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originally posted in:The New Dojo
10/30/2016 1:36:16 AM
298
[b][u]The Wanderer | Dojo Gates[/u][/b]
[i]Alister...
Alister.
Alister!
ALISTER![/i]
The last thing he remembered was seeing the boy he sought to protect being smashed brutally in the back of the head by a sword's pommel.
And then the world was set on fire.
...
With a gasp, the man wakes up spread-eagle outside the Dojo Gates. A heartbeat after, he rolls forward to his feet and looks around, one hand on the mechanical katana sheathe at his waist.
"ALISTER!"
The man's apparel was quite peculiar. A long black leather overcoat draped past his knees, with ceramic shoulder pauldrons and joint guards placed upon the coat. At his waist was an Oriental scabbard modified by machinery near the upper half, holding such things as a napalm barrel and a gun trigger. The two other items of note were the ornately engraved Mateba revolver and a runic gas mask - all equipment strangely reminiscent of... [i]him.[/i]
He looked around frantically, hazel eyes wild as sweat dripped down his weathered Asian skin. Long, black hair was matted wildly in a mess under a wide-brimmed hat of the same colour.
His age was indeterminate, possibly around mid-thirties to early forties. But all of his features made him an oddly similar, yet older, version of the Old Lieutenant.
But it couldn't possibly be him... Could it?
Silence. He looked at the large gates of the Dojo, easing his grip out of slight awe and fear.
"Are these the Gates of Hell?... No, no get a hold of yourself. Believe in monsters, not the fantasies of men. Find him."
He finally let go of his sheathed blade's handle. His coat sleeves were rolled up, revealing lean arms riddled with slashes and bullet holes.
The smell of brimstone wafted through the air.
Blue fire sprang from each wound, searing each laceration and bullet hole shut with a sickening smell. The man rolled down his sleeves as he looked around for anyone in sight. The madness in his eyes faded to a simmering charcoal of composure, a flame hidden amidst the ashen facade of calmness.
The sickening scent stopped.
It couldn't possibly be him...
[i]Could it?[/i]
[spoiler]Open to all :)[/spoiler]
English
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Edited by Chesh I Guess: 10/30/2016 5:23:38 AM[spoiler]The Prodigal Son returns...[/spoiler] [b]The breeze had carried a sort of wistful drag on this particular day, the inlaid sloping of the Dojo looking over the rest of the township was nothing but Tatakai's greatest marvel...[/b] [b]Yet, as such breeze ruffled the new awakened figure, a peculiar set of eyes watched him warily... No... Curiously. Hungry for more information, two fragile feet carried the observant peculiarity forward, right behind an outcrop of rocks. There, the eyes peered more steadily, drilling into the newcomer with a wondrous intensity... And then...[/b] [u]Snap![/u] [b]A twig gave the position of the observer away, a mere few feet away from the man adorned by a intricate shoulder pads and mask...[/b] [b]There was a shuffle, a scurry, and then a flash of blue from behind the rocks, as something near silent tried to hide, like a rabbit hiding from a wolf. But this rabbit was too curious for its own good, and before long, the strange eyes returned. Both were brilliantly large pools, one a calm and gentle azure, the other a fiery and passionate crimson... A rare form of heterochromia that watched with such intent, that it was hard not to stare back...[/b]
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"Alister?-" The man cut himself off before even answering fully. He saw those eyes and did indeed glance at the small figure stalking him, but more out of inquiry than awe. Such was the nature of a man who took to analysis before anything else. [i]Looks like some kind of Abbatial ritual subject. But was it something they sacrificed... Or something they created?[/i] The man had seen plenty of monsters in the shape of children. During his time with the Tribals and their Infected hunts, he had to put down a few. Sometimes he wished he had taken their memory-altering drug so he could forget the dying moments of what little innocence those children had, even if they were turned to beasts. Such a look flickered in his eyes for but a few moments before setting itself back to the stoked flames of determination. "Who are you?"
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[b]No response, the eyes merely darting behind the rocks once more as the sound of shuffling feet caused small particles of dust to scatter into the air.[/b] [b]Then, the small being emerged, standing at 5'4, wearing the most bizarre apparel... A long stitched skirt/vest combination that was patterned with bright colors. Around the neck was a black and white floral scarf, with then led to the hood. Such a strange hood was adorned with small animal like ear protrusions that bounced and swayed ever so slightly with small movements. But the most bizarre part was the cloth wrappings. No shoes, no face... Like an ancient buried body, the frail being was covered in fresh clean cloth. And of course, it was obviously feminine... Such body shape could not match a man.[/b] [spoiler]https://i.imgur.com/ZVHXZSm[/spoiler] [b]She remained silent, merely staring with her hands folded behind her skirt, clasped together tightly. Her intentions seemed so... Off. Certainly not hostile, but it was hard to imagine what was going on in her head...[/b] [b]And then a quick movement, her right hand rushing forward towards him only to stop and open, revealing a small origami paper butterfly... One that seemed almost alive. It fluttered its wings and turned towards the man, but remained in her palm... It was like a most bizarre gift, from a bizarre girl.[/b]
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[i]It doesn't seem hostile...[/i] The man took on a much friendlier tone as he opened his mouth to speak to the child-like figure. "Ah, is that for me? My thanks. Have you seen a boy around here? Skin like mine, dark brown hair and eyes?" The very least he could attempt was get some information out of the child. In response to her bizarre offering he opened his hand as if to show that he would accept her gift. He admired the girl's craftsmanship - he had never seen Old-Earth such as hers, not to mention a moving one as well. He never let his guard down though. His left hand was still poised over his pistol - he reprimands himself silently, scolding himself for such precaution over a supposedly harmless being. If she did turn hostile... Well, he could afford some wounds to justify what little humanity he had left. His left hand left its combat position as his posture loosened, as if to signify a comfortability with the smaller figure.
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[b]She seemed to think for a mere moment, before shaking her head. Seemed she wasn't one for words...[/b] [b]She slowly placed the butterfly in his hand, the small creature making slight crumpling noises as it moved.[/b] [b]Her hands hung loosely at her sides as she sank to her knees, her toes wiggling eagerly as she pointed to the man's clothes and mask... Such apparel was new and bizarre, and so full of mystery. She just had to know... And just like her disposition, her head tilted ever so slightly to stare, the animal ears on her hood flopping to the left.[/b]
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He slowly unclipped the gas mask from his belt, raising it to the girl slowly in response to her silent inquiry. "Ah... This? This is from my home, you understand? Well... I understand enough. I know that wherever I am now isn't my home at all - this could all be a dream of some kind I presume as well. But allow me to tell you a story if you will, child." The man held on to the mask and showed her the runic inscriptions upon it. They were not of any understandable language, but they looked old. There was an Oriental depiction of a flaming bird flying across the matte black surface of the mask, a free thing on a foreboding object. "Would you like that? A story?"
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[b]A smile crept from her cloth mask, only visible to a keen eye, something that was full of radiant joy. She nodded hastily and leaned close.[/b] [b]She looked from the man to the runes, tempted to reach out and touch an inscription, but she knew her place. She was a guest to his wisdom, and to loose an opportunity to hear a tale was unacceptable...[/b] [b]Perhaps her search of knowledge was misplaced, but she had such an innate love for learning, and this man provided so much in looks alone, that there was no way a story would be fruitless...[/b]
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He lowers his voice to seem more entertaining to the girl, genuinely interested in his story. For a brief moment, the urgency of finding Alister became sidelined. But then it arose again, bringing a slight glint of worry to the man's eye before being hidden. "Well, once upon a time in a world not of this one were a group of... Monster hunters, you could say. There was a blight on that world - one that had spread across their home, turning people into monsters. These people sought to be rid of that blight. Tribals, they called themselves. Once they ruled the skies in their mighty airships before they were exiled to the earth. But an angel with clipped wings still has its holy glory, does it not? The Tribals saw it as their duty to cleanse the world of monsters. They were one of the first to figure out how to kill them, after all. They trained, they fought - but soon they realized that fighting monsters drained them too quickly. So they created their own breed of hallucinogenic - stuff that alters what you see - within herbs. These herbs also gave them incredible strength, speed, and quick enough reflexes to fight the monsters. And so they did. For generations they used this herb to keep away the beasts. There is a story behind it, you know. My mentor taught me this Tribal proverb - 'in order to fight monsters, one must become one.' The Tribals made masks that covered half of their face; mouths of animals like bears, eagles and even dragons! But they only covered half of their face, because the rest of them showed that they were still human. Humans that take upon the faces of monsters to keep them at bay. They used these herbs through these masks, thinking that what they saw through their trance was the true vision of the world." The man paused, hesitant to continue his story. "The next part of the story gets a little dark. Would you still like to hear it?"
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[b]Coming from a past full of darkness, and having little else to loose, the girl simply nodded. There wasn't bravery or fear there... Not in those eyes. Such orbs of color seemed like they couldn't hold anything but interest, attention to one detail at a time... [/b] [b]But was most intriguing were these 'Tribals' and their masks. This man said they had to become like the monsters themselves... But did that mean he was half monster? Was he one of these tribals?[/b]
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He noticed the inquisitive look in her mismatched eyes and gave her a simple answer. "I was once one of these Tribals. I wasn't born one - I became one. I trained under them, hunted with them. But I left it all behind." He trails off, recalling a deep tragedy that she could see still haunted him to this day. "The Tribal herbs provide them the necessary traits to fight the monsters... But it is said that it also reveals the true forms of the beasts. What they really look like and how they influence the world around them. They are so horrible, so terrifying that no matter how much we - sorry, - how much they hunt them down, the mere thought of them could drive Tribals mad. So what did they do? They created a ritual; a second herb that takes away memory. After each hunt they would take this new drug and let it alter their recent hunt. That way, the beasts cannot hound you further beyond their death. There is another moniker my mentor shared with me when I asked him about God. He said to me, 'I believe in the monsters we hunt, not the fantasies of men.' The Tribals believe that the herbal trance is the true vision of the world... Then that is to imply that the truth can drive one mad by the mere sight of it." He goes silent for a moment before asking another one of the girl's silent questions. "They wear half-masks to show their humanity in defiance of the monsters. Half of their face is still seen as human. Why do I wear a full mask, you may say? I believe that you can figure that one out."
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[b]She pulled herself back for a moment, a silently sigh escaping her as she let the tale sink in... Such burden and weight... And she knew there was plenty he had not said. All people omitted words, wether on accident or by choice... But she wouldn't press forward...[/b] [b]She looked down for a moment before her eyes traced back to his mask. Her gaze held there for a moment before she turned back to the man.[/b] [i]"I wonder... Is it your past that pains you...?"[/i] [b]Her voice... Her voice... It was lyrical and soft, like an old hymn that held some kind of authority, like a divine power sheltered and cradled it. And even then, it was barely above a whisper... But it became apparent... This was no child... She was young... But the voice showed that she was hidden under a facade of pure wrappings...[/b] [i]"Or the one who's name you were screaming...? You do not seem happy, Mister."[/i] [b]She mused, intertwining her words like they were rare fabrics to be carefully knit together.[/b]
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"So you can speak? I'm not surprised. Sometimes the quietest of us just work better without words." The man pauses, weighing the girl's words carefully before speaking again. "I suppose you're right. I would prefer to not unearth the beasts of old and tell tales of monsters that should be left well-forgotten," he says as he points to his sheathed sword, "but as for the name you heard me shout earlier... That is the boy I'm looking for. He might be in there." He points at the great gates of the Dojo before continuing. The look of determination was beginning to set in his eyes again, the fire from before rekindling yet again. The girl could tell that beneath those light hazel eyes - those peculiar eyes for a man of his descent - he would not give up in searching for the boy he called out for. The vigour that was in his voice the first time he called for him still remained behind the mask of his own face, visible through those hazel eyes of his.
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[b]She turned towards the gates, an area she had entered only once... In there were courts and warriors... She much preferred the valley and the town below at the bottom of the staircase.[/b] [b]She took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly before slow rising to her feet, her intricately wrapped feet and legs remaining surprisingly spotless despite sitting in the dirt.[/b] [b]Her eyes traced over the great gates before she turned to give him a simple nod.[/b] [i]"You must be tested to enter... For that you need a Sensei..."[/i]
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"Ah, I understand. My thanks. Excuse me for being somewhat rude, I haven't even introduced myself." Even during a panic trying to find the boy, he still managed to reserve some decency for children - or beings that took their shape, that was. "My name is Lucien Farcòn. May I ask what yours is?"
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[i]"Lana..."[/i] [b]She mumbled quietly, a hint of her pale, almost dark grey lips showing through the cloth. Her skin was like a luminous snow, so bright and yet so frail... Like color could not touch her.[/b] [b]Then with more confidence, she raised her voice, a smile creeping into her tone.[/b] [i]"Princess Lana."[/i] [b]Was she really royalty? No. Far from it... But she liked the title, and it seemed all so fitting for her tastes.[/b]
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"Very well then, Princess Lana. To pass the time while we wait for my entry, could you tell me a story perhaps? I always loved to hear the stories of others." Lucien gave the small girl a smile. Even if she wasn't exactly human, she reminded her of a girl he made friends with at the Tribal camp. He often visited her and carved her toys made from the wood found in Bio-Domes. He wondered if she was still even alive. If he returned home, would he have to put her down to? A shudder closed the thought as the man focused on the more lighter aspects of his memory.
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[b]She gave a the man a inquisitive look. Not many asked for her tale, and she wasn't usually inclined to tell it. But he had been gracious enough to tell his. She owed him at least the bare bones of her past.[/b] [i]"Well... My story starts a long time ago. I come from a land of rain. It's beautiful there. Storms... Thunder... I do love the rain."[/i] [b]She pauses a moment, her eyes closing as she remembers the emerald lightning that formed intricate spiderwebs in the sky and the roar of the clouds following such a tear in the atmosphere.[/b] [i]"There was a building there. That was my home. It was the border between all things sane and insane. It was a brutal home. It claimed to be an orphanage... But all who were raised there knew otherwise..."[/i] [b]She couldn't give details... Never any details... He need not know.[/b] [i]"It was a cold and dark place, that smelled of rotting wood and fungal disease. There harm came to all the children. But it was also there we learned of our gifts. Unfortunately, we were used and then tossed away... And most did not survive. I and one other survived the ordeal by the gifts put inside us. Ours were the strongest... The best wills..."[/i] [b]Her light and cheery tone turned quiet and stale, her memory aching from the horrors her old home once wrought.[/b] [i]"I still hold my gift, but it sleeps and festers... It only saved my soul, my mind and body were rescued by another... His name was Damien... He was the one who wanted to bring down the establishment... And so he did. I've been free since... Using what I learned there to do more prosperous things."[/i] [b]It was a little bland, and unfulfilled, but she didn't want to explain tragedies and hardships. Unfortunately, her past didn't hold many happy moments, and those that were joyous were bland and empty...[/b]
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"Ah, do not worry yourself with anything else, Lana," he says hearing her trail off in certain ways: methods that would imply pain at the mere thought of such memories. He could relate to that. "Special powers? Experimentation? My word, that sure does sound like something the Abbatial would do." Lucien clenched his first in silent anger. He had no respect for the zealots from his home who believed in infecting children and using them as breeding subjects for abominations. Lana's story reminded him of that. "This Damien... Did he ever tell you why he destroyed the building?" he asks to distract himself from the thoughts of the Abbatial. The idea of such an 'orphanage' existing was a subject of abhorrence, but a man who could bring down such a place may be of aid in finding Alister.
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[i]"It's a longer story that Mister Damien is far better at telling... But he's a hero!"[/i] [b]Well, in her mind Damien was a hero... Though, given her personality, and the fact that she didn't seem quite so stable... There was the likelihood there was plenty more to the story... Plenty more.[/b] [i]"He's around here if you ever want to meet him. He sleeps a lot, though... And he doesn't like to be bothered..."[/i] [b]She giggled to herself at the statement, knowing full well that Damien was amusing when cranky.[/b]
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"What does this Damien of yours look like, dearie?" Although the girl was clearly demonstrated to not be a child, she still seemed like one in Lucien's eyes and would treat her as such. Innocence was so scarce these days, and the man cherished it whenever he could. He didn't want to push her to tell her story further either. She respected his boundaries - so too did he respect hers. Lucien cracked a small smile, "And why shouldn't I disturb him as he sleeps?"
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[i]"He's tall... And super thin... And he has mad scientist hair. And cat eyes. And a metal jaw. And he always wears fur coats!"[/i] [b]So... Damien was an odd one...[/b] [i]"But he also has black armor with a white triangle on the front with a glass helmet. He's hard to miss."[/i] [b]She finished, clasping her hands as if very pleased with her simple explanation. But, she also seemed fond of this man. Not quite romantically, not quite friendly. Perhaps more like a daughter to her father.[/b] [i]"And he's just grumpy when disturbed. Though, he doesn't bite much... Much."[/i] [b]She giggled mischievously and pointed towards the far desert past Dojoville, where sand dunes rolled and only bristly plants dared grow.[/b] [i]"He had a camp out there."[/i]
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[i]A skilled warrior with a metal jaw. Sounds quite distinct.[/i] "I ought to pay him a visit then. Lana, can you tell me one more thing about this Damien of yours? Is he skilled with a blade? I believe I have grown a tad bit rusty, so to speak." Truth be told, Lucien was anything but rusty. But man still believed that he was and thought that a constant routine of combat sharpened his senses. It was not a feat of strength to him, just his modest standards. Besides, what better way to acquaint oneself with another than by combat?
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[b]Lana giggled once more, as if such an answer was obvious.[/b] [i]"Some could say that... But he likes to use his knives. His swords are special..."[/i] [b]She nodded to herself knowing full well the weight Damien put on his 'babies'. He... Collected weapons...[/b] [i]"I'd be carefully though, Mister. Damien gets really angry... And he gets... Bad, when he's really angry."[/i] [b]Lana didn't really second guess others, but in a real fight, Damien fought with the intention to kill. Sparring... He played soft. If anything Damien would think it a game. If anything, the young woman seemed worried for her friend.[/b] [b]She shrugged with a bland and hopeless movement. She didn't like conflict herself... And Damien's inherent anger lately had put her on edge... She hoped this Alister could perhaps cheer him up.[/b] [i]"If you do seek him out, can you not be mean to him, Mister? I'm sure he'd like to meet you... But don't call him names... I think he might be sick."[/i]
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"I don't plan on getting him angry, Lana. And sick? Shouldn't there be a doctor somewhere here? After all, this place does sound like an arena. I would expect an abundance of medics or doctors to be in such a location." Lucien took note of every word Lana said regarding Damien, contrary to his response about his well-being. By default he immediately began linking the man's 'special swords' to unique weapons he had faced in the past: Youtou, experimental Iconoclast weaponry and Infected ritual weapons. All which evoked a sense of grim nostalgia for him. Damien seemed like quite the interesting man indeed. "I suppose I'll be heading over to the desert if I have enough spare time, Lana. I first need entry into this place -" he says as he points to the massive gates "- in order to find Alister."
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[i]"I don't mean like a cold Mister... I think he's upset... It's nothing new I suppose."[/i] [b]She gave Lucien a long stare before looking at the large gates.[/b] [i]"Well... Good luck... I must be going! I have to feed Alphonse!"[/i] [b]With a small wave and a large grin, revealing perfectly pale white skin and almost blue lips, she began a slow skip down the stairs, eventually unfolding like paper until she drifted away into dozens of paper butterflies, as if made up of a swarm.[/b]
