Yukimura

Yeah, our old RP was rapidly losing writers, so I'm starting a new, more open-ended one. Join if you want, any sort of power is welcome, I don't care. It's half-way a joke anyway. Just try not to god-mod cuz that makes it less fun.

------

Matrue stood alone in a vast plane. It was a very convenient location for a fight, because every sort of landform imaginable was nearby. Mountains, snow, desert, oceans, just a mile or two away. Any fighter could move to the turf that best suits their abilities. Because of this, this has become known as the "Combat Plains". It's not claimed by any country, and at this point no country would want it. It's now home to all sorts of underground fighting events, or just people with an itchin' for some action. Matrue had such an itch.

The wild-eyed youth had short dirty-blonde hair that seemed to point in every direction. He stood a little taller than most men, and a little bigger too. It was obvious from looking at him that he was a strong man, and he walked with that special sort of limp that marked him as a fighter. The cauliflower ear was a little bit of a givaway too. Of course, anyone who spoke to him for more than five minutes would probably find themselves challenged to a fight, so it didn't take much detectivework to figure him out.

Armed with his Emjon crystal, he felt sure he could handle any foe. With enough willpower, the crystal enabled him to summon, to an extent, any sort of power in existance. He could fight anyone on their own ground, or any ground he felt like for that matter. Every video game he had ever played, every movie he had ever watched, every book he had ever read, every sort of ability he could even imagine was at his disposal, limited only by his own will. Matrue, however, was not without his own set of skills. The cyan crystal glows softly. Matrue looked at it in his hand, and then off into the horizon.

As though out of nowhere, a group of three warriors descended upon him. One was quite large, larger even than Matrue. One was armed with a razor sharp looking katana. The third a simple dagger and light clothing. They quickly got on three sides of Matrue. The big one spoke.

"Looks like this one may just be a challenge for us."

"Funny. I didn't expect to hear a man who attacks in a group to be looking for a simple challenge. Seems unusually honorable of you."

"Strength is strength m'boy. I happen to have the strength of leadership. Why should that keep me from joining in the fun here in Combat Plains?"

"Be careful. You almost called yourself strong for being able to lead rabble like this."

"Why you arrogant little..."

The little one seemed to disappear before Matrue's eyes. In a flash, he was before him with a dagger. The Emjon crystal flashed and Matrue was suddenly sent spinning with incredible speed. Chakra poured from his pores so quickly that it became tangible. His opponent stopped mid-thrust, and was sent flying back crashing into the ground far away.

The big guy and the samurai both came at Matrue. The crystal flashed again, and Matrue moved the earth under the big guy's feet to cause him to crash to the ground. He turned and brought a pillar of rock from the ground just in time to stop the samurai's katana. He put his hand against it, and the pillar shot into the samurai's head, knocking him unconscious. Matrue moved it into the air, and brought it crashing back down on the big guy just as he was getting up.

"Well that was fairly easy. I hope someone stronger comes."

A breeze seemed to blow past Matrue, and he instantly noticed his hand was empty. A few feet away stood the theif.

"So I guess my first move didn't knock you out after all."

"You were too arrogant. It's obvious that this crystal is the source of your power. Now it's mine, and I will use it to crush you!"

The theif raised his hands into the air, and a little dust around his feet kicked up slightly. A puzzled look crossed his face, but it quickly changed to fear as Matrue took hold of his collar.

"Speed can't help you now, and you just don't have the willpower to use a stone like that. There are a very few people on earth who can, don't feel bad. You did pretty well today."

Matrue punched his enemy solidly in his diaphragm and then grabbed his wrist, twisting it and catching his Emjon crystal as it fell. He brought his elbow back into the theif's ribs, and spun delivering a solid punch to his chin that sent him flipping head over heels away. Matrue crossed his arms and waited for a new challenger.

Yukimura

Please, somebody join. Anybody at all. Seriously. I'm so bored I could cry.

__________________
Maybe the answer is in the very light reflected off our blades. Maybe that's what it means to be this creature known as samurai.

nevin

how 'bout if I play for a while? ^-^

Isamu had been on a long journey. His village, tucked deep within the mountains, was known for their brutal warriors, but even the strongest hadn’t been able to fight off a bitter disease that attacked from within. Isamu had been visiting a forest tribe when the disease hit, and a feeble elder had managed to meet and warn him on the trail home before he entered the village.

“Isamu, honorable warrior, our home has been attacked; our people have fallen—there is nothing you can do to save them,” she added, noticing how he gripped his spear tighter. “You must avenge our people. Go south.” This was all she could manage before she too fell to weakness.

Alone, he turned around to the forest village and sought support, but none would help. More isolated than ever, he went back to his village, climbed the highest peak that overlooked the rooftops. He stared, for days, at the home he could never return to. And he prayed, meditating for hours, until finally he felt ready to go south and find the people responsible.

That was how Isamu found the Combat Plains. He wasn’t there for revenge—this was just training along the way. It had been a lot time since he’d had to fight anything larger or smarter than a leopard. And make no mistake, a leopard was large enough and smart enough to be trouble. But for a dark-haired man with scar-striped skin, “trouble” wasn’t training so much as a bit of fun.

He’d been on an elevated ledge as Matrue fought the three rouges. ‘Pathetic,’ Isamu thought to himself. Being on his own for so long had made him cynical about groups, and here was a perfect example of their weakness. He smiled to himself—this guy looked like good practice.

“Heh, that was pretty good, Mikio. Think you can pull off those tricks again?”
Matrue smiled back and looked ready for a fight.
Channeling all his determination, and grief, and anger, Isamu tightened his hold on his spear, and jumped at the youth.

Baraka_Guru

Matrue took in a sharp breath as he instinctively raised the crystal. It was quickly becoming an extension of his body. As Isamu flew in a graceful arc, spear raised over his head, poised for a strike as vicious--as natural--as a scorpion's sting, Matrue summoned something from deep in his soul.

It was drawn by the crystal.

In the brief moment when Isamu struck, a crackle of electricity spewed from the crystal and formed a perfect orb around Matrue's body. Before the tip of the spear could find its mark, Isamu felt a great shock course through his limbs. The world went dark briefly as he felt the inertia of his leap shift violently and felt himself rolling through the air, gods knowing where. It seemed too long before he hit the ground, and when he did, he felt his body strike upon sharp rock and loose stones as he turned them up with his unexpected velocity.

Matrue spun around to face his foe, just as the electric shield dissipated, and just in time to notice Isamu's vulnerability. He pointed the crystal at Isamu just has he began to come to after having come crashing down. Incredibly, Isamu had managed to keep hold of his spear.

Matrue clenched the crystal in his hand, and his eyes rolled up into his head as the crystal flared in a bright white-blue light. The light caught Isamu's attention, and it blinded him momentarily. When the light died down, he noticed Matrue's crystal was now in the shape of a morningstar. The weapon had a chain as thick as an unusually large cobra, its head was riddled with spikes that resembled the selfsame snake's fangs--they were curved and came to impossibly sharp tips.

With a shout that echoed amongst the mountain peaks, Matrue drew back the morningstar and charged the prostrate Isamu, who lay several yards away.

Isamu's blood coursed with the adrenaline of a cat on the hunt. He quickly rose to his feet and launched the spear at Matrue's heart. Matrue could hear the dark metal spear tip whistle through the thin air as it sped toward him. He knew his error immediately. He had overcommited himself to his charge and could not avoid the attack.

The shock of the electricity had affected Isamu's judgement; his aim was off. The spear did, however, find Matrue's flesh. It dug quickly and deeply through his ribs, lancing his right lung. Matrue fell in a heap.

When he came to, Matrue could feel his chest burning. He laboured to take in enough air as his pierced lung had collapsed and no longer served him. He looked up to notice Isamu was blotting out the sun as he stood above him, spear in hand. It would take only a moment....for Isamu to best him....for his life to end--here--now.

"It ends here. And so quickly...." Isamu pursed his lips and shook his head.

Isamu appeared to be savouring his anticipated victory. He smiled as he looked down at Matrue...his prey struggling just to breathe. He was so full of pride and confidence that he didn't notice as Matrue looked to his left to see the crystal--having reverted to its original state--merely an inch from his hungry fingers....

__________________
Knowing that death is certain and that the time of death is uncertain, what's the most important thing?
—Bhikkhuni Pema Chödrön

Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
—From "Burnt Norton," Four Quartets (1936), T. S. Eliot

roachboy

inhale.


the story began again, garbled.

Matrue stood alone in a vast plane.
Matrue had an itch.


Armed with his Emjon crystal, he felt sure he could handle any foe.


Every video game he had ever played, every movie he had ever watched, every book he had ever read, every sort of ability he could even imagine was at his disposal



nowhere, a group of three warriors descended upon him


Please, somebody join.


Every video game he had ever played, every movie he had ever watched, every book he had ever read, every sort of ability he could even imagine was at his disposal



It was drawn by the crystal.

Matrue could feel his chest burning




"It ends here. And so quickly...."



Matrue looked to his left to see the crystal--having reverted to its original state--merely an inch from his hungry fingers

inhale.


the story began again, garbled.

__________________
a gramophone its corrugated trumpet silver handle
spinning dog. such faithfulness it hear

it make you sick.

-kamau brathwaite

Baraka_Guru

roachboy, that is beautiful.

__________________
Knowing that death is certain and that the time of death is uncertain, what's the most important thing?
—Bhikkhuni Pema Chödrön

Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
—From "Burnt Norton," Four Quartets (1936), T. S. Eliot

tecoyah

Agreed....100%

Yukimura

(Hey Baraka, I really don't care about the Godmodding, but if you're going to post more, please make your own character and dictate mostly his actions, not ours. It's not that official an RP or anything, just certain rules make it more fun, giving it some sort of direction.

Roachboy, that was friggin' awesome.)

Matrue grabbed his crystal as Isamu's spear was coming down towards his body again. Just before it struck, the crystal flashed, and the spear steadily slowed to a complete stop, and then began to move back. Everything that had happened began to move back. Matrue watched, his body on autopilot, as their fight went in reverse. He felt relief as the spear unpierced his lung, and felt energy rush back into him as his own attacks were undone. Just as Isamu was flying backwards through his original strike, the speeds of his movement slowed again, and turned back forwards through time.

I guess that's the extent of my ability with this spell. I doubt I'll be able to do it again.

Matrue grabbed the end of Isamu's spear and attempted to throw him away by it, but Isamu was far more adept a fighter than Matrue had given him credit. His body felt heavy to Matrue, and his maneuver became less of a throw than a relocation. Isamu landed gracefully on the other side, still holding his spear, and now began to overpower Matrue, pushing him back.

Isamu made an attempt to put a gash across Matrue's torso, and the crystal flashed. In Matrue's hand a shortsword appeared, the crystal embedded in the hilt. He placed its blade between him and the spear just in time, and redirected it away. He lunged at Isamu, who jumped back, retorting with a second strike, which Matrue arched back away from to dodge by less than an inch. Carrying his momentum, he flipped back away from Isamu and landed several yards away.

"Now this was worth coming for."

__________________
Maybe the answer is in the very light reflected off our blades. Maybe that's what it means to be this creature known as samurai.

Baraka_Guru

Meh, sorry, Yukimura. I thought it was just a communal open-ended story. Didn't know how it worked. Maybe I'll watch for a while.

__________________
Knowing that death is certain and that the time of death is uncertain, what's the most important thing?
—Bhikkhuni Pema Chödrön

Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
—From "Burnt Norton," Four Quartets (1936), T. S. Eliot

nevin

Isamu took a defensive stance and panted, trying to catch his breath. This man seemed untouchable—even when he had hit him, the crystal had negated the wound. Isamu had respect for this strong opponent.

“That’s quite a weapon you have their, Mikio.”
“Thank you,” he returned amiably. “That word you keep calling me, what does it mean?”“Mikio? It is how we would call you in my village.” Isamu chuckled a little and switched into an offensive stance, “It means, ‘tree-trunk man’”. And with this he lunged forward and tried to make a quick slash at Matrue’s leg.

Matrue’s arm swung down automatically and he parried the spear with the sword the crystal had given him. He moved the blade like it was an extension of his own arm. He looked down at his hand for a moment and seemed surprised by how easily it had obeyed him. Isamu took this moment to try again; this time Matrue raised the earth—sending Isamu shakily upward.

“Thank you, Mikio!,” He called cheefully, as he jumped down, pushing all of his force and momentum behind the downward-pointing spear head. This was a great finishing move on boars and leopards, who have no more than teeth and tusks to defend themselves, but for a man with a magic sword, it was nothing. In a flash of instinct, Matrue slashed above him, slicing the spear head off the spear, and digging a deep gash in Isamu’s wrist that broke a bone.

Isamu let out a terrible cry of pain as he felt his hand go limp. He fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, his spear pole beside him.

‘This is the end of my journey,” he thought, hopelessly. “This is where I stop. Defeated by a youth with an unknown power. Who knows what else there is in this world that I am unprepared for? I don’t even know who my enemy is or what his weapon will be.’

Mature stood a few feet away, watching this pitiful man; he was clearly a strong and skilled warrior, and had put up a good fight, but he fell so easily. Was this really all he was capable of?

Increasingly consumed by despair, images of the village flashed through his memory. His people, his family, his friends, his home; the elder who had found him; sitting above the destroyed village—it was all too much. Being entrusted with their revenge was too much; failing them was far too much. In a mix of pain and grief, Isamu let out the most devastating yell Matrue had ever heard. Then he noticed the crystal in the hilt. It had begun to glow, and Isamu too seemed to be covered in a cyan mist.

Faces faintly shimmered in the mist, and as each new face appeared, the mist swelled and took more solid shape until it looked like a large, gray, misshapen gorilla.

Isamu’s eyes changed, as though they too were filled with a fire. He grabbed the spear head and ripped off a piece of his shirt, which he wrapped around his broken wrist.
Isamu picked up the wooden pole in his good hand and stood up, facing Matrue. The gorilla, too, stood hauntingly behind Isamu, howling and growling.

“My people,” Isamu whispered. He didn’t seem to be speaking to anyone, but at these words, the gorilla charged wildly forward toward Matrue.

Yukimura

Incredible. The will in this man, he was able to summon the crystal's power without even making contact, and I doubt this is an ability he's seen before. It's responding to his raw emotion and his drive to make his dreams reality.

Matrue extended the crystal out towards the gorilla, and it slowed but would not stop. Matrue gazed sternly into its eyes. He would not allow his own ability to be turned against him. Somewhere in his mind a voice echoed.

"If you cannot control your own weapon, how can you hope to win?"

The gorrilla roared and raged, but would not deal a blow towards Matrue. It only stood poised for attack, mere inches away. It's continued existence was evidence of their clashing wills. Matrue's eyes flashed a beautiful cyan, and the gorilla vanished. In its place was Isamu, charging once more.

Matrue rose his sword, but far too slow to compete with Isamu's newfound spirit. He unflinchingly registered his pain as the spear dug deep into his left arm, the last shield Matrue had time to raise. He rose his sword, slicing at the same time, gashing Isamu's arm in the same place once more as the crystal flashed. Isamu didn't even hesitate to attack again. He spun about, barely missing a gash across Matrue's chest.

The sword vanished in another flash, and the crystal appeared once again around his right wrist on a bracer. He dipped his hand in his own blood, hopping back to avoid a continuing onslaught of incredible attacks. He slung the blood towards Isamu, and it took the shape of blades as it flew through the air. Isamu rolled to the side just in time to dodge, the dust from the blades gashing the ground kicked up lightly in his hair.

The two stood still again, facing off against each other, trying to anticipate the next move. Isamu noticed something felt off. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his wrist had bled no more, and the pain was gone as well, though he was sure bleeding to death was in his near future.

Did he...

__________________
Maybe the answer is in the very light reflected off our blades. Maybe that's what it means to be this creature known as samurai.

Wolfwood

The outermost boundaries of the Combat Plains were guarded by towering granite peaks that seemed to reach up through the dense gray clouds that laced their summits into the Heavens above. The nearly vertical slopes of the peaks had deep, jagged cliffs carved into them and were devoid of any significant plant life, save the scraggly sage bushes and gnarled brambles. Yet, there was one animate being present amongst barren slopes, a man standing atop a large cliff outcropping. This being was only alive because rather than drawing his power from the mountain, he drew his life...his power...his purpose from the Heavens.

The man standing on the cliff was not a giant of a man, but was slightly taller than most. He had a thin, but athletic build which belied his overwhelming amount of physical strength. He had shaggy, unkept blond hair that seemed to be constantly moving, as if it were constantly being blown by wind. His eyes were a deep, almost violet blue. He wore a pair of black slacks and a slightly wrinkled, untucked white dress shirt, all covered by a long, sweeping black tench coat. Around his waist, he wore a loose-fitting belt that had a crossdraw sheath fixed to his left side. The sheath, about the size of one meant for a dagger, contained no blade, but rather a shimmering gold crucifix about a foot long. The crucifix was His blade, and also Mihael's blade.

Mihael had traveled to the Plains at His will and now sat on this cliff looking out over the various landscapes of the Combat Plains. Dense forests, rugged deserts, white sandy beaches, and rolling fields. How can such a beautiful place be steeped in so much blood? Mihael wondered to himself. He then leaned down and picked up a stone from the ground by his feet. Leaning out over the edge of the cliff, Mihael dropped the stone and watched as it plummeted to the base of the mountain below; skipping off the sheer face of the cliff as it fell. All the while, Mihael scratched his chin as though he were deeply contemplating something, then the stone finally came to rest a few hundred feet below. There are some very strange currents in this place, nothing like the ones at Home. Mihael then shrugged his shoulders and took a large step off the cliff.

If anyone had been watching Mihael fall from the cliff to the ground, they would have thought he was walking down an invisible spiral staircase. He seemed to float in the air with no visible effort and landed at the mountain's base with barely a sound. Mihael stood amongst large boulders with the towering slope at his back and shoved his hands deep in his pockets then began walking into the inner regions of the Combat Plains, with a large field in the center of the plains as his destination.

After nearly an hour of walking, Mihael had only covered about half the distance he needed to to reach the field, when he stopped at the side of a crystal clear river to rest and catch his breath. The feeling of exertion was a new one to Mihael, at Home he was completely free and ever-energized by His grace. Being bound by the natural laws and forces of the Earth was a wholly new experience for him. After a few minutes, Mihael stood from the rock he was sitting on and walked towards the river. Bending down at its edge, he cupped his hands together and placed them in the mirrored surface of the river. The rivers contents were ice-cold, another new sensation for Mihael, and amazingly refreshing to Mihael's parched throat as he tipped his cupped hands to his mouth and drank.

Feeling like a new man, Mihael stood and started his way down the side of the river, looking for an appropriate face to cross. After a half-mile or so, he found a shallow pool that was lined with large stones. Mihael was about to step on to the nearest stone, when he caught a glimpse of motion in the corner of his eye. Rather than turning immediately to locate what had moved, Mihael stood still and closed his eyes, focusing on his sense of hearing rather than sight. A branch breaking directly behind him, a stone shifting to his right- there were two of them. After a few more seconds of listening, Mihael opened his eyes and spun around to meet the character lurking behind him. His eyes met with a man brandishing a large battle-ax.

"And you are?" Mihael asked the man with narrowed eyes.

"I'm the man who is going to kill you!" the man roared back.

"And what about your friend? Is he going to kill me too, or is he just kind to watching others die?" Mihael goaded.

The man paused at these words, a shock look flashed over his face for a mere second before he corrected his face back into a glare. He then motioned for the unknown person to Mihaels right to come over. "Well, I guess we're both men who are going to kill you!"

At that moment, the second man came rushing at Mihael from the right, a large two-handed sword raised up over his head. Mihael lunged backwards to avoid mans crushing blow, which landed in the dirt. Mihael's effort had left him at the first mans mercy though, because he had found his way behind Mihael.

The first man's battle-ax tore through the air in a horizontal slash, meant for Mihael's sternum, but rather than the expected crushing sound of bone only a metallic clang rang out through the air. Mihael had reached into the sheath at his side and used his crucifix to block the ax.

Surprised, the first man retreated back a few yards from Mihael and rejoined his comrade. The two looked menacingly at Mihael, who now stood facing the pair, although his was bowed and his hands clasped over the longer end of the crucifix; its top end facing the ground. The two attackers could see Mihael's lips moving, but could not make out what he was saying.

"Oy," the first man yelled. "What are you mumbling over there? If you've got any last words you might as well say them out loud."

Following the man's words, Mihael stopped speaking and raised his eyes to meet those of his attackers. Mihael then shouted "Fides!"

A blue flame ignited in the cross-section of the crucifix Mihael held in response to Mihaels shout. The flame began to engulf Mihael's hand, although it didn't burn the skin, and then began to twist down the end of the crucifix not held by Mihael, which was elongating down towards the ground. There was then a large flash of light, that caused the two attackers to shield their eyes with raised hands.

As the flash subsided, the attackers lowered their hands and saw Mihael still standing in front of them. The only difference being that the crucifix he held in his hand before was now transformed into a long sword, with a blade apparently made of shimmering blue energy that seemed to waver as the tip of a flame.

"What the hell is that!?" The second attacker yelled to his comrade, although his eyes were still fixed on Mihael's blade.

Mihael answered the attacker's question in his comrades place. "This is the power of His grace. This is the power of Faith."

With those words, Mihael lowered his body and lunged at the two attackers, bring his right hand holding the sword across his body, poised to strike. The attackers looked on, horrified, as Mihael approached and passed between their two bodies, slashing his sword in an arcing horizontal strike as he passed by them.

Mihael's blade seemed to pass right through them and inflicted no visible external damage, but the blade had done it's job. The two attackers turned to face Mihael, who was now crouched on both knees behind them, his back open to attack. But rather than attack Mihael, the two attackers dropped their weapons to the ground and fell to their knees, raising their heads up towards the blue sky above. It was a minute or so before anything was said and Mihael was the first to speak.

"You see it now, don't you?" Mihael asked as he too looked up at the sky. "The power of Faith that is."

The two attackers didn't speak, but only nodded in reply.

"I have cleansed your souls of the malice and evil that festered within you and He has given you a fresh start. I have begun my mission and will not stop until this place is sanctified." Mihael said as he stood.

Turning to look at the two men who were still knelt down, Mihael spoke again, softer than he had before. "This is His gift to you; a fresh start. The decision of what to do with this gift is up to you...free will and all. I can only pray that you may one day give this gift to another."

With that, the blue energy of Mihael's blade dispersed, and he sheathed the crucifix once again. Then, without another word, Mihael turned and began walking towards the river's edge. As he started walking over the line of rocks, Mihael paused as he heard the two men's words. "Thank you."

Thanks is not due to me, but to Him.

__________________

We're nothing like God. Not only do we have limited powers, but sometimes we're driven to become the devil himself.

roachboy

pantomime wars
that

sanctify


massacre


using cheap talismans


and instructions


reading
a map of the world
is breathing through signifiers


you repeat
the relevant stillness
the hesitation within an arc
traced by a word
that denotes a weapon.

look to the side.
where you look
is who you are.


what is left behind


what is left behind


what is left behind


what is left behind



pantomime war.


after the momentum


after you look
where do you go?

__________________
a gramophone its corrugated trumpet silver handle
spinning dog. such faithfulness it hear

it make you sick.

-kamau brathwaite