Wasn't the Black Knight "None shall pass," though?
1
like
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?
12
likes
2 yrs ago
No, no, they clearly are referring to Ohio -- which Georgia is geographically south of, so the theory is still sound.
In a daze, the befuddled Shrine Maiden read the message before her at least three times before it finally sank in that, no, she hadn't mistaken any of the words. Yet even so, try though she might to comprehend it, she couldn't wrap her head fully around the enormity of what she held in her hands. How could the order which her preceptor had so esteemed and protected be shattered? Had there been some kind of mistake on her part? Because she had failed in her duties, then, was everything going to fall apart? No, no, no. It couldn't be. If it had been her doing, then why would Inari-sama warn her in such a manner? Rather, if she was the one at fault, the spirits wouldn't have come to her seeking aid, but rather surely would have punished her directly for her impudence. Even if she had somehow gravely insulted them, they surely wouldn't have gone back on their word and abandoned their compact with the entire village. Which meant that maybe... there was yet something she could do. Miorochi-sama would wake soon, and then perhaps whatever impurities had crept in and breached the contract could yet be excised, and the harmony of Heiseina mended. But what? What was she supposed to do in this sort of situation?
She hadn't been trained for this. Her grandma would surely know what to do in this kind of situation, but... Oyuki wasn't like her. Could she appeal to the Spirits somehow? Impossible. She didn't even know their names. She didn't have any kind of special powers -- she was just a girl playing at being something bigger than herself. A naive child whose hands were still far too small and frail to repay her debts, no matter how she grew into an adult's shape.
She took a deep breath. It didn't matter. The spirits had placed this responsibility in her hands; that meant she had to see it through. Firstly, she'd start with what she did know, and work from there. An important spirit was currently at her shrine, and judging by its fidgeting and shifting towards the gate from whence it had come, wanted to be gone quickly. She couldn't let it leave empty-handed; that would be shirking her duty. So, reaching into the voluminous folds of her long white sleeve, she withdrew a small strip of dried meat, one of many such small treats she carried with her at all times in case she encountered one of the smaller, wilder youkai on her walks. It wasn't much, but it was the best offering she happened to have on hand at the moment, and a meager gift was better than giving nothing at all. Kneeling down upon the cobblestones, she placed it before the fox, bowing deeply.
"You have my utmost gratitude for bringing me this warning. I will -- The village of Heiseina will do everything in our power to mend that which was broken, and protect the sanctity of this place and this shrine from whatever may come. Please continue to watch over us, as you always have."
She did not dare to raise her head while uttering this prayer, for she knew that everything she said now would be heard not only by Miorochi-sama, the kami of the shrine, but also ultimately perhaps even by Inari-sama, the great kami of providence and fortune who had sent this messenger to her. She chose her words and her manner of speaking, then, as if she was addressing both in person. To even speak to them this directly already verged on overstepping her mortal authority, but even so, when one was granted a boon, one was expected to return their gratitude.
After she finished speaking, however, she was left at a momentary impasse. Namely... when would it be proper to raise her head? She didn't hear the fox moving at all, and couldn't tell whether or not it had accepted her gift. She had expected to hear paws upon the cobblestones, or some kind of signal... but what she actually heard was a loud meowing, followed by a muffled exclamation from down the stairs and the sound of something - or rather, someone - tumbling to the ground. Opening her eyes and raising her head, she found that the fox had disappeared without a trace, taking the meat she'd offered with it. Well, at least her return gift had been accepted... No, but now wasn't the time for that! Someone had just fallen on the stairs, and it sounded like they were hurt. Quickly rising and stuffing the scroll into her sleeve, she rushed under the cracked and faded red torii gate and looked down from the top of the stairs to find her unexpected visitor, lying against the stones just a few steps shy of the top of the hill. As she met his gaze from under her hood, recognition flashed across her face, followed by an intense worry slipping into her bright blue eyes.
"E-eh? Masaki-sensei? Oh, dear...!" Hastily descending the stairs, she knelt down, first retrieving his crutch, then extending a small, pale hand to help him up and speaking a flurry of questions, evidently looking him over for any scrapes, cuts, or bruises. "Are you alright? Did you hit your head? Please, allow me to help you stand."
Before the dawn had finished creeping over the horizon, and long before any of the other villagers had roused themselves from sleep, a lone figure clad in a blue kimono, a hooded white robe, and a woven mantle of tattered straw could be glimpsed walking upon the hillside road on the verge of the Mumbling Wood. She moved slowly, methodically, swaying slightly from side to side as she walked, and periodically rapping the dull butt of her shakujō staff against the path before her, causing the six rings and countless small bells trailing from its circular head to jingle in the morning breeze. The howling of the distant Yokai grew fainter, replaced by the serene chiming of bells, then by the song of birds as the maiden passed by in her walk.
It was important that Oyuki do her rounds thus, for a number of reasons. For one thing, her presence was a reminder to the Yokai of the pact, and that the village was to be protected. And, for another, it was her duty to greet the spirits in this auspicious time, and offer them gifts and her best wishes.
They still didn't trust her enough to speak with her directly, of course. After all, even though she had been doing this for almost three years now, that span of time was a mere moment in the eyes of those who had roamed these forests when the mountains were still young. Indeed, it would no doubt take another decade or more before they would tell her their names, as they had once done for the one who had taught her everything she now knew, and who had once led her by the hand and walked this very path down the mountainside so long ago, on a cold day much like this one.
While others might have resented the long winter, Oyuki found it reassuring. The snow always brought with it unpleasant memories -- but it also carried with it the reminder of something precious. How could she hate the very source of her own name? How could she grieve when she had been given so much? It was only on cold days that one could truly treasure the warmth they still had. The oft-mended robe she wore, the staff she carried, and the duty she proudly and gladly conducted were all treasures more precious still than the joy that had once been taken from her. And when she looked to the still-snowy peaks high overhead, she did so with a faint, melancholy smile.
She still had a long way to go -- but when she looked back at the path she had walked, she couldn't but give thanks for how far she had already come. The spirits had already stopped fleeing at the sound of her bells, and even now, she could almost spot a few eager eyes watching her from the other side of the trees. Silently, she stopped, then knelt by the roadside, reaching into her sleeve and withdrawing a few small rice cakes, wrapped in leaves, which she placed in a stone bowl before clapping her hands once.
"Please be sure to share them with everyone, if they're to your liking. I will bring by more in the afternoon, so please look forward to it."
Giving this address to the silent forest before her, the pale young woman smiled sheepishly under her hood, then bowed and began to walk away. As she did, she could already hear the rustling in the leaves behind her, but politely refused to look back. After all, they would show themselves when they wanted to be seen. This was what she was taught.
Her walk continued all along the perimeter of the forest, and included several other stops. Last night's frigid rainstorm had knocked over the stones piled before the old Jizo who watched over the roads, so she made sure to stack them neatly back up again. Seeing as the kindly old statue seemed terribly cold and forlorn, and the hat she had made him had blown away, she removed her own straw mantle and draped it over the guardian's shoulders, offering a prayer as she tied it securely onto him for his continued help in watching over the village and its children.
Of all the spirits, the guardian Jizo was one to whom she felt a particular sense of closeness. After all, she herself had once come down this road as a destitute orphan in need of shelter, and surely, he had been watching over her ever since. There was something in his kindly smile that seemed to tell her so, and so she always took special care to make sure he was warm and shielded from the rain.
"Please watch over me... over all of us, in the year to come. And thank you."
She thus diligently passed the remainder of her solitary walk, leaving an offering here, giving a prayer there, and everywhere showing that there was yet one in Heiseina who remembered the old contract. Truth be told, it was always a little sad, following this path alone, and when she would first set out in the morning retracing the footsteps of those who had gone before her, even after all these years it was hard not to cry. And yet, there was something about it that was liberating as well, reassuring her that her efforts weren't in vain -- that she wasn't alone, even if she couldn't see those who walked beside her. By the time she found herself back at the foot of the shrine's long staircase, shielding her eyes against the dawn shining through the torii gate, she would always be smiling, and she always did her best to take that smile with her through the rest of the day.
She put up her staff by the offering box, and went to draw water to cleanse her hands. After so doing, she set about her usual chores, sweeping the courtyard, cleaning the outside of the shrine, and them preparing breakfast both for herself and for any Yokai who might drop in to visit that morning. When she'd finished her own meal, she put out several extra trays by the back step, then headed to the outbuilding to take some lanterns out of storage. It was a little early, to be sure, but she'd feel more at ease once they were hung in preparation for the festival. Besides, if the shrine looked more welcoming, then maybe the villagers would feel less uneasy about the upcoming festival. Maybe... they'd trust that she could actually handle the responsibility, this time.
But such hopeful thoughts were swiftly turned to confusion as she heard the sound of skittering paws scrambling frantically up the steps. Turning to glance at the source of the sound, she found herself face to face(?) with a small white fox, which tossed down a small scroll at her feet, then began to yip and yelp with tremendous urgency. She nearly dropped the storehouse key that she was holding as it at last sank in what exactly she was looking at. Even for her dear Aunt, the once-beloved Miko of Miorochi's shrine, such a guest would be considered unfathomably rare. And though she'd have loved to call such a once-in-a-lifetime visit auspicious, judging by the creature's desperation, the circumstances were anything but.
"Please, stay a moment and rest, servant of Inari-sama. You've clearly come a long way. Erm... Then, I hope I'm not being presumptuous, but I'll look over your message at once." Giving this hasty offer of welcome - as she did not want to be disrespectful, but her guest's mannerisms clearly suggested that now was not the time for pleasantries - she wasted no time in bowing, then knelt to retrieve the scroll. Unfolding it, she cast her eyes over the message there contained... and felt a chill run up her spine. Her eyes went wide, and her blood ran cold as a chill wind swept through the shrine's courtyard like a forewarning of the storm yet to come.
Name - Shirasagi Yuki Age - 22 Gender - Female Occupation - Seamstress and Shrine Caretaker
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Wallflower - Oyuki, while polite, is more often seen than heard. She seldom speaks, and when she does, seldom raises her voice. The source from whence her unflappable composure stems, however, is somewhat difficult to discern. Perhaps it is simply the result of a long-cultivated discipline, or perhaps she's simply somewhat oblivious by nature? Regardless, she usually seems to be paying attention to the people around her, and is polite enough to nod along with their comments; she just doesn't often chime in unless a response is specifically solicited from her, seeming more than happy just to listen in silence.
Dutiful - Due to her aforementioned tendency towards silence, one could be pardoned for not realizing the seriousness with which Oyuki treats any and all debts or obligations. The upstanding lady caretaker of the shrine lives her life by the motto of repaying any kindness she receives twofold, and if one does her a favor, then they can expect to see their generosity fully returned with gratitude. When one realizes this, the reason for her aloof and unusual lifestyle becomes more clear. After all, what sort of remuneration can one offer for a debt which can never be repaid?
Timid - Despite her outward composure and elegance, Oyuki is honestly a rather shy person. She knows only enough of the world to realize the scope of her own ignorance and powerlessness, and fears that awareness more than anything. The spirits whose wills she can neither predict nor appease, the people whose expectations she can neither meet nor shake, the knowledge that her life is empty and her own ignorance of how to fill it; all these things weigh down on her heavily, and compel her to withdraw into the comfort of her familiar home and routine. So long as she doesn't look too directly at the world beyond her own small life, perhaps she can somehow escape its notice - so she hopes, and so each and every day continues on, the same as the one before it, giving her some small measure of comfort.
S K I L L S E T
Self-Reliant Though it may not sound like much, Oyuki has grown quite used to living by herself ever since her guardian's premature death a few years ago. During her time assisting around the Heiseina Shrine, she's grown quite adept at performing the various odd jobs necessary to keep things tidy. Whether it's cooking, sweeping, dusting, cleaning, setting out small offerings for the spirits, or maintaining the various scrolls, idols, and relics entrusted to the shrine for safekeeping, she handles it all with the same level of discipline and dedication. Despite having the entire shrine to look after and being just one woman, she's done an admirable job of keeping it from crumbling into disuse.
Seamstress While her talents as a housekeeper are already quite good, Oyuki's skills at sewing, mending, and embroidering clothes are far above and beyond anyone else in the village. It is by this trade that she provides for herself, and pays for the occasional bit of repairs when some part or another of the old shrine gets a little too worn down with age. Sometimes she buys cloth from the villagers, other times she conjures it painstakingly, thread by thread, by herself, using her knowledge of the Mending sign, as well as a more esoteric sign, Thread, which allows her to convert various materials into thread, which she then spins by hand into cloth with which to create her finished products. Regardless of the distance she puts between herself and the community, she never has any shortage of requests and orders to take care of, be they commissions for new clothing, or requests to mend old heirlooms. She handles them all with a smile and a deft hand, and her needlework is second to none.
Shrine Maiden's Protege Raised by the former Miko of Heiseina, Oyuki was taught from a young age the rudiments of the duties that position carries. She knows the names of many of the major spirits of the valley, and is familiar with their history and of the offerings they are most fond of. She even knows a sign for a rudimentary Blessing, warding off evil spirits and misfortune wherever it is inscribed. She is less familiar, however, with the proper way to administer more complicated rites. Various ritual prayers, dances, ceremonies, blessings and benedictions that would traditionally be passed down to a true Miko never made their way to her, as her guardian never got the chance to properly teach her everything she needed to know before passing on, leaving Oyuki to pour over old books and scrolls and try to learn for herself what she must do to follow in the footsteps of the great woman to whom she owes so much. Though she may be lacking in knowledge now, the foundations have been laid for her to perhaps one day blossom into an admirable Miko herself, if given the chance.
Physical Description
Lady Oyuki, as she is often called by the other villagers, can be decisively called striking at a mere glance. Her skin is as fair and pale as the snow she is named after, while her long, straight hair is a sharply contrasting shade of jet black. Meeting her gaze, one will find large, rounded eyes of a pale, icy blue framed in long, elegant lashes; eyes that peer keenly out from between a high-set brow above and rounded, rosy cheeks below. Her gaze is tranquil, pure, and piercing; it is almost more like looking back at one's reflection in the mirror-like surface of a frozen lake than meeting the eyes of a fellow human being. Serving to offset her eyes' pale color, however, Oyuki's full lips are a lush red, and the narrow, sharp jawline beneath them serves likewise to counterbalance the roundness of her cheeks. Her whole countenance is a synthesis of opposing extremes both physical and chromatic that all somehow exist in an almost perfect balance of harmony with one another, creating a sense of beauty that is wholly her own.
Despite the intensity of her facial features, however, her build is rather lean, and in certain aspects rather petite. She is tall for a woman, but with narrow shoulders, somewhat short arms, and small, dainty hands. Her figure could best be described as shapely but modest, being neither particularly lean nor voluptuous. However, unlike most of the other villagers, she is rather scrawny, having lived a sheltered life with little to no exposure to the sun or to difficult manual labor. As such, she lacks muscle almost entirely, save what little she has accumulated from simple household chores and occasional walks in the woods around the village.
Thus, all these factors combine to create a beautiful woman who, while not exactly diminutive, seems as graceful as a heron, as fragile as glass, and as fleeting and ephemeral as snow.
She favors modest, rather conservative attire, almost all of which is either of her own making, or a hand-me-down from the previous shrine maiden. Almost all her outfits feature multiple layers and show off very little skin, with the long, flowing, curtain-like sleeves of her furisode often hiding even her hands from view, while various hooded gowns, cloaks, and mantles serve to cover her neck and head from the elements, and long skirts trail almost clear down to her sandal-clad feet. Most of her kimonos do not display any ostentatious patterns or eye-catching ornaments, however, and they also lack a clan seal or personal crest of any kind. Pure, simple colors in complimentary hues make up the bulk of her wardrobe. But, of all the colors she wears, blue suits her best - and thus most often finds its way onto her person.
As far as accessories go, she does not often wear them. However, on special occasions, she will occasionally don a small hairpin, decorated with a few colorful stones and an ornament carved in the shape of a lily. It's a cherished possession that formerly belonged to the previous shrine maiden, and she thus takes great care of it. Other such heirlooms make up the bulk of her accoutrements: a roughly-whittled reed flute, and a tall walking staff adorned with a brass head -- a sacred tool donated to the shrine by an itinerant priest said to have entered the valley generations ago, adorned with several rings and consecrated bells attached by strands of braided cord, said to help pacify spirits and ward off evil. This, in particular, was favored by the previous Shrine Maiden, and as her keepsake remains Oyuki's constant companion on her walks, its jingling bells ever and always heralding her arrival.
Character Conceptualization
A mysterious, beautiful young woman who has lived at the Heiseina shrine for as long as most children of the village can remember. Though the older members of the village often respectfully but distantly call her "Lady Oyuki," it's unclear to the village children and adolescents precisely where this respect -- or perhaps fear -- comes from. The adults, however, know better, and often look to the high slopes of the valley when they speak of her, where a ruined manor house sprawls upon a high plateau, overlooking the village from a perch blanketed almost year-round by snow.
The Shirasagi family was once a respected, wealthy house. They had settled upon land blessed by the spirits of the valley, where their flocks and herds could graze and eat their fill upon grasses that grew perpetually. They looked down on the other villagers from the comfort of their manor, and their words carried great weight among the elders of the town. The daughter of this blessed house, rumored to be a great beauty, would surely one day have been the most beloved and sought-after bride in all the village.
But something about her attracted the attention of more than just humans. There was an evil spirit from beyond the valley that longed for a child to call her own, and would stop at nothing to claim one; to raise, to bend to her will, and then, ultimately, to feed upon as she came into maturity, to restore the hag's own lost youth. Catching sight of this beautiful girl as she gazed from her balcony into the woods, the ancient hag's wicked soul was filled with desire. If she could claim such a child's vitality, surely her own aged body could be restored. And so, in the dead of winter, the ancient hag stole into the valley, violating the sanctity of the spirits and cursing the land with her intrusion. A thick, heavy snow began to fall without end, chasing out the spirits who would protect her prey from her, and scourging the once-verdant hill of life.
The great manor was frozen in ice, and the child was snatched from her parents' grasp. Though they struggled and screamed, they could do nothing to stop the ancient hag or her magic - and were at last frozen to lifeless husks where they stood. But before the child could be dragged back beyond the valley and into the realm from whence the evil youkai had come, the spirits she had chased away returned, bringing with them their staunch ally.
The sound of bells ringing amidst the stillness of the snow.
The sight of a proud back, standing between her and the unknown that threatened to devour her very existence.
The feeling of a warm cloak wrapped around her as she was carried from the crumbling halls of her once proud home, and a reassuring, gentle voice telling her that the world had not yet ended.
It was thus that the trembling, confused little girl came to find herself brought to the shrine. She didn't know what had happened, or why she had to lose everything -- but at the very least, she was not yet alone. Her new guardian treated her with the utmost kindness, consoling her for her loss and raising her as if the young Yuki was her own child. And as she grew older and came to understand her circumstances, she did not do so with bitterness, but with gratitude.
Her parents had been willing to part with their own lives to save her. Her dear, precious grandmother had rushed to her side to save her, and was always there to protect her whenever she was afraid. No matter how much she had lost, she knew above all else that she was loved. Thus, above all else, she desired to return that love. To repay kindness with kindness became her motto, and she worked harder than ever to provide whatever comfort she could in return to the hero who had saved her life. She learned to cook, to sew, to embroider, and many other things, all so that she could provide gift after gift to her cherished grandmother As the only family she had left, and knowing that she could lose that family in an instant, she showered her mentor with all the childish affection and admiration she could, and was doted upon in return, prompting her to redouble her efforts to repay her ever increasing debt of gratitude.
In short, no matter what darkness she had seen, her childhood was happy. Yet, it was also shallow. The hag had been driven away, but was far too powerful to be sealed or slain. In spiriting her away, it had left its mark on her, and would stop at nothing to claim her for its own. If her name was so much as spoken, surely, the hag would reappear -- called by the curse it had left upon her on that winter's night so long ago. And if she left the consecrated grounds of the shrine, then surely, it would find her, and the tragedy of her youth would be repeated. And so, she was kept sequestered within the shrine itself, from the time she was a child all the way up until she came of age, and the hag's claim upon her was broken -- deprived of the company of all save for her guardian.
...Or, at least, so it should have been. But although her dear grandma was unable to tell anyone of her existence, bound to secrecy by the very magic by which she had saved the girl -- that did not prevent a particularly curious village girl from finding her all by herself. Under the alias of Fuyuko, she made her first friend -- a girl bearing the very essence of spring. And, at long last, her wintry heart began to thaw, and joy she had thought she would never again know began to bloom anew, amidst the ashes of what once was.
Perhaps it was not quite the same as the days that had been so cruelly taken from her. But it was family, and she was not alone.
But this all changed when she at last came of age, and shortly thereafter, her mentor and protector passed away, as if the old woman's humble purpose was at long last fulfilled. So it was that the confused Yuki once again took up the name of a family now thought dead for at least a decade, and came to have dealings with the village itself after her long seclusion.
The reactions her appearance garnered were mixed. Some thought she could not have been real -- that it was a ghost rather than a real girl that the old miko had so painstakingly kept hidden, that she was made of ice and would suck the life out of those who got too close to her, or spirit them away as she herself had been taken as a child. Others pitied her for the tragic life she had lived, offering to take her in and grant her sanctuary now that her guardian, too, was gone. Still others admired her for her beauty, and even went so far as to seek after the hand of this fair, mysterious maiden. Yet she, too shy to meet such fervent affections, retreated back to the safety and the familiarity of her shrine, and refused those who sought to court her as well as those who sought to take her in and offer her shelter. After all... she still had a debt to repay.
This shrine was her home. It was the place the person she had cherished more dearly even than her own parents had lived to protect. It was her duty, then, to see it taken care of. She could not leave. She would not betray her savior's memory. She would show her gratitude through her earnest devotion, her prayers, and her hard work. So it is that she has continued to maintain the shrine and follow in her mentor's footsteps, up until the present day.
And so, when one walks in the woods around the village, one often hears the jingling of bells and distant footsteps just a little further ahead. When one goes to market, one can see a hooded young lady buying fabric and selling clothes. And when one approaches the shrine on the edge of town late in the day, one can sometimes hear the mournful sound of a reed flute echoing between the cliffs overhead, like the cries of a bird. So it has always been. So it will always be. As patient as a heron, waiting calmly upon still waters, the mysterious Lady Oyuki continues each day as she always has, living with constancy, with honesty, with duty, and with gratitude.
In that sense, perhaps she isn't so dissimilar from the spirits she seeks to appease - and perhaps that is why they are content to accept her ministrations, inexperienced though she may be.
Name - Tsurugamine Yuki Age - 24 Gender - Female Occupation - Seamstress and Shrine Caretaker
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Wallflower - Oyuki, while polite, is more often seen than heard. She seldom speaks, and when she does, seldom raises her voice. The source from whence her unflappable composure stems, however, is somewhat difficult to discern. Perhaps it is simply the result of a long-cultivated discipline, or perhaps she's simply somewhat oblivious by nature? Regardless, she usually seems to be paying attention to the people around her, and is polite enough to nod along with their comments; she just doesn't often chime in unless a response is specifically solicited from her, seeming more than happy just to listen in silence.
Dutiful - Due to her aforementioned tendency towards silence, one could be pardoned for not realizing the seriousness with which Oyuki treats any and all debts or obligations. The upstanding lady caretaker of the shrine lives her life by the motto of repaying any kindness she receives twofold, and if one does her a favor, then they can expect to see their generosity fully returned with gratitude. When one realizes this, the reason for her aloof and unusual lifestyle becomes more clear. After all, what sort of remuneration can one offer for a debt which can never be repaid?
Timid - Despite her outward composure and elegance, Oyuki is honestly a rather shy person. She knows only enough of the world to realize the scope of her own ignorance and powerlessness, and fears that awareness more than anything. The spirits whose wills she can neither predict nor appease, the people whose expectations she can neither meet nor shake, the knowledge that her life is empty and her own ignorance of how to fill it; all these things weigh down on her heavily, and compel her to withdraw into the comfort of her familiar home and routine. So long as she doesn't look too directly at the world beyond her own small life, perhaps she can somehow escape its notice - so she hopes, and so each and every day continues on, the same as the one before it, giving her some small measure of comfort.
S K I L L S E T
Self-Reliant Though it may not sound like much, Oyuki has grown quite used to living by herself ever since her guardian's premature death a few years ago. During her time assisting around the Heiseina Shrine, she's grown quite adept at performing the various odd jobs necessary to keep things tidy. Whether it's cooking, sweeping, dusting, cleaning, setting out small offerings for the spirits, or maintaining the various scrolls, idols, and relics entrusted to the shrine for safekeeping, she handles it all with the same level of discipline and dedication. Despite having the entire shrine to look after and being just one woman, she's done an admirable job of keeping it from crumbling into disuse.
Seamstress While her talents as a housekeeper are already quite good, Oyuki's skills at sewing, mending, and embroidering clothes are far above and beyond anyone else in the village. It is by this trade that she provides for herself, and pays for the occasional bit of repairs when some part or another of the old shrine gets a little too worn down with age. Sometimes she buys cloth from the villagers, other times she conjures it painstakingly, thread by thread, by herself, using her knowledge of the Mending sign, as well as a more esoteric sign, Thread, which allows her to convert various materials into thread, which she then spins by hand into cloth with which to create her finished products. Regardless of the distance she puts between herself and the community, she never has any shortage of requests and orders to take care of, be they commissions for new clothing, or requests to mend old heirlooms. She handles them all with a smile and a deft hand, and her needlework is second to none.
Shrine Maiden's Protege Raised by the former Miko of Heiseina, Oyuki was taught from a young age the rudiments of the duties that position carries. She knows the names of many of the major spirits of the valley, and is familiar with their history and of the offerings they are most fond of. She even knows a sign for a rudimentary Blessing, warding off evil spirits and misfortune wherever it is inscribed. She is less familiar, however, with the proper way to administer more complicated rites. Various ritual prayers, dances, ceremonies, blessings and benedictions that would traditionally be passed down to a true Miko never made their way to her, as her guardian never got the chance to properly teach her everything she needed to know before passing on, leaving Oyuki to pour over old books and scrolls and try to learn for herself what she must do to follow in the footsteps of the great woman to whom she owes so much. Though she may be lacking in knowledge now, the foundations have been laid for her to perhaps one day blossom into an admirable Miko herself, if given the chance.
Physical Description
Lady Oyuki, as she is often called by the other villagers, can be decisively called striking at a mere glance. Her skin is as fair and pale as the snow she is named after, while her long, straight hair is a sharply contrasting shade of jet black. Meeting her gaze, one will find large, rounded eyes of a pale, icy blue framed in long, elegant lashes; eyes that peer keenly out from between a high-set brow above and rounded, rosy cheeks below. Her gaze is tranquil, pure, and piercing; it is almost more like looking back at one's reflection in the mirror-like surface of a frozen lake than meeting the eyes of a fellow human being. Serving to offset her eyes' pale color, however, Oyuki's full lips are a lush red, and the narrow, sharp jawline beneath them serves likewise to counterbalance the roundness of her cheeks. Her whole countenance is a synthesis of opposing extremes both physical and chromatic that all somehow exist in an almost perfect balance of harmony with one another, creating a sense of beauty that is wholly her own.
Despite the intensity of her facial features, however, her build is rather lean, and in certain aspects rather petite. She is tall for a woman, but with narrow shoulders, somewhat short arms, and small, dainty hands. Her figure could best be described as shapely but modest, being neither particularly lean nor voluptuous. However, unlike most of the other villagers, she is rather scrawny, having lived a sheltered life with little to no exposure to the sun or to difficult manual labor. As such, she lacks muscle almost entirely, save what little she has accumulated from simple household chores and occasional walks in the woods around the village.
Thus, all these factors combine to create a beautiful woman who, while not exactly diminutive, seems as graceful as a crane, as fragile as glass, and as fleeting and ephemeral as snow.
She favors modest, rather conservative attire, almost all of which is either of her own making, or a hand-me-down from the previous shrine maiden. Almost all her outfits feature multiple layers and show off very little skin, with the long, flowing, curtain-like sleeves of her furisode often hiding even her hands from view, while various hooded gowns, cloaks, and mantles serve to cover her neck and head from the elements, and long skirts trail almost clear down to her sandal-clad feet. Most of her kimonos do not display any ostentatious patterns or eye-catching ornaments, however, and they also lack a clan seal or personal crest of any kind. Pure, simple colors in complimentary hues make up the bulk of her wardrobe. But, of all the colors she wears, blue suits her best - and thus most often finds its way onto her person.
As far as accessories go, she does not often wear them. However, on special occasions, she will occasionally don a small hairpin, decorated with a few colorful stones and an ornament carved in the shape of a lily. It's a cherished possession that formerly belonged to the previous shrine maiden, and she thus takes great care of it. Other such heirlooms make up the bulk of her accoutrements: a roughly-whittled reed flute, and a tall walking staff adorned with a brass head -- a sacred tool donated to the shrine by an itinerant priest said to have entered the valley generations ago, adorned with several rings and consecrated bells attached by strands of braided cord, said to help pacify spirits and ward off evil. This, in particular, was favored by the previous Shrine Maiden, and as her keepsake remains Oyuki's constant companion on her walks, its jingling bells ever and always heralding her arrival.
Character Conceptualization
A mysterious, beautiful young woman who has lived at the Heiseina shrine for as long as most children of the village can remember. Though the older members of the village often respectfully but distantly call her "Lady Oyuki," it's unclear to the village children and adolescents precisely where this respect -- or perhaps fear -- comes from. The adults, however, know better, and often look to the high slopes of the valley when they speak of her, where a ruined manor house sprawls upon a high plateau, overlooking the village from a perch blanketed almost year-round by snow.
The Tsurugamine family was once a respected, wealthy house. They had settled upon land blessed by the spirits of the valley, where their flocks and herds could graze and eat their fill upon grasses that grew perpetually. They looked down on the other villagers from the comfort of their manor, and their words carried great weight among the elders of the town. The daughter of this blessed house, rumored to be a great beauty, would surely one day have been the most beloved and sought-after bride in all the village.
But something about her attracted the attention of more than just humans. There was an evil spirit from beyond the valley that longed for a child to call her own, and would stop at nothing to claim one; to raise, to bend to her will, and then, ultimately, to feed upon as she came into maturity, to restore the hag's own lost youth. Catching sight of this beautiful girl as she gazed from her balcony into the woods, the ancient hag's wicked soul was filled with desire. If she could claim such a child's vitality, surely her own aged body could be restored. And so, in the dead of winter, the ancient hag stole into the valley, violating the sanctity of the spirits and cursing the land with her intrusion. A thick, heavy snow began to fall without end, chasing out the spirits who would protect her prey from her, and scourging the once-verdant hill of life.
The great manor was frozen in ice, and the child was snatched from her parents' grasp. Though they struggled and screamed, they could do nothing to stop the ancient hag or her magic - and were at last frozen to lifeless husks where they stood. But before the child could be dragged back beyond the valley and into the realm from whence the evil youkai had come, the spirits she had chased away returned, bringing with them their staunch ally.
The sound of bells ringing amidst the stillness of the snow.
The sight of a proud back, standing between her and the unknown that threatened to devour her very existence.
The feeling of a warm cloak wrapped around her as she was carried from the crumbling halls of her once proud home, and a reassuring, gentle voice telling her that the world had not yet ended.
It was thus that the trembling, confused little girl came to find herself brought to the shrine. She didn't know what had happened, or why she had to lose everything -- but at the very least, she was not yet alone. Her new guardian treated her with the utmost kindness, consoling her for her loss and raising her as if the young Yuki was her own child. And as she grew older and came to understand her circumstances, she did not do so with bitterness, but with gratitude.
Her parents had been willing to part with their own lives to save her. Her dear, precious grandmother had rushed to her side to save her, and was always there to protect her whenever she was afraid. No matter how much she had lost, she knew above all else that she was loved. Thus, above all else, she desired to return that love. To repay kindness with kindness became her motto, and she worked harder than ever to provide whatever comfort she could in return to the hero who had saved her life. She learned to cook, to sew, to embroider, and many other things, all so that she could provide gift after gift to her cherished grandmother As the only family she had left, and knowing that she could lose that family in an instant, she showered her mentor with all the childish affection and admiration she could, and was doted upon in return, prompting her to redouble her efforts to repay her ever increasing debt of gratitude.
In short, no matter what darkness she had seen, her childhood was happy. Yet, it was also shallow. The hag had been driven away, but was far too powerful to be sealed or slain. If she left the consecrated grounds of the shrine, then surely, the tragedy of her youth would be repeated. And so, she was kept sequestered within the shrine itself, from the time she was a child all the way up until she came of age, deprived of the company of all save for her guardian.
But this all changed when she at last came of age, and shortly thereafter, her mentor and protector passed away, as if the old woman's humble purpose was at long last fulfilled. So it was that the confused Yuki, the long-rumored daughter of a family now thought dead for at least a decade, came to have dealings with the village itself after her long seclusion.
The reactions her appearance garnered were mixed. Some thought she could not have been real -- that it was a ghost rather than a real girl that the old miko had so painstakingly kept hidden, that she was made of ice and would suck the life out of those who got too close to her, or spirit them away as she herself had been taken as a child. Others pitied her for the tragic life she had lived, offering to take her in and grant her sanctuary now that her guardian, too, was gone. Still others admired her for her beauty, and even went so far as to seek after the hand of this fair, mysterious maiden. Yet she, too shy to meet such fervent affections, retreated back to the safety and the familiarity of her shrine, and refused those who sought to court her as well as those who sought to take her in and offer her shelter. After all... she still had a debt to repay.
This shrine was her home. It was the place the person she had cherished more dearly even than her own parents had lived to protect. It was her duty, then, to see it taken care of. She could not leave. She would not betray her savior's memory. She would show her gratitude through her earnest devotion, her prayers, and her hard work. So it is that she has continued to maintain the shrine and follow in her mentor's footsteps, up until the present day.
And so, when one walks in the woods around the village, one often hears the jingling of bells and distant footsteps just a little further ahead. When one goes to market, one can see a hooded young lady buying fabric and selling clothes. And when one approaches the shrine on the edge of town late in the day, one can sometimes hear the mournful sound of a reed flute echoing between the cliffs overhead, like the song of a bird. So it has always been. So it will always be. Like a crane said to live a thousand years, the mysterious Lady Oyuki continues each day as she always has, living with constancy, with honesty, with duty, and with gratitude.
In that sense, perhaps she isn't so dissimilar from the spirits she seeks to appease - and perhaps that is why they are content to accept her ministrations, inexperienced though she may be.
Julian was going to backpedal. There was no reason to expect anything else. She was clearly rattled already, and stalling for time -- what reason could she possibly have to step forward, then?
But that was exactly what she did. As Nathaniel approached, sword upraised to deliver a heavy stroke and knock her weapon from her hands, she didn't even try to block it. Instead, she simply lunged forward, raising her own weapon.
A ploy, then. No matter. There was still ample time for a swordsman as skilled as Nathaniel to deflect a strike from such an untrained and feeble opponent. It would be a simple matter to pull his own attack, parry the blow, wind his blade over her guard, and then force the weapon from her hands.
Or, well, he was probably thinking something like that. Julian wouldn't know -- she didn't know anything more about swordsmanship than what she had heard of in books about knights and fantasy stories. But whatever his plan might have been, he probably was at least expecting her to actually swing at him.
But no swing came.
Instead, the hand she had hidden inside her pocket came darting up and a curtain of blinding, itching, scratching pain filled his vision as, of all things, a handful of sand, meticulously collected from the riverbank that morning and saved for this very moment, was hurled directly in his face. Her last resort, and strongest weapon had finally been unleashed, as, deprived of every other trick she could think of, she was forced to fall back upon the very first teachings of the school of hard knocks: when in doubt, go for the eyes.
Caught off-balanced by his own attack, this would in turn open the way for teaching number two: if they can't stop you, go for the legs. A swift kick was aimed at his shin, then, a moment later, she rammed her shoulder up against his chest, aiming to knock him to the ground, before finally...
The match would only end when someone was disarmed. So, in this moment of golden opportunity, all that was left was to whack the crap out of his hand until he let go of his sword!
...In her defense, he had asked her to "be done with this." So really, she was just obliging his request by ending things as quickly as she could. And so quick it was that most of the crowd probably wouldn't even have time to shift their attention from the overly-flashy duel happening in the next arena over before Julian's ruthless counterattack was already complete -- leaving them in silence as they wondered what had just happened.
Both times before, when Julian had entered the arena, she had done so with calm, if not with bravado. She had felled first a mountain of a young man, then a skilled incanter -- one through sheer anger, the other through trickery.
But the opponent she was facing in the third round was a different sort. A noble. Not just that, but a proud master of the blade. He must have been important, whoever he was -- she'd guessed as much when she heard his name called. The cheers from the crowd had been deafening compared to the others, save only for the one whose name was called shortly after him.
But whoever "Elidthianis Hawke" was didn't matter to her. What mattered was the brown-haired boy standing in the arena across from her. What mattered was the rumbling in her stomach. What mattered was the cloak that had been stripped away from her, depriving of one of her few weapons against those bigger, stronger, and more skillful than herself. What mattered was the sword gripped tightly in her trembling, white hand. What mattered was the sun shining above her, and the dark place she'd left behind, never to return to.
She slipped a hand into her pocket, and held it there until the trembling stopped. But the rest of her body didn't seem to get the memo -- or rather, she didn't let it.
When Julian Baker entered the arena for her third match, she entered it with her head low, her teeth gritted, and her eyes darting about like a cornered rat. She entered it looking for all the world like a weakling, about to be crushed, grasping at straws in hopes that something, anything, might turn the tables in her favor. She looked like she had nothing left to offer, and everything still to prove.
As though realizing it only too late, she gave a stiff, awkward bow -- a barely-adequate attempt at formality from one whose mind was clearly preoccupied entirely by things other than the match she was about to lose, and lose badly. Then, she slowly, jerkily raised her sword, and waited for her opponent to approach and claim an easy victory. The crowd booed and jeered, but then, all at once, seemed to just... forget about the blonde's existence. After all, there were much more interesting matches afoot than some street urchin getting crushed, right? In the very next arena over, two nobles were going at it in a glorious showdown of magic and swordplay. Even her opponent's gaze was liable to wander, dazzled by such a spectacle. And why wouldn't it? His own opponent was practically beaten already, without him having to so much as lift a finger.
...But what was important hadn't changed, no matter how much her outward aspect had.
What was important, you see, was that no matter the odds, and no matter what it took... Julian Baker was still going to win.
As another round of duels wrapped up in the arena below, in the box overhead, a red-haired man gave a contemptuous huff, and the silver-haired elder seated next to him laughed. While the former Lord Marshal seemed quite pleased at the turnabout match that had concluded the set -- no wonder, given the victory had been performed with a Snow Incantation, a form of magic few other than Ser Ward could even use in the first place -- the head of the Eastern House was, predictably, disgusted.
It was no wonder, the raven-haired man mused, his armor clicking as he shifted in his chair. Though the other Knight-Commanders had donned more comfortable clothing for this little occasion, Commander Gilbert Tervellan alone had chosen to attend in full battle dress. Perhaps the others thought him foolish, or a mere braggart seeking to make an imposing first impression -- but Prince Laurentius, the Lord Marshal, had merely given him a wry, knowing smile and said no more.
Yes, it was no wonder indeed. Aside from a select few worthies, the lion's share of this year's candidates were lacking, by all objective measure -- moreso, even, than the usual fare of the previous years. Most of the commoners who weren't already known the order thanks to the prestige of their teachers or their victories in other, provincial tournaments were... well, just that. Common. At best, they knew how to hold a sword -- at worst, they didn't even seem to know how to swing it.
And even if things went according to plan, most, if not all of those nobodies were going to end up under his command. It was ironic, then, that Vallentin was the one complaining -- though, Tervellan supposed, he didn't know yet just how fortunate he was going to be. Not that he'd appreciate it, even if he did know.
But, his annoying co-worker aside, at least some of the nobodies made up in other fields for what they lacked in swordsmanship. The young man with the Snow element was only the most obvious in this regard. Really, some of them were quite inventive, actually. Though, that wasn't always a good thing. As if on cue, one of the matches down in the arena concluded rather abruptly as a short blonde boy who'd just moments before been running away from his opponent's wind incantations suddenly reversed directions, dashing headlong into him the moment he started chanting again. Before the taller youth could even finish his spell, the blonde had... thrown his cloak over the young man's head?
...Wait, why was it wrapping around his neck like that? Struggle though he might, forgetting not to drop his sword in the process, he couldn't seem to remove it, either. It was almost like something was --
A loud whack split the air as, blinded, muffled, and his concentration broken, the taller lad was knocked to the floor with a solid -- albeit utterly uncoordinated -- blow. And as he fell...
-- weighing it down.
From every pocket of the dislodged cloak, rough and heavy rocks began spilling out onto the floor, and though Tervellan couldn't make out all of the rather heated words between the boy and the horrified referee for his quarter, he could have sworn he heard the lad vehemently insisting that "You said we could bring our own weapons if they're blunt! These are blunt rocks! What's the problem?!"
The ref cast a glance up to the box, and it was only then that Tervellan realized the match had happened in the quarter flying his banner. He supposed it fell to him, then, to adjudicate. He raised a hand in acknowledgement, and gave a slight, authoritative nod. He'd respect the victory for no reason other than the fact that it had amused him -- but he also wouldn't allow such a thing to happen again. The referee seemed to adequately grasp his intentions, as a moment later, the fiery blonde's cloak had been confiscated and he was grumbling his way back over to the sidelines.
...He turned back to the other commanders. Laurentius looked like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or gape in confusion, and so had elected to do neither. Caius, on the other hand, had decided immediately upon the former and was laughing uproariously. "They might not be as skilled as last year's, but it seems this year's candidates aren't lacking in audacity!" He chortled.
Vallentin, on the other hand, mostly just looked like he wanted to strangle someone -- and whether it was the blonde boy who'd just committed such a dishonorable act in front of the entire crowd, or Tervellan himself for letting him get away with it, the raven-haired knight couldn't say for sure.
...But, well, he was going to be getting his pick of the dregs, anyway. He had to take what talents he could get -- even if those talents weren't those of a knight.
As the next set of contestants was announced, he sighed, sinking back into his seat with a creak and a clattering of mail. His hopes had been negligible, but, well... perhaps this year's worst candidates might surprise him, after all.
Colorless is a pretty perceptive one, it seems. The words hardly even managed to leave my mouth before she noticed. "Lived" -- not "live."
Well, logically speaking, it's not like the way I said it was wrong. After all, I'm gonna be living here for the next four years, unless I do something really stupid. But then again, I suppose for a normal person, it's pretty strange to make that adjustment so quickly. No doubt, most people my age would be more attached to that place called "home." But can you really blame me in that regard? A rented one-room apartment over a shady izakaya isn't even the worst place I've stayed until now -- but it's also not one I'm attached to even slightly. All the thoughts spilling in through the thin walls and floor, the sounds of passionate drunkards lamenting and rejoicing until the wee hours of the morning --
Ehem. Suffice to say, I'm more than happy to be gone. Compared to that, a few hundred flustered high school kids is easy-peazy.
At any rate, as a fellow observer, I have to admire her perceptiveness -- especially since she's flying blind -- or rather, deaf -- compared to me. She seems like a "my pace" sort of person, but she's a sharp one. I'll have to make a mental note to remember that for future interactions, so that I don't tip her off to anything I actually want to keep hidden. Clever people are always the most fun to watch -- but only when they're not watching me in return.
"Nice to meet you, Touko-sama," I answer bluntly.
That was a joke, by the way. You're free to laugh. I know. I'm hilarious.
Sigh. Tough crowd, I guess.
"Manaka Kokone," I continue. Since my first joke failed, I try to force a smile for my next one -- not that I even know how to. But I do my best to think in orange and my facial muscles -- atrophied though they may be -- do the rest. "Not sure if you heard me introduce myself before -- actually, kind of hope that you didn't."
Another miss, it seems. The life of the party, I am not.
"It does seem like we're going to be in the same class, though, so I hope we can get along."
At any rate, it seems like I've distracted Tachibana long enough. Though I lost track of what Akisuji-kun was thinking about, I tune back in just in time to hear him saying something about what those eyes of his actually do. They can shoot beams, apparently -- though why he's so afraid to talk about it continues to elude me. Or... that's not all, apparently. He can also create more of them, and control them remotely -- an ability which only just begins to pique my curiosity before it happens.
A sound beyond words fills my mind once again. My head is shattering. Somewhere, his -- my -- our eyeball is screaming, and I realize only too late what this sound is, as Tachibana helpfully asks about the ramifications of a Quirk that can and, apparently, does overload one's brain.
It's a Quirk somehow alike to my own, meant to transfer information from one living being to another -- and unlike him, I don't have any of the necessary brain functions to process it.
I want to scream, but then I remember that there are others near me. What kind of facial expression am I making right now? I haven't moved, so my face is probably still frozen in orange even though my thoughts are already green again. Even so, I must have flinched involuntarily, despite myself, and can only hope the others didn't notice. The urge to vomit just came back in full force, and I only barely choke it back before, mercifully, the noise stops -- and I find myself suddenly basking in complete --
"SILENCE."
For most kids, that speech was probably the most nerve-wracking thing they had experienced today.
Me? I was more afraid of the short kid who'd been seated next to me than anything. After the ceremony ended and the teachers gave us our marching orders, I almost didn't even notice who I was supposed to be following. It took until she repeated herself for me to realize that the one thinking in green was 1A's teacher -- a fact which did little to assuage my unease. I don't do well with people who think in the same color as me. If I stop paying attention, it's all too easy to forget which thoughts are mine and which aren't -- and that scares me.
Thankfully, she doesn't seem to be thinking about much of anything in particular... Anything except some kind of test, that is. So, they're throwing us right into the deep end, huh? Normally, this sort of thing wouldn't even faze me -- but my ears are still ringing and I can't make out the details in the teacher's brain. The worries of everyone around me aren't exactly helping, either -- particularly as some overly nervous student steps forward and nearly bites his own tongue trying to offer the teacher a pineapple.
And worst of all, that senpai just took my headphones. Even if I can't use them right now, just having them is reassuring in case something happens. Without them, I feel like a samurai going into battle without a sword, and I can't help but be uneasy... Just what sort of test is this going to be? And how can I pass it without drawing attention to myself... or to my Quirk?
Julian had been hoping for easy wins. The last couple contestants hadn't seemed all that impressive -- and the match in the quadrant next to her had already ended before her opponent even reached the stage. If she could just get a pushover like that to fight too, then she wouldn't even have to resort to using any of her tools this early!
...Or so she'd thought, until she set eyes on the person who took up his place in the arena opposite her.
"You've gotta be kiddin' me. This is my opponent?"
The boy -- no, the young man across from her could easily have passed for a knight already -- in size, at least. He was a head and a half taller than Julian, and built like a brick house. He held his sword with a confident and practiced hand, his stance rigid and his grip firm.
That was as far as his resemblance to a proper knight went, however. His scruffy tunic and the tattoos adorning his bare arms, coupled with his scornful smirk as he gazed down at her with the air of a predator sizing up its prey, instead made him resemble a common thug more than anything else.
At a glance, it was hopeless. Even someone as dense as Julian could tell that there was no chance of her winning this fight. The hot anticipation coursing through her blood had suddenly chilled to an emotion that ran as cold as ice and as heavy as lead. So, in the face of this all-too-familiar feeling, she did the same thing she always did.
She smiled.
"Got a problem with that? If you're feeling scared, there's always next year to try again." She shot back, tapping her short wooden sword against the stones in front of her, then leveling it in a way that she was pretty sure looked reasonably intimidating -- or would have, if she was about a foot taller. The chorus of laughs that followed from the spectators' gallery indicated that her attempt at looking cool was... somewhat less than successful.
...Actually, judging by the look on his face, rather than intimidating him, it looked like she'd just pissed him off. He raised his sword with a scowl and began to advance, his brows tying themselves in so many knots she almost couldn't see his eyes.
Well, angry was fine, too! She could work with that. He was more likely to slip up like this, which meant that just so long as she kept her cool, she could --
"Who're you callin' scared? Me?! Of a scrawny little runt like you?! I'll wipe that smirk off your face, you little brat!"
...
......
.........What. Did. He. Just. Say?
"...A runt?" Julian murmured, her knuckles whitening as they clenched around the handle of her sword. Her opponent raised his own weapon, bringing his two-handed down with a mighty yell.
"...A runt?!" She hissed once again, stepping just far enough back that his first swing missed her. Undeterred, he lunged forward and swept the blade back up -- or tried to, only to find his footing thrown off as, with every last ounce of strength her spiteful little body could muster, Julian ducked low beneath his swing and stomped down on his toes. He recoiled in pain, stumbling from the momentum behind his own mighty swing -- and in the next instant, toppling forward completely as the blonde's knee connected directly with his groin. His roar of anger gave way to a breathless whimper, which was in turn silenced completely as, raising her wooden sword over her head, Julian brought it wildly, artlessly, but violently down with both hands.
"I'M NOT A RUNT! I'M STILL GROWING, YOU BIG!"
THWACK!
"STUPID!"
THWACK!
"OAF!"
THWACK!
...
......
.........Everything got really quiet after that. Julian slowly drew back, then took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale again.
Right. She had almost forgotten. She was supposed to keep smiling. She turned to the knight in charge of her quadrant, then glanced back to the man sprawled groaning on the ground in front of her. He reached for his training sword. She smirked, and kicked it away. She looked back to the knight. He looked strangely pale all of a sudden.
"...Hey. Heeeeey. Mr. Knight? He dropped his sword. That means I won, right? Or am I supposed to keep going?" She raised her sword again, miming yet another another swing with it. The young man on the ground curled into a ball and covered his head.
"Uhh... The winner is, Julian Baker!"
"Yahoo!" She cheered, thrusting her sword up at the sky. Nobody else cheered with her.
...Well, at least it had turned out to be a pretty easy win after all. Although, come to think of it... who even was that guy? She'd completely forgotten to get his name.
Oh well! One down, however many more to go! Fortune favored the bold, and right now, Julian felt bolder than anyone! She could do this thing!
Through the gates, into the outer courtyard, and then skirting around the inner rampart, the crowd was ushered on. Knights stood assembled around them, guiding a path around to a large square arena on the western side of the castle. Just beyond the high wall, the sound of the Barrier Falls echoed off the towers over their heads, mingling with the countless excited voices of prospects and knights alike, and rendering the whole plaza a perfectly unintelligible din.
This was the storied tournament grounds of the Sentinel Knights. On both the Northern and Southern sides were the stands -- towering stone structures with rows and rows of wooden benches, in which countless spectators had already taken up their places. And, built high in the western wall was a box for the nobles, the officers, and the royal family. Four seats in particular were pulled forward from this assemblage, and figures clad in red, gold, white, and black could respectively be seen peering intently down into the arena below.
The arena floor itself was set upon a raised dais, with a staircase leading up to it from the gate by which the prospects entered. It was further segmented by makeshift fences into four separate quadrants, each flying the flag of one of the Four Houses from one of the great marble pillars positioned at each corner.
It was a vivid spectacle. All color and life and vibrancy packed into such a small space and filled with so much sound and energy and... and...
And Julian couldn't see anything.
Hop. Just a little higher. Hop. No, still not enough. Hop. Almost made it that time! Hop. Okay come on, this was getting silly. Hop. There! And the arena floor was... still empty! Or at least, she was pretty sure it was. Maybe one more just to check? Hop. Yup, still empty.
Rumble.
Her stomach was still empty too, just in case she had somehow managed to forget that unpleasant fact. But she still had at least a couple coins left in her purse... Maybe after the fighting was over she could at least get something to tide herself over for the next few days. She just had to hold out a little longer. Sure, she'd only had a slice of bread that morning... and hadn't had anything the day before. But she had technically eaten, which was better than nothing!
She sighed. And she actually heard herself sigh, which told her that something must have been happening after all, since everybody around her had suddenly stopped talking. She hopped again -- to little avail. But the blaring trumpets that echoed through the courtyard a moment later thankfully conveyed the general gist of what was going on even to one as vertically challenged as herself, as all in attendance stood, and the cadets were ushered forward to assemble at the foot of the arena. And then, ringing through the clear morning air, punctuated by the low rumble of the Barrier Falls, an announcer began to speak.
It was a longwinded speech. There was a great deal of preamble dedicated to commemorating the noble tradition of Grayle's knighthood, the history of the Four Houses, the accomplishments of their commanders, the duties of a true knight, and the noble purpose of protecting the people of Grayle. Really, it was incredible how easily the man managed to turn so many of her favorite things into something Julian could hardly listen to without yawning. It was so belabored, in fact, that she almost didn't even notice when he finally started to explain the rules.
Matches would be split between the four arenas. They'd be one-on-one fights run four at a time. Training swords would be provided -- and no other weapons. However, those with their own weapons could use them, provided that their edges and tips were blunted and safe. Magic could even be applied -- but no offensive spells capable of inflicting lasting physical harm.
Julian nodded to herself, bobbing up and down as she did so. The pockets of her heavy mantle gave a reassuring rattle that thankfully went unnoticed over the rumbling of the waterfall and the words of the announcer. Her weapons were definitely blunt, so there was no problem there! And as for magic, well -- that just meant her odds were even better than expected! If her opponents had to fight at her level, then maybe -- just maybe -- she'd be able to drag them down and score some wins - particularly since the actual win conditions were pretty flexible. You could win by disarming the opponent, pushing them out of the arena, or landing "a decisive blow." She wasn't really sure what constituted that last one, but... Well, whacking 'em in the head a few times was pretty decisive, right?
Without any further ado, candidates began to be called forward one by one. Judging by the short and simple sound of the names being called, though, it seemed like commoners were being called up first -- a fact which seemed confirmed when she noticed that the crowd of prospects was splitting into two distinct groups, and one of them was distinctly better dressed than the other. A more intelligent person would have probably realized that since the nobles didn't have anything to prove, they were free to take this time while the commoners were struggling to even make the qualifiers to exchange greetings and start making connections with their fellow blue-bloods.
Unfortunately, all of Julian's working braincells were currently far too busy thinking of strategies to beat trained swordsmen with a pocket full of sand and a cloak full of rocks. And, wouldn't you know it, she was going to need every last one of those strategies she could muster -- because after a round or two of quick fights she was unfortunately too short to even see, she heard the name Julian Baker called. And, after taking a moment to remember that was her name, she quickly scampered her way up to the stage, wondering as she did so just what was up with the contestant called to the next arena over from her, and just who exactly named their kid Donathon.
Lemons
mickilennial
AlteredTundra
TokyoPewPew
Kaithe Dame
Cyadical
Damycles
Supermaxx
Izurich
