11-14-2014, 12:01 AM
So this Minas Tirith place was pretty sweet. Very olden and medieval. Yoshimitsi was into that kind of thing. Despite where he came from in the stream of time, he still had a fondness for tradition and history. However it wasn't historically accurate. This whole place read like a fantasy novel. Grandiose armor, flying horses (how come he didn't get a flying horse? All he got was a cartoony dinosaur that tasted delicious), ridiculous weapons and fantasy races. Even the room they provided at the inn smelled of JRPG. As such, he felt it was befitting that he ransack the room and line his pockets with every bit of scrap. Along with every room that he could sneak into. Nothing really of value, but that's what Key Items were for, right?
It took him a couple days to adjust to his surroundings. Enjoying the food, the people (the “ye olde” babes), the atmosphere, it was all new to him and he accepted it wholly. But never did he lose focus of his goals. The katana wouldn't let him. Whenever he began to relax, he could feel the sick pulsing hatred emanate from the sword, driving his mind to an utter cacophony of spliced thoughts ranging from skipping through fields of flowers to beheading everything he laid his eyes on. He managed to shake them off like one would shake off a mild headache.
He needed to get a move on. If he were to join this city in their goals for keeping citizens safe then he would be able to come across some sort of wicked soul. He could commit acts of altruism, present his purity to the blade in exchange for punishing the evil. He had to do whatever he could to keep the curse at bay, even if it meant playing peace officer for a while. The days he had in this room (while not plundering) were spent meditating. Meditating on how to make this adventure successful. How he could carry his curse without it consuming him. The day he presented himself to the captain was the day he knew he had to put away the ego, put away the act and become a strict follower of his traditional ideals. The leader of the Manji Ryu was a mystery, a warrior who used strange methods and techniques to further the position of the clan. Not just the mystical techniques, but psychological ones. Banter, jokes, impractical attacks or acting like he was a fool while calculating all his moves three steps ahead.
If he were to reach his goal without the curse getting out of hand and taking him over, then he had to let go of that and stay alert. Instead he would become the follower he once was before he was presented as the leader of the clan. When he was calm, lethal, but patient and kind. He would go out of his way to protect others rather than looking for glory and spreading the name Yoshimitsu. He would take seriously the warning of the curse, that evil must be punished or else his curse possess him to carry out a crusade against all who opposed it. He had been hoping this would be like any other game he played where the katana could just remain by his side as he journeyed. The psychic impressions made it clear the curse was going to take him if he didn't obey its hunger. It was sobering. But he was a wise man, he knew he couldn't rely on himself to overcome this.
“So why do you want to join the army?” He stood before an armored soldier in front of their barracks. People walked about. Some training. Some taking care of supplies. Blacksmiths and alchemists working their craft to keep their people prepared.
Why? Because he wanted to kill. He wanted the rotting, corrupted blood of thieves, murderers and deviants soaking into the steel of Yoshimitsu. He wanted to watch their heads roll, feel their organs pop as the blade punctured them, watch arteries explode in violent sprays and shower himself, the ground and Yoshimitsu. Feed the curse, sate it.
“I just want to help.” The eyes never changed, though the mask did put on a “happy” face, the skeletal mouth curling upward.
“You're starting out as a grunt,” Came the reply, a sense of cautious authority. He wasn't sure how he would react. The initial reaction was to cut him down. How dare he humiliate the powerful Yoshimitsu and reduce his worth to that of an ant! “-sleeping in the barracks, drills with the platoon, patrols. That sit well with you?” He was still unsure of telling a Prime what to do. Yoshimitsu nodded calmly.
“Whatever helps, friend.” With a steady hand that could have easily swung the blade at a lethal arc across the soldier's face, he patted him on the shoulder. “Just show me where I'm sleeping and I'll be up training.”
It took him a couple days to adjust to his surroundings. Enjoying the food, the people (the “ye olde” babes), the atmosphere, it was all new to him and he accepted it wholly. But never did he lose focus of his goals. The katana wouldn't let him. Whenever he began to relax, he could feel the sick pulsing hatred emanate from the sword, driving his mind to an utter cacophony of spliced thoughts ranging from skipping through fields of flowers to beheading everything he laid his eyes on. He managed to shake them off like one would shake off a mild headache.
He needed to get a move on. If he were to join this city in their goals for keeping citizens safe then he would be able to come across some sort of wicked soul. He could commit acts of altruism, present his purity to the blade in exchange for punishing the evil. He had to do whatever he could to keep the curse at bay, even if it meant playing peace officer for a while. The days he had in this room (while not plundering) were spent meditating. Meditating on how to make this adventure successful. How he could carry his curse without it consuming him. The day he presented himself to the captain was the day he knew he had to put away the ego, put away the act and become a strict follower of his traditional ideals. The leader of the Manji Ryu was a mystery, a warrior who used strange methods and techniques to further the position of the clan. Not just the mystical techniques, but psychological ones. Banter, jokes, impractical attacks or acting like he was a fool while calculating all his moves three steps ahead.
If he were to reach his goal without the curse getting out of hand and taking him over, then he had to let go of that and stay alert. Instead he would become the follower he once was before he was presented as the leader of the clan. When he was calm, lethal, but patient and kind. He would go out of his way to protect others rather than looking for glory and spreading the name Yoshimitsu. He would take seriously the warning of the curse, that evil must be punished or else his curse possess him to carry out a crusade against all who opposed it. He had been hoping this would be like any other game he played where the katana could just remain by his side as he journeyed. The psychic impressions made it clear the curse was going to take him if he didn't obey its hunger. It was sobering. But he was a wise man, he knew he couldn't rely on himself to overcome this.
“So why do you want to join the army?” He stood before an armored soldier in front of their barracks. People walked about. Some training. Some taking care of supplies. Blacksmiths and alchemists working their craft to keep their people prepared.
Why? Because he wanted to kill. He wanted the rotting, corrupted blood of thieves, murderers and deviants soaking into the steel of Yoshimitsu. He wanted to watch their heads roll, feel their organs pop as the blade punctured them, watch arteries explode in violent sprays and shower himself, the ground and Yoshimitsu. Feed the curse, sate it.
“I just want to help.” The eyes never changed, though the mask did put on a “happy” face, the skeletal mouth curling upward.
“You're starting out as a grunt,” Came the reply, a sense of cautious authority. He wasn't sure how he would react. The initial reaction was to cut him down. How dare he humiliate the powerful Yoshimitsu and reduce his worth to that of an ant! “-sleeping in the barracks, drills with the platoon, patrols. That sit well with you?” He was still unsure of telling a Prime what to do. Yoshimitsu nodded calmly.
“Whatever helps, friend.” With a steady hand that could have easily swung the blade at a lethal arc across the soldier's face, he patted him on the shoulder. “Just show me where I'm sleeping and I'll be up training.”