Post by Prime on Oct 2, 2010 12:45:29 GMT -5
Marcus Evony was 28, and at the height of his physical prime. And it was slated to soar even higher. He'd been a black belt and a well recognized master for the past five years. A prodogy of Judo, Kendo, Karate, Kenpo, and Muai Thai. He'd progressed through the martial arts world at a phenominal rate.
He had his own dojo, the Shojuin Martial Arts school, loosely translated to the Projected Mountain. It was mainly a school of kendo, focused on closing the gaps in young swordsmens defence. He taught them Muai Thai and Judo, modifying some motions for use with the two handed sword.
The objective, ultimately, was to make disarming them the most dangerous of mistakes. He honed his students to such a high degree, that their origional skills with the blade were overshadowed. Disarming them was a sad mistake to make, often resulting in bruised ego's.
And all of this changed, one day, ten years ago.
Marcus smiled sadly, "I met a boy." He said to his students.
"A boy?" A young man asked, perhaps in his early teens, "How did a boy end your career?" He asked earnestly.
"Well sit still and I'll tell you," Marcus said patiently.
Ten years ago, I cannot remember the day, I met a boy. He walked cooly into my dojo, while a giant of a man stood behind him, smiling a shallow smile. His father, or master, or both. I never got to ask the question.
The boy who walked into my dojo had an atmosphere about him, all my students took notice, as did I. The young man had an expression that mixed scowl with smile, his stance was both angry and eager, holding a deep excitment. He wanted something, and he was scented deeply with danger.
Maybe fourteen years old, he was a redhead barely into puberty, with dark green eye's flecked with blue and grey. He had a solid brow, as though he made a hobby of headbutting trees. A stout nose lay below it, silid and wide, giving a vague hint of french ancestry.
His hair was vibrant red, tending towards strawberry blond, and pulled up in spikes. But yet, still practically short, as though he were aware it could be a disadvantage.
His tall but lithe frame, lanky as though only recently come into height, was packed with restrained but powerful muscle. He walked with a smooth gait, in a slight crouch, and tended to present his shoulder to those he looked at.
And I though, this is a child come unto the other side of hell. His every movement a careful positioning, an unconcious understanding of battleflow. He treated every student as though he were the enemy as he approached me. In one hand he held a sheathed katana, simple black sheath over a deadly blade.
My more experienced students nearly objected, but I silenced them. This child was beyond any of them, and filled with haughty arrogance and confidence in his prowess. He had been born a swordsmen, and he was die a swordsmen, as a swordsmen.
His aura filled the room like an invisible force, pounding fear against my students and myself. If he felt any weakness, any fear, he never showed it. He just grinned all the wider, as though elated at the prospect of combat.
Little did I know at the time, but there was as much elation as terror in that young mind.
As he came before me, he bowed, and spoked.
"I challenge your dojo, as a right of passage held traditional in my family," His voice was low, and tinted with kindness, though he appeared to remain resolved. "I'm afraid you won't be allowed to deny this challenge, so I ask you answer with honour."
At the time, I had smiled. There was certainly a sense of foreboading about the young man, but in my years of experience and prodigous skill, I had grown confident in my abilities.
I knew, in the back of my mind, that he would strike at me. I knew it was wrong also, to fight a child. The man who stood outside my dojo, however, seemed keen that it not happen any other way. The boy would give me no choice.
I sighed, "I Marcus Evony, do answer your challenge, and welcome you to my dojo." He said formally, "May I ask your name before our bout challanger?"
The young boy grinned, "Our family is nameless, only titles are passed down to our sons and daughters. I am Prime."
I nodded, though I was curious of the boys origin, I doubt I would be allowed to say more. I stood and walked to the dojo's edge, taking up one of the many weapons that lined the walls.
"Respect!" I commanded sharply, and the young boy placed his sword on the ground, and bowed to the dojo. He then turned to myself, and bowed to me, his left hand covering his right. My eyebrows raised.
"I will not kill you, it should be long before you die." I said cooly.
"That is your choice, if you are the victor." The young man called Prime answered me, "But the outcome must be determined before you can answer to it."
He grinned carnally and charged me, which I immidiately sighed as an amateur mistake. I parried casually, deflecting his blade, only to find it whipping towards my throat. I parried, near panicing, as he pressed me. The boy was strong and fast, and beyond that, trained to the razors edge and somehow experience with it.
With all my skill, and the years I'd spend in the martial arts, he was the first truely terrifying force I'd faced. We dueled to a standstill, his young and unmatched potential clashing fiercely with my experience and Pride. I willed myself not to lose, and in the white fury of combat I began to lose myself.
I struck no more to disable, I no longer tried to disarm him. Thrusts were killing thrusts, wide sweeps aimed for his neck, eyes, and feet. I struck as though to kill him, I lost myself as my student watched. And he, he moved around it all with a grace and agility that would've had me bursting with pride if he were one of my own.
But I was to lost to notice this, the young boy was set a test, and a test I did become. As he flicked his blade around me, I parried and blocked with all the skill I had, counterattacking and failing to strike him every time. I almost had the sence that he was toying with me, before it all came to an end.
I backed off, breathing hard. The young man seemed taxed himself, sweat dripping down his frame, his tshirt soaked. His jeans were torn at the crotch, their seams not designed for the amount of flexability the boy had.
My own clothing had been fairly drenched in sweat by this point, and the young Lord of Blades pointed his sword at my exhausted form. He bowed his head for a moment, eyes closed, but I wasn't fooled. Even in this moment of subtle respect, he listened for any motion.
"I'm sorry." He said quietly, and of all the other around me, only I could hear his voice. And then he stepped forwards.
It was sudden, and quick, I countered as there was a flash of silver. My umblemished frame experienced the bite of steel. He stood behind me, flouishing his blade as he'd been taught, the blood flecks spoke of solitude and sadness. This was not a trial of tradition that he agreed with.
A long red cut along the side of his rib cage showcased where I'd struck, the last and most skillfull act of my career. The young Prime hissed and moved gingerly, salty swear invading the deep wound, and he bled freely. And I was left, to try to understand my vantage point. Looking at him, upside down, from the floor.
It was a very odd sensation, my neck was on fire, and yet it was numb all at once. It only when my fevered brain processed the dull thud behind me, that I understood what happened.
I smiled at the students around me, eager, rapt expressions questing. Wondering, wanting to know.
"Well, what happened!" One of my student shouted, and I laughed at his eagerness.
"I was defeated," I said, "Beheaded, by the Lord of Blades."
The students frowned, "Thats how you came here?" One of them asked.
I nodded, and there was a deep silence from the group.
"A human from the real world was like that..." There were other discontented mutters.
I soon silenced them, and my hand fell like a hammer to me knee. The loud clap brough the class to attention.
"You should thank him, if no for him I wouldn't be here, teaching all of you!" I boomed, smiling around at them all.
"Now back to Shunpo, all of you!" I yelled, fairly chasing my students back onto the field.
And I was left to wonder, in my own mind, how something so horrid could have such a positive outcome. But I am a Warrior, not a Philosopher, and I'm happy to be where I'm needed. And I sometimes wonder, if the so called 'Real World', every really existed at all.
He had his own dojo, the Shojuin Martial Arts school, loosely translated to the Projected Mountain. It was mainly a school of kendo, focused on closing the gaps in young swordsmens defence. He taught them Muai Thai and Judo, modifying some motions for use with the two handed sword.
The objective, ultimately, was to make disarming them the most dangerous of mistakes. He honed his students to such a high degree, that their origional skills with the blade were overshadowed. Disarming them was a sad mistake to make, often resulting in bruised ego's.
And all of this changed, one day, ten years ago.
Marcus smiled sadly, "I met a boy." He said to his students.
"A boy?" A young man asked, perhaps in his early teens, "How did a boy end your career?" He asked earnestly.
"Well sit still and I'll tell you," Marcus said patiently.
Ten years ago, I cannot remember the day, I met a boy. He walked cooly into my dojo, while a giant of a man stood behind him, smiling a shallow smile. His father, or master, or both. I never got to ask the question.
The boy who walked into my dojo had an atmosphere about him, all my students took notice, as did I. The young man had an expression that mixed scowl with smile, his stance was both angry and eager, holding a deep excitment. He wanted something, and he was scented deeply with danger.
Maybe fourteen years old, he was a redhead barely into puberty, with dark green eye's flecked with blue and grey. He had a solid brow, as though he made a hobby of headbutting trees. A stout nose lay below it, silid and wide, giving a vague hint of french ancestry.
His hair was vibrant red, tending towards strawberry blond, and pulled up in spikes. But yet, still practically short, as though he were aware it could be a disadvantage.
His tall but lithe frame, lanky as though only recently come into height, was packed with restrained but powerful muscle. He walked with a smooth gait, in a slight crouch, and tended to present his shoulder to those he looked at.
And I though, this is a child come unto the other side of hell. His every movement a careful positioning, an unconcious understanding of battleflow. He treated every student as though he were the enemy as he approached me. In one hand he held a sheathed katana, simple black sheath over a deadly blade.
My more experienced students nearly objected, but I silenced them. This child was beyond any of them, and filled with haughty arrogance and confidence in his prowess. He had been born a swordsmen, and he was die a swordsmen, as a swordsmen.
His aura filled the room like an invisible force, pounding fear against my students and myself. If he felt any weakness, any fear, he never showed it. He just grinned all the wider, as though elated at the prospect of combat.
Little did I know at the time, but there was as much elation as terror in that young mind.
As he came before me, he bowed, and spoked.
"I challenge your dojo, as a right of passage held traditional in my family," His voice was low, and tinted with kindness, though he appeared to remain resolved. "I'm afraid you won't be allowed to deny this challenge, so I ask you answer with honour."
At the time, I had smiled. There was certainly a sense of foreboading about the young man, but in my years of experience and prodigous skill, I had grown confident in my abilities.
I knew, in the back of my mind, that he would strike at me. I knew it was wrong also, to fight a child. The man who stood outside my dojo, however, seemed keen that it not happen any other way. The boy would give me no choice.
I sighed, "I Marcus Evony, do answer your challenge, and welcome you to my dojo." He said formally, "May I ask your name before our bout challanger?"
The young boy grinned, "Our family is nameless, only titles are passed down to our sons and daughters. I am Prime."
I nodded, though I was curious of the boys origin, I doubt I would be allowed to say more. I stood and walked to the dojo's edge, taking up one of the many weapons that lined the walls.
"Respect!" I commanded sharply, and the young boy placed his sword on the ground, and bowed to the dojo. He then turned to myself, and bowed to me, his left hand covering his right. My eyebrows raised.
"I will not kill you, it should be long before you die." I said cooly.
"That is your choice, if you are the victor." The young man called Prime answered me, "But the outcome must be determined before you can answer to it."
He grinned carnally and charged me, which I immidiately sighed as an amateur mistake. I parried casually, deflecting his blade, only to find it whipping towards my throat. I parried, near panicing, as he pressed me. The boy was strong and fast, and beyond that, trained to the razors edge and somehow experience with it.
With all my skill, and the years I'd spend in the martial arts, he was the first truely terrifying force I'd faced. We dueled to a standstill, his young and unmatched potential clashing fiercely with my experience and Pride. I willed myself not to lose, and in the white fury of combat I began to lose myself.
I struck no more to disable, I no longer tried to disarm him. Thrusts were killing thrusts, wide sweeps aimed for his neck, eyes, and feet. I struck as though to kill him, I lost myself as my student watched. And he, he moved around it all with a grace and agility that would've had me bursting with pride if he were one of my own.
But I was to lost to notice this, the young boy was set a test, and a test I did become. As he flicked his blade around me, I parried and blocked with all the skill I had, counterattacking and failing to strike him every time. I almost had the sence that he was toying with me, before it all came to an end.
I backed off, breathing hard. The young man seemed taxed himself, sweat dripping down his frame, his tshirt soaked. His jeans were torn at the crotch, their seams not designed for the amount of flexability the boy had.
My own clothing had been fairly drenched in sweat by this point, and the young Lord of Blades pointed his sword at my exhausted form. He bowed his head for a moment, eyes closed, but I wasn't fooled. Even in this moment of subtle respect, he listened for any motion.
"I'm sorry." He said quietly, and of all the other around me, only I could hear his voice. And then he stepped forwards.
It was sudden, and quick, I countered as there was a flash of silver. My umblemished frame experienced the bite of steel. He stood behind me, flouishing his blade as he'd been taught, the blood flecks spoke of solitude and sadness. This was not a trial of tradition that he agreed with.
A long red cut along the side of his rib cage showcased where I'd struck, the last and most skillfull act of my career. The young Prime hissed and moved gingerly, salty swear invading the deep wound, and he bled freely. And I was left, to try to understand my vantage point. Looking at him, upside down, from the floor.
It was a very odd sensation, my neck was on fire, and yet it was numb all at once. It only when my fevered brain processed the dull thud behind me, that I understood what happened.
I smiled at the students around me, eager, rapt expressions questing. Wondering, wanting to know.
"Well, what happened!" One of my student shouted, and I laughed at his eagerness.
"I was defeated," I said, "Beheaded, by the Lord of Blades."
The students frowned, "Thats how you came here?" One of them asked.
I nodded, and there was a deep silence from the group.
"A human from the real world was like that..." There were other discontented mutters.
I soon silenced them, and my hand fell like a hammer to me knee. The loud clap brough the class to attention.
"You should thank him, if no for him I wouldn't be here, teaching all of you!" I boomed, smiling around at them all.
"Now back to Shunpo, all of you!" I yelled, fairly chasing my students back onto the field.
And I was left to wonder, in my own mind, how something so horrid could have such a positive outcome. But I am a Warrior, not a Philosopher, and I'm happy to be where I'm needed. And I sometimes wonder, if the so called 'Real World', every really existed at all.