Ronin (An Interactive Story Event) Part 6

And the votes are in!  The winner is D) The Ronin’s greatest strength is his way with words!  The final installment in the Ronin’s quest begins now!

                The Ronin’s head hung heavy against his chest as the faceless child – the malicious spirit embodied by his stolen memories – laughed in his head.  The sound was deafening.  He could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness.

                The Ronin gritted his teeth.  No, he thought to himself.
                “You can’t kill me,” the faceless child whispered like a hurricane in his head, “without killing yourself.  We are one and the same.”
                The Ronin’s neck muscles ached as he forced his head up.  It felt as heavy as a stone.  At last he was looking at the faceless child.  He reached for the sword at his belt, drawing it out slowly.  The metal glinted in the fading sunlight.  His master’s blade in his hand.  All he needed to do was thrust it into his chest.  End his life the way he should have.  He and the spirit were linked.  Should he die the spirit would die as well.  It was why the spirit had not merely killed him.
                The Ronin planted the tip of the sword in the earth and used it as a cane, forcing himself to his feet.  The children who had once been the villagers of this hamlet starred on at the two of them in silence.
                On his feet now the Ronin glared at the faceless child.
                “You cannot resist me!” the faceless child screamed in his head.  His knees buckled beneath him but he gripped the hilt of the sword with both hands and kept his footing.  He pulled himself back up as the faceless child screamed in his head.  “I will not let you destroy us!”
                “I don’t plan to,” the Ronin replied.
                Pulling the sword from the earth the Ronin flung it with all his strength into the woods.  The blade spun through the air and disappeared beneath the canopy.  The Ronin stumbled forward but stayed on his feet.  The faceless child’s voice suddenly left his head.  The eyes it did not possess followed the sword through the air until it disappeared.
                “You are empty,” the Ronin said to the faceless child.  It turned its blank face back to him but did not speak.  “Our memories define us.  Give us purpose.  Without them, we are empty.  Is that not what you said to me?”
                The faceless child remained silent.  The Ronin took a step forward.  As if an invisible barrier existed between the two of them, the child stumbled backwards.
                “You need a host.  I did not see that before.  I saw you as a curse.  I gave you purpose but our master tried to wield us for his own.  You tried to hold onto my memories when our master tried to bond you to himself.  You did not steal my memories.  You held onto them because you did not want to lose them.  You did not want to lose your purpose.
                “But it didn’t give you the purpose you sought, did it?  That is why you came here.  You stole the memories from these villagers to try to fill the emptiness inside of you.  But it didn’t work.  You couldn’t find the purpose you desired so greatly.  It was always beyond your reach.  That’s why you still retain this form.  You are right, we are both faceless.  But together…”
                The Ronin took another step forward.  This time, the faceless child did not back away.  The Ronin could see tears on the faceless child’s cheeks though there were no tear ducts from which they could come.
                “But…you are a Ronin now,” the spirit whispered in his head, the voice no longer painful.  “What purpose can we have even together?”
                “We will make our own purpose,” the Ronin said.  “Too long has it been defined for us by others.  By our master.  By the daimyo who sent me here.”
                “Purpose…”
                Slowly, a wind began to pick up.  The Ronin glanced in the direction it was coming from.  The limbs of the cherry trees began to flap, sending thousands of pink blossom leaves floating through their air, riding the currents like boats on dozens of lazy streams.
                The Ronin turned back to the faceless child just in time to see it melt away until there was nothing left but an orb of pink light no bigger than a human head.  Then, smaller balls of light leapt from the larger orb, dozens, shooting outwards until they hit the chests of the children gathered all around.  They then disappeared, sliding effortlessly into the childrens’ chests as if there were a hole there waiting to be filled.  When this happened the children were not children anymore.  Within seconds the Ronin was surrounded by an entire village of adults of various ages.  Only a handful of children remained.
                The Ronin turned back to the pink orb in front of him and saw that it had shrunk back down to the size of a fist.  Or a heart.  Slowly, it inched it’s way forward towards the Ronin’s chest.  Realizing what he must do, the Ronin reached out with one hand and guided the pink orb into his chest.
                It passed effortlessly through the Ronin’s armour and he felt warmth run up and down his body.  Then he lurched forward as if a mule had kicked him on the inside of his ribs.  He fell to his knees and cried out.  Then it was done.
                He remained there, on his knees, for a moment.  Finally, one of the villagers spoke: “Are…are you all right?”
                At first, it was if the Ronin had not heard.  Then, slowly, he rose to his feet.  The villagers were still in a half circle, but behind him now.  None of them could see his face.  Slowly, he reached up and removed his helmet.  Black hair cascaded down his back.  Slowly, he turned to face them.
                He had a face.  Blue eyes, black goatee, smooth skin a slightly paler shade of brown, and a nose which had obviously been broken before being poorly reset.  He still held the helmet in his hands but at last he dropped it onto the ground.
                The Ronin turned and began to walk away.  His horse had been scared off by the events that had transpired since their arrival, but it had not gone far.  The Ronin could still make it out beneath the canopy of the trees.
                “Wait!”
                The Ronin turned back and saw a child, one of the few villagers who had been a child when the spirit arrived, holding his helmet out to him.
                “I don’t need that anymore,” the Ronin said.
                The villagers watched in silence as the Ronin stepped into the forest and mounted his horse.  He guided it around so that it was back on the dirt path.  And he began to ride away.
                Where will he go?  What will he do?  He is a Ronin, what is there for him out there in the world?  These are the questions the villagers would begin to ask once the Ronin was out of sight.  He has no purpose, no reason to live, some would still say.  But there were a few who would know the truth.  The Ronin had found his purpose.  Or rather, he would make his own.

The End.

Ronin (An Interactive Story Event) Part 5

The tie breaking vote (sadly not posted here so you’ll just have to take my word for it) makes the winner D) He has no memory before his tenth birthday!  Let the adventure continue!

                There was nothing standing between the Ronin and the faceless child.  The children were all silent now, standing around the Ronin in a perfect circle.  They appeared to be waiting for something.  Hesitantly, the Ronin reached for his sword, feeling a small comfort come from the feel of the hilt against his palm.  Yet, even with his armour and his weapons in the face of these children he could feel a cold dread welling up in his stomach.

                The faceless child stepped forward and spoke.  The sound could not come from its mouth since it did not have one.  Instead, the sound seemed to rebound around the Ronin’s brain, stinging the backs of his eyes as it spoke.
                “It must have been difficult killing your master with his own blade.  Wrenching it from his hands once he had stripped you of your own.  Driving it through his heart and feeling the blood pump over your hands.  The rush as his life left his body.  But you did not rejoice.  You wept.  Despite everything he had been trying to do.  And you don’t even remember why he needed to be stopped.”
                “What are you!” the Ronin cried, feeling the need to shout to be heard even with the faceless child only a few steps away.
                The child took another step forward and continued.  “All that blackness.  All that wonderful delicious blackness where your memories should be.  No mommy to cry for in the cold nights.  No daddy to hold your hand as you trudged through the city streets in search of food.  Maybe you had them maybe you didn’t.  They’re gone from you forever in memory and in reality.”
                “You don’t know anything about me!” the Ronin hissed.  He found himself gripping the handle of the sword now with all of his strength.  He wanted to lash out at this faceless child.  No, this faceless thing.  This was no child.  It was a dark entity.  It was a spirit of malicious intent.  “Where are the people of this village!  What have you done with them?”
                “Can’t you see?” the faceless child asked, taking another step forward.  “They’re all here.  All accounted for.”
                The child spread its arms wide, turning its faceless head to indicate all the children surrounding the Ronin.  The disgraced warrior looked around him at all the faceless.  The children.  But surely there had been adults here before?
                “What sorcery is this?”
                “Our memories define us.  They make us who we are.  Without the, we are nothing.  Empty.  Without purpose,” the faceless child said, its voice seeming to laugh as it bounced around inside the Ronin’s head.  “Our master saw potential in me.  He summoned me and bonded me to you on your tenth birthday.  He sought to train me, to wield me as a weapon.  But you fought, kicking and screaming inside your head.  Finally, our master believed you had become a liability.  He pulled me out of you and bonded me to himself.  Then you tried to kill us.  We fought and I stole more and more of your memories.  And yet, despite your weakened state and no memories to give you purpose you managed to slay our master.  You thought you had slain me as well.  But I had your memories.  Everything from before you were ten years old.  I fashioned myself a body.  I walk amongst you now without any need for a host.  These villagers.  Their memories had sustained me.  With everything I have taken from them their physical forms have changed to match.  Soon, there will be nothing left of them when I am finished feeding.”
                The Ronin glanced around at the face of the villagers, reduced to children by the memories stolen from them by this malevolent spirit.  The Ronin felt the emptiness inside him where his memories had been.  Wounds and scars that would never be healed.  The crushing guilt of knowing he had killed his master with good reason but without the ability to remember why.  At last, he had his answers.

                “I failed to destroy you before,” the Ronin said, turning to the faceless child.  “But I shall not fail this time.”
                When the faceless child laughed the Ronin sank to his knees in pain, his temples throbbing with the sound trapped inside his head.

                “Why both, Ronin?  We are the same.  You have been stripped of your memories and your purpose,” the child that was not a child took his final step forward, leaning in so that their faces – one masked by a helmet, the other devoid of features – nearly touched.
                “You are just as faceless as I am.”

The final battle is here at last.  One final question, and this one’s just for fun.  What is the Ronin’s greatest skill?

A)     Combat with the sword

B)      Combat with the bow

C)      Defense

D)     His way with words

Ronin (An Interactive Story Event) Part 4

Adding up all the votes (including the votes not present in the comments below but communicated via word-of-text) the answer is C: The village is full of children but no adults.  And the adventure continues! 

The first thing the Ronin noticed as he approached the outskirts of the village was the laughter.  It was exuberant with that unmistakable care-free element that can only be found in children.  The Ronin quickly found himself marching into the village, which was nothing more than a dozen huts clustered together.  The forest crept right up to the edge of the village with the branches of the trees stretching out as if to grasp the thatch roofs of those huts nearest.  To the west of the village the forest transitioned into a large field of cherry trees, their pink petals seeming to glow vibrantly.  It was now growing later in the afternoon with the sun bearing down on the land as though it intended to burn itself out before sinking below the mountains once more.

                The road turned into nothing more than a worn path of dirt once it reached the city.  The Ronin looked around and watched as over two dozen children, none apparently older than ten, ran around, rolled in the dirt, and played games amongst themselves.  The Ronin was surprised to see so many children in a town so small.  He imagined the various families had to work hard in the farmland – which was in the opposite direction of the cherry trees – to grow enough food to support so many and meet their tax requirements.  Even as he thought this, the Ronin scanned the surrounding huts and saw no sign of any adults watching over the children.  In fact, he saw no signs of any adults at all.
                The Ronin turned himself towards the farmland stretching out over the hills to the east of the village.   There was not a single figure visible working the fields.  The Ronin found this very odd, considering that it was still early enough in the day for farmers to be at work.
                The children had begun to notice the Ronin now and were running up alongside his horse.  The beast shuffled nervously and the Ronin patted its neck to coax it into stillness.  He glanced around at the beaming faces of the children.  He didn’t sense any threat from them but found their overly healthy faces and sheer numbers unnerving.
                “Are you a samurai!” one of the children, a girl, cried out suddenly.
                “I am a Ronin,” the Ronin replied.  “Where are your parents?”
                “A Ronin, what’s that?” another child, a boy this time, cried out.
                The Ronin frowned.  He realized now with certainty that none of the assembled children could have been older than ten or younger.  His uneasiness began to grow.
                “Have your parents not explained the Code of the Samurai to you?” the Ronin asked.  “To any of you?”
                The children all shook their heads.  None of them were playing any longer.  They all crowded around his horse, giving him no room to move, and starred up at him eagerly.
                “Upon the death or fall of his master, or should he lose his masters favour, a samurai is required by the Code of the Samurai to commit hara kiri and take his own life.  A Ronin is one who has chosen not to honour this code.  It means that one is ‘on his own’.”
                “So you’re alone?” the girl who had first spoken asked.
                “All alone?” the boy who had spoken before repeated.
                “Y-yes,” the Ronin hesitated.  “You could say that.”
                “Why?”
                “Why didn’t you kill yourself?”
                “Why bother living?”
                “Why bother coming here?”
                “Your shame is endless, Ronin.”
                “You should have died by the sword you killed your Master with.”
                The Ronin felt his heart become lodged in his throat as the children spoke.  There was no malice behind their words but the Ronin felt like a cruel beast had reared its head.  He suddenly sensed danger all around him.  His horse reared up and the Ronin felt the reins slip from his grasp.  His armoured seemed heavier than ever before, dragging him to the ground amidst the children.  Their voices engulfed him and he felt small hands crawling over him.  Panic began to grip him and reached desperately for his sword.  But small claws dug into the grooves of his armour and pulled them away.  The Ronin roared, feeling rage fill his chest.
                Then, as abruptly as it had begun the voices ceased, the hands pulled back, and the Ronin felt the children pull back.  He rolled around and lifted himself up.  The children had pulled back, opening a path back the way the Ronin had come.  But he saw that it was not meant for him.  Instead, the child he had passed earlier, tattered clothes identical, stood there facing him.  For the first time, the Ronin got a look at the child’s face.  It was empty.  No eyes, no nose, no mouth.

Were you expecting that?  Time to develop some of the Ronin’s past.  What darkness lies in the Ronin’s past?

A)     He grew up as part of the street children gangs in Tokyo.
B)      He was sold as a serving boy to a cruel and wealthy nobleman.
C)      His sister died while he was supposed to be protecting her.
D) He has no memory before his tenth birthday.

Ronin!

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Ronin (An Interactive Story) Part 3

The winner is option B: A section of land to call his own.  Not what I expected, but that’s why we’re writing this together.  I don’t always want to know where the story is going to go.  Let’s see what happens next.

                 The Ronin was silent for a moment, eyes still closed.  Yet the Daimyo could sense that the Ronin’s eyes were open in another way, aimed towards the future.  What little future was available for a man such as himself.

                Finally, the Ronin opened his eyes and looked directly into the Daimyo’s.  “Land,” he said.
                “Land?”
                “An estate.  A patch of land in some far corner of your realm.  Somewhere where I can live out the remainder of my days in peace.  I cannot be expected to raise a family and risk passing my dishonour on to my children.  But I cannot die either.”
                “Cannot or will not?” the Daimyo asked, his curiosity getting the better of him once again.
                The Ronin turned his gaze away, his fingers dancing to the hilt of the extravagant golden katana at his side.  “Cannot.”
                “Very well,” the Daimyo nodded.  “I shall grant you this boon upon your return.  You have my word.  Now, I must ask you to leave immediately.  My son…was part of the last envoy that I sent to the village.  One of my servants will give you a map to your destination.”
                The Daimyo’s voice grew grave as he slid open the door and beckoned for the Ronin to precede him.  The Ronin nodded and passed through the doorway without any hesitation.  “I will discover what has happened.  But I make no promise to return with your son.”
                “I can still have hope.”
                “Hope,” the Ronin said, a touch of disgust in his voice.  “I care not for your superstitions, my daimyo.”
                The Daimyo frowned grimly as the Ronin walked away.  His eyes fell to the katana at his sword for a moment, then the Ronin rounded the corner and was out of sight.
                The Ronin quickly reacquired his horse and saddled up, proceeding out through the gates he had entered through less than half an hour earlier.  The samurai of the castle lined up on either side of the pathway to the gate, azure armour reflecting early morning sun like a great blue ocean.  His vermillion armour cut a path through their ranks unattested.  The Ronin kept his gaze high and forward.  He did nothing when a samurai spat on the ground before him as he rode past.
                One of the Daimyo’s servants had given him a map indicating where the village he was to travel to was located.  The ride would take almost seven hours at a trot without stopping, by the Ronin’s estimate.  Not wishing to push his horse too hard, the Ronin passed the time breathing in the rich air and searching for glimpses of wildlife in the thick woods to either side of him.
                The village was close but not yet in sight when he spotted a small boy playing in the road before him.  The boy wore nothing but ragged pants that appeared to be made from a burlap sack.  The Ronin slowed his horse as he approached.
                “Boy, are you from the village just down the road?” the Ronin called.
                At first the Ronin did not believe that the boy had heard him.  After a moment, the boy slowly rose to his feet, his back still to the Ronin.
                “There’s a monster in the village.”
                “Where did it come from?” the Ronin asked, urging his horse slightly closer and preparing to dismount.
                “From you.”
                The Ronin was taken aback by this statement.  However, before he could say anything more, the boy took off into the woods and disappeared between the trunks of the trees.
                Confused, the Ronin deliberated for a moment.  He felt a great unease growing in his chest and considered turning back.  But his thoughts turned to the possibility of a home to call his own, a place to live out his days shielded from a society that no longer acknowledged him, and he urged his mount forward once more.

Now, time to build some mystery.  What do you think the Ronin should find when he arrives in the village?

A)     The village is mysteriously empty

B)      The village is full of people but none of them are behaving quite right

C)      The village is full of children but no adults
D)     The village is full of people but they are all asleep

Ronin (An Interactive Story Event) Part 2

The winner is option B: The Master was killed by the Ronin himself.  Let’s pick it up and see where the story takes us.

                The Ronin paused, his finger cleaving the rising column of sage smoke so that it twinned and twisted through the air like snakes.  Finally, the Ronin withdrew his finger and turned to face the Daimyo.

                “If you know that I am a Ronin and you called me here then you must also know how it was that my Master died,” the Ronin said, his voice eerily calm.  “I killed my Master myself.  I drew my katana and drove it through his chest, extinguishing his life instantly.”
                “I meant no disrespect,” the Daimyo said, unable to meet the Ronin’s eyes now.  “Then perhaps my question isn’t how he died, but why you killed him.”
                The Ronin gazed over his shoulder at the pillar of sage smoke.  The twin snakes had drifted back together, wedding themselves as one once more.
                “Respect is something I no longer have,” the Ronin reminded him.  “Honour and respect are no longer any concern of mine.  As such, I won’t ask your forgiveness when I say that I am in no way obliged to answer your question.  My reasons are my own and they’re about the only thing of any value that I still possess.  Perhaps someday you will learn the truth of that night, but it shall not be today.”
                The Daimyo chuckled, “Very well, you shall keep your reasons.  I have no need of them.  Curiosity can sometimes cloud a man’s thoughts.  Now, on to business, which I believe you know to be the true reason I have called you hear.”
                “It seemed obvious,” the Ronin assured him as the two took a seat on the floor.  “A Daimyo with the honour and esteem you have gathered over the years would not consort with someone of my status regardless of old friendships, as you put it.  We are young men still, old friend.”
                “I see a loss of honour has not clouded your overly perceptive nature,” the Daimyo said, shaking his head in mock disbelief.  “Indeed, our friendship is amongst those things that were taken from you the day you slew your master.  However, along with your reasons, your skills are something that still belong to you and it is those that I call upon here today.”
                “Continue,” the Ronin said, closing his eyes to listen.
                “It is a simple task really.  I want you to go to one of the villages on the periphery of my lands and discover what has transpired there.  Every detachment of samurai, every messenger, and every envoy that I have sent there in the last week has failed to return.  Even as a Ronin, we can both agree you are one of the most talented and lucky warriors this country has ever seen.  That is why I ask you to do this for me.”
                “Again, you appeal to my honour,” the Ronin said, eyes still closed.  “I live and act for honour no more.  You call upon a ronin to do your work then you must offer something of worth to a ronin.”
                “Then name your price,” the Daimyo growled.

Without any claim to honour, what does a man fight for?  It’s time to learn a little bit more about what drives our Ronin to act.  What does he ask the Daimyo for?
A) Money
B) A section of land to be called his own
C) The hand of the Daimyo’s beautiful daughter

Ronin (An Interactive Story Event) Part 1

The main gate of the hirajiro groaned open to admit the lone rider.  The decaying afternoon sun began to lay itself down against the ice peaked mountains to the east.  Fleeting rays glinted off of the lone rider’s vermillion armour.  He shifted slightly, his brown mare snorting before he spurred it forward through the square gateway.  The soldiers’, their own armour a deep azure, watched him warily from beneath brows furrowed as thickly as the forests which surrounded the fortress.  A single word was whispered by one to the other and it quickly passed down the line.

                “Ronin.”

                The lone rider stiffened momentarily, catching the title as if it were adrift on the breeze itself.  But he did not stop as he proceeded into the courtyard and made his way towards the daimyo’s central keep.  Samurai watched him pass but he did not make eye contact with any of them.

                He reached the keep and dismounted from his steed.  A servant quickly rushed forward to take the reins from him.  He paid the servant no more mind that the samurai he had passed before.  The servant gazed in awe at the extravagant golden katana sheathed at the Ronin’s hip and the elegant bamboo yumi slung over his shoulder – the craftsmanship seemed too great to be worn by a disgraced warrior.  A watching samurai snapped at the servant, quickly returning him to work.

                The Ronin pushed his way through the doors.  A servant was already waiting for him and led him quickly to the Daimyo’s personal chamber.  The Daimyo, robed in the same azure as his samurai outside, sat upon the floor in meditation.  The servant bowed quickly and departed, leaving the Ronin standing behind the silent Daimyo.  The Daimyo gave no sign at first that he had even noticed the disturbance to his meditation.

                “Will you be keeping me waiting all day?” the Ronin asked, breaking the silence.

                The seated Daimyo chuckled lightly and rose to his feet.  He turned to the Ronin, his chin tipped with a sharp point of black beard beneath his gleaming smile.

                “I was merely napping, old friend.  A man needs to be well rested before dealing with the likes of you.”  After a pause, the Daimyo continued more gravelly, “I heard-“

                “About my disgrace?  Yes.  You and everyone here seem to have heard about it,” the Ronin stepped around the Daimyo and fingered the smoke drifting up from some burning sage on a side table.

                “How did he die?” the Daimyo asked.

And we’ll stop there for now!  All right readers, first question for you.  How did the Ronin’s master die? 
A) Killed by a rival master
B) Killed by the Ronin himself
C) Killed in a natural disaster
D) Killed by a fatal illness

Cast your vote in the comments below and see how the story continues next Wednesday!

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