Wasn't the Black Knight "None shall pass," though?
1
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2 yrs ago
You ever realize that you haven't changed your status in months, go back to change it, and then wonder what the *fuck* your previous status was even talking about?
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2 yrs ago
No, no, they clearly are referring to Ohio -- which Georgia is geographically south of, so the theory is still sound.
The sound of metal scraping over the flagstones, and the sound of bare feet splashing over the frigid pavement were the only sounds that accompanied her passage, save the whistling wind and the distant thunder. The din of battle had ended, and the symphony of screams and steel that had brought her such clarity was now but a distant memory, lost in a fog of blood and pain.
What corrupted stragglers she could find amongst the ruins of the gatehouse had offered her scarcely any resistance, nor had they provided her even the barest minimum of sustenance. With the euphoria of victory stolen from her, all that remained was a deep and enduring hunger -- a hunger she only barely managed to restrain herself from indulging as she saw the bodies of the fallen defenders all around her.
But she did manage to pull herself away. These were warriors, after all. Warriors who had died an honorable death defending their homes and their people. She would not allow herself to desecrate the last monument to their perseverance. So instead, she raised her gaze to the sky, and distracted herself with wondering what the rain must have felt like upon her numb skin. She could hardly even feel the searing embers buried within her chest, so Fianna supposed that she must have been cold. Yet it still was difficult for her to tell if the thing twitching, shuddering, crawling and writhing underneath her skin was her own body in response to a chill she could not feel, or the sword she wielded continuing to improve her new body.
Pointless.
"...That will be all, Amaryllis." She said, reaching gently down with her free hand and grasping the sword by the roots. It seemed to get the message, as a moment later, its blade unraveled into countless metallic threads, each sinking back into the arm that reformed beneath it, and disappearing from view. Her legs lost their strength, and she slumped against the broken gates as a final wave of shivering, and something that for a moment approached pain wracked her entire body -- then all was still once more.
She cast one final glance to the corpses piled around her, and gave the faintest of sighs. The oldest lesson she had ever learned repeated itself once again in thoughts far too sweet to be her own.
"...Do not worry. I won't forget. You can rest now."
She received no answer. The distant thunder rolled, and as her body at last finished knitting itself back together, the towering woman at last realized she was naked. Another body destroyed, another set of rags lost along with it. She sighed once more, and gave a slight kick to one of the more intact corpses at her feet, turning the dead man over. She wouldn't part him with his flesh, but... She supposed he wouldn't be needing his cloak anymore, either. Surely, he could spare at least that much.
So, she stooped, fumbling with her many fingers to undo the clasp of its collar and drape the garment over her own shoulders without dragging it through too much of the blood pooling on the ground. Wrapped in this ragged mantle, and still dripping from head to toe, the pale huntress at last turned her gaze back towards the keep.
Once again, she had failed to die as expected... which meant there would yet be more work to be done. The luxury of rest was one reserved for the dead -- and so, the sound of bare feet splashing over the flagstones was heard once more, as the pale huntress began shambling back -- leaving one battlefield, in search of another.
"Ah, crap... door, door... where's the freakin' doooooorrrrrrrr...?!"
A certain aquatic student was hopping nervously back and forth in hopes of restoring some feeling to her half-frozen legs, her frilled crest curling angrily clear from her gills all the way up to the top of her head, as her transparent scales pulsed a frustrated shade of crimson and her barbels thrashed with impatience.
The front door was blocked by another crowd. Same with the gym. There was a fire escape on the side of the building, but that was probably locked and would set off alarms, and in either case if she actually tried it Saika would never let her hear the end of it.
And where was Saika, anyway? She hadn't even texted to say when she'd be showing up. Didn't she know her best buddy was freezing over here?
Ugh... That jerk! I'll bet she's busy stuffing her face at a WcDenji's or something. Of course she wouldn't care about being late. Curse you, Sai-chan! I'll never forgive you for this!
Her stomach chose that exact moment to rumble.
...Though I guess if you get me some too, I could maybe consider letting you off easy this time.
...Well, that said, it wasn't as if she had a convenient power like telepathy or mind-reading -- Careful what you wish for, Orange. -- so there was no way to actually convey that message. But Saika would understand. Surely. Definitely.
"Excuse me~?"
It took Izuna a moment to realize that the gentle, quizzical voice that only barely reached her ears over the din of the crowd was directed at her -- since the tap on her shoulder went unfortunately unnoticed due to the thickness of both her tarp-like blazer and the ice coating it. Still, after a moment of delayed realization, her pointed ears flicked up, and the pale girl spun around, only to find herself looking down at a mass of curly, oddly shiny green hair.
Oh, and, uh, the person underneath all of it. Izuna's own oddly bright golden eyes met two vertically slit green ones as she took in the face -- the scaled face of their owner. The frills along her head and neck flicked outward immediately, and the dim crimson halo that had been pulsating from the tips of her barbels clear up to her cheeks gave way to a much more welcoming blend of blue and orange.
A comrade! So I'm not the only one with scales this time!
"Ah, sorry 'bout that -- didn't see you there!" The fishy freshman gave a nervous laugh, rubbing her palm back and forth over the scales of her neck. "Can I, uh... help you, or something?"
"You're an upperclassman, right? I'm Nigata Kayo, a first year. I'm a liiiittle bit lost, so could you show me where the event hall is, please?"
...
"...Eh?" Izuna blinked, cocking her head to the side. Then slowly, deliberately, she pointed to herself. The girl standing in front of her cocked her head to the side too, not seeming to understand her confusion.
"An upperclassman?" The green-haired girl nodded.
"Who is? Me?" The green-haired girl nodded again, pursing her lips cutely, still not seeming to understand.
"I'm a first year too, though?"
...
Suddenly the air between them got really quiet, and for just a second, Izuna could have sworn she saw the other girl's eyebrow twitch -- but surely she must have been mistaken, since that innocent smile just kept on shining up at her. Oh, geez, this new kid was a little dense, wasn't she? Well, Izuna didn't know the way, but she'd feel bad about leaving someone so clueless to her own devices, so...
"Don't worry, though! I read the pamphlet. Uh... at one point. So I'm pretty sure the assembly hall is, uh... Uhhh..."
It sure would have been convenient if literally anything else happened right now so they could pay attention to it. That would have been great. Then maybe she'd have enough time to remember where she was even supposed to be going -- since her plan had basically ended at "get inside before you become an ice cube!"
...How regrettable that she hadn't made her wish more specific. Something did indeed happen at that exact moment -- but it was a something that set Izuna's every braincell to screaming as she desperately -- Unsuccessfully, I might add! -- tried to repress, uh... certain memories.
After several seconds of wide-mouthed gawking, she managed to get herself together enough to process what just happened. Some crazy boy had -- or, well, at least, she was pretty sure he was a boy -- anyway! He had just done some sort of... acrobatic ninja-flip out of a tree, then skidded to a stop right in front of them, and started screaming about JUSTICE or how he WAS Justice or... something.
Who does this kid think he is, some kind of superhero?
...It took a moment of thinking about where she was to realize how stupid that question sounded. But also, there could really only be one explanation for the... entity currently standing in front of her -- and it was one with which she was all too painfully familiar.
Making a herculean attempt not to visibly cringe, she slapped her cheeks, pasted a smile across her face, and hoped nobody noticed the frantic pulsing of her photophores or the sudden shower of water dripping from her sleeves and freezing on the ground beneath her as she tried and failed to keep her cool.
Two people were asking her for directions. One was a little dumb, the other was the physical manifestation of the phrase "dark history" despite looking like a boy idol crossed with a lightbulb. She had no idea where to go, but people all seemed to be heading in one direction, so with all the natural-ness of a robot in an old SF film, she slowly, jerkily raised her now-dripping arm and pointed vaguely in the general direction of the main building.
"...Uh... that way. To the... uh... assembly hall. Where everybody else is going."
...Yeah, no shit.
Sai-chan, everybody here is all weird and I'm the only normal one and how did this even happen? Seriously, what am I even supposed to do in this situation? Is this some kind of trial?! Augh, just hurry up and come save me!
...I may, perhaps, have underestimated the natures of those who, in today's peaceful day and age, would seek to become heroes of justice. So it was that with a dreadful sense of sudden certainty, I realized far too late that perhaps, in time, the indistinct noise and bustle of stumbling drunkards, angry wage slaves, and depressed public servants in the old districts of Tokyo might quickly begin to seem preferable to my current environs.
But it's a terribly unpleasant feeling, viewing the world through the lens of somebody else's thoughts -- isn't it? So rather than taking the first opportunity I get to regale you with an unending diatribe of my own jaded (Heh.) musings, perhaps it would be better to treat this as a sort of conversation? But where to begin, then? After all, I haven't had any of those worth remembering in quite some time.
Ah. Right. A self-introduction.
My name is Manaka Kokone. I'm 14 years old, and am just starting my first year of junior high as a student of Isshin Academy, in Hokkaido. I have never had a boyfriend, nor is there anyone from my former class whom I was particularly close to.
If I had to describe myself, I suppose I would say that I am something of a recluse by nature. I strongly dislike crowds, noisy people, and social functions that serve no purpose but to uphold meaningless ceremony. If I must do something, I should like that thing to be important. And, if I can at all help it, I would much prefer the company of a good movie or book to that of my peers.
This is not because I am the kind of person who holds petty grudges, mind you; nor is my aloofness due to some misbegotten sense of superiority. I simply find other people's presences unbearably stifling.
Yes, exactly as stifling as you find me right now, in fact. After all, I'm in the prime of my youth, about to make my grand debut upon the glorious and tragic stage known as high school! Why should I be uttering such gloomy thoughts, even if only in the solace of my own psyche?
Hey! Pretentious I'll allow, but I draw the line at narcissistic!
Ugh. Fine. You're free to think whatever you want... But since you're clearly getting tired of listening to me talk about myself, I'll stop being so melodramatic and just... cut to the chase.
Basically, what I'm trying to say is that I’m a person who wishes to live a very quiet life. Making friends is just as stressful as making enemies, so --
Will you stop interrupting me?! And what the heck is a "Jojo's Reference" anyway?
...Ugh. Happy now? I've totally lost my train of thought. Now we have to start all over again! But where should I even begin? It has to be at least sort of dramatic or else nobody will even be interested. How about...
It was a cold and snowy day.
...No, that doesn't work at all. I mean, most of the snow's already melted since the sun came out, and there's barely any more coming down. Sure, it is still cold, but... isn't that just false advertising?
Maybe the genre's the problem. Rather than a hard-boiled film noir detective's internal monologue, maybe something more personal and friendly would be better, like an early morning radio announcer?
Mm. Yeah. That might be a little easier on both of us.
Ehem! From the top, then!
TAKE 2
Hello, world! It's your girl, Manaka Kokone here, coming to you live from the front gates of Isshin High!
...Ooooooor maybe from the gates of hell. Honestly, looking at the scene in front of me, I'm not actually sure which it is.
For those of you just tuning in, let me set the stage for you. I had a rough trip up from Tokyo via the undersea rail line that took... well, most of yesterday. And by the time I arrived in Sapporo, I was expecting that I could find a place to stay in a hotel somewhere close to the school, then make the rest of the trip in the morning.
The hotel was... quite nice, actually. The walls of my room were mercifully thick -- so much so that I could barely even hear the thoughts of the vacationing college couple in the neighboring suite, even without my headphones on while I was showering. After saying a quick prayer to thank the kami, Jesus, Buddha, and whoever else might be listening for that mercy, I quickly covered my ears before they got any more ideas unfit for a junior high schooler's "pure" mind, set my alarm early for the big day tomorrow, and fell asleep almost before I knew it.
...Well, let it not be said that a mind reader is infallible. Apparently, I had failed to account for the rather important distinction that Isshin wasn't in Sapporo. It was near Sapporo. More specifically, it was almost a full hour's train ride outside of city limits, followed by a bus ride, followed by a walk that felt more like a hike. And, well... I have my pride, but even so, I like to think of myself as a realist. And looking at the situation realistically, it's honestly miraculous that I managed to haul all my luggage that far all by myself at all when it probably weighs twice as much as I do, and is half again as big to boot.
...Yeah. I'm a scrawny little pipsqueak. I know. It's fine. I am at peace with what I am. It doesn't bother me at all. It doesn't. Bother. Me.
...It bothers me a lot.
Needless to say, my plans of arriving early were dashed. Instead, I found myself rather unfortunately located on the far outer ring of the throng of people all nudging, shouting, pushing, and shoving their way through the front gates. And, on account of my afforementioned smallness, the moment I tried to slip through a gap...
...Well, let's put it this way. Do you know what happens to a twig when it's dropped into rushing water?
Yeah. Something like that. Which brings me to my present predicament.
See, as I probably told you before, crowds and I... we don't really mix well. Or, to put it more bluntly, I hate them. I hate the noise of everybody talking over each other. I hate the noise of everybody thinking even louder than that. I hate how angry it makes me when everybody wants to be somewhere and can't get there and so they just sit and sit and stew in their own frustration until it spills over and gets all over my own thoughts and --
And isn't it just a lovely day? Isn't it so nice that the sun is shining and the snow has mostly stopped and so I only had to drag myself here through the mud instead of wading knee deep in the snow? And aren't we all just so excited that in just a few short hours, we're gonna be taking our first steps towards being heroes?
Yeah, it's a great day today. I'm happy. I'm so darned happy I can hardly bear it!
OR AT LEAST I WOULD BE IF PEOPLE WOULD STOP TOUCHING ME.
Seriously, why is everybody so nervous!? You got accepted to the second best hero school in the entire country, and your first thought is to worry that you won't make the cut and you'll get kicked right out again!? Come on, have some bloody confidence! If even a half-baked person like me could make it in, you've got nothing to worry about, right? Oh, sure, you've had a bad few weeks. Your girlfriend dumped you because she didn't want to date long distance? Well maybe you should have talked things over with her first! If people would just actually communicate with each other, then half of their pointless woes would be --
And you! Stop pushing me! I don't care that your grandpa's sick, so stop thinking about it so loudly! ...Although he seems like a very nice man and it would be a terrible shame if anything happened to him, so fine, I hope he gets well soon -- NOW STAY OUT OF MY HEAD! STOP REMINDING ME OF --
...For just a split second, I want to go home. Failing that, I want to curl up in a corner somewhere and disappear. I want to vomit. I want to --
Deep breaths, Kokone. Deep breaths and happy thoughts. Or, if "happy" is too high a bar right now, I can at least take some solace in the fact that I'm not the only one who's miserable. Schadenfreude is a powerful thing, and right now, there's... there's...
...There's so many weirdos. And yes, I know I'm one to talk.
Somewhere up ahead of me, a person who thinks in Grey is trying to pretend her thoughts have some color to them. Which is to say, she's pushing and shoving her way forward with every last ounce of strength she has, relishing in the spite-filled gazes of those around her... until she had to actually meet them, anyway.
Yeah. That's right. That's exactly what you looked like. You're not the big girl on campus, you're just... kind of being a jerk.
In the Grey's wake, someone whose thoughts are Colorless angrily shouted after her, grumbling something I couldn't quite hear -- or rather, thinking something I can't quite make out, about becoming a "mega bitch."
...Well, I can understand her frustration, at least, though her way of expressing it was... questionable. Still, at least her thoughts were more intelligible than the... Orange? Blue?
Well, whoever she is, she forced the surrounding crowd aside with a rather shocking display of some kind of water Quirk, blasting a small geyser into the air that sent the people around her scattering.
I almost feel sorry for her, hearing her complaints about the cold and given the ice covering her clothing. And I almost felt grateful there for a moment that she parted the crowd enough for me to slip through in her wake. But mostly, I just feel confused, since, after all, she's currently rejoicing that nobody else knows about the "Dragon" --
...Ah. A secret. Or... more like a dark history. Well, I'm terribly sorry, but there is someone who knows about it, and she's right here.
Seriously, though. Why's everyone so caught up on making a first impression when all of that will be forgotten once our actual training begins? Do they seriously think they'll be remembered for how they entered the school when it's their performance under pressure and their usage of their Quirks that will make or break their aspirations?
Well, it's often said that actions speak louder than words. But, I suppose, some people's actions, like their thoughts, speak too loudly.
...Oh. Speak of the devil. There's a very special sort of person amongst us -- a person whose thoughts echo with glistening Gold. His very presence is like a deafening roar, his aura like blinding sunlight. And to be honest, I couldn't tell if that was just my synesthesia acting up again, or his actual Quirk, given the way he just launched himself over everybody's heads and skidded to a stop in the courtyard, bellowing bombastically all the while... then laughing about how it "wasn't bad for a first try."
He's lying, by the way. This young man had crashed and faceplanted in ways I scarcely even thought possible practicing that little stunt, and even with all that effort he'd almost messed it up this time, too.
...Between him and the lighter, purer Blue thoughts calling me and everyone else in the assembled crowd "sidekicks" just because its owner hadn't quite made the cut for UA, I honestly can't even tell whose ego is more fragile.
This is a hero school, right? I didn't take a wrong turn somewhere and end up in a clown college?
Regardless, I'm not exactly about to stay out in the midst of this throng of lunatics any longer than I have to. So, with the crowd distracted by the various showoffs in front of the school, and with I myself having at last broken through, I make my way to the assembly hall...
Xiáyīng momentarily seemed to lower her guard. Or rather, it could perhaps be better said that her curiosity got the better of her. The man wasn't saying anything, and the woman had just entered the room and begun to speak. She tilted her head ever-so-slightly, wanting to see what they were doing, what their expressions were -- wanted to make sure they really weren't going to hurt her.
Then it happened. In an instant, a dark and familiar something stole its way over the dark-haired woman's face, icy recognition descending upon her from on high like hailstones, and sudden, bristling anger flashing towards her like lightning. Not towards her specifically, but rather towards...
"A young pair of eyes could be helpful in an investigation like yours, Sima."
She knew. She didn't just know, but she craved the power that Xiáyīng so unwillingly bore.
It wasn't a request, or an invitation -- it was a threat. Lend her power, or have it taken from her by force. Even if she complied, there was no guarantee the woman wouldn't turn on her once her usefulness to her had ended. If she let her guard down for even a second... her eyes would be taken.
But she had already seen the woman's strength herself. The path she had walked was long and arduous, and surely, a useless child like her could not possibly hope to match one who had climbed so far, and learned so much. If she drew her blade here, or if she tried to run -- it mattered not. All she could do was comply.
Her only reassurance was that the man did not seem to share the woman's awareness of her nature. Or, if he did know -- he had called her "Blue," after all -- he lacked the same hostility. She could see it -- his sorrow, and his warmth. It was far too presumptuous to expect that he would protect her, necessarily, if push came to shove, but... for the time being, of the two who had pressed her into service, he seemed much safer than his dark-haired companion.
"I'm sorry." Despite his advice, it was the only answer that came naturally to her when she was scolded. What else was she supposed to say? Nevertheless, she tried to hold her head just a little higher -- almost high enough to meet his gaze as she awkwardly, unsubtly scooted just a little closer to him, and away from Yifang. "I did not mean to cause offense. I will... umm... keep your advice in mind."
It wasn't much -- and it could hardly be called an improvement -- but the way she gripped her sword now bespoke a fear much greater than simply being robbed. If she was attacked, she would run, and if forced to fight, she would lose -- but despite the inevitability of such a defeat, she began to steel herself for such an eventuality regardless.
The floorboards creaked outside the threshold, and instinctively, Xiáyīng lowered her head in one last futile attempt to keep her eyes from being seen. It was of no particular use, of course -- the shadow that towered over her swiftly descended to her own level, peering under the brim of her hood and meeting her gaze before she knew it. She clutched the sheathed sword at her side all the more tightly -- not because she thought she would have to use it, but rather because she feared the one defense she had left would be taken away.
Yet, when he did speak, it was in a kinder, gentler tone than she had heard in a long, long time. The mere sound of his voice surprised her so much that she completely failed to mark the meaning of the words he spoke to her, simply staring at him in bewilderment before her old habits reminded her that she did not deserve the privilege of looking upon a true warrior, and she thus quickly lowered her head.
"Um... Please... forgive my trespass. I had thought this place abandoned, and meant merely to rest. Please, forgive me." Before she knew it, apologies and excuses were spilling from her lips, though she hardly expected them to be received. Even if this man seemed kind on the surface, surely, the temple's owner would be less lenient...
She hadn't intended to eavesdrop. Really, she hadn't.
Xiáyīng hadn't even thought about the conversation the two people outside might have been having at first, as she had been almost entirely preoccupied with self-concealment. But once she had erased her already meager presence, and had tucked herself nicely out of their line of sight, her mind had begun to wander away from the silence of her own quiet breathing, to the voices she could hear outside. And so it was that, without really meaning to, she heard what was being discussed.
"-- isolated village a few hours out seemed to have up and vanished. Not too strange to happen during the war, but a peddler seemed to have traded with 'em 3 months ago."
...So the village she had encountered before wasn't the only one to suffer such a fate? Her heart felt heavy, and her head drooped. Of course, it wasn't as though she expected that the only evils in the world were the ones which she had beheld with her own two eyes, but even so, the reminder and the remembrance that came with it weighed heavily upon her.
If they were investigating such things, though, then didn't that mean they were martial artists? Honorable and upstanding folk, like the man who... Well, at any rate, her curiosity was stirred, and so, against her better judgment, she peered meekly out around the fringe of the doorway when she thought nobody was looking, and --
The wind whistled between the mountain's twin crests. The boughs rustled, their petals plucked -- life strewn carelessly upon the surface of the water far below. Ripples formed around her where she lay, soaked and chilled to the bone, merely gazing up at the sky. She had always been here. She would never be able to leave. She clawed at the stone with bloodied fingers, trying in vain to rise, only to fall and sink deeper -- ever deeper into the dark water.
Silent and still. All was silent and still. Ever and always, silent and still. She was but a single droplet in a boundless spring. A single life within a vast world. A tiny and frail thing that could do naught but sink.
Yet even from within those soundless depths, she could still see the ones who stood above.
One was a warrior ascendant upon a steep and winding road, whose every stride carried him closer -- ever closer to the clouds. But though he bore a thousand blades upon his back, the way was so narrow and so treacherous that none could walk beside him to bear his steel, or share in his burden.
The other's burdens were of a different sort. The road ahead of her was easy, and well-traveled -- if only she could but walk it. Yet shadows hounded her -- their grasp stayed her feet, even as the tracks she followed faded into nothing before her eyes. As the sun began to set behind the mountain, the shadows in her wake grew long indeed -- like jaws opened wide to devour her, while she but stood, and waited for the journey's end.
Xiáyīng gasped, and drew back behind the threshold, shutting her aching eyes -- yet the echoes of the vision still seemed painted upon the insides of her eyelids, drifting phantasms and lingering silhouettes dancing across the darkness despite her attempts to blink and rub them away. Why had she dared to look, when she knew she wouldn't be able to control what she might see? Foolish, utterly foolish, and now --
"I know that you're lookin' after someone here already, so I'd understand if you'd want to stay."
Xiáyīng's heart sank. Now they knew she was here.
The woman called out to her a moment later -- or, rather, seemed to be addressing her indirectly, but nevertheless showed that she, too, had witnessed Xiáyīng's moment of indiscretion. But how much had they seen? Just her face, or had they even noticed her eyes? If they had, would they try to hurt her? She'd be able to tell if she looked at them again, but if she looked then they might see if they hadn't already, and if they saw then they definitely would, so should she just stay hidden? But she couldn't stay hidden because they'd already seen her. Should she say something? But what? Saying "I'm not a thief" would only make them think she was one, but if she asked permission to stay only after already entering the temple then -- then...
Her racing thoughts carried her completely away, and ultimately she became so preoccupied wondering what she should say or how she should say it that she said... nothing at all.
Being lost, after all, required a destination which one intended to reach. A goal. Some sort of purpose. At the very least, a rudimentary grasp of geography was necessary.
Well, maybe that wasn't quite right. One could be lost in ways other than a purely physical sense. To be cast adrift from one's home, one's past, one's very way of being -- surely that could be called "lost" also, right?
The very word "lost" did seem to fit her quite aptly. After all, few could probably claim to have ever possessed half of all that had been taken from her. Even so, thinking about that "loss" could no longer even bring tears to her eyes. Instead, it only carried with it a sense of numbness, and a sort of aimless resolve -- a strong drive to leave all that behind her, which in turn sputtered out within her the moment she turned her thoughts on where, instead, to go.
Either way, she didn't like to think about it more than she had to. It was better to leave such empty feelings in the dark place where they had first been born. The tears she couldn't cry now had already been shed yesterday, and to mourn the loss of one's very ability to mourn would be so laughably piteous that it could only be seen as farce comedy.
...Hm. Yes. That was quite profound. Perhaps it would have made a good poem, if she still remembered any of the education she had received in such pure and elegant pursuits. Unfortunately, no words, however sweet, could fill the yawning void in her stomach, nor would the deepest ocean of philosophical preponderance slake her thirst.
Oh. And she also hadn't the faintest clue where she even was. There was also that.
Even before her... fall from grace, she had seen little and heard less of the world beyond the Severed Peak. Even discussing the affairs of the outside had been a forbidden subject since the heirs were born. To think of leaving -- why, the very idea had been laughable. As a child, she never could have dreamed that she would ever willfully defy that taboo.
But there were a great many things under heaven which she could not have imagined as a child, and compared to the path that had led her down the mountain's slopes, the first steps she had taken into the world beyond it had been wholly unremarkable by comparison. No... perhaps "unremarkable" wasn't the right word. "Disappointing," maybe? Perhaps "sobering..."
Sad. It was sad.
She had walked for days before she found a village. Her hopes had soared at the familiar sight of houses, only to fall again when she got closer and saw their sorry state. Anything taller than one story had long since collapsed, and the rest more resembled charred toothpicks than functional masonry. There hadn't been a single soul alive in the entire place.
"Alive" being the operative word. It had taken her almost three whole days to bury all of the bodies, and by the time she was done she had exhausted all the water she had carried with her from the Dragonspring. That was around when she remembered what "hunger" felt like, and it finally occurred to her that she hadn't eaten in... in...
...Huh. That was strange. She couldn't even remember how long it had been anymore. She'd kept a tally, back in the shrine, but the marks she had stubbornly clawed into the rotten wood weren't something she would have wanted to carry with her even had she been able to, and their number had long since grown beyond any hope of counting.
At any rate, her conscience had gotten the better of her. She hadn't been able to bear the thought of leaving the desolate town's former inhabitants to be picked over by the birds and dogs, and so she had done her best to give them as proper a funeral as she could. They were not so different, after all -- she had simply had the fortune to climb from her grave, whereas they...
...They had died in agony. She had seen it -- or rather, had been forced to see it. Every day as she toiled, the visions wouldn't stop. There, a house now in ruins. There, the site where a beloved child had been crushed beneath the body of a helpless mother. There, where a man fell before the broken gates, his blood spilled in vain for a home he couldn't protect. Blood. Death. Darkness. Even when she refused to look, it surrounded her.
It wasn't their fault. What happened here wasn't fair. It was only right that someone should remember a tragedy -- because if she didn't, then who would? Yet even so, that didn't make the things she saw any easier to bear. By the time the last scraps of dirt had been laid upon the shallow mound, all she could bring herself to feel was relief that finally, it was over.
The last one she buried was the man outside the gates. It felt only right. He must have been the first to fall -- standing proudly against whatever force had wreaked this carnage. The soil all around where he had lain had been baked by the sun, bearing a reddish tinge from the blood that had soaked into it. She could still see the footprints, preserved by the drought, showing where his body had been trampled over, his face stomped into the mud and the filth by the advancing enemy.
As she had extricated his crumbling body from the rubble of the gate, it had struck her that even in death, the sword in his hand was gripped so tightly that she could hardly remove it. When she finally extricated it from his grasp, the hand that had held it crumbled to dust, as though its purpose was at last fulfilled.
"You did well," She had said without thinking. The stillness that followed was almost deafening, and for the first night since her arrival in the ruined village, her sleep had been sound, filled only with dreams too fleeting to remember. When she had awakened, she had found herself crying.
She only realized after the burial was done that, after years of isolation, her own attire was little more than rags. By comparison, even the bloodstained and soiled robes of the gatekeeper seemed almost pristine by comparison. His sword, too, though dented and chipped, remained unrusted and unbroken.
She tore up what little remained of her own robes, and used the cloth to mend the nameless warrior's garb. She had expected to feel guilty for her robbery, but strangely, all she felt was an odd sort of peace. He, too, had been like her in a way. Forced to fight a futile battle he did not want, he had not shied away from the inevitable result -- even unto the bitter end. She admired that. If only she herself had possessed that kind of resolve, then surely...
So it was that she now found herself upon an unknown road. It had been many days since then. Weeks, perhaps. Months, even. She didn't really care anymore. She had seen more towns since then. She'd been welcomed in some, and shunned in others. Yet no matter how far she roamed, the visions she saw while she was awake, and the dreams she saw when she was asleep -- those never went away. Nor could she lose the feeling that the old sword now strapped by her side yet had some purpose to fulfill.
But she was hungry, and thirsty, and tired. A town lay ahead, but she could not find it in herself to hope that she would be welcomed there. So it was that she turned instead to a small, decrepit shrine by the side of the road, long overgrown with kudzu and seemingly left abandoned. By the time she realized that it wasn't... well, there was already a visitor in the courtyard behind her, and someone else was coming out from behind the old building, and... and, on instinct, she had hidden herself away before she knew it. She had little pride left to lose, but to be mistaken for a thief come to plunder a holy place would shame even her.
Thankfully, she was well-used to avoiding notice. She tucked herself behind the frame of the temple's door, curled up, and prayed the people outside would leave. Her already miniscule presence faded to almost nothing, and her breathing became so faint that even she could hardly perceive it. Yes, if they would just leave, she would hastily depart and trouble them no longer. She didn't come to take anything, she just wanted a place to rest... But no one would see things that way, and if they met, there would only be conflict. She didn't want any trouble, so if they'd just give her a chance, she'd leave. She was sorry. She'd just been so tired, and so thirsty -- so far from home, and so... so...
Lost.
Without realizing, Xiáyīng had become lost upon the road of life.
...So the right answer when your superior asked you this sort of question... It was yes, right?
Once again, Kai's demeanor proved impossible for the somewhat oblivious blonde to make sense of. He seemed unconcerned with such things, contented to go at his own pace, but then all of a sudden he hit her with the last response she could have expected. Was this some sort of a test? Truth be told, she was actually pretty nervous about what sort of training they'd be doing, and the scornful words of her unwanted roommate were still fresh in her mind. Excitement and energy should have been the farthest thing from her mind as she sat there, munching contemplatively upon a surprisingly-not-stale biscuit.
...But, well, living face to face with the prospect of reaching out and grabbing your childhood dream has a tendency to make it hard to maintain a soulful melancholy for very long. And so it was that she found Kai's question surprisingly easy to answer between mouthfuls as she finished the biscuit and followed up by inhaling a sausage.
Xiáyīng is a tall, slender young woman, most prominently defined by her long, slightly messy tail of greyish hair and her pure azure eyes, which shine with an uncanny luminescence, as though at all times reflecting the fullness of a clear sky. Her build is athletic but wiry, giving her a rather dainty air that seems more befitting of a merchant's daughter or a lady-in-waiting than a martial artist. Her small white hands hide callouses upon their palms, however, and her thin body carries its fair share of scars.
Despite her training, though, she doesn't carry herself with the pride one might expect of a warrior. Her bearing could best be said to be as graceful as a heron... and as bold as a rabbit. She takes small, even steps with her head ever-so-slightly lowered and her eyes held upon the ground in front of her, and keeps her distance from even the slightest sort of contact.
She seems to favor simple attire, making no particular concessions for femininity in the process. More often than not, she can be found clad in a comfortable, boyish blue tunic and pants, over which she wears a looser-fitted white robe. Her wardrobe generally lacks ornamentation, letting the fine quality of the fabric speak for itself. Thanks to her lack of curves, however, her long hair and timid manner are generally the main indicators of her gender. Were it not so, she could likely pass quite convincingly for a young lord; even now, some might mistake her for a man until she opens her mouth.
Xiáyīng's nature is one deeply mired in contradiction. Outwardly, she is polite, composed, friendly, and humble. Yet, despite her politeness, she is deeply distrustful of others. Despite her composure, she holds a great deal of fear within her. Despite her friendliness, she retreats into herself the moment others reciprocate, never allowing anyone closer than arms' length. Her humility, perhaps, is the only aspect of her refined facade that is truly real -- and that solely because she is unable to escape her own feelings of inferiority.
Though blessed with the ability to discern the talents and experience of others, like a koi trapped within its pond, all her eyes have shown her is the vastness of a sky she will never reach. She wants to break out of her shell. She wants to change. If things had turned out differently, then perhaps she'd be happier for it. If only she hadn't failed, and failed, and failed again.
If only.
Xiáyīng doesn't know what she wants anymore. She doesn't know why she was granted the blessing -- or curse -- that she bears, doesn't know why she can't seem to do anything right, and even if she could advance along the path before her, she wouldn't know where to go. Even now, the dream she looks back on is something that was never her own -- a road laid out before her by someone else. But no matter how daunting the heights upon which her peers stand, and no matter how dark the depths of the evil she sees in the shattered world around her, she wants to believe that there is good in others, and that there is value in herself.
When the world was young, two great beasts fought atop the Severed Peak -- a dragon of the heavens, and a dragon of the earth. The reasons for their battle have been lost to time, as has the victor. All that is known is that in the wake of their struggle, the mountaintop was split asunder, and a fountainhead of pure water sprung from the site of the Dragonstear, spreading out through unseen veins beneath the earth and joining with the energies of the land to create new life from death. Great stones erupt from the mountain's steep cliffs, said to be the bones of one or both of the valiant creatures, and atop their silent grave at the foot of heaven, the flowers bloom eternally in tribute.
Regardless of how much of that is true, it was the pride of the Yuán clan to inherit this mystery. Their monastery sat upon the lower half of the Severed Peak, opposite the Dragonspring itself. Their duty since the first days of their establishment was to protect the spring from all those who would dare misuse its power. Said to be blessed by the Dragon of the Heavens, their founders supposedly possessed unique "Jeweled Eyes," which could peer beyond the trappings of the physical world and into the realm of spirit. Of course, no two accounts can agree on what, precisely, this power actually did, as none among the clan inherited it in the last hundred years, and many of the original records were lost during the succession crisis, where two brothers fought to inherit mastery over the clan and its martial arts. The winner of this battle was the clan's most recent head, Yuán Daiyu: a rare genius who would go on to reform the entire Yuán sect, and become one of the greatest warriors in all the Jianghu.
But under his rule, members of the clan began to mysteriously disappear. Soon, none were allowed to scale the Severed Peak, and none atop it were allowed to leave. Rumor had it that his wife had borne him twin prodigies, whom he had taken it upon himself to train personally, but when the doors of the monastery were at last opened, he had but one successor, and one heir -- his son Jingyu, who had not only exceeded his father in the martial arts, but who had, for the first time in a hundred years, manifested jeweled Jade Eyes.
When the Age of War began, the two of them proved themselves mighty warriors for the Alliance. So mighty were they that some began to question the source of their power. Suspicion became doubt, doubt became fear, and fear became horrible reality when the Devil Clans at last revealed themselves, and both father and son, long-since beguiled by the promise of power, heeded the call of their true masters and betrayed their erstwhile allies. Countless heroes were felled by the blade of the young devil Jingyu, who seemed able to master any technique, and see through any deception with his Jade Eyes. But, when all hope seemed lost... his power vanished. The eyes he had so relied on failed him, and his unnatural gift disappeared.
Unable to continue fighting without his power, the father and son both fled, hunted like dogs for their betrayal. But although the traitorous Yuán who had followed them were purged -- though the clan was abolished and its teachings destroyed, the lord and his heir were never found, even after the war's conclusion. No one knows what became of the traitors, or why Jingyu's Jeweled Eyes failed him in the hour of his triumph.
But rumor has it that at the moment when Jingyu's eyes failed, a girl emerged from the shrine at the heart of the Dragonspring -- a princess clad in rags, her pure Sapphire Eyes yet unsullied by the world. Though none could confirm these rumors, that could not stop people from searching for this ghost, this phantom twin, this holy child. Some said she was a savior who would illuminate the path to enlightenment. Some said that if you took her eyes, you, too, could see past the world and reach the truth yourself. Others said that she was a rare genius who would restore the old ways of the Yuán, and bring about justice for the sins of her forebears.
But the truth is none of those things. The truth is that Yuán Xiáyīng, the lost daughter of Yuán Daiyu, is simply an average girl who had the misfortune of being born into a family of geniuses. Sacrificed for a cause she does not know, saved by powers she does not understand, granted a gift she cannot use, and sought for a salvation she cannot provide, the princess at last emerges from the bottom of the well like a koi challenging the Dragon's Gate, leaping towards a sky she dares not reach.
Cultivation Base _________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Yuán Clan's martial philosophy is rooted in the principles of the Wu Xing, and is referred to as the Fivefold Path. Rather than solely distinguishing between Yin and Yang or any other such binary dichotomy, it instead focuses primarily on the Five Agents -- Water, Wood, Fire, Earth, and Metal. It is a philosophy rooted in the concept of mirroring the changing facets of the external world within one's self, and in so doing, gaining mastery over the world by achieving harmony with it.
Xiáyīng currently remains stuck at the first of the five Agents, limiting her to harnessing Qi aspected with the philosophy and properties of Water.
As protectors of the Dragonspring, and bearing the name of the sacred Origin, the Yuán clan venerates Water as the origin of all things -- the source and fountainhead from which life itself flows. As such, the first step upon the path is water. As a neophyte, one must be yielding, tranquil, and serene, like the pure waters of the Dragonspring. Only then will a student be ready to receive the power of the water.
Once that power is received, however, it must be refined. Water's nature is transient and fleeting, and cannot be grasped. So too does the Qi cultivated from the sacred spring slip through the fingers of those who would cling to it. But just as water grants life and nourishment to the trees of the mountain, so too may it nourish a student of the path. As the student's knowledge and skills grow, so too must he step out of the shadow of his mentor, like a sapling raising its own branches to embrace the sunlight. He must become confident, but not arrogant, for a young branch that bends and remains firm does not break.
But just as there is a time for growth, there is also a time for harvest. Just as there is a time for learning, there is a time for trial. This is the third step of the path: the element of Fire, representing passion, transformation, and transcendence. At this stage, the student's abilities are pushed to their limits, and in this crucible they must either break or be forged anew.
Once proven, the student's will must be tempered. Their destructive Qi, cultivated through passion and pride, is yet unstable, and the burning spirit of youth must be quenched at last so that the wisdom of age may take its place. For though the fire shines brightly, it burns for only a moment before its spark dies out -- but the mountain endures a thousand years unchanged. Meditation, asceticism, discipline, and relentless practice make up the backbone of the phase of Earth, until at last the aspirant's body is prepared for the fifth step.
Metal represents the completion of the martial artist's trials -- the synthesis of all that has come before. Drawn from the earth, forged in fire, fueled by wood, and quenched in water, Metal stands as the final step of the cycle. Humility, Courage, Passion, Temperance, and finally, Supremacy. From humble beginnings to the very heights of achievement, the student has witnessed all the phases of the world -- has lived them. In so doing, he has cultivated a world within himself, balanced in all its facets. He has mastered first his mind, then his body, then his heart, and at last his soul.
And for such a master, there is then but one final step to take -- one which none have yet managed to take before. One must truly realize that he is the world, and the world is him. There is nothing without that is not within. There is nothing within that is not without. And in this state of "nothingness," one achieves the true goal of the Yuán style, and reaches the Void. One does not strike with the intention to do harm -- one simply wills it, and it is so. The sword divides the mountain, because there is no mountain, and there is no sword. It is all one, and the form that oneness takes is entirely arbitrary. It could be a blade. It could be a flower. And it could be a man without limits.
Immeasurable, free of obstacles, formless and infinite. If one could achieve such an existence, they must surely be either a demon or a god.
However, the Fivefold Path requires that the one who walks it understand the course to be taken, and understand themselves. If one is naturally impatient, they cannot achieve stillness, and cannot draw upon the power in the first place. If one lacks resolve, they cannot achieve firmness, and cannot control the power they obtain. When one obtains one thing, one loses another -- and as you walk the path, the steps you've taken disappear like the melting of snow.
How can one balance five views in one? How can one become a world to themselves? How can one reach the Void that lies beyond the Origin? The only way is to walk the path. When one becomes a master, one must remember their lessons as a student, and see them through once again with a clear mind. Water. Wood. Fire. Earth. Metal. Water. Wood. Fire. Earth. Metal. Repeat them a thousand times, then a thousand more. With each step the path grows shorter. The spiral narrows. A thousand more steps closer, and it narrows still. Where once you walked, now you run, sprinting closer -- ever closer to the end of the spiral. Ever closer to the Truth.
Immeasurable, free of obstacles, formless and infinite. Though none have ever reached it, the Yuán sought this fleeting Truth, no matter how many bodies they had to step over to reach it; even if that body was that of a frail sister, or a weak daughter.
What did the Truth look like through those eyes of Jade? And how could one cast aside by that path ever hope to walk it?
To tread the path, one must understand the course to be taken, and understand themselves. But that path was never hers, and perhaps that is why she could never go beyond the first step. To abandon self, to forsake kindness, to court oblivion -- Xiáyīng was never fit to make such a choice.
And so, she wavers at the foot of the mountain, merely gazing up at the sky she cannot reach, rising and receding with the turning of the tide. But no matter how her feet may falter, and no matter where the flood may bear her, the sky reflected in her eyes remains clear, without horizon.
Whether atop the split peak of a distant mountain, or deep within the darkness of a lonely well, a lone flower blooms in silence.
Body Enhancements _________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Jeweled Eyes ~ Sapphire: Thanks to her unnatural eyes, Xiáyīng possesses the unique ability to observe the flow of Qi in the world around her. This is both a blessing and a curse, since it can grant her flashes of insight into her own life, and the lives of those around her -- particularly other cultivators willing to open themselves up to her. Though it's a far cry from the superstitions about her being some kind of enlightened maiden, her eyes can allow her to potentially provide a level of empathetic support or insight into the burdens of others.
However, she is unable to control what she sees or when these "flashes" occur, potentially overwhelming her with visions she can't necessarily make sense of. With time and training, perhaps this ability could allow her to grasp and unravel the Qi of others as her brother did before her, but as matters stand, it's a power she can't even understand, much less consciously make use of.
Life Detection: Thanks to her eyes and their power, Xiáyīng does at least have a somewhat instinctual ability to sense the presences of other people -- particularly those with a great deal of Qi. This comes with the downside, however, that powerful presences tend to overwhelm her, assaulting her eyes and mind with more information than she can manage to process, and weighing down upon her with an almost tangible level of mental pressure.
Judgment of Character: Another side effect of her eyes. Xiáyīng can generally tell people who mean harm apart from others based upon her special vision, and as such, has an uncanny instinct that helps her to avoid danger... or to confront it for the sake of those she holds dear. This power doesn't allow her to read minds, tell the truth from lies, or anything beyond sensing a target's immediate hostile or beneficial intentions, however.
Art of the Flow - Breath of Life: The basis for all Yuán school martial arts is the ability to pace one's breathing and enter a state of stillness, balancing one's own body and Qi with the ebb and flow of one's surroundings. By doing this, the user becomes a conduit, drawing in power continuously from their surroundings, coursing it through the body, and then expelling it with each breath.
This grants the user tremendous stamina, as even if the overall pool of Qi the cultivator has at their disposal at any given time is small, they replenish it almost as quickly as it is expelled from their body. So long as Xiáyīng paces herself and her breathing rhythm remains unbroken, she can endure fatigue, hunger, illness, and injury without faltering.
The more advanced application of this art integrates principles of Tai Chi with those of Yuán school spiritualism. Enemy strikes become a part of the rhythm -- a coming tide to be moved with rather than resisted directly. Controlling points of leverage and positioning accordingly requires timing one's footwork and defenses in time with one's breathing, moving with the swell of gathering energy and expelling the enemy from one's own space as the user exhales, increasing the force that is applied.
Performed properly, this art is like a dance, deflecting and striking all in one fluid motion, breaking the coming tide with a single gentle palm. Performed poorly, it all falls apart the moment the user's concentration falters and their breathing wavers. Xiáyīng, unfortunately, tends towards the latter end of the spectrum.
Art of the Flow - Sword of the Dragon's Eye: The traditional form of swordsmanship taught by the Yuán school to newly-minted initiates to prepare them for learning more advanced forms. It is said to draw its inspiration from a whirlpool that forms under certain conditions above the mouth of the Dragonspring. The ebb and flow of the waters as they descend through the valleys creates a back-and-forth motion that is mimicked by this style's focus on dynamic, circular movements.
The swordsman is expected to outspace the enemy, redirecting the enemy's strikes with the very tip of his or her blade in order to maximize leverage while minimizing the distance moved, then follow up by stepping forward, rotating the wrist, and striking back with the opposite edge of the blade in the very same motion, applying pressure and forcing the enemy back.
If the enemy refuses to back off from this pressure, there are also techniques for running one's sword down the enemy's blade, grappling to pin their weapon arm and remove their ability to defend themselves, or locking weapons in order to wind around their guard and launch a swift thrust at close range. Like the water between the rocks of the valley, the swordsman seeks to slip through any gap, their strikes flowing freely around their opponent rather than confronting them directly.
In light of this, a heavy emphasis is also placed on twitch hits - intentionally pulling a strike as the enemy parries it, and using the momentum they impart to bring the blade around and strike the opposite side of the body with a lightning-fast flick. This hit can also then be pulled, continuing a blindingly-fast rain that will wear the enemy down until they make a mistake, and back them into a corner.
The style is tremendously simple in theory, relying on just a few key principles that can each be applied in a variety of different ways. However, although it is a style based around the idea of "formlessness," it's easy for an amateur in the art to fall into predictable patterns of trying the same trick in the same way over and over again, while a master of the style could be entirely unpredictable to a more orthodox opponent. This style also doesn't fare well against those who use weapons too massive to outspace, or too heavy to redirect, with particularly limited utility against unorthodox weapons such as nunchaku, against which the style's tricks will be at best ineffective, and at worst downright detrimental.
In summary, it is a dexterous and elegant style of fighting that is very good for the purpose of confronting other swordsmen, but suffers poor matchups against large crushing weapons and long spears. Additionally, it has a deceptively high skill ceiling, which Xiáyīng herself has not yet even begun to approach.
Art of the Flow - Crashing Wave: Though her swordsmanship is good for drawn-out battles of attrition, where her tremendous stamina and ability to apply constant pressure even when on the defensive can help whittle down an opponent, her inability to advance beyond the philosophy of Water limits her ability to contest an opponent's strength directly.
To address this issue, a technique was created to take advantage of Water's inability to retain the strength it gathers. Like an over-full vessel bursting under pressure, one can draw in external Qi and then release it all at once, creating a powerful shockwave.
This burst of energy is utterly unrefined, and lacks either focus or direction beyond the part of the body from which it is released. However, it can be used in a variety of different ways, to remarkable effect.
By releasing the burst from the user's legs, they can leap high in the air, briefly ascending above their enemy and flipping over the target's head in order to attack from behind, like a tidal wave engulfing all in its way.
By releasing the burst from the user's hand, they can deliver a palm strike capable of washing their target away, opening up the distance and potentially taking advantage of nearby terrain.
With a bit of practice, it's even possible to concentrate the burst within the blade of a wielded sword, allowing the user to deliver a vicious thrust or cut with a great deal of extra force behind it, making up for the style's inability to otherwise inflict serious direct damage in a single blow. However, Xiáyīng has yet to reach this level, and as of yet, is mostly limited to the basic rudiments of this ability -- augmenting her own jumping and physical striking power.
Nameless Sword: A humble double-edged Jian of dull grey steel. Though the frayed crimson tassel adorning its pommel suggests that it was once the possession of a warrior of some standing, its blade is scratched and worn by a great deal of use, making it little better than any other sword. No doubt, it was scavenged from some battlefield or another, taken from the body of a wielder who no longer needed it. It lacks sentimental value or any sort of remarkable properties, but nevertheless serves as an effective tool of self-defense for a forlorn and outcast little traveler.
Young Lord's Vestments: A young man's traveling tunic and robe dyed in the colors of one of the many clans associated with the Martial Alliance, lifted perhaps from the same source as the sword its current wearer now carries with her. Xiáyīng has clearly taken great care to mend the damage to the garments with what meager means she has at her disposal. Though her attire lacks ostentatious ornaments or metal reinforcement, the layered and padded cloth does provide some measure of protection without inhibiting the wearer's freedom of movement.
Furred Mantle: A more recent purchase, made with what little coin Xiáyīng was able to scrounge from the battlefields of the war. A fluffy, fur-trimmed hood adorns a loose and flowing capelet, the thick fur helping to weigh the garment down such that its low-hanging brim helps to conceal her Jeweled Eyes while in the presence of others. Also, it's very comfortable and warm -- a rare treasure for one who possesses few luxuries.
Alright. I think I've finally got this working. Apologies in advance, everyone -- this is probably the most ridiculously extra CS I've ever made on this site. XD
Xiáyīng is a tall, slender young woman, most prominently defined by her long, slightly messy tail of greyish hair and her pure azure eyes, which shine with an uncanny luminescence, as though at all times reflecting the fullness of a clear sky. Her build is athletic but wiry, giving her a rather dainty air that seems more befitting of a merchant's daughter or a lady-in-waiting than a martial artist. Her small white hands hide callouses upon their palms, however, and her thin body carries its fair share of scars.
Despite her training, though, she doesn't carry herself with the pride one might expect of a warrior. Her bearing could best be said to be as graceful as a heron... and as bold as a rabbit. She takes small, even steps with her head ever-so-slightly lowered and her eyes held upon the ground in front of her, and keeps her distance from even the slightest sort of contact.
She seems to favor simple attire, making no particular concessions for femininity in the process. More often than not, she can be found clad in a comfortable, boyish blue tunic and pants, over which she wears a looser-fitted white robe. Her wardrobe generally lacks ornamentation, letting the fine quality of the fabric speak for itself. Thanks to her lack of curves, however, her long hair and timid manner are generally the main indicators of her gender. Were it not so, she could likely pass quite convincingly for a young lord; even now, some might mistake her for a man until she opens her mouth.
Xiáyīng's nature is one deeply mired in contradiction. Outwardly, she is polite, composed, friendly, and humble. Yet, despite her politeness, she is deeply distrustful of others. Despite her composure, she holds a great deal of fear within her. Despite her friendliness, she retreats into herself the moment others reciprocate, never allowing anyone closer than arms' length. Her humility, perhaps, is the only aspect of her refined facade that is truly real -- and that solely because she is unable to escape her own feelings of inferiority.
Though blessed with the ability to discern the talents and experience of others, like a koi trapped within its pond, all her eyes have shown her is the vastness of a sky she will never reach. She wants to break out of her shell. She wants to change. If things had turned out differently, then perhaps she'd be happier for it. If only she hadn't failed, and failed, and failed again.
If only.
Xiáyīng doesn't know what she wants anymore. She doesn't know why she was granted the blessing -- or curse -- that she bears, doesn't know why she can't seem to do anything right, and even if she could advance along the path before her, she wouldn't know where to go. Even now, the dream she looks back on is something that was never her own -- a road laid out before her by someone else. But no matter how daunting the heights upon which her peers stand, and no matter how dark the depths of the evil she sees in the shattered world around her, she wants to believe that there is good in others, and that there is value in herself.
When the world was young, two great beasts fought atop the Severed Peak -- a dragon of the heavens, and a dragon of the earth. The reasons for their battle have been lost to time, as has the victor. All that is known is that in the wake of their struggle, the mountaintop was split asunder, and a fountainhead of pure water sprung from the site of the Dragonstear, spreading out through unseen veins beneath the earth and joining with the energies of the land to create new life from death. Great stones erupt from the mountain's steep cliffs, said to be the bones of one or both of the valiant creatures, and atop their silent grave at the foot of heaven, the flowers bloom eternally in tribute.
Regardless of how much of that is true, it was the pride of the Yuán clan to inherit this mystery. Their monastery sat upon the lower half of the Severed Peak, opposite the Dragonspring itself. Their duty since the first days of their establishment was to protect the spring from all those who would dare misuse its power. Said to be blessed by the Dragon of the Heavens, their founders supposedly possessed unique "Jeweled Eyes," which could peer beyond the trappings of the physical world and into the realm of spirit. Of course, no two accounts can agree on what, precisely, this power actually did, as none among the clan inherited it in the last hundred years, and many of the original records were lost during the succession crisis, where two brothers fought to inherit mastery over the clan and its martial arts. The winner of this battle was the clan's most recent head, Yuán Daiyu: a rare genius who would go on to reform the entire Yuán sect, and become one of the greatest warriors in all the Jianghu.
But under his rule, members of the clan began to mysteriously disappear. Soon, none were allowed to scale the Severed Peak, and none atop it were allowed to leave. Rumor had it that his wife had borne him twin prodigies, whom he had taken it upon himself to train personally, but when the doors of the monastery were at last opened, he had but one successor, and one heir -- his son Jingyu, who had not only exceeded his father in the martial arts, but who had, for the first time in a hundred years, manifested jeweled Jade Eyes.
When the Age of War began, the two of them proved themselves mighty warriors for the Alliance. So mighty were they that some began to question the source of their power. Suspicion became doubt, doubt became fear, and fear became horrible reality when the Devil Clans at last revealed themselves, and both father and son, long-since beguiled by the promise of power, heeded the call of their true masters and betrayed their erstwhile allies. Countless heroes were felled by the blade of the young devil Jingyu, who seemed able to master any technique, and see through any deception with his Jade Eyes. But, when all hope seemed lost... his power vanished. The eyes he had so relied on failed him, and his unnatural gift disappeared.
Unable to continue fighting without his power, the father and son both fled, hunted like dogs for their betrayal. But although the traitorous Yuán who had followed them were purged -- though the clan was abolished and its teachings destroyed, the lord and his heir were never found, even after the war's conclusion. No one knows what became of the traitors, or why Jingyu's Jeweled Eyes failed him in the hour of his triumph.
But rumor has it that at the moment when Jingyu's eyes failed, a girl emerged from the shrine at the heart of the Dragonspring -- a princess clad in rags, her pure Sapphire Eyes yet unsullied by the world. Though none could confirm these rumors, that could not stop people from searching for this ghost, this phantom twin, this holy child. Some said she was a savior who would illuminate the path to enlightenment. Some said that if you took her eyes, you, too, could see past the world and reach the truth yourself. Others said that she was a rare genius who would restore the old ways of the Yuán, and bring about justice for the sins of her forebears.
But the truth is none of those things. The truth is that Yuán Xiáyīng, the lost daughter of Yuán Daiyu, is simply an average girl who had the misfortune of being born into a family of geniuses. Sacrificed for a cause she does not know, saved by powers she does not understand, granted a gift she cannot use, and sought for a salvation she cannot provide, the princess at last emerges from the bottom of the well like a koi challenging the Dragon's Gate, leaping towards a sky she dares not reach.
Cultivation Base _________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Yuán Clan's martial philosophy is rooted in the principles of the Wu Xing, and is referred to as the Fivefold Path. Rather than solely distinguishing between Yin and Yang or any other such binary dichotomy, it instead focuses primarily on the Five Agents -- Water, Wood, Fire, Earth, and Metal. It is a philosophy rooted in the concept of mirroring the changing facets of the external world within one's self, and in so doing, gaining mastery over the world by achieving harmony with it.
Xiáyīng currently remains stuck at the first of the five Agents, limiting her to harnessing Qi aspected with the philosophy and properties of Water.
As protectors of the Dragonspring, and bearing the name of the sacred Origin, the Yuán clan venerates Water as the origin of all things -- the source and fountainhead from which life itself flows. As such, the first step upon the path is water. As a neophyte, one must be yielding, tranquil, and serene, like the pure waters of the Dragonspring. Only then will a student be ready to receive the power of the water.
Once that power is received, however, it must be refined. Water's nature is transient and fleeting, and cannot be grasped. So too does the Qi cultivated from the sacred spring slip through the fingers of those who would cling to it. But just as water grants life and nourishment to the trees of the mountain, so too may it nourish a student of the path. As the student's knowledge and skills grow, so too must he step out of the shadow of his mentor, like a sapling raising its own branches to embrace the sunlight. He must become confident, but not arrogant, for a young branch that bends and remains firm does not break.
But just as there is a time for growth, there is also a time for harvest. Just as there is a time for learning, there is a time for trial. This is the third step of the path: the element of Fire, representing passion, transformation, and transcendence. At this stage, the student's abilities are pushed to their limits, and in this crucible they must either break or be forged anew.
Once proven, the student's will must be tempered. Their destructive Qi, cultivated through passion and pride, is yet unstable, and the burning spirit of youth must be quenched at last so that the wisdom of age may take its place. For though the fire shines brightly, it burns for only a moment before its spark dies out -- but the mountain endures a thousand years unchanged. Meditation, asceticism, discipline, and relentless practice make up the backbone of the phase of Earth, until at last the aspirant's body is prepared for the fifth step.
Metal represents the completion of the martial artist's trials -- the synthesis of all that has come before. Drawn from the earth, forged in fire, fueled by wood, and quenched in water, Metal stands as the final step of the cycle. Humility, Courage, Passion, Temperance, and finally, Supremacy. From humble beginnings to the very heights of achievement, the student has witnessed all the phases of the world -- has lived them. In so doing, he has cultivated a world within himself, balanced in all its facets. He has mastered first his mind, then his body, then his heart, and at last his soul.
And for such a master, there is then but one final step to take -- one which none have yet managed to take before. One must truly realize that he is the world, and the world is him. There is nothing without that is not within. There is nothing within that is not without. And in this state of "nothingness," one achieves the true goal of the Yuán style, and reaches the Void. One does not strike with the intention to do harm -- one simply wills it, and it is so. The sword divides the mountain, because there is no mountain, and there is no sword. It is all one, and the form that oneness takes is entirely arbitrary. It could be a blade. It could be a flower. And it could be a man without limits.
Immeasurable, free of obstacles, formless and infinite. If one could achieve such an existence, they must surely be either a demon or a god.
However, the Fivefold Path requires that the one who walks it understand the course to be taken, and understand themselves. If one is naturally impatient, they cannot achieve stillness, and cannot draw upon the power in the first place. If one lacks resolve, they cannot achieve firmness, and cannot control the power they obtain. When one obtains one thing, one loses another -- and as you walk the path, the steps you've taken disappear like the melting of snow.
How can one balance five views in one? How can one become a world to themselves? How can one reach the Void that lies beyond the Origin? The only way is to walk the path. When one becomes a master, one must remember their lessons as a student, and see them through once again with a clear mind. Water. Wood. Fire. Earth. Metal. Water. Wood. Fire. Earth. Metal. Repeat them a thousand times, then a thousand more. With each step the path grows shorter. The spiral narrows. A thousand more steps closer, and it narrows still. Where once you walked, now you run, sprinting closer -- ever closer to the end of the spiral. Ever closer to the Truth.
Immeasurable, free of obstacles, formless and infinite. Though none have ever reached it, the Yuán sought this fleeting Truth, no matter how many bodies they had to step over to reach it; even if that body was that of a frail sister, or a weak daughter.
What did the Truth look like through those eyes of Jade? And how could one cast aside by that path ever hope to walk it?
To tread the path, one must understand the course to be taken, and understand themselves. But that path was never hers, and perhaps that is why she could never go beyond the first step. To abandon self, to forsake kindness, to court oblivion -- Xiáyīng was never fit to make such a choice.
And so, she wavers at the foot of the mountain, merely gazing up at the sky she cannot reach, rising and receding with the turning of the tide. But no matter how her feet may falter, and no matter where the flood may bear her, the sky reflected in her eyes remains clear, without horizon.
Whether atop the split peak of a distant mountain, or deep within the darkness of a lonely well, a lone flower blooms in silence.
Body Enhancements _________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Jeweled Eyes ~ Sapphire: Thanks to her unnatural eyes, Xiáyīng possesses the unique ability to observe the flow of Qi in the world around her. This is both a blessing and a curse, since it can grant her flashes of insight into her own life, and the lives of those around her -- particularly other cultivators willing to open themselves up to her. Though it's a far cry from the superstitions about her being some kind of enlightened maiden, her eyes can allow her to potentially provide a level of empathetic support or insight into the burdens of others.
However, she is unable to control what she sees or when these "flashes" occur, potentially overwhelming her with visions she can't necessarily make sense of. With time and training, perhaps this ability could allow her to grasp and unravel the Qi of others as her brother did before her, but as matters stand, it's a power she can't even understand, much less consciously make use of.
Life Detection: Thanks to her eyes and their power, Xiáyīng does at least have a somewhat instinctual ability to sense the presences of other people -- particularly those with a great deal of Qi. This comes with the downside, however, that powerful presences tend to overwhelm her, assaulting her eyes and mind with more information than she can manage to process, and weighing down upon her with an almost tangible level of mental pressure.
Judgment of Character: Another side effect of her eyes. Xiáyīng can generally tell people who mean harm apart from others based upon her special vision, and as such, has an uncanny instinct that helps her to avoid danger... or to confront it for the sake of those she holds dear. This power doesn't allow her to read minds, tell the truth from lies, or anything beyond sensing a target's immediate hostile or beneficial intentions, however.
Art of the Flow - Breath of Life: The basis for all Yuán school martial arts is the ability to pace one's breathing and enter a state of stillness, balancing one's own body and Qi with the ebb and flow of one's surroundings. By doing this, the user becomes a conduit, drawing in power continuously from their surroundings, coursing it through the body, and then expelling it with each breath.
This grants the user tremendous stamina, as even if the overall pool of Qi the cultivator has at their disposal at any given time is small, they replenish it almost as quickly as it is expelled from their body. So long as Xiáyīng paces herself and her breathing rhythm remains unbroken, she can endure fatigue, hunger, illness, and injury without faltering.
The more advanced application of this art integrates principles of Tai Chi with those of Yuán school spiritualism. Enemy strikes become a part of the rhythm -- a coming tide to be moved with rather than resisted directly. Controlling points of leverage and positioning accordingly requires timing one's footwork and defenses in time with one's breathing, moving with the swell of gathering energy and expelling the enemy from one's own space as the user exhales, increasing the force that is applied.
Performed properly, this art is like a dance, deflecting and striking all in one fluid motion, breaking the coming tide with a single gentle palm. Performed poorly, it all falls apart the moment the user's concentration falters and their breathing wavers. Xiáyīng, unfortunately, tends towards the latter end of the spectrum.
Art of the Flow - Sword of the Dragon's Eye: The traditional form of swordsmanship taught by the Yuán school to newly-minted initiates to prepare them for learning more advanced forms. It is said to draw its inspiration from a whirlpool that forms under certain conditions above the mouth of the Dragonspring. The ebb and flow of the waters as they descend through the valleys creates a back-and-forth motion that is mimicked by this style's focus on dynamic, circular movements.
The swordsman is expected to outspace the enemy, redirecting the enemy's strikes with the very tip of his or her blade in order to maximize leverage while minimizing the distance moved, then follow up by stepping forward, rotating the wrist, and striking back with the opposite edge of the blade in the very same motion, applying pressure and forcing the enemy back.
If the enemy refuses to back off from this pressure, there are also techniques for running one's sword down the enemy's blade, grappling to pin their weapon arm and remove their ability to defend themselves, or locking weapons in order to wind around their guard and launch a swift thrust at close range. Like the water between the rocks of the valley, the swordsman seeks to slip through any gap, their strikes flowing freely around their opponent rather than confronting them directly.
In light of this, a heavy emphasis is also placed on twitch hits - intentionally pulling a strike as the enemy parries it, and using the momentum they impart to bring the blade around and strike the opposite side of the body with a lightning-fast flick. This hit can also then be pulled, continuing a blindingly-fast rain that will wear the enemy down until they make a mistake, and back them into a corner.
The style is tremendously simple in theory, relying on just a few key principles that can each be applied in a variety of different ways. However, although it is a style based around the idea of "formlessness," it's easy for an amateur in the art to fall into predictable patterns of trying the same trick in the same way over and over again, while a master of the style could be entirely unpredictable to a more orthodox opponent. This style also doesn't fare well against those who use weapons too massive to outspace, or too heavy to redirect, with particularly limited utility against unorthodox weapons such as nunchaku, against which the style's tricks will be at best ineffective, and at worst downright detrimental.
In summary, it is a dexterous and elegant style of fighting that is very good for the purpose of confronting other swordsmen, but suffers poor matchups against large crushing weapons and long spears. Additionally, it has a deceptively high skill ceiling, which Xiáyīng herself has not yet even begun to approach.
Art of the Flow - Crashing Wave: Though her swordsmanship is good for drawn-out battles of attrition, where her tremendous stamina and ability to apply constant pressure even when on the defensive can help whittle down an opponent, her inability to advance beyond the philosophy of Water limits her ability to contest an opponent's strength directly.
To address this issue, a technique was created to take advantage of Water's inability to retain the strength it gathers. Like an over-full vessel bursting under pressure, one can draw in external Qi and then release it all at once, creating a powerful shockwave.
This burst of energy is utterly unrefined, and lacks either focus or direction beyond the part of the body from which it is released. However, it can be used in a variety of different ways, to remarkable effect.
By releasing the burst from the user's legs, they can leap high in the air, briefly ascending above their enemy and flipping over the target's head in order to attack from behind, like a tidal wave engulfing all in its way.
By releasing the burst from the user's hand, they can deliver a palm strike capable of washing their target away, opening up the distance and potentially taking advantage of nearby terrain.
With a bit of practice, it's even possible to concentrate the burst within the blade of a wielded sword, allowing the user to deliver a vicious thrust or cut with a great deal of extra force behind it, making up for the style's inability to otherwise inflict serious direct damage in a single blow. However, Xiáyīng has yet to reach this level, and as of yet, is mostly limited to the basic rudiments of this ability -- augmenting her own jumping and physical striking power.
Nameless Sword: A humble double-edged Jian of dull grey steel. Though the frayed crimson tassel adorning its pommel suggests that it was once the possession of a warrior of some standing, its blade is scratched and worn by a great deal of use, making it little better than any other sword. No doubt, it was scavenged from some battlefield or another, taken from the body of a wielder who no longer needed it. It lacks sentimental value or any sort of remarkable properties, but nevertheless serves as an effective tool of self-defense for a forlorn and outcast little traveler.
Young Lord's Vestments: A young man's traveling tunic and robe dyed in the colors of one of the many clans associated with the Martial Alliance, lifted perhaps from the same source as the sword its current wearer now carries with her. Xiáyīng has clearly taken great care to mend the damage to the garments with what meager means she has at her disposal. Though her attire lacks ostentatious ornaments or metal reinforcement, the layered and padded cloth does provide some measure of protection without inhibiting the wearer's freedom of movement.
Furred Mantle: A more recent purchase, made with what little coin Xiáyīng was able to scrounge from the battlefields of the war. A fluffy, fur-trimmed hood adorns a loose and flowing capelet, the thick fur helping to weigh the garment down such that its low-hanging brim helps to conceal her Jeweled Eyes while in the presence of others. Also, it's very comfortable and warm -- a rare treasure for one who possesses few luxuries.
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