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[Quarr]

Ask to test out the blade. Demonstrate your mastery of battoujutsu and then say 'It is indeed a finely made sword.' With one slice, bring the blade close to his neck, almost cutting him, then say, "I'd like my weapon returned to me. Hand over the saya slowly and I won't report that you're selling stolen wares."

Afterward, head to a bar, have a few (light) drinks and listen around for any rumors. What's the popular opinion on Neptune's army? Also, what kind of clothes are we wearing; are they particularly unsightly?

[Labs]

Ask to test out the blade. Demonstrate your mastery of battoujutsu and then say 'It is indeed a finely made sword.' With one slice, bring the blade close to his neck, almost cutting him, then say, "I'd like my weapon returned to me. Hand over the saya slowly and I won't report that you're selling stolen wares."

Afterward, head to a bar, have a few (light) STRONG drinks and listen around for any rumors. What's the popular opinion on Neptune's army? Also, what kind of clothes are we wearing; are they particularly unsightly?

I agree, but light drinks are for elves.

[Laetificus]

You shrug.

“250? Ah, friend, I’m afraid I cannot meet with your terms.” You stand up, dusting off your baggy trousers. “But if I may…”

You hold your hands out, stepping the tiniest bit closer. He backs off naturally, cautiously.

“Sir, the weapon you hold is a work of art, constructed by a master, pull the blade out for yourself and take a look.” You can’t risk striding up to him too early, he’d probably scream for the guards. 

“See the blade? One man who studied how to make this sword for his entire life spent three weeks doing nothing but running stones across it, sharpening it. If you want to ensure this is more than just a curved broadsword in a few months, you must wear it the other way.”  He nods slightly, undoing the rope he used to tie it to his body and flipping it over.

You thought through the next steps carefully in your head. It was an awkward position; you were immediately in front of him, face to face. There was no chance you could draw the blade while facing him directly. Then you had an idea.

“Also, you’ll want to bring it a little higher up, so that you can reach the handle at a moment’s notice.” You beckon him to tie it even higher, which edged on being impractical, but you assured him you were clearly a master.

“Perfect. Now see, if you pull the blade out, you can immediately swing it at whoever is in front of you. Try it, but don't be too hasty!” A measured laugh. You could see his attention was now fixed on the katana. Well, now or never.

You immediately shift your balance and swing your leg to put your back towards him. With a few powerful strides, you bury your shoulder into the man; who is taken completely by surprise. With no time to waste, you quickly place your left hand upon the sheath, and you wrap your fingers on the handle, drawing the blade in a quick and effortless motion.

The man probably won’t be stunned for much longer; you quickly whip around your left leg and ground yourself facing the man! Mentally gauging the distance, you place your left hand at the bottom of the handle. You slice fast enough to seem deadly but not hard enough that you can't stop it. The resulting swing stops literally touching the man’s neck! You could see a faint line of blood forming where the blade was pressed against.

“I would like my weapon returned to me. Hand me the saya, and I won’t report that you’re selling stolen wares.” You could’ve just killed him. You knew that. But blood brings panic, and panic around here… Well, the guards wouldn’t be so forgiving. A little roughhousing however, people just pretended they didn’t see.

The grave robber was literally crying whilst he nodded furiously in agreement. He moved his hand to untie the scabbard and handed it to you, ropes still hanging off of it. You removed your left hand from the blade and seized it. Slowly, you took away the blade from his neck, and he immediately collapsed. He clutched the laceration on his neck and gasped for air. You were already gone by the time he looked back up.

Holding onto a familiar sword gave you a sense of security. You ached to get out in the open and swing it, watch as it carved powerful lines into the air or slice a targets in twain. You glanced down at the sword and admired the craftsmanship that was put into it. You recalled as years ago, you watched your grandfather painted a decorative landscape onto the sword guard, and wrapped the handle in blood-red rayskin. It may not have been the last sword that your grandfather made, but it was a damned good one.

Your stomach growled, and you realized you hadn’t had a thing to eat for the better half of the day, not to mention however long you were in bed. You quickly ducked into a bar, it would be a good place to enjoy a meal, a few drinks and maybe catch some rumours. 

You wolfed down a large chunk of protein sided with potatoes, and knocked down a pint or two. Your head was feeling a little better, and the alcohol had a way dulling your headache, but you knew you couldn’t get too tipsy. It was a lively place, people were laughing and telling stories to one another, you started talking to a few of the patrons in hopes of gaining some knowledge of Neptune’s Army.

After buying four drinks for people you hardly knew however, you could see this wasn’t going to get very far. Everyone told you the same thing, the same ‘don’t know anything, shouldn’t know anything’ look to them. Only a few even mentioned the Royal Alchemist story. You stumbled upon a man with particularly loose lips however. That and he had plenty to drink.

“Ay’, Neptune’s army. I’erd about’m before.” He took another swig. “S’all very hush-hush, y’know how it is.” he leaned extremely close to you, and your nostrils were flooded by an awful stench. “So, do ye need to know?” You nod once. He throws back his head almost violently and laughs. “Hahah! Good man. Now, I tell y’this, but you ain’t gunta tell’n’soul ‘bout me, right?” He bends his head low, swirling the remaining liquid inside his bottle as he says in a low tone. “They be looking for something. Som’in lost a long time ago. And so are… those other men.” He gestured to the window with his bottle, and you turn around, only to see a fleeting black robe in the corner of your eye. 

Eh.

“Take m’away boys! Ooh hoho!” The man you were just talking let out a laugh as he was dragged away by two guards. “We gun’ see King Neptune are we? Always loved t’ocean!” His voice faded away as the group stormed out the front door. You downed a couple shots as you walk out to dull your headache for a while.

You still have most of your gold and a few hours. The guards are storming down a road to your left. The robed figure to the right. How do you play your cards?


Status: Had a bit to drink. Headache reduced.
Abilities: Trained in Battoujutsu. Deadly at close range.
Inventory: A bit less than 200 gold. A well-crafted katana. A brown worn out long-sleeved shirt and trousers in equal state.
 

[Quarr]

The robed figure may or may not be associated with Neptune's army. I suggest we corner him and interrogate.

[Tack]

So far, Neptune's army seems like it's a lot more powerful than you. I say avoid the man in the black robes, and just get out of the way of the guards.

[Laetificus]

You realize that the guards wouldn’t have stopped even if you interrupted them. In fact, it would probably be best to stay out of their way, or at least line of sight, for now. You make a swift right hand turn and begin jogging, stretching your neck in search of a black robe. There, maybe a hundred paces ahead. You increase your speed, but your pace is rendered to around that of a brisk walk as you push the masses of people in front of you out of the way.

As the gap between you two was beginning to close, it dawned upon you that a black robe certainly stuck out in this crowd. Everyone was a mottled tone of white, brown or grey. You shoved another innocent out of the way. A lot of people were screaming at you by now, out of frustration. One of them shoves you back, making you lose your balance and stumble for a few meters. When you get your head back above the crowd, however, the black robe is gone.

You curse under your breath, until you notice a slim alley between two buildings. Must have, you think to yourself. You duck into it.

It’s dark in here. And tight, two people couldn’t fit shoulder to shoulder. You could barely make out a flutter in the darkness a ways in front of you. You lean forward into a cautious run, careful not to scrape anything on the walls or twist an ankle. There was a flurry ahead of you, and you saw whoever you were pursuing ascends the walls of the alley with unbelievable agility. You reach the end of the alley and find yourself surrounded by poor brickwork which you supposed a master could’ve ascended… quickly. You look up trying to get some sort of scale.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

You grip some of rough bricks in front of you and find some footholds. The brick is rough against your skin. A quarter of the way up, the brick holding up your left foot shatters and you slide a ways down, grimacing as the hardened clay and mortar dug into your hands and knees.

A good 15 minutes later, you emerge above the rooftops, feet, knees and hands covered dust, blood clots in a few open cuts. For a moment, you’re taken aback by the view; it was truly like being on top of the city. A couple clock-towers and a large fortress in the middle of the city stood a ways higher than you. A large church with a towering steeple was looming above you, you could have probably jumped onto one of the roofs of the church from here. The sun had set a moment ago and dots of light spilled across the city. There was a small dot of light visible near the top of the steeple.

Wait, it wasn’t coming from any of the windows. Instead, it was suspended just slightly in front of it…

A flutter.

In the receding light, you weren’t sure if your eyes were just playing tricks on you, as you focused, there was no mistaking it. The black robed figure that you were following was sitting, perched, holding a lantern on top of the church steeple.

Okay, anyone with the rough agility of a cat could’ve climbed the wall as he, but up the church steeple? You eyed the slender structure, which was composed of ornate brickwork and repeating inset windows. You laughed to yourself in disbelief and looked back up. The figure you were following in the streets didn't appear to be carrying anything, was the lantern up there? A sudden gust blew the hood away from his head, and a flickering light was thrown across his face. His. The face of a man, it was a greyed one which was lined with age. The blasted fellow could’ve been a scholar, and a particularly wizened one! No scholars you knew could have manoeuvred up the sheer side of the steeple, however. His gaze turned slowly and his ashen eyes met yours, the expression on his face was of stone. You watched him for a while, and he watched you. He was clearly intent on doing nothing other than that, sitting alone, high above the city. You could see no insignia on his robes; he was just sitting there, watching.

You wondered if it was sorcery that got him there, or if he was somehow superhumanly agile. You remembered back to the morning, back to the army officer who transformed into a sickly animal. It gave you chills doing so, and you decided not to think about it any longer. You glanced down at your clothes, to your own dismay. Your top was beginning to give around the arms and elbows, and the knees of your trousers were torn to shreds, not to mention mottled with blood and covered in dust.

The sun had already set; the market would be closing up soon. You could probably head there and grab some new clothes, but the merchants wouldn’t put up with your bartering for as long. You’d have plenty of time if you didn't spend it wandering around town in search of the barracks all night, but really, that all depended on your intentions.

You could feel a pair of eyes burning into you as you thought. No, they weren’t burning, they were indifferent. Observing only because useful to observe.

You sat down; draping your legs over the roof of the building you were on.

At this point, what were your intentions?


Status: Mild headache. Fairly Sober.
Abilities: Trained in Battoujutsu. Good at wielding extremely sharp curved blades.
Inventory: A bit less than 200 gold. A well crafted katana crudely attached with rope. Clothes bearing small rips, holes, dust, blood and the like.

[Tack]

Go join Neptune's army. If you don't, they'll chase up Landyn anyway.
Might want to see if you can grab some chainmail or something on the way, shouldn't feel too different to tebukuro. But that's a smaller priority.

[Quarr]

We can probably hop from rooftop to rooftop and get back to the merchants quickly. Chainmail might be nice but the army might provide us with a set. I suggest searching for some light replacement clothing. A proper sash/obi would be nice so we're not just using a rope.

[Laetificus]

((Er, sorry about the super late update. I was out of the house most of today, also I may not have much time to write on weekends.))

You look down at the darkened streets below you. People were steadily moving, on their way back home. It would probably take too long to get back to the market considering you'd be working against the flow the entire time. You slap your hands together and stand back up on the roof. You stretch out your legs a little and limber up. You’d always kind of wanted to run across the rooftops.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t as easy as it would seem! Given that most of the roofs weren’t flat, you had to jump while running down a slope, which was kind of precarious. Most of the flat ones were littered with various objects and the like. Still, you made better time than on the street, and you clambered down a stack of crates in the open market a while later.

You quickly ran around the market, most of the merchants had already packed up, but some of the larger establishments were still around. You stopped one of the merchants still there and explained your inherent need for new clothing, if it meant at the listed price. His face wasn’t too impressed, but hey, if it meant some quick money. He told you to quickly pick out your things and get going.

You grabbed a loose long-sleeved shirt and threw it on, which received some complaint from the merchant waiting for you. You tossed him a few coins and told him you’d pay for everything later. He stood there with his arms crossed, unhappy but willing to comply.

You slipped into a pair of grey trousers and noticed a small table piled with some basic armour. The cost of some would most likely take a bit out of your limited gold, but you preferred being poor to being dead, after all. You donned a shirt made of chainmail, with short sleeves. It was a strange look, and also rather chilly, especially as the temperature descended at night-time. You grabbed a thick black robe which had two frontal pockets and several on the inside, and wrapped it around your body. The inside was lined in red cotton, which, as well as being warm, added a nice touch if you decided to leave it undone. You tried tying your katana back on with the bare ropes, but it just seemed ridiculous at that point.

You approached the merchant, asking him if he had any spare cloth. He shook his head, and asked if you were going to be paying for all of your clothes and armour. You bartered with him for a while and threatened not to buy anything unless you got something usable as an obi. It was a pretty big sale after all, so he obliged, no doubt insulting you under his breath. He came back with a piece of white cotton, edged with bands of red.

You wrapped it twice around your waist and tied it off in a large knot. Thrusting your blade into it, you couldn’t help but grin. You ended up practicing pulling out your sword and swinging a few times, and you had to admit, it felt good. You shelled over roughly half your money, as well as the remains of your old clothes, which you'd given to him as part of the deal, and shook his hand before taking off.

The clothes were fairly loose, and offered a kind of welcome freedom. You’d have to tie up the sleeves of your robe if you found yourself in a fight, however. The night air was refreshing, crisp. Also, the ground felt particularly rough through the holes in your leather shoes. You sighed, looking for someone who would sell you footwear at this hour. Nothing. The market was dead by now. Whatever, you were sure that you'd be supplied with boots at least while in the army. Whether you got armour or not would depend on how long you lived.

You spent a while looking for someone who knew where the barracks would be, and a much longer while trying to interpret the instructions in the winding streets and dark of night. You don’t know how much time passed by, but eventually you could hear the muted sounds of a large group of people along with some fires burning nearby. It couldn’t be much else at this hour. 

The barracks were a blocky complex. Straight up and down walls with repeating windows. It was a large U shape, and wrapped around a courtyard in the middle. It was filled with those called in for the recruitment tonight.

The men were clearly trying to enjoy themselves while they still could. Most of them were talking amongst themselves, downing a few drinks, and many of the tables were running games of poker. There were a set of doors in each side of the ‘U’ leading into the building. A group of men were doing some sparring a ways to the back. You could hear cheers of those watching the matches, they had basically set a small tournament up. Soon you'd all be sparring, just with lives at stake you supposed.  You looked around, the air here was joyous, bets and drinks and laughter all around, but there was a repressed silence every so often. Most of the men here had to leave families and loved ones behind, most of them would die.

Most of them were looking at this day as the last chance to enjoy themselves.

So, would you play a few hand of poker? Spar? Drink and talk away the night? It was a small mystery what went on within the depths of Neptune’s Army, as well.

The night was yours to spend. 



Status: Sore spot on head. Little to no headache however.
Abilities: Trained in Battoujutsu, deadly with a katana.
Inventory: Less than 100 gold. A well-crafted katana.
         Clothing: White, Long-sleeve Shirt. Grey Trousers. Chain-mail 't-shirt'. Thick Black Robes. Makeshift Red/White Sash.

[Tack]

Enter the tournament- see if there's anyone you'll need to look out for.

[Quarr]

Yeah, the tournament seems like a good idea. I wonder how our skills with katana will transfer over to the inevitable practice swords they'll force us to use?

[Laetificus]

You wander around the courtyard, inspecting the poker games and talking to a few of the men around. Most of them were small-time farmers; a few had a small shop they hoped to return to. After a few minutes, the small-talk was losing its flavour though. The night almost beckoned you to the crowd of people surrounding the practice ring, the muted drum that the wood made. On occasion, you could hear the sound of the wooden swords colliding with human flesh. These were accompanied by a cacophony of cheers, or groans. You wondered how the bets were kept straight during the whole thing.

You examined the cuts on your hands, and did the same for the scrapes on your knees. It hurt a bit, but you figured that the adrenaline pumping through your veins when you actually started sparring would numb that. You strode towards the practice ring.
“And do we have a new fighter here?” A pompous man, probably no more than a decade older than yourself, asked you with a booming voice. The breadth of his shoulders was immense; you thought to yourself that if anyone got head-locked by the man their skull would be popped like a grape. It was probably best that he was also safe-guarding the bets. You respond with your intent to participate.

“Hahah! Good man!” It looks like they had just started moments ago; the preliminary rounds were still going underway. You talked with some of the men watching while you waited. The betting was all or nothing, you put up a bet against someone and they matched it. Some coins came off the top of the bet winner and went into the champion jackpot. Finally, it was your turn to fight. With 15 men plus yourself in the competition, you’d have to win four fights in order to get the finals. You turned over your katana and robe, retying your sash over your chainmail so that it wouldn’t flap around too much.

The feel of a wooden sword was strange in your hands, but hey, make use of what you’ve got, you supposed.

“First submission wins, if yer ain’t a pussy ‘en that won’t mean first hit, eh?” The tree of an announcer laughed a hearty laugh at his own joke, “Alright, men, begin!” Being a preliminary round, the bets were fairly small; most of the people watching were deciding who they wanted to stick with.

The man you faced had an angry face on, as if he wanted to rip your guts out once he won. As if being angry would help, you laughed to yourself, taking a few measured steps and swinging your sword to get a feel for it. He was predictable though, always moved in straight lines, his offense was to swing wildly and run, leaving him wide open. After easily deflecting a couple of wide overhead blows, you planted your feet and made two quick swings at either side of his torso. He couldn’t defend against either.
Momentarily winded, you brought the sword over your head and tried finishing him with a single overhead strike to the base of the neck. To your own confusion, as you reached out to wrap your left hand around the base of the sword, it only caught a fistful of air. The one-handed overhead swing was weaker than you’d have liked, but probably for the better. At contact, the man crumpled to the ground, pleading for mercy.   

“WINNER!” A familiar booming voice accompanied with a chorus of cheering. The victory brought a familiar feeling to your body, and you swung your legs over the barrier, greeted by several slaps on the back and the good wills of several men. It seems like you were already a crowd favourite.

The rounds got tougher as you progressed, but it wasn’t until the semi-finals that you had to push yourself. The man you were facing had beaten three others prior, just like yourself.

“Fight!”

The man had a face of confidence, and was a well-built fellow. A sudden step forward and he swung once to test your ability to defend. You were surprised with the speed at which he moved, especially for a man of his stature. Quick, powerful strikes. You thought of how to counter his style while you launched a few test strikes of your own.

He was fast. He knew how to read your moves, see where they’d be coming from. You’d have to think several steps ahead if you wanted to beat this man. The fight went back and forth, attacking to defending, as you both tried to find an opening.
This was getting fruitless, and your endurance was dwindling downwards. You’d have to make a move soon. The man went for a swift horizontal strike. You raised your sword vertical to your right to deflect it. Now. When the strike stopped against your sword, you reached out with your left hand, grasping the man’s wrist. You swung your left leg up in a powerful kick, straining the muscles in your left arm for leverage. You extended the muscles in your left leg, aiming the heel of your shoe squarely into the man’s chest.

The kick should’ve felt as though you were kicking off from a wall. Solid. Instead, it was soft, the energy you put into your leg getting absorbed. You saw it now though, the man had somehow raised his left hand fast enough to cradle your foot before it made contact with himself. He couldn’t have had reflexes quick enough to accomplish this. Could he have seen it coming? It was such a ludicrous move though; it was going to be a problem if he could foresee moves like this. He sharply twisted your ankle, which brought a sting of pain, and you twist your body trying to lessen the damage. In a final effort, you react by kicking your right leg. Suspended by your grasp on the man’s right arm and his grasp on your left foot, you plant the heel of your foot directly into the man’s forehead! 

He reels back in shock, and you release your grip on his right hand. Your left ankle is twisted, it won’t put up with this for much longer. You have to act quickly, before he regains his focus. You drop your wooden sword, blazing as fast as you can across the rink and swung both of your hands towards the man’s head. Both of your palms meet either side of his head, stunning him for a while longer. You drive a fist into either side of the man’s torso, right under the ribs. Winded and dazed, you easily wrap your hands around the man’s shoulders and drive your knee straight into his solar plexus.

He falls onto his hands and knees, both of you are breathing heavily. Through laboured breaths, you can hear the man’s laughter, as he collapses, rolling onto his back.

“I yield!”

Cheers erupt from the crowd and begin chanting your name. A couple of men rush in and help you and your opponent out of the ring. They seat you at one of the tables and start talking amongst themselves about the match.

“Oi, you alright?” One of the men notices you gritting your teeth in pain. You light-heartedly explain to him about your left ankle, and how the man you were fighting had twisted it.

“Aye, that fellow Whitby is fast on the draw.” You can see Whitby surrounded by a group of men, helping him regain his balance. He meets your glance and replies with a shaky smile.

“How ‘bout that leg of yours though?” You look down at your ankle, which was beginning to swell a little. “Are you still good to fight in the finals?” He motioned over to a calm looking fellow, dressed in a standard white shirt and knee length trousers, downing a few drinks. No doubt your fellow finalist.

“No armour?” The man you’re talking to shakes his head.

“So? How about it? You still in for more?”

The prize money was twinkling in the corner of your eye.


Status: Sore spot on head. Left ankle twisted.
Abilities: Trained in Battoujutsu, deadly with a katana.
Inventory: Less than 100 gold. A well-crafted katana. A wooden sword.
         Clothing: White, Long-sleeve Shirt. Grey Trousers. Chain-mail 't-shirt'. Thick Black Robes. Makeshift Red/White Sash

[Quarr]

See if we can't tie something around our ankle, then get back into the fight. We can't give up yet.

[Tack]

Ask about the finalist. If he's known to be a cruel winner, don't enter.

Otherwise, wrap that ankle up and have at.

[Laetificus]

 You stare at your opponent, who seems completely content to drink and watch the stars until the match started.
“So, do you know anything about this guy?” You asked the men you were sitting with. They were mostly clueless, sipping on some ale and counting their winnings.

“Er, actually, I haven’t heard from anyone who knows a thing about this guy!” You were surprised, but not completely. You would’ve been in the same state if you hadn’t received an introduction from the announcer. “It’s weird, so far, we haven’t even been able to get a name out of him. He just smiles and offers us a drink.”

“Hm.” You could go for a drink yourself. I mean, for your ankle.

“Then he starts telling us how beautiful the stars are tonight.” Well, he had been staring at them for the better part of the night. You tear off a sleeve of your shirt, which pains you a little, considering you’d just paid for it, and tie up your ankle with it. You grimace a little, and tie a solid knot around the front. You take a few test steps, and it seems solid enough for the fight.
Snap. Ow.  Maybe you do need a drink.

“Hey!” You wave your hand in a friendly gesture to your opponent as you approach your fellow finalist. He responds with a similar wave, and a genuine smile. It gave you chills. You sit down next to him and start a small conversation.

“So? How’s it going so far?”

“Nothing too rough, I guess.” He replies in a soft voice. It didn’t match the fact that he had gotten to the finals of this impromptu tournament without a scratch. “The stars are just so lovely tonight.” He turns his gaze to you, his smile honest as the stars above. His hair was black, and was left long with a bit of a curl to it. It was parted in the front to reveal his eyes which you say were bright blue, even with just a few fires for light. 

“So, do you have a name? You can call me Satoshi.”

“Satoshi, eh?” A pause. “Need a drink?”

Oh, would I ever.

You sipped on a wooden mug full of ale, you and your nameless opponent enjoying each other’s silence. At least you were. Before long, the men were cheering your name and urging for the final match to begin.

You stood up and stretched out your muscles. If this were anything like the last match, then it’d be a tough fight to win. You walked over to the match ring, chainmail clinking loudly. As you were joined by your competitor, a barrage of cheers rang out. Everyone was cheering for your name, it seemed. Probably since they didn’t know the name of the mystery finalist.

He stood across from you and cracked his knuckles. Immediately he threw aside his sword and stood casually in front of you.
“These swords are fairly poor at depicting a real fight. In reality, once you get slashed, you’d be dead. That, or the force of the sword would hit your chainmail, and you’d at least break a bone.” He smiled, raising both arms and planting his feet.

Agreed. You handed over your chainmail to the announcer and dropped your silly wooden sword. All you could do with it was slash wildly with one hand, no form at all. It was going to be a bare knuckles match, only skill with grabbing, dodging and hitting would win this. The crowd seemed pleased, and bets were beginning to stack a little more. 

“The final round, Winner takes all! BEGIN!”

Neither of you moved a for a second once the match started, but it was fast to pick up.

Keep your kicks low, if you aim for the head it only leaves you more open. Learn to be unpredictable. The words of your grandfather rang in your head as you remembered what he taught you about unarmed conflict. He also told you to always never, ever, leave your katana behind. You broke 2 out of 3 already, so you may as well try to be unpredictable.

You knew your enemy would probably aim more for your left leg, seeing as it was injured, so you saw his opening sweep-kick from a mile away. You threw a few quick hooks while he was still halfway on the ground, but he quickly blocked it with his forearm, using the flutter of his sleeves to hide a fist driven straight into your chest.

You backed off, a little winded, but the hit seemed like he meant it to be light. He was just playing with you. You took a deep breath and regained focus, quickly catching his right hand as he threw a straight punch. You brought your right hand low to cushion a fierce knee aimed to your chest, and whipped your elbow around fast enough to slap away a left hook. This man was fast, and his lightly built frame delivered strikes that were mere blurs. If you couldn’t expect where this guy was going to hit next, you’d be down.
Having just deflected his left hook, you find a small gap in his defence. You form a fist with your right hand, and aim a quick underhand hook into his ribs. You still held onto his right arm and he was probably off balance from swinging his left knee, so you hoped this would buy you some time.

Your fist only swung through air though. You feel a sudden gust, and his right arm wriggling out of your grasp. You don’t have enough time to try and hold on before he jumps back a couple feet and lands with a soft thud on the dirt. Okay, this man was really fast. He smiles slightly, having evaded your attack, but his eyebrows scrunch as he quickly gazes at the stars.

“Satoshi, I apologize, but we’re really running out of time here. Please don’t feel too offended.”

A distraction tactic? Simple tricks like this weren’t going to work on you! He lurched forwards at you, and you rooted yourself to defend. A straight forwards charge wasn’t going to get him anywhere…

A moment before you expected him to collide with you, you noticed that he swung his left leg out wide. He was moving far too fast to change direction though, and you spun out of the way of the move. Quickly, you raised your right elbow to deliver a sharp sting to his back as he passed, it would more than likely knock him off balance.

But he wasn’t there.

No, he had changed direction. Somehow, he had whipped around sideways and was standing right behind the elbow that you raised. On dirt like this, he should’ve slid halfway across the ring and thrown soil across all the spectators, or at least have broken his legs in such a sudden change of direction. But he didn’t. Everything that happened next was a blur.

You could feel your ribs getting struck on both sides, before a flurry of fists collided with your back. Totally winded, you fell to your knees, before a single open handed strike thundered through your chest and you were thrown to the ground, like a ragdoll. You chest felt like a dozen horses had just stepped on top of you, and before long the edge of your vision began to fade.  You passed out soon after.

You woke up a while later, everything was hurting. You lay on an improvised straw bed, and of the spectators were sitting around you. You answered their muddled concerns with a quick nod, and then collapsed onto the bed again. You had a hard time breathing for a while, everyone was rather quiet, the energy of the night seemed to be lost by your defeat.

Once you could get on your feet again, you walked over to the now empty practice ring and grabbed your things, throwing back on your mail and cloak, tying your katana back on. Your vision was still dark, and stars were slowly shifting across your vision, but it wasn’t fatal. You leaned on the barrier of the ring, closing your eyes and slowly inhaling and exhaling.

“Oi! OI! You worthless sonna’fa bitch!” You heard a drunken voice stumbling towards you, but you didn’t open your eyes to see who it was.

“’Ey. I’m talkin’ t’yuh, y’rat bastard!” This man had clearly had too much to drink, you opened your eyes to wave off the reek of alcohol.

A cold blade was pressed against your throat. It was digging into your flesh. Oh no.

“’Ey.” You opened your eyes and stared at the man who was threatening you. He was short, his greasy black hair was the only thing you could make out in the low lighting. “I put all’m’money in fer’ye. And ye just lossit! ALL of it!” You held your hands up slowly, and considered your situation.

He just lost all his money betting for me to win that round! What an idiot.

You wondered if he had a family to return to, but all sympathy you held for him once you realized he had just bet it all away on a single match.

The man struggled with keeping the throat still against your throat in his drunken stupor. The question was how to deal with him.



Status: Left ankle twisted, winded from last battle. Chest pain.
Abilities: Trained in Battoujutsu, deadly with a katana.
Inventory: Less than 100 gold. A well-crafted katana.
         Clothing: White, Long-sleeve Shirt (minus the right sleeve). Grey Trousers. Chain-mail 't-shirt'. Thick Black Robes. Makeshift Red/White Sash