09-02-2013, 02:03 PM
Omni.
The thought was like a gunshot and at its prompt Himura was up in a blur of blue in red. On his feet with his sword drawn he spun around and saw he was encircled by a throng. With a snarl he burst through the thinnest collection of them and out into the open white canvas of land stretching into the distance.
With a few yards distance behind him and the lambs he about faced, sword poised, eyes wild. Blue eyes. Hungry eyes.
Himura suffered from night terrors. In these haunting dreams he carved down rows of men like a peasant would reap corn. The blood painted him like a foul bath until he was drenched and smelled sweet. His dreams were like his realities only at the end of them, he'd find himself stricken down by a divine hand; be it fate, or disease, or a shutdown of body or mind. Never at the hand of a man, though. Never. eg-g
This was no night terror. In his dreams the Battousai was an animal in his fervor to slake his bloodlust. His speed knew no bounds and his body was a fluid tool of terror relentless in its slaughter. Upon waking in real life, Himura always took stock of his body while he took stock of the threats surrounding him. When he slept he sat upright, back against a wall, and with his hands on the hilt of his sword. Something was wrong with this awakening.
He remembered the face. The thought that had awoken him.
Omni.
Viciously the samurai darted his gaze from one group to the other. The confusion was palpable. There was fear in the air - the groups on mounts and strange floating devices held the thorough confidence of soldiers and leaders. These men were threats. Between these groups were the lambs thirsting for knowledge and shaky in their convictions.
Waking everyday in the field of battle and never knowing what was around him and when death might rear its ugly head, Himura never woke without his bearings.
Some eyes were on the samurai with his snarling scowl and his gleaming blade. His kimono was midnight blue, his motions were tense and fluid all at once, and at his hip rested a sheath that partnered with the katana in the warrior's hand. A tied back shock of red hair tumbled past the samurai's shoulders and stopped short before the small of his back. He was lean, and he looked young.
Two men near opposite sides of the fountain met eyes, now, and shared a look of meaningful and mutual distaste. This was a look Kenshin attributed to the musings of philosophers and politicians. No battle was to break out here; yet, his sword was not going anywhere. He continued to stand at the ready.
One man in an eyepatch began to describe the situation at hand to the lambs surrounding the fountain, splintered off into small groups based around their beliefs or their comfort zones if their body language was any barometer.
As the banter was exchanged, any attention put to Kenshin was shifted to the speakers. Kenshin's own attention was elsewhere - he heard clips and phrases from the conversation but he noticed something else, too. In the fountain. Something rose with a wretched lurch and swam into view but was not noticed by all in the dominant confusion. Whether it was beast or man Kenshin was uncertain, but it wore paint on its face like a warrior. It carried itself like a monster.
Kenshin hunkered down with his sword ready while an explanation was given on omnilium and portals, on factions and decisions, on the freedom to choose and the freedom to forge a path. The Battousai however needed no permission. He was a dog of the shogunate and these strange outlanders held no love for him, nor he for them. Though, if this was a permanent setting, as the God-Omni had explained, then Kenshin might need to make a decision soon.
One of the leaders wore raven tresses and rode astride a mount. He offered freedom, he offered strength. The other side rode astride strange devices Kenshin did not understand, and yet, they carried a darker confidence and reminded Kenshin of the men he had worked under in a life perhaps lost to him now.
He wasted no time. Moving swiftly with a burst of movement, Kenshin was a blur, and then he was sheathing his sword at the side of the man with the eyepatch facing the others, those who resembled knights of a lost era. He stood as an ally to these dark forces. He stood as a dog, and a man, and a force to be reckoned with. And yet he felt a strange drain in his gut from moving at a speed that had before been natural for him - something had sapped some of his physical endurance, and his strength.
No matter. It would be regained the same way he had garnered it to begin with.
Through a path of blood and experience. Himura stood silent, hand on the hilt of his blade, and looked out over the lambs. The hazard of lambs was their indecisiveness. He would not be a lamb. He would be a wolf, and run with the wolves until be was seen as a lion.
The thought was like a gunshot and at its prompt Himura was up in a blur of blue in red. On his feet with his sword drawn he spun around and saw he was encircled by a throng. With a snarl he burst through the thinnest collection of them and out into the open white canvas of land stretching into the distance.
With a few yards distance behind him and the lambs he about faced, sword poised, eyes wild. Blue eyes. Hungry eyes.
Himura suffered from night terrors. In these haunting dreams he carved down rows of men like a peasant would reap corn. The blood painted him like a foul bath until he was drenched and smelled sweet. His dreams were like his realities only at the end of them, he'd find himself stricken down by a divine hand; be it fate, or disease, or a shutdown of body or mind. Never at the hand of a man, though. Never. eg-g
This was no night terror. In his dreams the Battousai was an animal in his fervor to slake his bloodlust. His speed knew no bounds and his body was a fluid tool of terror relentless in its slaughter. Upon waking in real life, Himura always took stock of his body while he took stock of the threats surrounding him. When he slept he sat upright, back against a wall, and with his hands on the hilt of his sword. Something was wrong with this awakening.
He remembered the face. The thought that had awoken him.
Omni.
Viciously the samurai darted his gaze from one group to the other. The confusion was palpable. There was fear in the air - the groups on mounts and strange floating devices held the thorough confidence of soldiers and leaders. These men were threats. Between these groups were the lambs thirsting for knowledge and shaky in their convictions.
Waking everyday in the field of battle and never knowing what was around him and when death might rear its ugly head, Himura never woke without his bearings.
Some eyes were on the samurai with his snarling scowl and his gleaming blade. His kimono was midnight blue, his motions were tense and fluid all at once, and at his hip rested a sheath that partnered with the katana in the warrior's hand. A tied back shock of red hair tumbled past the samurai's shoulders and stopped short before the small of his back. He was lean, and he looked young.
Two men near opposite sides of the fountain met eyes, now, and shared a look of meaningful and mutual distaste. This was a look Kenshin attributed to the musings of philosophers and politicians. No battle was to break out here; yet, his sword was not going anywhere. He continued to stand at the ready.
One man in an eyepatch began to describe the situation at hand to the lambs surrounding the fountain, splintered off into small groups based around their beliefs or their comfort zones if their body language was any barometer.
As the banter was exchanged, any attention put to Kenshin was shifted to the speakers. Kenshin's own attention was elsewhere - he heard clips and phrases from the conversation but he noticed something else, too. In the fountain. Something rose with a wretched lurch and swam into view but was not noticed by all in the dominant confusion. Whether it was beast or man Kenshin was uncertain, but it wore paint on its face like a warrior. It carried itself like a monster.
Kenshin hunkered down with his sword ready while an explanation was given on omnilium and portals, on factions and decisions, on the freedom to choose and the freedom to forge a path. The Battousai however needed no permission. He was a dog of the shogunate and these strange outlanders held no love for him, nor he for them. Though, if this was a permanent setting, as the God-Omni had explained, then Kenshin might need to make a decision soon.
One of the leaders wore raven tresses and rode astride a mount. He offered freedom, he offered strength. The other side rode astride strange devices Kenshin did not understand, and yet, they carried a darker confidence and reminded Kenshin of the men he had worked under in a life perhaps lost to him now.
He wasted no time. Moving swiftly with a burst of movement, Kenshin was a blur, and then he was sheathing his sword at the side of the man with the eyepatch facing the others, those who resembled knights of a lost era. He stood as an ally to these dark forces. He stood as a dog, and a man, and a force to be reckoned with. And yet he felt a strange drain in his gut from moving at a speed that had before been natural for him - something had sapped some of his physical endurance, and his strength.
No matter. It would be regained the same way he had garnered it to begin with.
Through a path of blood and experience. Himura stood silent, hand on the hilt of his blade, and looked out over the lambs. The hazard of lambs was their indecisiveness. He would not be a lamb. He would be a wolf, and run with the wolves until be was seen as a lion.