed born of near preternatural skill, Teacher moved beneath Samm’s guard. The hilt of the master’s sword flicked outward, pummeling Samm like the horns of a bull just beneath the contour of his rib cage.

Air was forced from his lungs. His eyes splayed wide in stunned surprise. The wooden sword in his hands fell, as fingers instantaneously lost their strength. Samm crumpled over his stomach, landing hard upon his knees. Gasping and retching, the world around him seemed to whirl and fade.

Teacher stepped forward. Reaching down, the master clutched a shock of Sammael’s drenched blond hair. Yanking it up, he lifted the student’s face to the sky.

“Pain,” Teacher hissed, “…is the ultimate master. Learn from her. Embrace her.”

“Agony to enlightenment.”

---

//T H E C A N A L//

Sammael’s eyes blazed open. Though unseen behind his mask, the pupils bled white, until all was an ivory orb. Ither’s awareness was taking over now, and Samm was listening.

”Danger. Falling. Water.”

The Aeon’s sensations came just as the lurch of the Shyp cracked into reality. A litany of confused and warning cries filled the interior of the vessel, punctuating Samm’s cognition. Deftly, Samm brought his arms to cross his chest. His sword found its way into the mag-lock servos at his back, while his strong hands tightened the crash straps of the harness.

Samm’s jaw clenched as the sound of rending metal joined with a rush of air, and the roar of the Shyp’s failing engines. The Shyp listed to the side like a wounded animal, and crashed downward so quickly that Samm could feel his throat fill with bile. He swallowed it back, just as the Shyp hit the water like so much dead flotsam.

The shock of the impact traveled up Samm’s spine, and through his limbs. Even in the confines of his helmet, his teeth jarred together, leaving him with a ringing in his ears. Yet Ither was feeding his mind and muscles their commands, and Samm harnessed the ethereal awareness. As water first struck at his ankles, Samm had freed himself from the crash harness. Standing upon the floundering craft’s floor and seats, Samm braced himself with his arms. Looking about, he could see that his comrades were in various states of disarray and reorientation. Training and skill were taking over, and the SOLDIERS were rising to the occasion.

A command came above the din. Something about getting free of the wreckage, and finding shore. With his mind afire, Samm scanned the interior one last time. He could see Natalya had already begun the work of yanking those still within their harnesses free, and shoving them towards the crack in the hull. The glowing beacon of Corr’s arm added clarity to the chaotic darkness, and gave a face to the roiling water that was rushing inside.

Seeing that no one was being left behind, Samm followed behind Corbyn. Diving headlong into the water, Samm used powerful strokes to guide him through the giant crack in the Shyp’s hull that Carmen had found. Free from the Shyp, Samm let his natural buoyancy glide him to the surface. Chopping waves and wind met him, giving him staccato flashes of the burning Shyp, and the silhouettes of his comrades.

Treading water, Samm rotated until he was oriented towards the shore. Several of the team had already begun their journey towards that destination, and he fell into line behind them. Between strokes, Samm’s eyes lifted to the sky. The distinctive form of a great bird could be seen against the clouds.

”Death dealers. Heretics.”

Samm’s focus immediately went to the smudged form of the shoreline, though he could see little amidst the waves and spray. There was something or someone there, however. Something that would do the SOLDIERS harm.

“Commander,” Samm yelled. His voice came through his mask distorted and harsh, yet clear above the natural din. “Carmen, I believe we have enemies nearby. The shoreline may be covered.”

Twisting mid swim, Samm found Nicholaus. “Your bird,” Samm said. “Can it scan the shoreline? We need to be ready once we reach the beach, and there are surely bad-actors waiting for us.”

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

---

Sammael arched a brow over his left eye to Amentia’s comment regarding devouring something akin to earth flesh. When she giggled, and gave a wink, his brow descended. He matched her with a smile, and happily accepted the offer of her name.

“Hopefully the coffee can quench some of that earthy blood-lust.”

The second woman, the one with blond hair, was not as forthcoming with an introduction as Amentia. Sammael took that fact in stride, and made no fuss over it. People were who they were, and SOLDIERS especially could be a strange and distrusting breed. This fact was only echoed when both women stated that they had little knowledge of anyone at the encampment, least of all each other.

“If rumors were coins, we’d all be rich,” Sammael added for his part.

The moment between the three lasted scarcely the breadth of a second before a chill passed across Sammael’s back. This sensation was indeed bizarre, as the entirety of his body was already wrapped in a robe of frigid cold.

”Callous. Darkness. Rage.”

Those descriptors came to Sammael’s consciousness as more intonations of feeling than true words. They bubbled into the fore of his mind like soft bubbles rising from the depths of calm waters. It was his Aeon. It was Ither, speaking to him in his own disconnected, yet deeply personal way.

”Control.”

Sammael didn’t need to turn to know for whom Ither pronounced. She had been here from the moment he had arrived at the encampment, and the cool, dark, foreboding aloofness rolled off of Carmen like tendrils of ashen smoke. Sammael had seen and felt her presence throughout the camp, and his usual pleasant inclination to strike up a conversation had left him whenever it came to the commander.

His face remained stoic as Ither prodded him. Taking the cup back absentmindedly from the blond, he gave her a quick smile in response to her thanks. He was still distracted in his thoughts as a man, this one a commander, took up the offer of coffee.

Drawn out of himself as the man took a cup from him, Sammael gave a look of knowing as the commander downed the steaming liquid like it was the elixir of life itself.

“You and me both, Commander. You and me both.”

* * * * *

Inside the tent, Sammael had taken a seat near where Corbyn Vesper had begun the process of more formal introductions. The sword that had rested at his hip was now standing between his legs, it’s hilt protruding upward so his left arm rested atop it. In his other hand, a cup of coffee was clutched. Samm took several sips as the first of the group began to speak, and voice their thoughts on Carmen’s appraisal of the mission to come.

Setting down his coffee on the table, Samm stood up and extended a hand towards Corbyn.

“I didn’t get a chance to really introduce myself outside. My name’s Sammael König, First Class. I generally specialize in fast, close support, subterfuge, and handling coffee grounds.”

Samm added a self-effacing grin to the introduction. His voice was intended for Corbyn, but was certainly loud enough for anyone who was paying attention to hear.

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

So how is everyone doing?
Is the pace well enough? Are there some things you'd like to see with Requiem?
I'd love to know.

@Rockette

Doing well on my end, and enjoying the pace and content of the RP thus far. I've started working on a post, and expect to have it up either tonight or tomorrow.

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

S A M M A E L K ö N I G

---

With eyes bright and amused, Samm smiled at the be-freckled woman with the bob of obsidian locks. As she plucked the coffee from his hands, Samm allowed his lips to part in the barest of chuckles. He appreciated a person who was not too drawn within themselves to seek and take what they wanted. Her pixey like smile, and the continued silence, gave her a bent of intrigue that Samm took more as a curiosity, rather than discourteousness.

“Drink up,” he said to the woman. His eyes flitted down for an instant to her bare feet. “Au Naturel footwear, I see? I hear that brand has gotten great reviews, though my pair have always been too snug.”

Smiling, Samm continued. “I’m Sammael. It’s good to meet you…”

His ears perked, and Samm transitioned the frank levity upon his cheeks to a pretty face whom had just intoned the simple question of, “Coffee?”

“Coffee, indeed!”

Pulling a cup from the stack in his fingers, Samm poured a generous helping of the stuff. Steam roiled from the scalding liquid, dancing into the frigid air as if in defiance of it. Holding the full cup out to the blond, he spoke when she took it from him.

“I’m Samm. It’s good we have a few people on the team who appreciate the qualities of a great cup of joe. Bodes well for when the shit hits the fan.”

Pointing with the forefingers of both his hands, Samm indicated both the shorter girl with the jet bob, and the blond who had just taken his offered cup. “What about you two? Have you both met, or perhaps worked together before? Personally, I’m curious about the high command forming up such a large group of SOLDIERS who seemingly have had very little in the way of contact with one another.”

Though Samm kept his face neutrally bemused, his concern was a genuine one. All of the SOLDIERS at the encampment had advanced into the three major tiered classes, and were thus powerful individuals. The processes, discipline, and training required to access and utilize the power of the bonded Aeon was no small feat. As such, the cadre of SOLDIERS was a small community in relation to the rest of the Governs martial arm. Fort Lullin was an intimately hard and terrifying furnace for the enhanced beings known as SOLDIERS, and it bred a certain familiarity to those who survived it. It was strange to Samm that he knew of these gathered individuals by nothing more than reputation alone.

Samm let his introductions and question hang in the frosty air as he poured himself coffee of his own.