Skull

ꇙ ꒤ ꋊ ꋪ ꒤ ꋊ ꋊ ꏂ ꋪ ꇙ

Where did the sunrunners run off to?

New year's resolutions

Some criticize new years resolutions, but it feels good to know I managed to do well with the ones I had for this year (getting in shape and paying off debts) Going forward:

• Pay off the rest of my student loans, which I'm pushing to do by summer.
• Get better at writing.
• Get better at illustrating.
• CATCH UP ON MY READING LIST, FINISH THE DAMN BOOK, DONT STOP HALFWAY AND BUY ANOTHER ONE TO ADD TO THE DAMN PILE YOU DAMN BASTARD Read more.

Three Houses

I need to play this game.

Poem of the Bladed Nightingale [Skull & Mistress Dizzy]

Prince Hotaru listened closely, his imagination running wild as Jin shared her story. He was completely entranced, mouth agape, eyes flashing with excitement. He envisioned Susuka, with its giant boats that brought different people and cultures in from places unheard of. What a sight that would be! He only knew a handful of stories about the outside world from his tutor, Jumenkon, but it was still hard to believe there was more land, beyond Majima.

His fascination then turned to Jin’s mother, who healed with plants and herbs, marveling at her resourcefulness. He imagined Jin’s father as a powerful warrior, one from a distant land, who could pick little Jin up as if she were a temari, brandishing a magnificent blade as the city’s protector. Hearing about her parents, it started to make sense how Jin was so clever with both swords and mind.

Halfway through her storytelling there was a moment of unease, a silence, layered in something that the young prince couldn’t detect. Ishawari, however, sensed it; the part in her story that’s always left out, the part he never forces her to tell. Still, it felt good to hear her reminisce about her past, even if it also dug up things not worth remembering. He very much enjoyed her story, her fondness for her parents, and secretly envied the love they seemed to have for her.

“Oah!” Prince Hotaru smiled, but it faded as he said, “Your parents remind me of my own.”

You must be strong, my son.

The boy resisted his tears. He frowned, forcing a stern expression that he imagined Jin’s father had when confronting bandits trying to pillage their city.

“Thank you for sharing, Ji-, Akemi-san.” Hotaru bowed, then turned to Ishawari, who finished eating.

“Yes, thank you Akemi-san, for both the story and the meal! It was quite delicious today!” Ishawari said, picking a piece of burnt rice from his teeth. “The rice, well, it is what it is, but the fish! You’ve really come a long way! Was that freshly caught from-“

“Takumi-san!” Prince Hotaru crossed his arms. “Akemi-san was trusting enough to share her story, are you not trusting of us to listen to yours?”

His fiery words caught Ishawari off guard; Empress Chigusa’s sternness, flashing in the young boy’s eyes.

“Very well,” Ishawari sighed, clearing his throat after downing the rest of his tea, wishing it were rice wine instead, “My village was nothing like this. Here, people work hard, yes, but there’s freedom to be had. Laughter to be shared. A community. Uyoji, wasn’t this.”

“Why?” Prince Hotaru asked, genuinely concerned.

“Think of it like,” Ishawari searched his mind for a relatable comparison, a flowery one, “the royal army, how soldiers must work hard and train so they can protect the lands of Majima. Well, that’s no different than my village; Everyone who trains at Uyoji Villa is meant to become a great protector.”

Prince Hotaru thought long and hard, gathering fragments from Jumenkon’s lectures. Nothing about an Uyoji Villa came to mind.

“Where is your village? Is it along the coast like Susuka?” The Prince asked, visibly irritated at Ishawari’s vague description. Ishawari sighed again, loosening his guard just a little bit more.

“Deeply south from the Emperor’s palace, on the highest snow caps of Najino Mountains. It’s said that Baijiro, The Diamond-Eyed Dragon’s Herald, carved out Uyoji Villa with just his spirit halberd.”

“W,what?” He had the prince’s attention now. “He carved a village out from a mountain? Like clay? You’re lying, Takumi-san!”

Ishawari insisted, grabbing one of his chop sticks, and slashed it through the air as if he were Baijiro himself.

“This was when magic flowed freely throughout the realm, back when it existed in harmony with us and nature. That was over one hundred years ago, Han, before magic fled during the great wars, before your family, the Yomiyawa, united all banners under one. Uyoji Villa was meant to be a place where masters could meet between heaven and earth, to perfect their skills and become Saintly Grandmasters.”

“Are you a Grandmaster?” Prince Hotaru’s eyes widened and Ishawari laughed.

“No, no, far from it I’m afraid. My mother and father, now they were Grandmasters. Mother Zia, the moon, and Father Ittosai, the sun. Together they were: ‘The Duo of the Evolving Eclipse,’ which, if you ask me, sounds like a cheesy kabuki play. Mother Zia was a force with the bow staff and Father Ittosai, an equal genius with the knife. I suppose that’s why they made me train with the spear, a combination of their mastery.”

“Amazing, Takumi-san! You were raised by Grandmasters? They must’ve been strong!”

A memory flashed into his mind, quick as the blows that struck his temple, ribs, and legs. He stares up at his mother and father, hovering over him, daring him to stand. He doesn’t want to, but he knows if he doesn’t, the bow staff will come down harder, so he gets to his feet, only to fall, again and again.

“Very much so.” Ishawari smiled, the kind of smile one trains to be a mask, hiding what shouldn’t be revealed. “They did their best, but I wasn’t... it wasn’t for me! Living up there in the mountains? How boring! So, I left to travel Majima on a grand adventure, where I met your father.”

Prince Hotaru knew this part of the story all too well, and he smiled with pride, imagining his father fighting off ronin without fear. Ishawari smiled too, at the memory. Emperor Mifune was a healthy man back then, filled with life and excitement. The thrill for adventure spurred him on that wild tour across his lands, the same one his wife would scold him for until her dying days. His heart grew heavy as he reflected on the Emperor’s present condition, suffering within the lion’s den of the royal court. Ishawari wasn’t the only one troubled by this thought. Tears began to swell in Prince Hotaru’s eyes.

You must be strong, my son.

“I CAN’T!” Hotaru cried, leaping into Jin’s arms. He wailed, trying to muffle the sound by burying his face into her shoulder, but the tide couldn't be held back any longer. “I’M NOT STRONG! I’M NOT STRONG! WHY DID I HAVE TO GO!? WHY!?”

Ishawari‘s expression softened. He never felt so helpless, watching as the boy he’s sworn to protect is attacked by the phantoms of sorrow. He rose from his seat and knelt beside them, resting his hand on Prince Hotaru’s back, glancing at Jin with solemn eyes.

Poem of the Bladed Nightingale [Skull & Mistress Dizzy]

Unless Hotaru pulls a prank and tries to shave his whiskers off in his sleep, he’ll probably be rocking it for awhile.

Poem of the Bladed Nightingale [Skull & Mistress Dizzy]

Ishawari aka Takumi, the spearfighting asian jesus

Poem of the Bladed Nightingale [Skull & Mistress Dizzy]

CHAPTER ONE

Jin groaned softly as the scent of burnt rice hit her nose. Almost a month after the old man had brough them all to Hanowa and she still couldn’t get the cooking right. Oh well; the Prince (now named Han) was too polite to complain, and Ishawari (called Takumi) already needled her at least once a week about it. Someday she would learn to cook well, but today was not that day. Tomorrow wasn’t looking good either.

Hanowa was a small, non-descript village about an hour’s walk to the port. It was full of hardworking people, mostly fishers and market workers at the port. The cover story for the three of them was that young Han had lost his parents recently, and Jin (who’d taken the name Akemi) were his childless aunt and uncle. They had all recently moved here from a faraway village to start over. The best cover stories were made with some truth and some fiction in equal measure. The Prince was an orphan now, and Jin and Ishawari were close enough to him to play parental roles.

“Dinner’s ready!” She called out, loud enough to breach the walls of the small house they were in. She knew the Prince was outside playing. Ever since they came here, he’d worked hard at being a ‘normal’ boy. No longer did the neighboring children scoff at him for using big words or holding himself in a royal manner. Just the other day he’d come home splattered with mud from head to toe. Jin had been surprised and pleased to see him that way. Just a regular 8 year old.

Just a few more days living here and they’d have to be on their way to the Wilting Blossoms. The old man had been very clear about the timeframe, as they could possibly miss the ferryman if they were not there in time. Soon they would have to pack up and leave everything behind. Jin had to admit, she was going to miss it. It gave her a taste of another life that she would never have.

“I promise I didn’t burn everything this time!”

***

Ishawari surveyed Hanowa village from his outcropped perch. He positioned himself as still as a warrior statue, one that paid tribute to a wild and unkempt-looking man. Gone were his clean shaven face and slicked back royal top-knot; both replaced by unruly, shoulder length hair and beard. His royal garbs were stripped apart and sold to local merchants, leaving him with tattered grey breeches, a faded crimson vest, and leather sandals, all of which belonged to Daigo. They were indebted to him and all that he asked in return was to keep the boy safe.

The bodyguard reflects on the old man's only favor as the sun dips into the horizon. Its orange hue paints the village as though it were ablaze, and Ishawari hoped that wasn’t a foreshadowing of things to come. The Hanowa villagers were a kind and simple lot, who didn’t pry into their affairs, especially the old man’s. Diligent Daigo is what they called him, as he was always helping around the village. Ishawari and Jin made sure to carry on that tradition in his absence, and in return, the residents welcomed them as their own, especially the prince.

Abstaining from royal courtesies, especially with regard to Prince Hotaru, who now goes by Han, took some getting used to. Jin scolded Ishawari several times now for being so overprotective of the boy, and even went as far as restraining him from berating another child, who pushed Han to the ground while play fighting. Fortunately, no one else was around to witness the scene, and the spear has since been locked away.

“Uncle Takumi-san!” Han called out.

Yes, even his newly given name took some getting used to. He turned around when the name was shouted a second time, and saw the bald prince in his green robe, the most simplest attire he's ever worn.

“Dinner is ready!” He yelled, cupping his mouth with both hands, a trick he learned from one of the village kids. Ishawari quickly jumped down from his perch and ran towards the house. The boy took this was a racing challenge, one he gladly accepted. Han quickly kicked his little feet into a mad dash, giggling all the way back into the doorway.

"I win!" Han jumped triumphantly, "Huh?"

Ishawari sped right past him, leaving his normal reluctance for Jin’s cooking at the door; a day spent as a hardworking farm hand left him spent, and he was starving.

***

“I promise I didn’t burn everything this time!”

It wouldn’t have mattered to Ishawari if it were charred to a crisp. He was so hungry that when he bowed as a gesture of appreciation, his stomach made a loud and angry sound, frightening Han so much that he nearly jumped out of his sandals. After a hastened prayer was made to the Diamond-Eyed Dragon, The Two-Faced Monkey, and all of the Gods and Goddesses in between, they sat around the small table like any family would.

After several big bites, Han took a sip of his water, then cleared his throat.

“Takumi-san? Akemi-san?” His big brown eyes stared at both adults. He took a moment to choose his words, then asked:

“Where were you born? Was it like Hanowa?"

Surprised, Ishawari glanced at Jin, then proceeded to stuff his face with rice, his passive way of telling her: ‘you first.’ Seeing how Ishawari was too focused on his meal to talk, Han turned to Jin.

“Pleassseee Akemi-san!” He smiled, the same innocent smile he’s trained to perfection, one that only the heartless could resist. "Tell me what little Akemi-san was like!"

Poem of the Bladed Nightingale [Skull & Mistress Dizzy]

Head to The Wilting Blossoms and offer the ferryman our talisman

Keep The Smiling Monk happy so he can take you to the mountain men

Do not scare the Tengu, and be sure to take the silver feather

Let it guide you to the east, to the islands of The Mentor!

ꇙ ꒤ ꋊ ꋪ ꒤ ꋊ ꋊ ꏂ ꋪ ꇙ

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<sup>H e a l t h :
▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪ ▪
100%

E f f e c t s :
None

W i t h :
Torvin Ironfist

M e n t i o n e d :
@LordOfTheNight</sup>

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Vardi woke up to a familiar laugh. It was loud and jolly, one he’d expect to hear at the Drunken Miner tavern, or when a good kill was had. And when the guard opened his cellar gate and dropped his items beside him, Vardi also laughed.

“They always send the very best when a damsel is in distress.” he chuckled, scrunching into his brown tunic and breeches, nodding at the dwarf’s metal cog tattoo that confirmed that it was in fact: “Torvin the Terrible. You’re one of my favorites, ya know?”

"Jumping into the drinking water, eh? That's a new one. Doesn't seem like a fitting end for someone of your caliber. How's about we get you saddled up and we chance a death defending a Dune Schooner?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, trust me. That skinny dip was worth it.” he whistled with exaggerated content, clasping on a black-bronze cuirass and a pair of gauntlets. “Hell, I’d rather drown in that pool of angel tears than dry up like an old man’s ball bag out in those dunes.”

They both knew that was a lie. Torvin and Vardi were like peas in a pod -- if one pea was shorter, more burlier than the other -- and they shared a thirst for bloodshed, though, addiction is a far more accurate word in Vardi’s case. Flaying open some hapless vagrant was the only reason he signed up with the Sunrunners. Well, not being jailed and executed for the crime because of his guild affiliation is more like it. But to sleep the eternal sleep, on a bed of corpses made by your own doing in battle? That's the only true way to die, and both couldn’t agree more, for they’ve discussed this topic at great length, over many kegs of ale at the dwarf’s domicile tavern. However, such a sweet surrender will have to wait, at least until he pays back The Night Twins for what they did to him; but that doesn't mean he couldn't have fun in the mean time. Practice makes perfect after all.

“This Dune Schooner must be hauling some serious candy, the kind that’ll attract all sorts of eyes, oooh, especially Gleeker eyes, my absolute fave.” Vardi said with a mischievous grin, moving each finger encased in enchanted metal, the kind that sharpened to daggers on his command. Vardi sensed the guard’s scrutinizing eyes beaming down on him. He smiled back with a piercing gaze and blew a kiss. The guard spat angrily on the ground.

“I’m sure Hawke was thrilled to know I’d be tagging along too.” Vardi jumped into his leather boots and tightened their clasps, stomping each one into place. He made some final adjustments to his attire, all the while, growing more and more excited at the job Torvin proposed to him.

“Nothin like an ol'family reunion over some ol'fashion violence, eh, Torvin?" he said, exiting his cell with an extra spring in his step. "For the good of the guild, of course.”

Hagakure Hyperwire [Skull x King Bandit]

“Oh, so serious!” Tatsuya jabbed at his partner, closing his eyes to mock her meditation with a tone deaf OM!

“Uh, Tatsuya-sama, please keep your eyes on the road!” Issoji pleaded.

“Calm down.” Tatsuya rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose like a brat put on time-out. Issoji glanced over to Setsuna with grave concern, winking a message to her private neural inbox: ‘They’re so unprofessional! Is this really what the Shinsengumi are like?’

Tatsuya cleared his throat, and for a moment, Issoji feared he somehow read the message. No, that would be impossible since he doesn’t have a cyberized brain, right?

“The Skullfire Gang,” Tatsuya began, snapping his fingers in front of Rukia’s face, which meant ‘feet off the dash!’ after turning the radio’s volume down, “Are a real piece of work. Probably the worst batch of cultists we deal with here in Edo Tokyo. They’re divided into multiple sects, and the one we’re about to meet is the most vicious of the bunch. The Orochi. Black Market cyberization, real kooks that body mod their faces into Hanya masks. They took over Kenshin’s main R&D facility and kidnapped Uesugi’s daughter, Akani, for ransom.”

“What are their demands in exchange for Akani Kenshin?” Issoji asked.

“For the release of their leader, Bozen Sakai, currently held in stasis somewhere in Kenshin district.” Tatsuya nodded.

“Bozen The Butcher, he’s still alive?” Issoji’s heart started racing again.

“So you know your mass murderers. Good.” Tatsuya gripped the wheel as they made their descent into the district. Much like the other areas, the Kenshin District had a color theme to differentiate itself from other parts of the city. Its neon blues were so stark in contrast to its neighboring districts, and the haziness radiating from it made the entire sector appear submerged underwater.

While the sharp lighting can be auto-adjusted for people with ocular implants, bio types like Tatsuya have to wear LED Glasses to dampen the intensity. And because of his Diogene enhancement from the war, he has to wear a specialized prescription since his normal vision was still in peak human condition. He reluctantly shoved the shades over his eyes, anticipating a joke from Rukia.

“Speaking of murders, the optical implant industry must be making a killing off these stupid lights. Did you know over 60 percent of the city’s population had to get ocular surgery because of these damned things?”

“Forgive my brashness, sir, but going back to what you said earlier, Bozen Sakai killed over three hundred people!” Issoji frowned. He was clearly bothered by this revelation, but most especially disturbed by his mentor’s lackadaisical attitude about the matter. “Why hasn’t he been executed for this heinous act?”

“Still on about that, eh? Look, you’d have to ask Chairman Useugi yourself. All of those murders happened in Echigo-Niigata. His territory. Unless there’s reason for The Shogun to overrule his jurisdiction, the Kenshin Corporation dictates how they carry out his sentence.” Tatsuya glared back at both the young man, and Setsuna, through the rear view mirror. Issoji tried not to laugh at how ridiculous he looked with those ‘sunglasses’ on. “But that’s none of your damn concern! Focus on the task at hand. When we rendezvous with Kenshin’s Chief Enforcer, I expect you to be at your best behavior!”

“Yes, sir! Forgive me, sir!” Issoji said, winking another message to Setsuna’s inbox. This time, instead of a text, he delivered a gif of an old blind man wearing sunglasses, waving around a walking stick in a frenzy. Laughter was a nice escape route to calm the nerves, and having another greenhorn on the job to share a joke with was comforting.

“Ha!” Tatsuya said at random. In that moment, Issoji’s heart sank into his stomach. His eyes caught sight of a thin wire popping out from behind Tatsuya’s collar. It was attached to the drop-socket on the back of his neck. The cable ran underneath the driver’s wheel, where a netbox was most likely installed. Did he hack into my neural network? Just then, Issoji received a notification from his inbox, which was also CC’d to Rukia. Issoji gulped, hesitated, then opened the message that read:

Not bad for a blind old man, eh?