Post by Whytfang on May 22, 2021 4:38:33 GMT
The Flame Swordsman
The night was like any other, calm with a lightly chilled breeze on the air. When a woman dressed all in black with a hood shrouding her face from the moons radiant pale glow. Holding a rather large basket, big and strong enough to hold a child. Inside, bundled up warm and tight was a young boy – fast asleep. The woman laid the basket with the sleeping child inside on the steps of a temple, just on the outskirts on Okinawa, Japan. With tears rolling down her cheeks as the woman kissed the sleeping boy on his forehead. "You will have a better life here. Far better then what I can give you.” The woman cried, as she was having some trouble getting to her feet. But eventually done so, while wiping away her tears and using her knuckles to knock on the large wooden gate.
The woman turned her back to the gate moments later and took off in a sprint as her eyes began to tear up once again. A man in his late 40’s answered, wearing a black gi and hakama with the kanji for dragon printed on the back of his gi. "Oh my.” The man said in surprise as he saw the basket with the boy inside at his feet. "I’ll bring you inside. Wouldn’t want you to catch cold now.” He said, grinning from ear to ear. As he picked the basket with the boy inside with both hands and brought him and out of the cold. "I don't see a name. Guess I'll have to come up with one later for you." Still smiling, he said looking over the contents of the basket, looking for a possible name for the child.
19 years later.
The young boy has grown up to be a fine young man with his long auburn hair and amber irises. His choice of attire was rather strange for someone of his age, as he wore the traditional kamishimo (裃), normally wore by samurai and courtiers of the edo period. His top was a dark blue, however, he does on occasion switch to a dark red top while his hakama is always seen to be white.
"I see, Moyasu. You have finally graced us with your presence." in a stern, yet fatherly tone the now almost 60 year olds, wrinkled face cracked into a smile. The boy, who was at one point had no name, was now known as Moyasu (燃やす "Too burn"). Moya, as some have come to call him. Had broke through the dojo's main entrance, as he took a step on the tatami matted floor with his sock covered feet. With his right hand on his head, as he scratched the back of his skull with his finger tips with a yawn escaping his lips. "Ya, sorry I'm late sensei. Had a long night last night." he apologized, as his hands were wrapped in bloodied strips of cloth. The master's eyes looked over at his student's hands and with a sigh. "I see you have been training late again, Moya." the master replied, as he held his arms behind his lower back. He took a step closer to his young student. "So, have you mastered the Iron Fist yet?" curious to know the answer, he couldn't wait and so he lunged forward with his right knee; which was then stopped with Moya's left and right palms. "That all you got old man?" Moya joked, but then his master sprung into action; lifting off the ground with his left leg all the while twisting his body to deal a spinning kick; which was then just as quickly blocked with Moya's right arm forearm and left palm. Without saying a sword the master had pressed the bottom of his right foot against the young adults torso and pushed himself away as well as pushing his student back as well. "Show me what you have learned." the master said, pulling his arms behind his lower back once more and crouched with his knee's slightly bent. "I don't want to hurt you master." He warned, with concern in his voice as he to got into a fighting stance. As all the other students gathered around them creating a near-perfect oval.
The night was like any other, calm with a lightly chilled breeze on the air. When a woman dressed all in black with a hood shrouding her face from the moons radiant pale glow. Holding a rather large basket, big and strong enough to hold a child. Inside, bundled up warm and tight was a young boy – fast asleep. The woman laid the basket with the sleeping child inside on the steps of a temple, just on the outskirts on Okinawa, Japan. With tears rolling down her cheeks as the woman kissed the sleeping boy on his forehead. "You will have a better life here. Far better then what I can give you.” The woman cried, as she was having some trouble getting to her feet. But eventually done so, while wiping away her tears and using her knuckles to knock on the large wooden gate.
The woman turned her back to the gate moments later and took off in a sprint as her eyes began to tear up once again. A man in his late 40’s answered, wearing a black gi and hakama with the kanji for dragon printed on the back of his gi. "Oh my.” The man said in surprise as he saw the basket with the boy inside at his feet. "I’ll bring you inside. Wouldn’t want you to catch cold now.” He said, grinning from ear to ear. As he picked the basket with the boy inside with both hands and brought him and out of the cold. "I don't see a name. Guess I'll have to come up with one later for you." Still smiling, he said looking over the contents of the basket, looking for a possible name for the child.
19 years later.
The young boy has grown up to be a fine young man with his long auburn hair and amber irises. His choice of attire was rather strange for someone of his age, as he wore the traditional kamishimo (裃), normally wore by samurai and courtiers of the edo period. His top was a dark blue, however, he does on occasion switch to a dark red top while his hakama is always seen to be white.
"I see, Moyasu. You have finally graced us with your presence." in a stern, yet fatherly tone the now almost 60 year olds, wrinkled face cracked into a smile. The boy, who was at one point had no name, was now known as Moyasu (燃やす "Too burn"). Moya, as some have come to call him. Had broke through the dojo's main entrance, as he took a step on the tatami matted floor with his sock covered feet. With his right hand on his head, as he scratched the back of his skull with his finger tips with a yawn escaping his lips. "Ya, sorry I'm late sensei. Had a long night last night." he apologized, as his hands were wrapped in bloodied strips of cloth. The master's eyes looked over at his student's hands and with a sigh. "I see you have been training late again, Moya." the master replied, as he held his arms behind his lower back. He took a step closer to his young student. "So, have you mastered the Iron Fist yet?" curious to know the answer, he couldn't wait and so he lunged forward with his right knee; which was then stopped with Moya's left and right palms. "That all you got old man?" Moya joked, but then his master sprung into action; lifting off the ground with his left leg all the while twisting his body to deal a spinning kick; which was then just as quickly blocked with Moya's right arm forearm and left palm. Without saying a sword the master had pressed the bottom of his right foot against the young adults torso and pushed himself away as well as pushing his student back as well. "Show me what you have learned." the master said, pulling his arms behind his lower back once more and crouched with his knee's slightly bent. "I don't want to hurt you master." He warned, with concern in his voice as he to got into a fighting stance. As all the other students gathered around them creating a near-perfect oval.