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on Tue Feb 05, 2013 10:27 am
A solitary man with black shoulder length hair styled and ornamented into a ponytail walked the speechless halls of the Seireitei. The milky light of a tranquil lunar moon set the background for a being humbly seeking higher power.
The Shinigami’s geta echo’s ceased as Yojimbo’s lofty frame halted upon the wooden beams before the shoji doors that led to a familiar place. A place that he neglected for far too long and far too often these days. His right paw would slightly raise pressing securely on the avenue in. Sliding it back his bold form would cross the threshold into the warrior’s sanctuary.
Removing his footwear Yojimbo’s feet would touchdown on the cold tatami floor mats, the air was still and his soul was silent…for now. Looking about he felt no other presence but his own. Typically the shinigami ronin didn't mind sharpening his might with others, but in the end the road to being a powerful force was a self discovery. You may have had help building your foundation. However your finished work, your true strength is built by your own hands blood, sweat, and tears.
Clearing away with his shitagi and his kosode revealed a physically fit specimen. Setting the items aside his Asauchi still remained hugged to the left of his hip. 
Calculated footsteps would place the unseated shinigami in the center of the dojo. Before falling down to his knees, Yojimbo would carefully remove his Asauchi grasping it in his left hand. When he finally knelt down, he held his Asauchi across both palms flat. Bending at the waist he respectfully laid his soul before his form. Rising up, Yojimbo looked up to the front of the empty space. Soon his dark chocolate ponds would be wiped away from the sight of the world.
Meditation. He let his mind enter another dimension. He would let his body relax and be just as free as his brain. He soon could feel his conscious melting away into another plane, something that was strongly spiritual. He was searching for his reflection of the inner soul, his willpower. His heartbeat.
He was in no rush for his Zanpakuto to reveal itself. The shinigami would be patient and in due time he would get to know the inner soul that resided within his katana. What he did feel though was something akin to a faint pulse. 'It' was there but 'its' presence was not completely there. Was it trying to see if Yojimbo was worthy? Or was 'it' waiting for the shinigami to actually be capable of handling 'its' power? If so, then that means Yojimbo's current form was weak and he needed to ascend.
Approximately an hour would pass by as the unseated soul reaper would complete his ritual. Next a slow breath would escape the black haired male's chest and his eyelids would raise open like an automated garage door.
Climbing to his feet with his Asauchi in his left hand, his thumb would press his hilt forward the blade crept marginally from its prison, it wasn't until Yojimbo's right hand clutch the hilt that it tasted liberty.

Casting his sheath aside, the shinigami's left hand would unite with his handle. Assuming a solid stance with his legs staggered and feet on the ball of his toes, the samurai had begun his kata.

[Word Count - 546]

Last edited by YOJIMBO on Fri Feb 08, 2013 4:29 am; edited 1 time in total


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on Wed Feb 06, 2013 5:53 pm
The Asauchi soon was gripped with the proper grip. His left hand was placed at the base of the blade, and his right hand located just below where his guard would be. The strength of his squeeze on the hilt wasn't a strangle like most novice or amateurs. It was comfortable, giving the shinigami the ideal movement of the sword and allowed for a great range of motion. It was almost perfect until he adjusted his hands for the feel of perfection. The weapon's steel then was tuned at chin level. His present hold on his weapon was a familiar place that he hadn't experienced in a long long long time not since......

Yojimbo's blade flew through the air like an enraged dragon. The malicious intent was aimed for a opposing enemy. A sea of red was birthed when his katana had cleaved through the fleshy throat of an enemy like a butchers blade through freshly cut meat. The adversary choked out with both hands on his throat as he tried to hopelessly retain the precious crimson liquid which sustained his life.

The orchestra of battle encapsulated the current grassy terrain, which was soaked in blood more than it was soaked in the rain that fell from the ominous overcast. Screams of agony were present, commands were being shouted, battle cries empowered. Amongst the chaos Yojimbo continued to regulate order by killing the anarchy.


Three more rapid cuts followed and proceeded to chop down three more fleshbags. Clad in the typical samurai armor, Yojimbo's eyes embodied a heavenly fury. The way the man's two hands had authority over the katana was effortless due to decades of practice and self tutelage......

Slowly Yojimbo began flowing through slow and precise movements. He was raising his blade, next gradually bringing it down while taking computed strikes. He would flow like a serene river as he side stepped three paces before letting his blade stab then rise for a diagonal cut from left to right, the right to left. Smoothly he pivoted turning one-hundred and eighty degrees unleashing a reverse stab before coming to forefront with a rising cut.

He went from one kata to the next. It as if the shinigami was transitioning from one chapter to the succeeding phase of an overall story, a warrior’s story. Naive onlookers would assume that whatever the samurai was doing was fruitless outdated garbage. Real time fast pace combat in their eyes was more exhilarating, and much better. True experience was a cruel teacher, but a teacher can’t make you study either.

Fools rush into combat. Fools die in combat as well. What the ignorant see as spiritual mumbo jumbo was actually something else, it was muscle memory. Sure when a shinigami fights with instinctual and calculated keen you can be strong, but with muscle memory you can be unstoppable. Muscle memory allows for one to perform an action without a conscious effort. This subtle difference is the gap between the greater swordsman and the greatest swordsman.

[Word Count - 1,048]

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